Chapter 13: The Gentle Fist's Roar
The first rays of dawn had barely touched the windows of the Hyuga compound when Shinra was already up, moving through his morning routine with practiced efficiency. After a quick wash, he prepared a simple but hearty breakfast, fueling his body for the day ahead.
Once finished, he didn't immediately head to the training grounds. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the tatami mat in his living room, cycling his chakra. Today was the day the clan distributed its monthly stipend, and Shinra didn't want to miss it. His funds were running dangerously low, nearly seven-tenths depleted. He was counting on this subsidy and the orphan's pension from his late father.
Shortly after seven o'clock, his eyes snapped open. "Finally."
A few minutes later, the door to his small house slid open without ceremony. A Hyuga Chunin in his twenties stepped inside, his face a mask of cold indifference. He wordlessly tossed a small pouch of ryo onto the floor.
"This is your stipend," he said, his voice dripping with disdain.
He then reached into his ninja pouch and pulled out a scroll, handing it over with a look of profound disgust. "This contains the Chakra Refinement Technique and our Hyuga Gentle Fist. While you will likely fail to cultivate anything worthwhile, the clan does not neglect its obligations, however... disappointing."
Without another word, the Chunin turned and left, the door sliding shut behind him with a definitive click.
"So much for a warm, familial touch," Shinra muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He picked up the scroll, unrolling it to find not only the basic chakra instructions but also the method for the Gentle Fist: Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms.
"Well, something is better than nothing," he conceded, storing the scroll securely. It was time to train.
Back at his secluded spot on the mountain, Shinra formed the cross-handed seal. "Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
With ten puffs of smoke, ten identical copies of himself appeared. He handed them the Gentle Fist scroll. "Learn this," he commanded, before turning to his own grueling physical regimen.
In the afternoon, a sudden poof of smoke announced the dispersal of one clone, followed quickly by the others. A flood of knowledge and muscle memory surged into him—the precise chakra control, the intricate footwork, the flowing, circular motions of the Sixty-Four Palms. It was mastered.
He walked up to a thick tree, one a man could not wrap his arms around. He settled into the foundational Gentle Fist stance. A faint, shimmering outline of the Eight Trigrams diagram briefly appeared around his feet.
"Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms!" he shouted.
His hands became a blur, afterimages multiplying in the air as his palms, sheathed in destructive chakra, struck the tree with impossible speed.
"Two palms!"
"Four palms!"
"Eight palms!"
"Sixteen palms!"
"Thirty-two palms!"
"Sixty-four palms!"
The final strike landed. With a deafening BOOM, the massive tree trunk exploded outwards, splintering into a cloud of sawdust and shrapnel that rained down around him.
"No wonder the Hyuga forsake ninjutsu," Shinra breathed, lowering his hands. "The raw destructive force of this technique is easily A-rank." A grim smile touched his lips. "And the clan elders would never have given this to me if they thought I could actually learn it. They expected me to fail."
He sighed. "I can't reveal this. Not yet. If the main family knew a 'failure' like me had mastered their prized technique, they'd be on me like vultures."
Then, an idea sparked. "But... who says the Gentle Fist has to target chakra points? I don't have the Byakugan to see them anyway. If I just use it for its raw, concussive power, it's just a very fast, very powerful taijutsu style. As long as I never reveal the Tenseigan, it should be safe."
He mentally applauded his own cleverness. While it neutered the technique's true, internal-damage potential, its sheer offensive power was more than sufficient for now. "But I'll still keep it in reserve until I'm older and out of the clan's immediate sight."
He formed the seal again. "Shadow Clone Jutsu!" Another ten clones appeared. This time, he didn't give them scrolls. "Spar," he ordered. "No holding back."
The clones immediately launched at each other, their movements a lethal dance of kicks, jabs, and evasions. Shinra watched intently, not for entertainment, but to absorb the combat experience as each clone fought with the desperation of a life-or-death battle. When a clone dispersed, its accumulated experience and instincts flowed back into him.
There can't be many in the entire shinobi world who train this desperately, he thought, not with arrogance, but with cold certainty. Even the legendary diligence of Might Dai and his future son, Rock Lee, couldn't compare to the brutal efficiency of this method.
And so, his life fell into a rhythm: home, the mountain, training. It was a peaceful, if grueling, existence. The only disruption came from Hyuga Hizashi, who, after a year of training himself, had grown confident enough to seek revenge for their previous humiliation. Shinra had promptly slapped that confidence away, sending the boy home with a face even more swollen than his pride.
The clan's condescension continued, their Byakugan-aided stares a constant reminder of his place. But Shinra was content. Every day, he could feel himself growing stronger, and that progress was a reward in itself.
A year passed in this relentless cycle. Shinra had grown, now standing half a head taller than his peers. His power had grown even more.
His chakra reserves had swelled to the level of a Kage. However, the purity and potency of that chakra was only at the level of an elite Chunin. This meant that while he had the fuel for grand techniques, the "octane" of that fuel was low, resulting in ninjutsu far weaker than a true Kage's.
His physical skills, however, had been honed to a razor's edge. Relying on taijutsu alone, he was confident he could defeat a standard Jonin. He estimated his overall "hard" power was comparable to an elite Jonin, though his lack of real-world combat experience would likely be his downfall against a seasoned veteran.
Combat ability is what truly matters, he concluded. And with my abilities, even a Kage would find me impossible to pin down.
This wasn't arrogance. It was a simple assessment of the Spark-Spark Fruit's power. He might not be able to win a direct fight, but he could certainly escape. At the speed of light, not even the Flying Thunder God Technique could easily catch him. He had successfully replicated all of Kizaru's signature moves, the existing template saving him years of development.
Rubbing his Tenseigan, Shinra decided against going to the mountain. He had hit a plateau. His body, for all its enhancements, was still that of a five-year-old. He had pushed it to its absolute developmental limit. No amount of training would yield significant gains now. He needed to grow, both in age and in form. Unless...
He thought of the Super Serum sitting in his system's inventory. But he couldn't bring himself to use it. Not yet. It was a trump card for a more desperate time. For now, he would have to be patient and let time do its work.