"Cheers!"
The ceramic wine glasses clinked together in mid-air, sharp and clear. Seiran drained his glass in one gulp, cheeks flushed a faint red as he gestured toward the table laden with grilled meat. "Come on, this one's on me. Eat whatever you want."
"Don't mind if I do," Anko Mitarashi chirped, snatching up a large piece of meat with her chopsticks and shoving it into her mouth with blissful abandon.
Beside her, Shibi Aburame sighed. He couldn't resist Seiran's relentless invitations. Here he was again.
After delivering the caravan to its destination, Ryosuke's team had taken only a small portion of the reward, leaving the bulk for Seiran's squad. Seiran had decided to celebrate the successful S-rank mission with a meal, but Might Duy and Might Guy had declined the invitation. So it was just the four of them—Seiran, Anko, Shibi, and one other—at the yakiniku restaurant.
Shibi recognized the place immediately. His stomach twisted. The last time he'd been here with the team, he'd ended up humiliated when he couldn't cover the bill. He could have sworn the shopkeeper was eyeing him now with knowing amusement—like he'd found his mark.
Seiran said he's treating, Shibi thought, trying to reassure himself. It has to be fine.
Seiran devoured another piece of grilled meat, blissfully unaware of his teammate's anxiety. Even if he'd known, he probably would have laughed.
The truth was, Shibi's share of the last S-rank mission had been modest—enough to live comfortably, but not enough for a repeat of last time. This dinner, however, served a larger purpose for Seiran than simple team morale.
The Eight Inner Gates.
After learning the technique from Might Duy, Seiran had been itching to begin his training. Eating large quantities now would store enough energy in his body to sustain the grueling conditioning ahead.
---
After dinner and parting ways with Anko, Seiran spent half the day at a shinobi supply shop customizing equipment. By late afternoon, he was ready.
The method for cultivating the Eight Inner Gates was deceptively simple—less a physical technique than a method to shatter the body's natural limits. Success hinged on a sufficiently strong physical foundation.
He arrived at the secluded back mountain where he usually trained and began his preparations.
First, he spread metal plates across the ground—thick reinforced panels that had cost him a stinging amount of money. He fixed them in place, creating a makeshift metal floor.
Next came the metal coat, tailored precisely to his frame. It wasn't ornate; gaps between the plates were still visible, giving him the appearance of a crude suit of armor.
Once dressed, he began manipulating Electromagnetic Manipulation to construct an opposing magnetic field.
The metal floor suddenly surged with suction force. Seiran stumbled, nearly losing his footing as the metal armor creaked under the pressure against his skeleton. He gritted his teeth.
"Too strong."
He immediately weakened the magnetism. The pressure eased.
After several adjustments, he found the optimal strength—one that could forge his body without crushing it. By his estimation, it was equivalent to roughly four times normal gravity.
But because the pressure came from metal-to-flesh contact rather than true gravitational increase, the method was crude. His internal organs remained mostly untested.
Yet the advantage was flexibility. By shifting the direction of magnetic attraction or switching suddenly to repulsion, he could simulate extreme physical conditions.
A layer of fallen leaves had accumulated on the metal plate during his initial exercises, marring the surface. Seiran stopped, placed his palm against the metal, reversed the magnetic poles, and induced a repelling charge through the debris.
Thud.
The leaves erupted upward from the contact point, swirling in a vortex around him before scattering. Under the repulsion effect, the metal floor gleamed smooth and bare.
He restored the magnetic field and continued his training.
Over the following days, using this self-created method, Seiran's physical strength steadily increased until it plateaued.
"Using Electromagnetic Manipulation this way has enhanced my body far more than I expected," he muttered, removing the crude armor. His body felt light, refreshed. His eyes narrowed with determination. "I'm ready. I can attempt the Eight Inner Gates now."
Taking a deep breath, Seiran began to gradually break through the limitations of his flesh according to Might Duy's teachings, starting with the gate in his brain.
"The first gate, the Gate of Opening… Open!"
A faint wave of chakra rippled outward from his body.
Seiran frowned. As the gate opened, he'd noticed something—the purple crystal in his mind had trembled slightly. Usually, only increases in his Magnetic Manipulation caused it to shift. He couldn't tell if it was real or imagined.
No matter. This is far from my limit.
He pressed onward, concentrating on his chakra flow.
"The second gate, the Gate of Healing… Open!"
Fatigue drained from his muscles as if an endless stream of power was replenishing him. Yet this wasn't the peak.
"The third gate, the Gate of Life… Open!"
A faint green aura coalesced around him, and verdant veins bulged across his forehead. Seiran clenched his fists experimentally. The surge of power was undeniable.
"Just the third gate, and my physical strength has tripled," he admitted. "The Eight Inner Gates truly deserve their reputation—mortal strength capable of challenging the gods."
An odd thought crossed his mind: if he activated the Byakugan while the Eight Inner Gates were open, with green veins swelling around his eyes, would he terrify his teammates?
He shook off the distraction. This still wasn't his limit.
"Might Duy mentioned the eighth gate is where things become truly dangerous," Seiran said aloud. "But I heard the fourth gate is where the real power emerges. Let's see what happens."
After his intensive physical conditioning, Seiran realized the third gate was merely a stepping stone. His body could handle more.
He took a deep breath and mobilized the last of his reserves, focusing on the gate that struck his lungs.
"The fourth gate, the Gate of Pain… Open!"
The moment it unlocked, Seiran's pupils contracted violently.
His life force—his magnetic field—erupted like dry wood doused in oil. His body convulsed. The roots of his hair stood on end, arcs of electricity dancing between the strands. He lifted uncontrollably into the air, his robe whipping around him in the massive pressure wave.
"What—?!"
His voice came out strangled. This was wrong. This wasn't the Eight Inner Gates.