The Challenge of Yuhi Shinku!
7: Chapter 7: Defending the Arena!
The Challenge of Yuhi Shinku!
Hyuga Tenzo was helped off the field by his clansmen, his arms dangling uselessly at his sides; he no longer held a shred of the effortless elegance he’d displayed mere minutes ago.
A tense, murderous atmosphere settled over the training ground.
Fanma twisted his neck, the crimson shadow of his aura still clinging to his frame.
He gestured toward the Third Hokage and said in a measured tone, “Lord Hokage, I have just found my rhythm.
I have no need for rest.
I request to remain in the arena and defend my spot.” The surrounding Jonin fell into a heavy silence.
Having just witnessed the raw power and speed Fanma possessed, every one of them was silently calculating: If I were the one in the arena, how would I deal with this?
Those who specialized in taijutsu saw the mechanics of the clash and felt their fighting spirit wither; many were already wondering how they could possibly trade for Fanma’s training methods.
What training methods?
There was no secret technique.
It was simply combat—an endless deluge of real-world combat—supplemented by Fanma’s own unyielding effort and, perhaps, the minor detail of him having a “system.” After all, as the old saying went, 1% external cheat, 99% sweat.
Hiruzen scanned the expressions of the Jonin and spoke in a deep voice: “Permission granted.
Anyone wishing to challenge Uchiha Fanma, take the stage.” For a long while, the field remained deathly still.
The previous fight had been too swift, too brutal.
It provided Fanma’s potential challengers with power and speed metrics, but nothing they could truly leverage.
The silence stretched for nearly ten minutes before a man finally stepped onto the arena floor: Yuhi Shinku, the father of Kurenai Yuhi and a veteran of Konoha.
He was a master of the psychic arts, renowned for the Yuhi clan’s potent mental energy and his vast repertoire of illusions.
Even within the Uchiha clan, his mastery of genjutsu was widely respected.
Some of the watching Jonin nodded—using genjutsu to restrain a taijutsu specialist was a sound tactical choice.
But Fanma’s Anbu colleagues and his Uchiha clansmen looked at Shinku with pity.
They knew exactly how genjutsu-reliant ninja fared against Fanma: it was a death wish.
They had watched countless self-proclaimed masters of the mind suffer increasingly gruesome fates before him.
“Please grant me your guidance.” “Please grant me your guidance.” Fanma stood lazily in place.
He was in no hurry to end the bout.
For a genjutsu user, facing Fanma was a tragedy.
Typical genjutsu masters disrupted the flow of chakra to induce dizziness and then used mental energy to construct a false reality.
The more advanced ones, like the Kurama clan, could even forge the five senses to cause physical autonomic failure—a “kill yourself by thinking it” scenario.
However, against Fanma’s passive trait—Unity of Mind and Body—this was meaningless.
Unless Shinku’s mental energy was as freakishly evolved as Fanma’s physical body, it was a wasted effort.
Unity of Mind and Body bound his spirit to his flesh; as strong as his body was, so too was his mind, effectively locking his resistance to mental interference at a monstrous level.
Shinku frowned, puzzled by Fanma’s lack of initiative.
To a taijutsu ninja, the best way to handle a genjutsu specialist was to interrupt their hand seals, depriving them of the ability to interfere with his senses.
Shinku was an old hand; he didn’t overthink it.
Every Jonin had their pride, and in a world of complex abilities, there were always blind spots.
The best he could do was push his own technique to its absolute limit.
Shinku didn’t hesitate.
His fingers blurred, weaving seals openly before Fanma.
Since the opportunity was given, he wouldn’t squander it.
Chakra flowed into the earth like a creeping shadow, lying in wait.
He didn’t attack; he laid traps around himself, waiting for Fanma to wander into the web.
But they had yet to witness the sheer abnormality of Fanma’s defense.
Even if Shinku succeeded in stunning Fanma for a moment, his offensive tools would likely fail to penetrate.
For a genjutsu user, high attack power wasn’t strictly necessary—in a state of manipulation, a target is completely defenseless.
A single kunai to the throat usually suffices.
But for Fanma, the barrier to victory was not lack of defense, but lack of the sheer offensive output required to pierce his skin.
Fanma strolled toward Shinku with languid, rhythmic steps, his heart empty of worry—in fact, he found it amusing.
It reminded him of his training days with his own clansmen.
He walked straight into Shinku’s traps, stepped on every trigger, and laughed.
“Shinku-niisan, the genjutsu is set up right here, isn’t it?
Well then, let me experience the true power of the Yuhi clan!” Shinku was genuinely shocked.
A taijutsu ninja daring to walk blindly into a genjutsu trap?
He didn’t let his guard down.
Everyone had seen the merciless, slaughter-machine efficiency Fanma displayed earlier.
He wasn’t a fool; he was a monster.
“Secret Technique: Tree Bind Death!
Final Chapter!” Shinku didn’t hesitate.
He poured his reserves into the technique.
A surging tide of mental pressure slammed into Fanma, attempting to disrupt his chakra flow and shatter his spirit.
To his mounting despair, Fanma remained utterly unruffled, even finding the time to wink and wave at Minato, who was watching from the stands with a worried expression.
Shinku’s forehead was damp with sweat.
He realized with horror that his mental energy was like a mayfly trying to shake a tree.
It’s impossible, he thought.
Where does that level of mental resilience come from?
In truth, for the Uchiha, fighting them with genjutsu was a pathetic endeavor—though Fanma never even bothered to activate his Sharingan.
Fanma felt the genjutsu wash over him, and he found the confrontation soul-crushingly dull.
Genjutsu really is a domain governed by bloodline and talent, he mused.
A normal ninja, even reaching the rank of Jonin, would hit a bottleneck that couldn’t be overcome without a Kekkei Genkai.
A wave of boredom hit him.
Let’s end this quickly.
Three wins in a row, and I can claim the command qualification.
With a sudden burst of power, Fanma flickered behind Shinku.
Shinku was still busy concentrating on the defensive illusions surrounding himself, waiting for the killing blow.
He saw a blurred afterimage, and then Fanma was gone.
Against someone like Fanma, a genjutsu specialist in close-quarters combat was no different from an Academy student.
Before Shinku could even turn around, Fanma delivered a light hand-chop to the back of his neck.
Shinku tilted his head and slumped into unconsciousness.
Fanma hoisted Shinku over his shoulder, walked to the observation stand, and laid him down gently.
He smiled at the Third Hokage, folded his arms, and said evenly, “Lord Hokage, there are 16 of us competing.
Three rounds earn a place in the top three and the command qualification.
I request to continue fighting until I am eliminated or until the quota is filled.” This was tactically disadvantageous—ninja battles were supposed to be about information preservation, and exposing his capabilities in back-to-back fights offered him no benefit.
Hiruzen chuckled and whispered a few words to Danzo.
“The new generation of Konoha has grown up; I am truly heartened.
No objection.
Please, proceed.” Minato sprinted over like an eager puppy, handing Fanma a bottle of water, his eyes sparkling with hero-worship.
Fanma patted the boy’s head, drank the water in one go, and flickered back to the center of the ring to wait for the next challenger.
In the span of a morning, the two paragons of Konoha—the leads of Genjutsu and Taijutsu—had both fallen before him.