CHAPTER 160: CHAPTER 160: STEALING MASTER

Chapter 160: Stealing Master

Under the scorching sun, deep within a barren stretch of forest far from Konoha’s gate, the ground split with jagged cracks, giving the terrain an eerie sense of instability. Twisted branches and leaves had been swept aside by some great force, clearing a wide, circular area—like a giant’s broom had scoured the earth clean.

At the edge of this battle-scarred arena, the burly man with the horn-like hairstyle stood pale and drenched in sweat. He hadn’t expected to lose in close combat.

Standing at the center of the cleared land, Ryosuke remained still, his gaze locked onto the man with calm, patient eyes. His Byakugan glowed faintly, tracking the flow of chakra and the subtle contractions of muscle across his opponent’s body.

From the start of their battle, every move—both physical and internal—had been imprinted into Ryosuke’s mind in intricate detail.

Maybe... just maybe... this world was becoming more interesting. Someone—or something—was stirring the pot.

He already had a good idea of who this man was... but he didn’t care to dig deeper. Time would reveal everything in due course.

"Continue?"

Unable to contain his anticipation any longer, Ryosuke asked coolly.

He wanted to see more—more of that strange physical style, more of what this opponent’s body could do.

"...Continue."

The big man hesitated briefly, clearly in mental conversation with the White Zetsu latched onto him. But a moment later, he charged again—his speed noticeably faster, his approach drastically different.

He leapt into a sideways flip, arms and legs extended like a gymnast on a balance beam. The torque of his massive body created incredible momentum, and soon, he was spinning horizontally like a wheel—rolling straight toward Ryosuke with destructive force.

His entire body had hardened again, muscle fibers compressed like steel—just as they had when he absorbed Ryosuke’s earlier Gentle Fist strike.

"Bull Charge? Or... Invincible Hot Wheels?" Ryosuke mused aloud, dodging gracefully like a bullfighter evading a raging beast.

His gaze remained analytical, following every rotation, every tensed fiber, every flicker of chakra.

Despite the showy charge, Ryosuke noted a pattern. The move wasn’t new—it was simply a fusion of the man’s earlier movement techniques: enhanced footwork, tension-based speed bursts, and whip kicks now coiled into a spinning mass.

Effective against regular opponents.

But not him.

The man circled and came back, barreling through again. The spinning kicks sliced the broken ground, leaving deep scars on the earth.

Another pass. Another dodge.

It really did feel like a matador toying with an increasingly frustrated bull.

And while Ryosuke moved effortlessly, his opponent was growing slower with each rotation.

But Ryosuke had no plans to dodge forever.

"Tense the muscles... pull them together..."

After several close observations, Ryosuke’s interest peaked. He wanted to understand—not just counter—the brute’s technique.

When the man came again, Ryosuke didn’t move aside.

He dropped his stance, knees bending, spine coiling like a loaded spring.

He wasn’t going to dodge.

He was going to meet it head-on.

If his opponent could generate this kind of power with raw muscle control, then Ryosuke, whose physical training had long surpassed elite standards, had no reason to shy away.

In an instant, all of Ryosuke’s muscle fibers tensed—refined by years of Gentle Fist training and battle-hardened instinct.

Using the brute’s exact technique, down to the muscle rhythm and breathing patterns, Ryosuke stepped forward—

—then struck.

The moment his feet touched the ground, the earth fractured beneath him. Dust and rock erupted as he lunged like a drawn bowstring, arm sweeping upward with crushing force.

His Gentle Fist style infused the strike with penetrating chakra, while his newly learned muscle-locking method amplified the raw impact.

And just like that... something inside him shifted.

His physical development, which had hit a bottleneck after his third chakra evolution, surged.

Two meteors collided.

A violent tremor shook the area as Ryosuke’s iron-hardened arm clashed with the spinning juggernaut. The shock of contact was immediate, explosive. The heat radiating from both their bodies was like fire slamming into a forge.

Wind blasted outward in every direction, kicking up another massive wave of destruction that rattled the distant battlefield near Konoha’s gates.

BOOM!

The sound rang out like thunder.

Both fighters were knocked back.

But while Ryosuke landed calmly on his feet, the other man stumbled, dazed. His complexion turned deathly pale, and he staggered, clearly reaching his physical limit.

His wide, stunned eyes locked onto Ryosuke in disbelief.

"You... learned it...?"

Ryosuke’s lips curved into a grin.

He didn’t answer.

But the excitement in his eyes said everything.

Whether it was the thrill of battle after a long lull or the joy of breakthrough after stagnation, something in him had awakened.

"Im verry happy!" Ryosuke shouted—not inwardly, but out loud.

He usually fought in silence. But now? Now he was grinning like a child in a candy store.

Yes—this was the kind of battle that spurred growth. Not overwhelming power. Not domination.

But a clash where both sides pushed the other.

Before his opponent could recover, Ryosuke vanished.

No chakra-assisted movement. No flicker of a jutsu.

Just raw speed.

Within a breath, he reappeared in front of the man and unleashed a whip-like kick—sharpened through perfected body control.

Instinctively, the man raised his arms, muscles flexing to absorb the hit.

But—

SPLAT!

Blood sprayed into the air. A deep wound tore across his arm, bone faintly visible beneath the torn flesh.

"Argh!"

He screamed. Anger flared behind the pain, and his eyes blazed.

The pale skin from earlier—White Zetsu’s parasitic shell—spread rapidly across his body.

Ryosuke wasn’t surprised.

"Looks like we’re finally getting serious."

The man’s form warped.

Sharp wooden branches burst from his limbs like jagged spears. Dozens—maybe hundreds—shot toward Ryosuke, aimed to skewer him from every direction.

But Ryosuke didn’t retreat.

The branches struck his body like iron needles—and bounced off.

They left shallow cuts, nothing more.

In the past, these Wood Style attacks would’ve forced him to evade. Now, they barely slowed him down.

The man seized that moment and reached into the air—tearing reality open like fabric.

A glowing, circular rift appeared—some kind of portal, a spatial technique.

A desperate escape route.

But Ryosuke was already moving.

CRACK!

A kick slammed into the man’s torso, hurling him away from the portal before he could step through. The doorway flickered—then vanished.

"Continue," Ryosuke said simply.

Two words.

But behind them pulsed a storm of fighting spirit.

More wooden spikes erupted from the ground, flashing like spears toward Ryosuke’s chest.

It was like watching a small animal caught in the middle of a battle between a tiger and a leopard.

The Wood Release techniques unleashed by White Zetsu barely made a dent. They weren’t even enough to serve as interference—Ryosuke sliced through them with ease, never breaking pace.

He didn’t care who the man in front of him really was. He didn’t care how he ended up here, or what secrets lay beneath his strange strength.

Whether it was that unfamiliar fighting style so unlike any traditional shinobi art... or the parasitic White Zetsu multiplying out of his body... Ryosuke ignored it all.

Wood Release? Six Styles? None of it mattered.

The only thing he recognized—the only thing that truly stirred his heart—was that this battle had become a perfect training ground.

A place to sharpen what had dulled.

The afterimages of Ryosuke’s fists and palms grew faster and denser, a storm of attacks flowing with relentless rhythm.

Even with White Zetsu splitting into auxiliary limbs to block or parry, the giant could no longer fight back. Escape was impossible. Defense was crumbling. Every time he tried to push forward, Ryosuke was already there, pressing in, tighter and tighter.

Every part of Ryosuke’s body became a lethal weapon. Even a single finger, with enough control, could tear bloody gashes into the man’s iron-tough skin.

And those parts that weren’t proficient yet?

Simple—he just used them again and again until they were.

In the brief moments that passed since the counterattack began, the stranger’s body had become a canvas of bleeding cuts. While White Zetsu did his best to heal the damage, Ryosuke’s strikes were faster than the recovery.

Meanwhile, Ryosuke hadn’t sustained a single wound.

His clothes were dusted with dirt, but that was the only evidence he’d even been in a fight.

Perhaps... the man still hadn’t shown his full strength.

Perhaps he needed more pressure.

Ryosuke shifted into a stance he had long mastered, one deeply engraved into his body.

"Is that all? I know you’ve got more than this," he said, his tone casual, but his white eyes glinting with challenge.

Maybe it was called Shave. Maybe it was Iron Body.

Whatever the names were, these strange movements—this foreign martial art—had stirred something deep in Ryosuke’s silent heart.

And he had already begun integrating them into his own style.

Specifically—into his Gentle Fist.

"Eight Trigrams—Sixty-Four Palms."

His stance looked familiar, but the aura around him had transformed.

It was no longer just a defensive kata. It had become something much more dangerous.

Across from him, the horned brute—Bruno—felt a chill creep down his spine. Drenched in sweat and dizzy from ten minutes of brutal combat, he could feel the cold edge of death drawing near.

But in that moment—faced with annihilation—his spirit steadied.

"Weakling... you die first!"

With a roar that mixed fear, fury, and desperation, Bruno lunged forward with everything he had.

Ryosuke’s eyes narrowed.

Through his Byakugan, he could see it clearly—beyond the flaring chakra, something deeper was moving within Bruno’s body. A physical power, raw and unrefined, was being drawn into his fists.

But as Ryosuke raised a hand to intercept, a warning alarm rang inside his chest.

Danger.

Real danger.

Instantly, chakra surged into his eyes, pushing his Byakugan beyond its limits. The faint glow turned sharp, fierce.

BOOM!

The world warped.

As if Ryosuke had plummeted from a cliff, the ground beneath him collapsed inward. A crater ten meters deep formed beneath his feet in an instant.

At its center... Bruno lay unconscious, crushed by an unseen force.

Unlike most who had endured Ryosuke’s suppressive power and crumbled like dust, Bruno had survived—barely. His monstrous physique had held just long enough. But the White Zetsu attached to him had been obliterated.

Ryosuke exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing at the motionless body.

"...Was that... the fruit’s ability?"

He walked toward the corpse cautiously. There was still lingering tension in his limbs. That moment—when death had flickered within reach—had left a mark.

Kneeling, Ryosuke pressed his palm against Bruno’s cooling forehead, hoping to extract some lingering memory or hint of identity.

But all he got were scattered, fading fragments.

Bruno had died with his secrets intact.

With a quiet sigh, Ryosuke pulled a tiny scroll from his ninja pouch. He unsealed a full-sized scroll, then stored Bruno’s mangled body inside.

A rare opponent... and a valuable body for later study.

---

Meanwhile, at the gates of Konoha, the battle still raged.

Black Zetsu’s reckless gamble—mobilizing a Kirigakure unit under false pretenses just to test Ryosuke—had brought chaos.

And yet, this mock invasion had real consequences.

The Mist shinobi may have been deceived, but their numbers and strength were real. Especially when they suddenly appeared at Konoha’s doorstep, bypassing all outer defense lines.

The response had been immediate—but not fast enough.

Great torrents of water surged through the village. Massive Water Dragons crashed through walls and homes. In the face of such destruction, individual strength meant little.

Even with Jiraiya and Tsunade leading the defense... the situation was spiraling.

Not to mention—Tsunade was still hemophobic.

The Mist ninjas had already pushed into Konoha’s outer sector.

Residents had evacuated to the inner districts when the sirens first rang, but the village was still vulnerable.

Inside the temporary command post, chaos echoed through the stone walls.

"The great Konoha is being attacked at its front gates! Jiraiya, do something!"

Tsunade’s voice rang with fury as she slammed a palm against the table.

Jiraiya stood silently, his brow furrowed.

"Tsunade," one of the village advisors, Utatane Koharu, said with a sigh. "You have to understand the situation."

"We’re not at full strength," Mitokado Homura added. "During the alliance trip to the Land of Waves, we diverted many jonin. And the Sound invasion took its toll."

"Not to mention," Koharu added, "Danzo and the Root are missing. We’ve been short on elite forces for months."

"The village’s peace recently made us bold," Homura continued. "We sent Genin and Chunin out on missions to develop them faster... but now, the village is nearly defenseless."

"You mean to tell me," Tsunade growled, "that Konoha can’t even defend its own gates?!"

Homura hesitated.

"...That’s the truth."

Kakashi frowned but said nothing. Beside him, Anko paced like a caged animal.

Shikaku spoke calmly, "We’re all veterans. We know what this is. Our best move now is to defend our terrain. Keep the enemy contained. Don’t expand the battlefield."

"The more ground they control, the more we lose. We wait for reinforcements. Then we strike back."

No one argued. Not even Tsunade.

The room fell into tense silence.

Everyone knew—at this moment, a single wrong move could spell disaster.

Konoha’s strength had always been its unity. Its teamwork. Every cell, every squad, every tactic built around cohesion.

This wasn’t the time for lone heroics.

And then—

Crash!

A young Chunin burst into the command tent, panting.

"Ho—Hokage-sama!"

Tsunade and Jiraiya turned.

Before anyone could ask, the Chunin shouted, "The enemy—! They’re retreating! The Mist ninjas are fleeing Konoha!"

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