Uchiha Inaho also wanted to test whether the so-called Eight Gates were really that miraculous.
They said opening all eight gates granted power dozens of times greater than a Kage. If he could reach that level, he would gladly die—so long as the Uchiha could be restored to glory.
Elder Hachidai had told him not to get his hopes up—the training was brutally difficult.
But unless he tried, he wouldn't be able to let it go. Otherwise, he'd always itch with regret.
There was no training method for that art in the clan. The only people he knew who could use it were Might Guy and Uchiha Ryosuke.
Which one should he ask to teach him?
He no longer looked down on Guy, but Ryosuke was a clansman. Naturally, he'd choose his own.
Entering the grove, Inaho soon spotted Ryosuke still drilling taijutsu—pounding out rapid-fire push-ups. Even from a distance he exuded a sense of raw power.
His form was flawless; his speed, blistering.
After a few minutes, Inaho's surprise only grew.
He could do those movements, sure—but not that fast, and not for that long.
If Ryosuke could keep this pace, his strength had definitely risen again.
Ryosuke finished 200 push-ups, stood, and looked at the intruder.
"Why are you here?"
Inaho had come to take a look—but an idea struck him.
"Ryosuke, will you spar with me again?"
The moment Ryosuke heard that, he made up his mind.
A tester walking right up to his door—no sense wasting it. He wanted to gauge exactly where he stood.
Even at his worst, Inaho was an elite jōnin of the Uchiha. He should be a decent measuring stick.
Ryosuke crooked a finger at him. "Come on, then."
Faced with the slightly belittling gesture, Inaho didn't get mad; his expression only grew solemn.
His eyes hardened, turning red as three tomoe spun into place—his Three-Tomoe Sharingan opened.
Ryosuke was a taijutsu fighter; with the Sharingan, Inaho would be better able to handle him.
Seeing Inaho's Sharingan, Ryosuke opened his as well.
But he didn't use the Eight Gates.
Against the Inaho of today, he felt no need.
He sprang forward, legs pumping, and drove a fist straight at Inaho's torso.
Inaho was startled by Ryosuke's speed—and by the weight behind that punch. He had no intention of meeting it head-on.
He slipped aside.
Even so, a fierce gust scraped his cheek.
The fist-wind from that swing—how strong.
If that had landed clean, it wouldn't have ended well.
He'd meant to counter, but Ryosuke's left hand was already cocked and crashing in.
Inaho had no choice but to block.
At first contact he was shocked—the power behind that punch made his forearms ache.
They traded at close range.
But Inaho had no room to strike back; he was pinned under relentless pressure.
For him now, just blocking was an accomplishment.
In the end, a gap opened in his guard and Ryosuke sent him flying with a single blow.
Ryosuke felt satisfied—he was very strong. At full tilt, Inaho wasn't even a match; Ryosuke hadn't needed the Eight Gates to dominate him in taijutsu.
Inaho pushed himself up off the ground.
He was stunned. Two months ago, their taijutsu had been about even. Now he was clearly outclassed, and Ryosuke had beaten him easily without even touching the Eight Gates.
So this was the clan's third top-tier genius—unquestionably a taijutsu prodigy.
Comparing ninjutsu against such a prodigy would be foolish.
Which meant he had to rely on the clan's arts.
His hands flashed through seals.
"Si–Wei–Shen–Hai–Wu–Yin!"
Chakra surged; his chest swelled; he spat a blazing Great Fireball at Ryosuke.
Ryosuke felt nothing in the face of that roaring ball of flame.
At his current speed, he could dodge it easily.
But maybe Inaho meant to use it as cover again.
He wouldn't fall for that a second time.
As the fireball barreled closer, he wondered—what if he just chopped it apart with his hand?
On second thought, better not; he'd scorch his palm.
Then another thought: what if he wrapped chakra around his hand?
He had chakra to spare these days. He and Kurenai weren't… together every day, but often enough. His reserves had shot up—he wasn't the pushover he used to be.
With chakra brimming in him, the urge to cleave the fireball only grew.
And even if it failed, with his recovery he'd be fine by tomorrow.
Resolved, he refined chakra—thick blue chakra wrapped his right hand.
He shaped it as sharply as he could.
All of this took only an instant.
He lunged and chopped into the fireball.
It split cleanly in two, the halves bursting apart and raining flame onto the ground.
Ryosuke's heart skipped—he'd pulled it off. His chakra-clad hand wasn't burned, only a little hot.
He was long since used to pain; a touch of heat meant nothing.
Inaho was dumbstruck.
He'd never seen anyone block his Great Fireball like that.
Enemies either dodged, or met it with their own ninjutsu.
Ryosuke's choice was reckless, perhaps—but it proved how frighteningly strong he was.
And the bigger shock came next.
Ryosuke formed seals of his own.
With a puff and a swirl of mist, a clone appeared at his side and charged straight at Inaho.
Ryosuke's thinking was simple.
If this Inaho was a clone, then he'd send a clone to deal with it. No need for his real body to engage—and no risk of getting blindsided by the real Inaho hiding somewhere.
And even if it was a clone, his would be stronger.
He had chakra to pour in, and the more chakra you fed a clone, the stronger it became.