Hyuga Tenzo 6: Chapter 6: Fanma vs.
Hyuga Tenzo How many troops did Konoha actually have?
What was the true scale of a Ninja War?
These questions had plagued Fanma in his past life, when he was a fan of historical and tactical analysis.
Based on Naruto Uzumaki’s ninja ID number (12707), if one accounted for casualties and natural deaths, the number of combat-ready ninja in Konoha appeared to be no more than 6,000.
Yet, in the final battle, the Allied Shinobi Forces numbered nearly 90,000.
It was clear that this figure included a massive amount of “padding”—samurai and ninja from minor states—and was likely inflated for morale.
Since arriving in this world, Fanma had realized the uncomfortable truth: ninja were an incredibly scarce resource.
Calculating based on the data of his generation—Minato Namikaze’s ID was 6510, while Hiruzen Sarutobi’s was 0261—and accounting for the losses of the First Ninja War, Konoha’s active strength was likely around 5,500.
This didn’t include “unregistered” forces: private militias of the great clans, veterans who joined before the village was founded, or those who simply refused to enroll in the Academy.
Thanks to the era of constant warfare, the number of Chunin was significantly higher than in later eras.
On paper, Konoha boasted 72 Jonin, 330 Special Jonin, approximately 1,700 Chunin, and 3,500 Genin.
But the unregistered ninja—the “hidden households” of the feudal age—were a mystery.
This was the true bedrock of the great clans.
The tug-of-war between the major clans and the Hokage was constant.
Konoha’s military power was like water in a sponge or the money in a daimyo’s pocket: if you squeezed hard enough, there was always more.
But the Jonin were the absolute core—a strategic resource so precious that their voices could never be ignored.
Fanma blinked, his thoughts wandering as he waited for Hiruzen Sarutobi to finish his opening remarks.
“Those willing to compete for the command positions, please place your nameplates into the box.” As soon as the Third Hokage finished speaking, over a dozen people leapt forward to deposit their plates.
Fanma couldn’t help but smile.
It seemed that even “fairness” had its unspoken rules.
How could an average civilian ninja hope to compete with clans that had stood for centuries?
The candidates were predominantly from the great families—Uchiha, Hyuga, Sarutobi, Shimura, Aburame—with only the likes of Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Byakko Hayama representing the civilian side.
It was unavoidable; other clans like the Yamanaka or Inuzuka were famous for reconnaissance and communication, often lacking the raw combat capacity for high-level command.
Fanma walked slowly to the lottery box, dropped in his nameplate, and offered a faint smile.
He was ready for a long-overdue one-on-one battle.
“Very well.
If there are no others, let the selection begin.” Hiruzen gestured with majestic authority, signaling the start.
Danzo Shimura, maintaining his usual gloomy, sinister air, looked at the crowd.
He pulled two nameplates from the box, examined them, and spoke in a deep, gravelly voice: “As Advisor to the Hokage, I, Danzo Shimura, hereby announce: the first match is Uchiha Fanma versus Hyuga Tenzo!” “—Oooooh.” A buzz of discussion rippled across the training ground.
Uchiha versus Hyuga was a match with serious pedigree.
Furthermore, Tenzo was renowned as the Hyuga Clan’s premier combat ninja, his Gentle Fist technique pushed to the pinnacle of perfection.
Fanma was also famous in Jonin circles, but this was a rare public display; outside the Anbu, few had ever seen him fight.
Tenzo arrived in the center of the arena with a stylish Body Flicker technique.
Fanma felt a surge of genuine excitement—sparring with taijutsu specialists was his favorite form of training.
“Uchiha Fanma, please grant me your guidance.” “Hyuga Tenzo, please grant me your guidance.” As the words left their lips, Fanma unleashed his aura.
The “Predator’s Malice” was no longer suppressed; the blood-red malice locked onto Tenzo’s energy, corroding his chakra.
The sheer intensity—a hunger to rip the opponent apart—caused many of the observing Jonin to recoil.
Even they felt a flicker of unease and dread, their own chakra stirring in instinctive alarm.
Tenzo took a sharp step back.
He realized instantly, just from the pressure, that Fanma would be a nightmare to handle.
“Byakugan, Activate!” As a combat genius of the Hyuga, Tenzo relied on his eyes to observe chakra flow and anticipate movement.
The Hyuga were born with a fundamental intelligence advantage.
However, under the gaze of the Byakugan, Fanma’s internal chakra was unexpectedly low!
Fanma was indeed an anomaly; his chakra was almost entirely consumed by his passive traits, constantly reinforcing his body and spirit.
Tenzo gave a cold, internal sneer.
No matter how intimidating the presence, ninja battles were ultimately decided by chakra.
Just as Tenzo prepared to dash in and end the fight with a lightning-fast assault, he realized Fanma had vanished.
Tenzo, belonging to the Main Branch with his nearly 360-degree vision, was the only one who spotted Fanma appearing behind him.
Too fast!
Tenzo thought in shock, still back-to-back with his opponent, unaware of the blow to come.
Fanma’s speed was pure, raw bodily function.
He dropped slightly, his spine popping as his arm muscles compressed like coiled springs, and launched a straight punch toward Tenzo’s face.
Tenzo, a veteran Jonin, didn’t panic.
He coated his arms in Gentle Fist chakra and met the punch head-on, refusing to yield.
A massive sonic boom ripped through the sky, and the clash of chakra kicked up a storm of dust and smoke.
Seventy meters away, Tenzo stood with sweat beading on his forehead from the searing pain.
His years of combat told him his right arm was shattered—likely pulverized.
The force was simply tyrannical.
Even a Hyuga who specialized in using “softness to overcome hardness” couldn’t handle such devastating power.
When a fight became this primitive—someone rushing at you and throwing a punch you simply couldn’t block—it left one feeling utterly speechless.
Fanma stopped with a display of grace; this was an internal sparring match, not a death struggle.
“Should we continue, Tenzo?” “Bring it on.” Tenzo felt the sting of humiliation.
He hadn’t even shown the brilliance of the Gentle Fist yet; he was confident that if he could land just one hit, he could win.
Fanma said nothing more.
This was his first public bout; he needed to show something truly shocking to establish his authority.
He began to draw in his aura, concentrating the “Predator’s Malice” around his body to form a suit of blood-colored armor that shimmered with an eerie crimson light.
The armor radiated a thick, heavy scent of fresh blood that even the Jonin on the high platform could smell.
Frankly, the aesthetic had nothing to do with being a “hero” of Konoha—it looked like the armor of an apocalyptic demon king.
If the villagers saw this, they would immediately go home and tell their children, “Stop crying, or Uchiha Fanma will come to catch and eat you!” The “Blood Armor” was Fanma’s advanced application of the Predator’s Malice—a composite trait combining killing intent, chakra, and predatory pressure.
It drastically increased his strength and perception.
Any contact with an enemy would cause the blood-qi to lash out, gnawing at their chakra to feed back into his own.
With a flash of red, Fanma launched a knee strike at Tenzo’s face.
Tenzo, a true veteran, exploded with chakra, wrapping his arms in thick layers of blue-white Gentle Fist energy.
He successfully blocked the strike, but the impact sent him flying backward.
It hurts…
it hurts so much.
This style of suppressing the opponent with pure speed and power is just…
shameless, Tenzo thought, finding a bitter humor in his plight.
It reminded him of sparring with his son, Neji’s father, Hiashi—as if he were being treated like a child.
Before Tenzo could recover, the towering, blood-colored shadow loomed over him.
A massive fist was already descending toward his temple!
Fanma slammed his fist into the ground beside Tenzo’s ear.
The earth let out a groan, and the entire training ground fractured and collapsed.
The dust from the impact filled the sky, leaving only the ominous, flickering red light and a terrifying, suffocating atmosphere.
In the center of the crater, Tenzo lay drenched in sweat, his ears ringing with the echo of the impact.
The surge of adrenaline and the sudden realization of his own helplessness gave Tenzo his first taste of being completely crushed.
How long had it been since he had felt this humiliated as a Jonin?
If that blow had connected with his skull…
“I…
I yield.” Gasping for breath, Tenzo stood up, limping slightly, and looked at Fanma with a complex expression.
Is this really an Uchiha?
What does this fighting style have to do with the Uchiha clan?
Tenzo stared intensely into Fanma’s eyes.
While Fanma was surrounded by ghastly blood-qi, his eyes were clear, bright black.
Sigh…
I fought an Uchiha, and he didn’t even activate his Sharingan.
What has the world come to?
Fanma offered a hearty, bright laugh.
“A pleasant fight!
Let’s complete the Seal of Reconciliation.” Tenzo looked embarrassed.
“Ah…
I think both my arms are broken.” Fanma took Tenzo’s hand, forcibly completing the mandatory ritual of a friendly spar.
In Konoha’s political climate, keeping up appearances and preventing moral blackmail was still very necessary.
Hiruzen watched the battered Tenzo and the demonic silhouette of the victor, sighing gently.
Had the stubborn little boy he once knew really grown to this extent?
“The winner, Uchiha Fanma!” the Third Hokage announced loudly.