Ryusei understood exactly how Kiyomi fought.

Like most Uchiha, her style started at range: deceptive shuriken patterns, fire releases from every angle, the occasional genjutsu to unsettle, and once the target was worn down or distracted, she closed in with kenjutsu for the kill.

It was clean, proud, and polished, but also predictable.

His own approach this time was different, built on quick adaptation.

He knew his advantages perfectly: superior physical specs in every aspect, stronger taijutsu, and far deeper chakra reserves.

Two plus two equaled four.

If he wanted to win, he simply had to spend chakra as collateral, spam shadow clones to clash with her ninjutsu, and use the chaos to push forward at his top speed.

Her half-baked tricks couldn’t hurt him.

His enhanced perception and processing speed read through her feints; her two-tomoe Sharingan lacked the kind of advanced genjutsu that could lock him down, and even if she had tried, he doubted she could hold him in it.

Her Fire Chakra Flow kenjutsu was dangerous, yes, but not fatal. A graze against his hardened forearms or shins wasn’t enough to overturn his advantage in raw taijutsu.

The real trick, the reason he could flood the field with a dozen shadow clones, was something he had figured out only recently.

In his last battle, he realized you didn’t have to waste all the chakra poured into a clone.

With careful control and his sensory net stretched through their bodies, he could siphon back some of what they hadn’t used when they dispersed.

Even half returning was enough to give him overwhelming momentum against someone like Kiyomi.

That kind of fight was perfect for a taijutsu user like him.

Normally, he didn’t have ten arms to throw out ten Coiling Serpent Fists at once, but if he divided his body into ten, there was a loophole.

Ten bodies meant ten strikes.

And for him, stamina and chakra reserves weren’t the problem, only the logistics.

Now that he had solved it, he could spam shadow clones freely, enough to clash head-on with even C or B-rank ninjutsu like the ones Kiyomi threw at him.

Instead of losing all the chakra he invested when a clone was destroyed, he could siphon back what they hadn’t spent, minus the natural waste during transmission.

It was still a drain, but nothing compared to before.

With that, his path was clear.

His strength was already pushing into Late Jonin territory, and he knew once he opened the First Gate and properly integrated the other three elemental releases he had begun to train, on the lower end, he might well step into that level fully, perhaps in just a month or two.

The clearing was silent, save for the sound of Kiyomi’s blade clattering across the ground.

The five Uchiha officers shifted where they stood among the trees, their expressions darkening.

None of them had expected their captain to be forced down so quickly, not like this, not by a boy they had all been told was a timid weakling from the Academy.

They all fell quiet, each caught between pride and unease.

Still, beneath the stoic silence, their thoughts were clear.

They disliked the boy’s tone with her, his reckless closeness, his casual teasing.

They disliked how their captain’s cheeks flushed and how her Sharingan had faltered.

And more than anything, they disliked how easily he had cut through her proud style and left her on the ground.

For them, it was simple: this “wild boy” wasn’t worthy.

Their captain’s bloodline and future demanded an Uchiha partner, someone to strengthen the clan, not dilute it. And yet, watching from the sidelines, none of them dared step forward.

Because the truth was plain: in this moment, despite their misgivings, he had defeated her.

Kiyomi lay on the ground for a moment longer than she should have, her chest rising and falling, the heat of exertion mingling with something unfamiliar. Defeat. Not just defeat — decisive, clean, undeniable.

Her eyes tracked up to Ryusei as he crouched beside her, that faint, narrow-eyed smile still there. Yet instead of gloating outright, he reached down and clasped her wrist, pulling her smoothly to her feet.

She blinked, startled. “You…” Her voice caught, sharper than she meant. “You’ve been hiding this all along.”

Ryusei tilted his head slightly, his smile carrying a teasing edge, but gentler than before. “I told you before, didn’t I? You were too busy throwing fire at me to listen.”

Her cheeks warmed despite herself.

She snapped her gaze aside, lips tightening, but inside her thoughts spiraled.

She had never been beaten like this, not by anyone of her generation, not even older clan members who sometimes sparred with her.

And certainly not by him — the boy she had once dismissed as a weakling she could torment for fun in the Academy.

She had known he was hiding something, but not this.

Not strength so far beyond what he had ever shown, enough to match even a seasoned Uchiha.

Worse, she realized her own growth had been immense lately.

Her Sharingan sharper, her chakra stronger.

Ten-year seniors struggled to keep up with her now.

Yet against him, that didn’t matter.

He had broken through her style as if it was already solved.

A pang of guilt threaded through her chest.

If he was hiding this much, there had to be a reason.

Not pride, not arrogance. Survival.

Her grandfather’s whispers about the rot at the heart of Konoha came back to her.

Shinobi like him, too talented and too independent, made enemies.

What if he had already been fighting in the shadows all along, cornered again and again, while she was only adding to the pressure by pestering him?

Her throat tightened. “I…” she started, then bit it back.

She wouldn’t admit that her chest ached, that she was worried.

She wouldn’t say aloud that she was sad for him, for the situation he must be in.

Instead, she forced her expression back into its usual mask, Sharingan spinning faintly.

“Don’t think I’ll let this stand,” she said coldly, though her voice wavered.

Ryusei only chuckled softly, still holding her wrist for a second longer before letting go.

“Of course not. I’d expect nothing less from the Uchiha princess. But maybe next time, try aiming to win… not just to vent.”

The words slipped past her guard like a knife. Because she knew, deep down, he was right.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her thoughts churned louder than her voice.

He wasn’t hiding strength to mock her.

He was hiding it to survive.

And she… she had been blind to it, making things harder for him all along.

For the first time, she wasn’t angry that she had lost.

She was simply astonished.

And more than that, unsettled by the strange mix of guilt, admiration, and something else twisting inside her.

Kiyomi’s five subordinates shifted uneasily at the edge of the clearing.

None of them spoke, but Ryusei could feel their eyes on the two of them, trying and failing to make sense of what they had just witnessed, with him holding her wrist and everything.

Kiyomi noticed too. Her pride screamed at her to shove his hand away, to stand on her own, to scorch his smug smile off his face with words or fire.

But her body betrayed her. She stayed where she was, standing close to him, wrist still tingling from his grip.

Finally, she yanked her hand back, slower than she wanted, and forced her voice into something sharp again. “Next time, I’ll crush you for real.”

Ryusei gave her that same narrow-eyed smile, a half-curved line that somehow looked polite and mocking at once. “Next time, I’ll look forward to it. Just don’t make me wait another two months.”

Her heart skipped at that, heat rushing to her face before she could stop it.

She turned abruptly, cape of her uniform flaring, and strode past her squad. “We’re leaving.”

The five men fell in behind her instantly, though two exchanged quick glances at Ryusei, their suspicion obvious.

Ryusei watched them vanish back into the treeline, the sound of their retreating steps fading.

Only then did he exhale, rolling his shoulders loose again.

‘Complicated girl,’ he thought, wiping a bead of sweat from his jaw. ‘But useful.’

His mind was turning, cool and sharp. She wasn’t just some nuisance anymore.

The way she looked at him at the end, proud, shaken, guilty, that was the look of someone already halfway ensnared.

Ryusei compared his current progress with Kiyomi and Kanae and found it ironic.

He had spent infinitely more time and effort with Kanae, yet somehow his progress with Kiyomi seemed to have overtaken hers in just a fraction of that.

Not because Kiyomi was easy to sway, but because Kanae carried heavier mental baggage.

Her clan and her suffocating position as a member of the Side Branch, maybe some hidden past or concerns, had built walls around her, layers of caution and restraint.

Kiyomi, by contrast, wore no such shell. Proud, sharp, and straightforward, she let herself react, even if that reaction came in the form of fireballs and shuriken.

Ryusei also compared Kanae and Kiyomi in terms of looks.

Kiyomi had the kind of pretty, seductive face you’d expect from a flirt or temptress, not a tsundere, that would only get more pronounced as she aged.

Maybe that was her final form: once she liked you fully, the knives would turn into perfume. Ryusei was curious to see that day arrive, and more curious to feel it.

Kanae, on the other hand, looked exactly like her personality read, at least on a first glance.

Beautiful, but ethereal and untouchable, her bright, violet-tinted eyes sealed the impression.

She was the kind of girl whose silence cut off half the room before she even spoke.

And yet… if you looked closer, adjusted her micro-expressions just a little, her face tilted into something else.

Something softer, almost like a younger version of Hinata from that last movie Ryusei had watched in his old world, but with longer and slightly wavier hair, of course.

Gentle, quiet, carrying that faint aura of a wife waiting in the background.

He could already imagine unlocking that side of her, too.

And, if he had to guess, she was probably destined to grow just as plump as Hinata one day.

After all, putting her against Hanabi, for example, the age-adjusted comparison already tilted heavily in her favor in that department.

Even their hair carried meaning. Kiyomi’s sharp single bang cut across her forehead like a blade, her dark strands mostly straight but left just messy enough at the crown to hint at restless energy.

Kanae’s hair, by contrast, fell in smaller, curved locks that framed her face with quiet precision, soft waves running through it that gave her an air of measured distance.

One radiated heat, the other cool detachment.

Both were beautiful enough to snare any gaze.

Ryusei never lied to himself about this.

He wasn’t chasing them just as tools, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to move based on looks alone.

Everyone liked pretty and cute things. That was the point of power, wasn’t it? To win the freedom to enjoy any desire without consequence, and Ryusei obviously had a lot of them.

It was just that Ryusei wasn’t qualified yet in his situation to pursue those things at the moment.

Personal security and freedom were his utmost priorities right now.

So, if it were only about looks, temperaments, and attractions, he wouldn’t bother with them at all. But they were useful for some of his other purposes, tied to personal ambition, too.

Yet, in any way, acquiring them, whether as pretty girls who would bloom into something even more striking in a few years or as assets for his rise, would never be easy, since one had a more complicated background than the other.

Still, the reward was worth the trouble if he was cautious.

Meanwhile, as they made their way back through the trees, Kiyomi’s expression hardened into its usual proud mask, yet behind her eyes, concern flickered.

Her mind replayed their short duel again and again, not just his speed and strength, but the way he had read her, broken through her style, and then let her up without malice.

But more importantly, it wasn’t some childish game of hiding strength to look cool or mysterious before during the Academy, but much more serious.

No, there had to be a valid reason, one tied to survival itself. Life-threatening, even.

As her thoughts steadied, Kiyomi began connecting other pieces in her mind. His talent wasn’t normal.

She was a known prodigy of the Uchiha clan, yet manhandled so easily.

At his age, across literally all shinobi dimensions, he was far too refined for someone supposedly of civilian blood.

That was almost impossible. She saw his reserves, for example, that left her stunned. 

Those have everything to do with bloodline, for example, at his age.

So maybe he wasn’t just some anomaly.

Maybe there was a hidden background there, something buried that had forced him into silence, maybe even persecution.

She didn’t know what it was yet, but the thought took root.

Her grandfather, Great Elder Nobukata, might know something.

If anyone in the clan had the breadth of knowledge about Konoha’s darker corners, it would be him.

Perhaps she could probe him, carefully, to sniff out some truth about Ryusei’s origins covertly.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep