The forest was still cloaked in predawn mist when Daigo returned to his training ground. The damp air clung to his skin, chilling his muscles before they could fully warm. He liked this time of day the quiet, the absence of watchful eyes. It was when the world felt smaller, like a sealed space where he could push himself without fear of interruption.
He stood barefoot in the dewy grass, feeling the cold seep up through his feet. His ribs had stopped aching as much, but a lingering stiffness in his left shoulder reminded him of the last high-risk experiment. He rolled the joint slowly, listening to the faint pop before settling into his stance.
It was about testing his limits within known territory seeing just how far the fusion between his MMA background and taijutsu could stretch without snapping.
Daigo closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath, visualizing his chakra network. He pictured the primary pathways, then the secondary lines branching like roots. The exercise was something he'd stolen from meditation practices in the village, but here, alone, he twisted it into something harsher. Instead of aiming for calm, he aimed for heightened focus sharpening every nerve until his body felt on edge, like a bowstring drawn tight.
He opened the First Gate. The surge came instantly, that familiar flood of raw physical potential surging into his muscles. It was intoxicating and dangerous. He shifted his footing, channeling the extra force into a rapid jab-cross combination against the heavy post. Wood splintered with each strike.
He transitioned into a low kick, following through with a spinning elbow. Every movement was drilled with the precision of his MMA roots but augmented by the speed boost from the Gate. Sweat began to drip from his jawline.
The First Gate was sustainable, but the real test was pushing further.
Daigo exhaled sharply and forced the Second Gate open. His pulse skyrocketed; he could feel every beat hammering through his chest. The raw speed increase was exhilarating, but it came with a constant undertone of strain like running a blade across rope and wondering when it might snap.
He launched into a hybrid sequence starting with a shinobi-style feint, sliding forward at an impossible angle, then switching into a grappling clinch meant to drive an opponent to the ground. He transitioned smoothly into a taijutsu-based heel drop, slamming his foot into the post's side with enough force to send cracks running through it.
By the end of the sequence, his lungs burned, his vision slightly tunneling at the edges. He released the Gates, breathing raggedly.
Good.That level of exhaustion meant progress.
By noon, the mist had burned away, and Daigo moved to his secondary training site an uneven rocky slope leading into a shallow ravine. He had chosen this area specifically for its hazards. The jagged stones and unpredictable footing forced constant micro-adjustments in balance and stance, a perfect testing ground for movement under duress.
The goal was simple: execute full-power techniques on unstable ground without losing form.
He began with short sprints up and down the incline, forcing his legs to fire in irregular patterns. Each footfall had to be calculated in real time, every step a negotiation between speed and stability.
Midway through a run, his right foot slipped on loose gravel, sending him pitching forward. Instinct kicked in Daigo tucked his shoulder and rolled, absorbing the impact and springing back to his feet. It wasn't clean, but it was functional.
Instead of resetting, he doubled down. He began chaining attacks into his sprints leaping from stone to stone, delivering kicks mid-air, then transitioning into defensive rolls on landing. The unpredictability simulated combat in environments where footing couldn't be trusted.
At one point, he overcommitted to a side kick, the stone beneath his supporting foot shifting violently. His ankle twisted, pain flaring sharp and immediate.
He gritted his teeth and steadied himself.The pain was tolerable no tearing, just a reminder to respect the terrain.
Water Resistance Drill
By late afternoon, Daigo returned to the stream. The current was higher than the last time, swollen by recent rain. It was perfect.
He waded in waist-deep, muscles tensing against the push of the water. Here, every movement was magnified in difficulty speed bled away by resistance, balance challenged by the constant pull of the current.
He began practicing knee strikes, driving upward through the water's drag. Each repetition required more effort than the last, but the reward was power conditioning. After several sets, he shifted to elbow strikes, forcing his upper body to work against the stream.
Then he took it further closing his eyes and relying purely on proprioception. Without sight, his movements slowed but grew sharper in intention. He could feel the minute adjustments in his core, the way his stabilizing muscles engaged more deeply.
When his legs finally trembled from the strain, he stepped out, water streaming off him in sheets. His breath came heavy, but he felt the subtle improvements the tiny refinements to posture and control.
Nightfall Precision
As darkness fell, Daigo returned to his shed for one last session. This was his precision work small, controlled experiments in chakra manipulation during rapid movements.
He set up thin paper targets suspended by string. The challenge was to strike them with just enough force to tear cleanly without shredding the edges a test of both speed and fine control.
The first few attempts were sloppy. His strikes either missed entirely or tore the paper unevenly. But after twenty minutes, his breathing steadied, and his hands began finding the perfect balance.
He started chaining it with footwork strike, pivot, duck, strike again all while adjusting his chakra output mid-motion.
By the time the last target fluttered to the ground, Daigo's arms were heavy, but a quiet satisfaction filled him.
The Realization
As he sat in the corner of the shed, sipping from a water flask, Daigo thought about the progression.
His techniques were stronger, faster, and more adaptable than they had been even a week ago. But they still weren't finished. There were gaps small, but dangerous if exploited by an opponent of true skill.
He knew he couldn't just chase raw power. The fusion style he was building demanded discipline. Every enhancement had to be sustainable under real-world conditions. If he broke himself in training, all of this would be for nothing.
And yet…A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe breaking himself just enough was the only way to reach the next stage.
That was the razor's edge he would walk.
In the darkness, Daigo flexed his hands, the faint sting of split knuckles grounding him in the present.
No one in Konoha knew how far he was pushing himself. No one could intervene, no one could stop him.
And until his style was complete, that was exactly how it would stay.