CHAPTER 159: CHAPTER 159: A GUY WHOSE ORIGIN IS NOT YET KNOWN

Chapter 159: A Guy Whose Origin Is Not Yet Known

On the chaotic battlefield, Mist shinobi roared as they surged forward, aiming to breach Konoha’s defenses.

But their cries came mostly from younger Genin or inexperienced Chunin—shinobi who had no real grasp of the situation.

Behind them, the seasoned Mist Jonin stood silently, their expressions grim and cautious. Clearly, they harbored doubts about this mission.

Among them were several figures Ryosuke recognized—not from fame, but from Hyuga Intelligence reports. These weren’t legendary names from the original timeline. Rather, they were warriors forged in war, veterans with scars and strength alike—once considered serious threats to both the Hyuga and Konoha.

But now... the situation was different.

Within the village, Ryosuke was already moving. He darted across rooftops at blinding speed, chakra-enhanced footsteps silent on the wooden beams. Even the ANBU, hidden in the shadows, failed to detect his presence.

As he approached the village outskirts, he suddenly kicked off a rooftop—and launched into the sky like a human missile. He ascended higher and higher, cutting through the air like a whisper.

The feat left no sonic boom, no swirling gust. His chakra control was so refined that his takeoff barely disturbed a leaf.

Riding the wind, the rush of air roared past his ears, but Ryosuke remained composed as he reached the clouds.

Suspended midair, chakra surging beneath his feet, his Byakugan ignited.

The veins around his temples remained hidden, but his eyes shimmered faintly—bright with clarity and range. The entire Konoha Village spread below him like a living map. The battlefield at the gate came into view, every movement exposed.

And then—he saw him.

"...He’s far."

Ryosuke narrowed his eyes, changed direction midair, and descended like a meteor, a streak of blurred light arcing across the sky.

---

The battlefield outside the village gate was already soaked in blood and chaos.

Smoke from jutsu bombardments mixed with the cries of the wounded. Ninjutsu of all elements had churned the earth to ash and cratered rock.

Though the clash had only lasted minutes, it was far from minor. The Mist had bypassed the Konaha’s outer defenses and launched a full-force assault straight at Konoha’s heart.

It was warfare on the scale of a mid-war blitz—swift, violent, and unannounced.

In that brief span of time, over a thousand lives had been claimed—Konoha and Mist shinobi alike. The battleground was littered with severed limbs and cracked kunai, a brutal reminder that peace had only ever been temporary.

Back in the village, more and more shinobi rallied in response to the emergency orders. Naruto’s report had reached the Hokage, and now the highest level of combat alert had been sounded.

"H-Hey! What’s that?!"

"A new enemy?! No—wait, is it... reinforcements?!"

"Did it come from the village...?"

Heads turned toward the sky as a thin silhouette descended rapidly, too fast for most to track. The pressure in the air shifted. Mist and Konoha shinobi alike paused their battles to glance upward.

Whatever was coming, it wasn’t ordinary.

Even from a distance, it radiated force.

But just as quickly, the figure passed over the battlefield and vanished into the trees beyond—never once slowing down, never glancing their way.

Ryosuke didn’t need to acknowledge the gazes below. He had already seen everything he needed.

When he landed in the dense forest several kilometers from the village, the impact cratered the ground beneath him. Dirt and rock burst outward. Trees toppled, birds scattered, and the land shook from the force of his landing.

A dense cloud of dust swallowed the clearing.

"...Got away, huh?" a voice muttered from within the haze.

Ryosuke stepped out of the dust cloud slowly, eyes narrowed. His gaze fixed ahead—on a hulking figure standing in the distance.

The man was massive.

His body towered like a fortress, black hair gelled into sharp horns with unnatural precision. His frame was layered with muscle, broader than even the Fourth Raikage.

And one side of his body... was pale white.

White Zetsu.

Ryosuke immediately recognized the presence. Black Zetsu, it seemed, hadn’t dared to enter Konoha himself this time. Instead, he had sent White Zetsu—likely to scout after Ryosuke’s last intrusion.

But what truly caught Ryosuke’s attention wasn’t Zetsu—it was the body he had possessed.

This man was a mystery.

"His build and chakra flow... compact. Every fiber of his muscle refined," Ryosuke thought, activating his Byakugan again to scan the internal structure. "He’s trained for close combat. But I’ve never seen him before—either in this life or the one before it."

There were no records in Hyuga Intel. No mention in any archive. Whoever this man was, he didn’t exist in the known world.

"Are you the one who’s been hiding? Always lurking?" the giant spoke slowly, voice low and deliberate.

Ryosuke blinked.

Hiding?

If anyone deserved that accusation, it was Black Zetsu—who had fled the moment Ryosuke sensed him last time. But Ryosuke didn’t bother correcting him.

He didn’t talk during battle unless it mattered.

Instead, he vanished.

In a blink, his figure disappeared from the spot.

The giant tensed. A flicker of alertness passed through his eyes.

A second later, Ryosuke reappeared beside him, palm striking out toward his side.

WHAM—

The attack missed.

The man twisted away, barely evading, his massive body moving with shocking agility. His retreat kicked up a whirlwind of dust and leaves.

Unlike last time, Ryosuke clearly saw it all.

He’d stomped the ground—dozens of times in the span of a second. Each stomp had built up explosive rebound, which he then used to hurl himself sideways at an almost teleportation-like speed.

No chakra tricks. No teleportation.

Just raw, monstrous physical power.

"...He’s fast."

Ryosuke’s brow furrowed. "Too fast for his size."

A dangerous opponent—and one that didn’t belong to any known history.

More troubling still, Ryosuke couldn’t determine his limits.

"You are strong," the giant rumbled.

His words were slow but steady, and they didn’t come from a place of arrogance.

The towering man’s gaze toward Ryosuke sharpened, his expression turning solemn.

Ryosuke observed as the dormant chakra within the man’s body gradually began to stir—slow at first, then more turbulent.

But oddly enough, it didn’t feel like the giant himself was controlling it.

Instead, it was the White Zetsu attached to him, guiding the chakra through his system.

"Don’t screw with my head," the man muttered, as if arguing with someone invisible. "You think I can’t take him? Don’t tell me to run. Just shut up and let me fight!"

Ryosuke raised an eyebrow, expression unreadable.

Apparently, the brute was having a full-blown conversation—with Zetsu, most likely.

A second later, the man charged forward, his strange, stomping movement pattern amplifying his speed. With chakra flowing through his limbs now, he was even faster than before.

But only slightly.

Bang!

Their fists collided.

The shockwave blasted outward like an explosion, flattening nearby trees, splintering trunks, and clearing the area around them into a lifeless grove.

Ryosuke grinned, feeling the massive force ripple up his arm.

The man staggered backward, eyes wide with shock. But to his credit, he didn’t panic. He redirected the recoil skillfully, backpedaling with precision as he prepared another strike.

This time, he didn’t use a punch.

He jabbed forward with two fingers—an unorthodox move, but one filled with lethal intent. The momentum behind it reminded Ryosuke of the Raikage’s lightning-fast one-handed thrust.

But...

The finger stopped just a hair’s breadth from Ryosuke’s face.

The man froze. Cold sweat drenched his skin. His eyes darted around instinctively before he abruptly launched himself backward again, putting distance between them.

Ryosuke exhaled, lowering his hand with a tinge of regret. "Hmm... Close."

He had hoped to end it with that last exchange, but the enemy had sensed the threat at the last second and pulled back instinctively.

"This guy’s fast," Ryosuke admitted internally. "Experienced too. Physically, he’s on par with the Fourth Raikage... maybe even stronger in pure raw muscle."

But in the end, Ryosuke wasn’t worried.

No matter how strong his opponent was, he was still within human limits.

Still... intriguing.

"You people... are all monsters," the man muttered, breathing heavily.

He seemed to be muttering to Zetsu again. "Retreat? Are you serious? I just started getting warmed up!"

When Ryosuke heard the word "retreat," he nearly activated a finishing strike on reflex. But the man surprised him once again—he shook his head and dug his feet into the earth.

He still wanted to fight.

Interesting.

That stubbornness... that unfamiliar but fearless attitude... It piqued Ryosuke’s curiosity. With this level of strength and resolve, why hadn’t he shown up in the original timeline?

Once more, the horn-haired brute charged in, using his signature stomping technique. His speed surged, but once again, he barreled into the wrong matchup.

He didn’t seem to understand what close combat meant when facing a Hyuga.

This was someone who clearly lacked deep knowledge of the shinobi world.

Wanting to test the man’s limits—and avoid killing him too quickly—Ryosuke held back. He restrained his strength, suppressing his chakra output, and only used a fraction of his real speed.

He was strong, yes.

But Ryosuke had hit a bottleneck lately. And sometimes, the only way to break through was through battle.

If nothing else, this brute’s unique movements made him an ideal opponent for experimentation.

The man swung a whip-like kick—fast, arcing like a reaper’s scythe.

Ryosuke dodged effortlessly and responded with a sweeping palm, chakra swirling through his hand. It was a classic Gentle Fist strike, aimed cleanly and without hesitation.

It missed.

Ryosuke frowned. The man had dodged again—not consciously, but passively, as if the airflow from the attack carried him just enough to slip by.

More palm strikes followed—fast, surgical. Ryosuke’s arms blurred, the soft whir of his chakra-enhanced palms slicing through the air.

Still, the man dodged each one.

Sixty-four strikes in rapid succession. None landed.

It wasn’t luck.

The opponent’s reflexes weren’t just fast—they were instinctive, almost animalistic. He wasn’t countering Ryosuke. He was dancing around him, using the wind and subtle movement to redirect his body like a falling leaf on a storm.

"So... what if I ramp it up?"

Ryosuke’s tempo shifted.

Sixty-four palms was only the beginning. Gentle Fist wasn’t limited by numbers—it scaled with control and precision.

His palms accelerated.

Soon, his hands moved too fast to see. Palm shadows multiplied and overlapped, transforming Ryosuke into a ghostly image of the Thousand-Armed Kannon.

Every motion was precise. Every strike carried focused chakra, laced with penetrating force.

The air screamed.

The surrounding forest was shredded by the blast of energy that followed the barrage. What had once been dense woodland was now a barren crater, stripped bare by Ryosuke’s storm of fists.

Sweat beaded down the man’s face. His confidence wavered.

His expression shifted—from focus, to anxiety, to outright panic.

The rhythm had slipped out of his control.

He tried to break free from the barrage, but there were no openings. He could only dodge instinctively, every step slower than the last.

His proud, unorthodox fighting style—relying on reflexive movement—was breaking down under the relentless assault.

If one palm landed, just one...

He knew it would be the end.

No escape.

No time to counter.

He gritted his teeth. Ryosuke watched the changing tension in his face—the micro expressions of a man on the brink.

And then...

Buzz—

The man made his decision.

He stopped dodging.

He took the strike head-on.

Boom!

The sound echoed like a boulder crashing into a mountain wall.

The chakra-infused palm struck the man’s chest—but the result wasn’t what Ryosuke expected.

The man was blasted backward, crashing through trees and bouncing across the ground like a dropped iron cannonball.

But... he wasn’t crippled.

Ryosuke narrowed his eyes. "Blocked?"

His Gentle Fist had landed cleanly, but the chakra hadn’t penetrated the body. The strike had hit solid muscle—tense, compressed, and hardened in the exact moment of impact.

"He tensed his entire frame," Ryosuke realized, intrigued. "Isometric locking. Instantaneous muscle control. He made his body harder than steel for just one second."

"And his chakra—he used it to offset the internal damage, even if just partially."

Ryosuke’s interest grew. His expression didn’t change, but a flicker of curiosity danced in his eyes.

The man tumbled to a stop dozens of meters away, his huge frame digging a trench into the earth.

He slowly got to his feet, face pale, arms trembling.

That last hit had hurt.

More than he expected.

And despite his earlier bravado, the look in his eyes had changed.

Now, Ryosuke could clearly sense it—hesitation.

The man who had proudly shouted that the fight had only just begun... was starting to think about retreat.

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