The next day, Ryosuke didn't go looking for Guy to spar again.
Yesterday's battle had left Guy without the luxury of a healing "warm current." Even with the Uchiha clan's special medicine, recovery wasn't instant. For a ninja—fragile despite their strength—even taijutsu specialists had limits. Guy needed his body intact to earn his living through missions. Burdening him further would be inconsiderate.
Ryosuke, however, was different. Though he had been beaten just as badly yesterday, he woke up this morning full of energy.
At the small grove near the clan compound, he resumed his "One Punch Man" training.
100 squats10 kilometers of running100 sit-ups100 push-ups
As he trained, Uchiha Daohuo arrived with several clan members. They watched him exercise with open disdain. To them, it was laughable—squandering the gift of the Sharingan to toil in crude taijutsu, as though abandoning a treasure vault.
One of them sneered.
"Ryosuke, wasting your time with taijutsu? Learning from that dropout Might Guy? Don't you feel ashamed?"
"For the past month you've dragged the clan's reputation into the dirt."
Ryosuke blinked, genuinely surprised at their arrogance. They dared to dismiss Guy as Konoha's dead-last, blind to the truth. In reality, Guy's taijutsu already rivaled, if not surpassed, many Jōnin.
Even if Guy carried only a Chūnin rank, his strength was on par with Kakashi—and Kakashi was a Jōnin. If Guy unleashed the Eight Inner Gates, even Jōnin would fall before him.
'If anyone should be dissatisfied, it's me,' Ryosuke thought grimly. 'In the original story, the great Uchiha clan—supposedly the strongest—was wiped out overnight by just two traitors without suffering a single casualty. Where was our so-called pride then?'
Aloud, his voice carried sharp irritation.
"Then tell me—what should I be training?"
The clan member lifted his chin arrogantly.
"Fire Release and the Sharingan, of course. They're what made our clan famous. Our signature ninjutsu and bloodline limit."
Ryosuke nearly laughed. Fire Release was powerful, but infamous for being flashy and easy to dodge—an art better suited for intimidation than decisive victory. The Sharingan, however, truly held worth.
But unlike most of his kin, who awakened its power slowly through combat experience, Ryosuke's Sharingan evolved from mockery and provocation alone. His eyes were temperamental, and he knew it.
Right now, his true aim was to refine taijutsu and master the Eight Inner Gates. Pairing the Sharingan's perception with overwhelming physical prowess would make him a force few could challenge.
Daohuo narrowed his eyes, watching Ryosuke's expression carefully, as though expecting mockery.
"You don't mean to say you look down on Fire Release and the Sharingan?"
Ryosuke shook his head calmly.
"Of course not. But I do find it strange that you all look down on taijutsu."
"The Sharingan lets us read an enemy's every move. Combined with strong taijutsu, that's a massive advantage. Don't you see it?"
"Or do you think ninjas never fight at close range?"
Uchiha Daohuo hesitated, mulling over Ryosuke's words. Finally, he gave a reluctant nod.
"You're not wrong. Ninjas do end up in close combat sometimes."
"But even so—why follow Konoha's dead-last? And why disgrace yourself with that ridiculous training? You're humiliating the clan!"
"Even in taijutsu, do you really think the Uchiha are weaker than him?"
In his heart, Ryosuke scoffed.
'Of course you are. None of you have the Eight Inner Gates. That's the pinnacle of taijutsu in the entire ninja world.'
He looked Daohuo straight in the eye.
"If you really think Uchiha taijutsu surpasses Might Guy's… dare to test it against me?"
He had been waiting for a chance to put these arrogant clansmen in their place. The Uchiha of today were far from the mighty warriors of the Warring States era. They clung to the clan's reputation but lacked the strength to match it. Otherwise, how could two traitors have wiped them out without resistance on the night of the massacre?
Daohuo's brows rose. A duel? Him—a Jōnin—challenged by a mere Chūnin? What gave Ryosuke such confidence?
"Why not? If I win, you stop shaming the clan with this nonsense."
Ryosuke's lips curved into a calm smile.
"One week from now. Here, at this spot. I'll be waiting."
"If I win, you'll keep your mouth shut about my training."
Daohuo's gaze flicked over Ryosuke's sweat-soaked shirt. The boy had clearly been at it all morning. Perhaps that was why he wanted a week's delay—time to prepare.
It didn't matter. Even seven days, seven months, or seven years later, there was no way a Chūnin could leapfrog the gulf to Jōnin-level strength. Not when Daohuo himself would also continue training.
With a scoff, Daohuo turned and left, his fellow clansmen following behind.
Once they were gone, Ryosuke resumed his regimen, pushing through every squat, sit-up, and run. By the end, his body trembled with exhaustion, and the familiar ding of system prompts echoed in his mind.
The gains were small—far less than what came from taking Guy's full-strength blows—but they were still gains. Drops of water wore down stone; attribute points added up over time.
His body was tougher now, strong enough to finally withstand the strain of the Eight Inner Gates.
That was why he hadn't asked Guy about the technique earlier. Without the necessary physical foundation, it would have been impossible to learn.
But now?
To face Daohuo, a mere week away, raw training wouldn't be enough.
He needed the Eight Inner Gates.
It was time to approach Might Guy.