"Wood big wood big wood big wood big wood big wood big!"
Duan roared.
His massive arms arched like drawn bows, fists firing like lightning. Each punch crashed forward with the rhythm of a piledriver.
Fist shadows multiplied—two became four, four became eight, eight became dozens. Soon, there were fists everywhere, filling the battlefield.
Boom boom boom!
The air itself shattered under the onslaught, shockwaves blasting outward like a storm.
This taijutsu—Ōkaze no Ken (Great Wind Fist).
"Large," because the blows covered such vast space that evasion was impossible.
"Splash," like a torrent bursting from a basin, raw violence flooding outward.
"The Wind," because each fist detonated the air itself, fiercer than any storm.
For ordinary shinobi, such a technique was impossible. To hurl hundreds of fierce punches in every direction within a second required inhuman muscle, bone, and chakra.
Only Duan could perform it.
And this time, the Big Wind Fist engulfed every afterimage—every phantom—and Shisui himself.
Bam!
A dull explosion echoed.
"Ugh—!"
Blood burst from Shisui's mouth. His body shot backward like a severed kite, clones vanishing instantly.
The famed "phantom shunshin"—torn apart by sheer, brutal violence.
Boom!
His body smashed against the outer wall of the Naka Shrine, cracks spiderwebbing outward from the impact.
Luckily, each of Duan's hundreds of punches carried less power than a single full-strength strike. Otherwise, Shisui's organs would already be pulp. Even so, he staggered, breath ragged.
Duan didn't relent. He lunged forward, massive frame crashing down like a tiger from the peaks. His arms wrapped Shisui in a crushing lock, forcing his head against Duan's chest.
The Guillotine Choke.
A strangulation technique that crushed the carotids, sending a man into shock within seconds.
The crowd's breath froze—Shisui was finished.
Caw!
Suddenly, Shisui's body burst apart into a murder of crows. Black feathers spiraled into the night air, wings scattering in all directions before reforming into his body a short distance away.
The Crow Clone Technique.
Just like his phantom flicker, this was no ordinary bunshin. Shisui had spent years raising and syncing with Konoha's crows, molding them into living chakra extensions. Less costly than shadow clones, yet perfectly suited for feints and escapes.
Duan exhaled slowly, then smiled. His hands came together in a mocking clap.
"Brilliant."
Most Uchiha Duan had seen were proud, brittle, or shallow. Even Obito, for all his Kamui, relied on a single trick. But Shisui—
Here was a Uchiha worth acknowledging.
A genjutsu that could slay with a glance.
Fire Release merged seamlessly with swordsmanship.
An instantaneous body flicker, fused with ingenious clone techniques.
No flaws, only innovation.
This… this is the true Uchiha prodigy.
And he was only sixteen. If left to grow, Shisui's peak would outshine even Itachi's.
But—tragically—his will was shackled to Konoha. To ideals that would consume him.
Duan shook his head, disappointed.
"Cough… cough…"
Shisui doubled over, blood dripping from his lips. Just one blow from Duan had rattled his organs, exposing the truth: shinobi were often high in attack, low in defense. Even geniuses.
"Shisui, admit defeat!"
Yashiro's shrill voice split the night. His face twisted with petty delight as blood stained the genius's lips.
Itachi's eyes flicked toward him, cold and sharp. To him, Yashiro was nothing more than a barking dog at Duan's heel.
"Brother Shisui… will you lose this time?" Izumi whispered, voice trembling. She knew how close he and Itachi were—closer than brothers.
But Itachi shook his head firmly.
"No. Shisui hasn't revealed his true power yet."
"True… power?" Izumi's breath caught. Shisui had already unveiled every ninjutsu, every genjutsu she knew of. What remained?
Her thoughts were broken by Fugaku's deep voice from behind.
"Itachi. You've seen it too, haven't you? The Mangekyō Sharingan… did Shisui tell you?"
Itachi stiffened, then nodded. "Yes, Father."
"The… Mangekyō?" Mikoto gasped, hands flying to her lips. Her voice trembled. "Oh no. If he reveals that power, your uncle can't possibly win!"
Fugaku: "…"
He nearly sighed aloud. Up to this point, Duan had been unscathed while Shisui bled. And yet his wife worried as though her brother were already defeated.
But of course, he swallowed his complaint. Few men lived long criticizing Mikoto.
Around them, the Uchiha whispered in confusion. Mangekyō? What is that? Many had never even heard the term.
They soon would.
Shua!
Shisui's tomoe spun wildly, warping, reshaping—until the black pattern locked into a new design.
A four-pointed pinwheel. A shuriken made of darkness.
"The… Mangekyō Sharingan!"
Uchiha Setsuna, usually composed, could not restrain his trembling. His finger stabbed the air at Shisui's eyes, voice breaking in awe and fear.