Ryosuke realized how precarious the situation had become. His lack of battle experience had left him open—he'd actually fallen for a simple clone-and-diversion tactic.
At his current speed, there was no way he could turn in time. The only option left was to open the Eight Gates.
In an instant, he gathered chakra, forcing open the First Gate—Gate of Opening.
A vein bulged across his forehead, his skin darkening.
As Inoka's kick came flying in, Ryosuke spun and lifted his leg, meeting the strike head-on. The attack that should have ended the fight was stopped cold.
Relief washed through him.
'The shinobi world is filthy with tricks,' he thought. He had gone into this duel with the simple idea that strength and speed alone decided the winner. But no—tactics, deception, misdirection. That was the true battlefield.
Without the Eight Gates, he would have been humiliated here, beaten not by superior strength but by a cheap trick.
And to be mocked for "disgracing the clan" by training taijutsu with Might Guy? That was something he would never accept.
If he wanted to save the clan, he needed the Eight Gates. That was his only path—save the clan, and save himself.
Anger boiled in his chest, and he pushed further. The Second Gate—Gate of Rest—snapped open.
Another vein bulged on his forehead, his skin darkening further.
The pain was fierce, stabbing into his skull, but he no longer cared. What he felt instead was raw strength coursing through him. He lashed out, his legs whipping with explosive force.
Inoka's eyes went wide. His "guaranteed strike" had been stopped—and now Ryosuke was even faster, even stronger.
He couldn't keep up. Ryosuke's kick crashed into him, sending him flying, his body smashing into the ground.
Shock painted Inoka's face. A moment ago their taijutsu had been even. Had Ryosuke been hiding his power all along?
No. This sudden, overwhelming strength had to come from some secret art. Something Inoka had never heard of, even within the clan.
His body ached, but his pride refused to yield. He dragged himself up, Sharingan spinning as he tried to read Ryosuke's movements.
But what he saw only made his heart pound harder—Ryosuke's speed and power had skyrocketed. He was forced onto the defensive, blocking desperately against strikes that crashed down with crushing force.
'This is impossible… how could taijutsu rise to such a level?!'
Ryosuke pressed in, chaining his attacks together. His foot whipped into a Leaf Whirlwind, the kick carrying lethal force.
Inoka knew he couldn't dodge. To take it head-on meant defeat, but he had no choice but to meet it with his own leg.
Their strikes collided. The clash threw Inoka backward, straining his body, but he managed to block.
Barely.
If that blow had landed cleanly, the fight would have been over instantly.
Then Ryosuke's body twisted again. A feint—no, a follow-up. His other leg snapped out in a spinning back-heel kick.
The Sharingan caught it—but Inoka's body couldn't keep up.
The heel smashed into him, hurling him through the air before he crashed hard into the ground.
The watching Uchiha elites gasped, their faces paling.
"Did Ryosuke just… defeat Inoka?"
One murmured in disbelief.
"That taijutsu—those two-stage kicks… impressive. Not many could have predicted or blocked that."
Even they admitted: caught off-guard, they too might have fallen to such a move.
Ryosuke didn't press the attack. This wasn't a death match.
He looked calmly at his fallen opponent.
"Is that all? If so, don't bother me again."
Inoka slowly pushed himself up, eyes complicated as they locked onto Ryosuke.
In that moment, he understood. Perhaps Ryosuke really had gained something valuable training under Might Guy.
No fool could fight like this.
"What was that move just now?"
"Leaf Whirlwind," Ryosuke replied flatly.
Inoka mouthed the name, the memory of its whirlwind ferocity still fresh. He hadn't expected the hidden second kick. Refined and merciless.
"Did you… create that yourself?"
Ryosuke shook his head.
"No. I learned it from Might Guy."
Not just his taijutsu—he had inherited Guy's combat awareness as well.
At last, Inoka admitted defeat. In the Uchiha clan, strength was everything. Ryosuke's taijutsu had surpassed his own, and there was no longer any reason to scorn him for it.
But pride flared again. Taijutsu might be Ryosuke's strength—but genjutsu was his own.
His Sharingan spun faster, scarlet tomoe glinting with a sinister light.
Ryosuke's head reeled, the world spinning around him.
'Genjutsu,' he realized immediately, focusing his chakra, forcing his will against the illusion's grip.
In that instant, the system's voice rang out in his mind:
"Your Sharingan rages at the insult—how dare another try to harm you? Training accelerated. Ocular power greatly enhanced!"
A rush of warmth filled his eyes. The dizziness vanished, his mind cleared, and he felt his Sharingan surge with new strength.
Still, he let his gaze go dull, feigning vacancy as though he had fallen to the illusion.
The watching clansmen exhaled in relief. They had thought Inoka would lose, but now—using genjutsu—he had turned the tables. Once again, the Sharingan had proven superior to mere taijutsu.
Inoka himself smirked, striding confidently toward Ryosuke.
"Seems training the Sharingan is the wiser path after all."
But then—
"Do you really think so?"
The voice came from Ryosuke's slack lips.
Inoka froze, horror flashing in his eyes. Impossible—his genjutsu had failed?
Before he could react, Ryosuke's fist slammed into him, sending him flying once more.