The night air was cool, tinged with the faint scent of rain-soaked earth. Daigo stood at the edge of his hidden training ground, staring at the dark tree line. In the quiet, he could hear the distant rustle of leaves and the slow trickle of the stream. The village behind him slept in ignorance, unaware that he was about to push himself past the point of safety.
He knew the risks. Extending the duration of the Gates wasn't just a matter of pain it was a gamble with his body's integrity. Ligaments could tear, muscles could seize, his heart could simply give out. But without testing the limits, he would never know where the breaking point lay.
Tonight, the plan was simple in words but brutal in execution:Open the First, Second, and Third Gates in sequence, hold them longer than ever before, and see what survived him or the training.
He took a knee in the grass, eyes closing as he began the breathing sequence. Inhale for four counts, hold for four, exhale for eight. The rhythm settled his nerves and primed his chakra flow.
The First Gate opened with its usual warmth a surge of oxygen, a sense of strength blooming in every fiber of muscle. It was almost too easy now, the body accepting the enhancement without immediate strain. His heartbeat accelerated, but the rhythm stayed clean.
He moved into shadowboxing tight, sharp strikes combined with low kicks. Each motion snapped through the air with satisfying precision. The First Gate alone felt almost casual now, but he didn't linger.
Daigo forced the Second Gate open. The shift was instantaneous his muscles swelled with oxygen-rich blood, speed doubling, reactions sharpening. His heartbeat thundered, but the rhythm still held.
He launched into a rapid series of MMA-based clinch sequences, blending in taijutsu elbow and knee strikes. The power was intoxicating; his movements felt like blurs in the dark, each strike landing with a dull thud against the wooden training post.
But the timer in his head ticked on. Normally, he would release after 20 seconds to avoid pushing into dangerous fatigue. This time, he let it stretch to 40, then 50. His breathing grew heavier. Sweat dampened his shirt.
The Third Gate was another beast entirely. It didn't just increase output it ripped away the body's natural limiters, pouring raw, unfiltered force into every muscle. The moment it opened, pain flared in his legs and lower back as if his tendons were trying to resist the flood.
Daigo gritted his teeth and dove into movement lunges, high kicks, spinning elbow strikes. Each step left small divots in the dirt, his legs pounding the ground with unnatural strength. His fists cracked against the post hard enough to splinter the wood.
At twenty seconds, his vision began to narrow.At thirty, sparks danced at the edge of his sight.
A sane man would have stopped.
Daigo pressed forward, body screaming with every passing heartbeat. He pushed the sequence into close-quarters combat drills against a set of hanging sandbags. Each strike made them swing wildly, forcing him to adjust footwork under crushing fatigue.
His breath came in harsh, animal bursts. He could feel the micro-tears in his muscles with every motion, heat blooming in his joints like they were grinding against molten steel.
At forty seconds, a sudden cramp locked his left calf. He almost buckled, but instinct forced him to pivot, using the momentum to deliver a spinning back kick into the nearest bag. The impact echoed through the clearing.
By fifty seconds, his heart was hammering erratically. His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.
At sixty seconds, his vision flickered black.
He released the Gates in a single, ragged exhale. The sudden drop felt like falling off a cliff strength draining, balance slipping. His knees hit the ground before he could stop himself.
For a long moment, he just stayed there, head bowed, gulping at the cool night air like a drowning man breaking the surface. His arms trembled violently, every nerve screaming in protest.
He coughed once, tasting the metallic tang of blood at the back of his throat. Small crimson drops spattered the grass.
Too far, part of him thought.Not far enough, another part countered.
Daigo forced himself to crawl to the shed, every movement deliberate to avoid further strain. He collapsed against the wooden wall, sitting with his back pressed to it. His pulse was still erratic, but he could feel it slowly stabilizing.
He closed his eyes and began low-level chakra healing nothing advanced, just enough to ease muscle inflammation and steady his breathing. It was a patch job, not a cure. True recovery would take days.
And that was the point. If his body adapted to this abuse, the next attempt would push further still.
Hours later, when he finally managed to stand, Daigo felt a subtle difference. Not in his raw power, but in his control. Something about holding the Third Gate so long had forced him to develop micro-adjustments to maintain form under crushing strain. The movements felt tighter now, more efficient.
It was a dangerous kind of progress the kind that tempted him to try again sooner than he should.
But he knew better. For now.
As he limped back toward his sleeping quarters, the moonlight cut through the branches, casting his shadow long and thin across the dirt path.
Konoha would never know how close one of its own had come to cardiac failure tonight. And that was exactly how Daigo wanted it.