Hizashi's sudden speed startled Hirito, but he instinctively took a step back, avoiding Hizashi's direct attack. A few strands of Hirito's hair fluttered from the force of Hizashi's strike, brushing across his forehead.
Hizashi, unfazed by his initial miss, twisted his waist and swung his left arm horizontally. The air seemed to groan as his hand cut through it, the sharp force creating a distinct whine. But Hirito didn't counter; he merely tightened his core and shifted his stance, allowing Hizashi's move to fall short again.
Undeterred, Hizashi pressed forward, shortening the distance with a speed that felt like an arrow in flight. His hand angled toward Hirito's chest, aiming for the sternum. His fingertips grazed the fabric of Hirito's clothes, just on the verge of contact.
But Hirito remained calm. In a flash, he pivoted, his figure blurring out of reach. Hizashi's attack hit empty air.
"A Clone Jutsu?" Hizashi thought, surprised. "No... it's an afterimage!"
His gaze shifted to Hirito, who had reappeared a short distance away. Hizashi frowned.
"Why aren't you attacking?" Hizashi called, eyes narrowing slightly.
Hirito responded with a calm smile. "I wanted to show you the results of my training, Brother Hizashi."
Hizashi took a deep breath, refocusing. "Then let's see it."
This time, his attacks came fiercer, like an unrelenting storm. Fists, palms, and fingers descended upon Hirito in a flurry, raining down with such rapidity that it was hard to tell how many times Hizashi struck each second. His movements blurred, creating the illusion of dozens of arms all reaching out to ensnare Hirito.
Yet Hirito remained untouched. His figure flashed and twisted, shifting from left to right. At times he leaned back, ducked low, arched his body into a bridge, or leapt high, his movements flowing as effortlessly as leaves swept by the wind. Every time Hizashi's strike appeared close enough to hit, Hirito's form would shift, slipping just beyond reach.
With each move, Hizashi grew more astonished. His skills had improved significantly over the years; his speed, strength, and control had all been honed through rigorous training at the border. And yet, despite the strength he was applying, Hirito evaded every strike without breaking a sweat.
And even more surprising, Hirito wasn't using any advanced techniques. No Shunshin no Jutsu or high-level evasion jutsu—just his own agile movement and positioning.
Watching from the sidelines, Shinsuke marveled at the sight. "Is Hirito's taijutsu really this strong?" His normally squinted eyes opened slightly, catching glimpses of the fluidity in Hirito's movements.
"Claw, what's your take?" Shinsuke asked Inuzuka Claw, who, apart from Hizashi, had the best taijutsu among them.
Claw's eyes were locked on the exchange. "He's quick," she replied, her tone serious. "Hard to say if he can keep it up over long distances, but in these short bursts, Hirito's speed surpasses all of us. It's almost like... he's anticipating Hizashi's moves."
Aburame Ryoma, who stood nearby, nodded slightly under his high-collared coat. "There's something unique about his movement," he said in his typically stoic voice. His insects, sensing the intensity of the battle, stirred beneath his cloak. Though not a physical fighter himself, Ryoma could recognize the grace in Hirito's form, his body flowing with an ease that seemed almost preternatural.
Meanwhile, Hizashi grew more determined. His strikes, just centimeters from Hirito each time, felt infuriatingly close. Despite his attempts to increase speed and precision, he still couldn't touch Hirito. The realization only fueled his resolve further.
"What level has Hirito's taijutsu reached?" Hizashi wondered. "And should I use Gentle Fist?"
Up on a nearby tree, the observing teammates exchanged glances. Claw, intently studying the duel, shook her head. "Hirito hasn't even struck back. Hard to gauge his strength without a counter."
"Check his chakra flow," Ryoma said, his voice calm and thoughtful.
Shinsuke, closing his eyes briefly, activated his sensory abilities. Moments later, he opened his ice-blue eyes, his expression shifting to one of surprise. "It's... dense and steady, like a sharpened blade. I've never sensed chakra quite like this."
Ryoma's brows lifted, intrigued. "So he's not only skilled in taijutsu but carries a unique chakra signature as well. Impressive."
Hizashi, meanwhile, felt a surge of determination as he prepared himself for a final attempt. He crouched slightly, his stance lowering, left hand in front, right palm drawn back. His entire body seemed to radiate a strange, potent energy.
Hirito's expression shifted slightly. He knew what was coming. As another Hyuga, he understood the chakra-based technique Hizashi was setting up: the Eight Trigrams field.
"Gentle Fist Art – Eight Trigrams, Two Palms!" Hizashi's voice rang out as he charged forward, his speed boosted by the Eight Trigrams lock-on technique. His strikes, infused with the light-blue glow of Gentle Fist chakra, came faster and harder than before, striking like rain.
"Four palms! Eight palms! Sixteen palms!"
The air hummed with the chakra-infused force of Hizashi's attack, but despite the barrage, Hirito continued to dodge effortlessly. His skin, barely grazing the incoming strikes, seemed attuned to Hizashi's every move, almost as if he could predict each one.
Through his clothes, a strange, subtle vibration rippled across Hirito's skin. Tiny hairs stood on end, finely tuned to the smallest shifts in air pressure and movement.
This was Eight Trigrams Flow—a technique derived from the acute sensitivity that allowed him to "hear" movements through touch and subtle vibrations. Like a bird sensing spring's warmth or a cicada feeling the breeze of autumn, Hirito sensed each of Hizashi's intentions, moving just enough to stay untouched.
It was as though his very being had anticipated Hizashi's every move. His strength, his rhythm, his instincts—it was all attuned to the flow of the battle, responding seamlessly.
And by the time Hizashi finished the sequence, he found himself standing there, hands folded, breath coming short. Not a single blow had landed on Hirito.
A realization dawned on Hizashi, and he felt a chill run down his spine. In his years of training and border missions, he'd grown strong—strong enough to challenge Jōnin, as Captain Ryoma had once suggested. But here, against Hirito, his attacks felt almost... ineffective.
"Could Hirito have already reached the strength of a Jōnin?" he wondered, his thoughts swirling with doubt and astonishment. And this evasion technique—had it somehow countered the legendary Gentle Fist?
It was almost unthinkable.
"Gentle Fist can't be broken," Hizashi reassured himself. "It's a technique perfected by the Hyuga clan over generations, relying on our Byakugan to pinpoint an opponent's chakra points."
But a lingering thought nagged at him.
"What was that feeling of being predicted?" he mused, casting a curious glance at Hirito.
Across from him, Hirito stood quietly, his expression as calm and composed as it had been since the start. And though Hizashi's questions burned within him, he knew that asking now might not be the time or place, especially if it touched upon secrets within the Hyuga clan.
Taking one last look at Hirito, Hizashi exhaled, resigned. He turned, heading back to the team's tree house.
Hirito glanced up at the observers—Ryoma, Shinsuke, and Claw—who were still watching in awe.
End of the Chapter.
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