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Inside the arena.
Yūhi Makoto stared at the smear of red on his fingertip, then lifted his gaze to the samurai standing there with his blade already sheathed, breathing perfectly steady.
Finally he raised his hand toward the referee and spoke, voice a little hoarse. "I concede."
He turned to Isshin and asked the question on everyone's mind. "How did you do that? My genjutsu definitely landed."
Isshin just gave him a flat look, like the guy had asked something childish. "What gave you the illusion I was ever caught in your genjutsu?"
Illusion?
Makoto's brows pulled tight.
He had absolute faith in the secret technique he'd spent years perfecting. The binding pressure he'd felt when it struck the samurai had been real. But the other man clearly wasn't about to hand over his secrets.
Makoto knew pushing would get him nowhere—no one spilled their trump card for free. He gave Isshin one last long look, nodded once, and walked off the field with heavy steps.
The truth was simpler than anyone guessed.
Isshin had been pulled into the genjutsu. The moment the clone's mind got dragged into Red Lotus's crimson prison, the main body—Shinichi Higashino—sitting up in the stands stayed completely untouched.
After all, the one caught was the clone. What did that have to do with Shinichi?
It was like a jinchuriki and tailed beast, except the mental link between the two bodies was tighter, faster, and more perfectly synced than any jinchuriki bond in history.
Think of it as a dual-core processor. When one core got hit and started lagging or freezing, the other core instantly took full control.
The second Makoto let his guard down and stepped in close, Shinichi's main consciousness bypassed the genjutsu-locked clone and seized the massive body like a commander overriding the system. Then he unleashed that thunderous counter.
After beating Makoto, Isshin didn't leave the field. Instead he looked straight up at the VIP platform, voice booming across the noisy arena.
"Third Hokage, sir! That guy was decent, but I'm still not satisfied!" He flashed a grin, but his tone dripped pure disappointment. "Konoha's supposed to be the strongest of the Five Great Hidden Villages. Don't tell me you don't have anyone who can really get my blood pumping. If this is all you've got, the huge fee I paid for this mission feels like a rip-off."
"Arrogant bastard!"
"Who the hell do you think you are?!"
"You're pushing it too far! Makoto just slipped up!"
"Won one fight by luck and now you think you're hot shit!"
"Get the hell out of Konoha! We don't want you here!"
The cocky words hit the stands like a match in a gas tank. The crowd's bottled-up anger and humiliation exploded. Curses and roars crashed down like a tidal wave. Plenty of Leaf ninja were red-faced, looking ready to jump the barrier and settle it themselves.
Facing the boiling outrage and the direct slap at the village, Third Hokage Hiruzen Sarutobi's expression didn't flicker. He kept that same calm, gentle smile that said everything was under control.
He raised one hand and pressed down lightly in the air. Strangely, the deafening roar died out almost instantly—proof of the unmatched respect he commanded.
"Since Mr. Isshin feels he hasn't had enough fun yet…" the Third spoke slowly, voice mild but carrying to every corner, "Konoha naturally won't disappoint a guest who's come from so far away."
In the clan viewing section, Hyūga clan head Hyūga Hiashi's face stayed stone-cold. He turned slightly and spoke in a low voice to the man beside him. "Hizashi. You're up."
"Yes, Clan Head." Hyūga Hizashi stood without hesitation. He flickered into the arena, first bowing respectfully toward the Third Hokage. "Third Hokage, sir. Konoha Jonin Hyūga Hizashi, requesting permission to fight."
"Ah, Hizashi." The Third nodded. "Then please give Mr. Isshin a proper match. Make sure our guest enjoys himself."
"Understood, Lord Hokage." Hizashi turned to Isshin, sliding into the classic Gentle Fist opening stance. Veins bulged around his eyes as the pure white Byakugan activated, locking onto his opponent like twin spotlights.
A Hyūga clan jonin stepping in personally!
The mood in the stands flipped again. Anger gave way to surging excitement and confidence.
"Finally! It's the Hyūga!"
"Byakugan and Gentle Fist are the perfect counter for a brute who only knows how to charge!"
"Let's see him act tough now! One Gentle Fist strike and even that monster body will collapse!"
"Show him what real Leaf power looks like, Jonin Hizashi!"
"To the Hyūga clan! Teach him some respect!"
In the villagers' eyes, the Hyūga were one of the oldest and most respected shinobi clans in the world. Their Byakugan saw through every chakra flow and pressure point. Gentle Fist could inject chakra straight into an enemy's body, shredding meridians and organs from the inside. No matter how tough the outside looked, the inside would crumble.
This guy who relied on raw physical power? Perfect matchup.
"Konoha Jonin, Hyūga Hizashi."
"Land of Iron, Ashina Style Isshin."
Names exchanged, courtesies kept short. The instant the referee's hand dropped—
BOOM!
Just like before—only even more savage.
The stone beneath Isshin's feet exploded into fragments. He became a blurry afterimage, tearing forward with a deafening sonic crack like an out-of-control war chariot.
Simple. Direct. Speed and power pushed to the absolute limit. The sheer momentum was terrifying.
Hyūga Hizashi's veins stood out even sharper around his eyes. The Byakugan's unmatched perception caught every twitch of Isshin's muscles, every surge of chakra.
He had zero intention of meeting force with force. His feet glided like he was walking on wind, body light as a leaf in a breeze. At the last possible instant he slid sideways, dodging the head-on charge that could have smashed boulders.
At the same time his right hand formed a sword-like thrust, fingertip packed with concentrated Gentle Fist chakra. Silent, precise, and vicious, he stabbed straight at the exposed side of Isshin's waist.
Gentle Fist—Pressure Point Strike!
If that finger landed, even Isshin's freakish physique would have the chakra flow to his kidneys cut off instantly, throwing off his balance and power output.
But the moment Hizashi's fingertip was about to brush fabric—
Everything changed.
Isshin's massive frame, leaning forward from the charge, suddenly froze with an unnatural, inertia-defying smoothness. His left arm whipped backward like a boneless python. The clenched fist came around like a swung sledgehammer, howling through the air at a brutal angle, straight up toward Hizashi's temple.
A savage counter that attacked the attacker—trading blows without hesitation!