"You co to my house to commission , then deny the value of our existence? I really don't like you!"
"It's not like we wanted to be dragged to this run-down dump you call a world!"
"You're a shady squint-eyed bastard!"
"Damn it, I knew you weren't a good guy!"
Angry shouts echoed across the cracked wasteland, each word laced with raw frustration. It wasn't just the pain of battle that fueled their rage—it was betrayal.
What followed was a chorus of sounds—a heavy whoosh, like a hamr slicing through air, and the sharp whine of tal cutting wind.
The trio of fighters—Gintoki, Kagura, and Shinpachi—moved in unison, faster and more coordinated than ever.
Shimura Shinpachi and Kagura launched a relentless assault, their weapons sweeping and striking in tight formation, leaving Ryosuke no room to breathe—let alone dodge. Every gap, every staggered breath was filled with another strike.
At the heart of their assault, concealed in their rhythm, was Sakata Gintoki—the core of the Yorozuya.
While Kagura and Shinpachi maintained the offensive pressure, Gintoki countered with surgical precision, slipping past Ryosuke's defenses to strike at his openings. They worked like a single organism, their teamwork flowing with instinctual ease.
Ryosuke's Byakugan watched everything unfold. And for the first ti, his mind quietly admitted—this team's coordination rivaled the fad Ino-Shika-Chou trio.
They weren't ninjas. No chakra. No hand seals. No shadow clones.
But their unity—every block, every pivot, every strike—was seamless. Shinpachi's defensive reads. Kagura's brutal physical power. Gintoki's timing and unpredictability. Together, they weren't just attacking—they were fighting as one.
Under this teamwork, their collective strength had breached the level of high-ranking jōnin.
And with every blow they landed—or almost landed—they grew more confident.
Thump—
Three weapons—wooden sword, katana, and umbrella—stabbed toward Ryosuke in a synchronized, perfectly triangulated strike.
This was their mont.
This was their breakthrough.
They felt it.
Sothing pierced.
But then…
Nothing.
No flesh tearing.
No bones struck.
No blood.
Just empty space.
Gintoki's pupils shrank. "It's an afterimage!"
"Back off—now!" he roared, instinct snapping into command.
But it was too late.
Their weapons were stuck—clamped down by an imnse force. Ryosuke had vanished from their sight—and reappeared directly between them.
Still and calm.
A sword in one hand, an umbrella in the other—each one belonging to them.
His real body had replaced the afterimage without a sound, gripping their weapons so tightly they couldn't budge.
"It's getting better," Ryosuke said flatly, "but not enough."
No emotion. No change in expression. His tone was as cold as the mountain wind.
And then—
Crack.
A sound like flesh tearing followed. Blood splattered the ground.
In the next heartbeat, Ryosuke reappeared behind them.
Faster than sight.
His hand, pale and ghostlike, pierced straight through Gintoki's abdon from behind and burst out the other side—then yanked back.
Kagura and Shinpachi turned in horror.
Originally, Ryosuke had aid for Gintoki's heart—but the samurai's body twisted at the last second, narrowly dodging a fatal blow through instinct alone.
Bang!
Ryosuke's hand retracted in a blur.
And then ca the second strike.
Blue lightning crackled across Ryosuke's leg, twisting down like living threads. The sky above shimred for a mont as he slamd a whip kick downward from above—Thunder Axe: Fourth Raikage's Fury.
A forbidden technique Ryosuke had copied while studying the battle between the Third Hokage and the Fourth Raikage.
Gintoki barely raised his wooden sword—Lake Toya—catching the attack just in ti. The raw power sent him crashing into the ground, his feet buried in fractured earth.
He stood—shaking, bloodied, bent—but still upright.
His hands trembled. The wound in his abdon gushed blood. But by so miracle—or curse—he held firm.
The lightning coursing through Ryosuke's foot traveled into the wooden sword. The partial conduction made Gintoki's arms go numb, dulling his pain even as it drained his strength.
A backhanded rcy.
"Oh?" Ryosuke's tone sharpened with mild curiosity. "With how badly you perford earlier, you still managed to block that?"
Despite the injuries, despite the odds, Gintoki's sheer will and reflexes had saved him.
A flicker of admiration—however faint—sparked in Ryosuke's eyes.
"AAAAAAARGH!!"
Gintoki roared, his whole body screaming in resistance. His knees buckled. His shoulders locked.
He poured every drop of energy into his stance, refusing to let his muscles collapse under the weight.
His eyes, now bloodshot, glared up at Ryosuke with defiant rage.
That… that was only one hit…
One hit had pushed him this far.
His body was broken. His strength, gone. But even now, he refused to fall.
This guy… is no ordinary Konoha ninja.
He couldn't believe it.
This wasn't a jōnin.
This wasn't even an ANBU.
This power… could only belong to soone at the very top.
Hokage…?
He looked young—barely older than Shinpachi. But the power he wielded was monstrous. If this was what Konoha had to offer, then Gintoki finally understood why this world feared shinobi.
"Ayin!"
The fight had lasted re seconds—but it had already dragged Gintoki to the edge.
Kagura and Shinpachi, unable to keep pace, finally caught up—only to find their leader collapsed into a half-crouch, sword held high, arms shaking from strain.
They scread.
With renewed fury, they rushed in, rage distorting their faces.
But Ryosuke, relaxed and unscathed, casually dodged and stepped away—arms folded across his chest.
The blood on his clothes wasn't his.
It was all theirs.
He tilted his head and smiled slightly. "It seems… the battle is over."
Ryosuke once again shifted into a casual combat stance.
Shinpachi and Kagura, who had just rushed to Gintoki's side, turned at once and stood protectively in front of him.
This ti, they weren't just defending.
They were out for blood.
"You white-haired bastard!!"
"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH GIN-CHAN AGAIN!!"
They charged like two furious lions, weapons raised, eyes burning with vengeance.
Each strike now carried far more weight than before.
Ever since Sakata Gintoki fell, Kagura and Shinpachi's strength had begun to climb—visibly, steadily—as though their very bodies were reacting to their captain's condition. Their combat abilities sharpened by the second.
Though they had no chakra, their physical prowess and swordsmanship were among the finest Ryosuke had ever seen. Their battle experience couldn't match Blueno's mastery, but their growth rate mid-fight was astonishing. They were young—and growing stronger with every exchange.
But…
"Even if you've beco two mad dogs," Ryosuke muttered coldly, "you still won't protect his life from ."
A surge of lightning chakra crackled around his leg. With a snap-kick, Ryosuke sent Shinpachi flying dozens of ters into the air. A swift hand strike—coated with lightning—shattered Kagura's umbrella like brittle glass.
And yet…
Each ti they were slamd into the ground, they rose again—bloodied, bruised, limping—but determined. They stumbled forward, unyielding. Their bodies were covered in dust and soaked in blood, but they refused to give up. Like tenacious tumblers, they could not be knocked down for good.
Their curses grew weaker. Their breaths shorter. The fire in their movents dimd.
They were reaching their limits.
"I'll make it easy on you," Ryosuke said coldly as he walked forward, step by step, toward Gintoki's unmoving body. "Once I kill him, I'll send you two down after him. You can et again in the next world."
No matter how many tis Shinpachi and Kagura tried to stand, they couldn't stop him.
"Damn it!"
Shinpachi clawed at the dirt, dragging himself forward. His legs were mangled, bones fractured, muscles torn—he couldn't even stand anymore. But still, he crawled.
Their opponent wasn't just strong. He was despair itself. A force beyond their comprehension.
And now, lying in the dust, Shinpachi could only regret his own naivety.
Why did I trust his words? Why did I go along with this sparring match?
But then again… even if they'd refused, this man might've simply destroyed them and the entire city.
He had that kind of ruthlessness—gentle smile or not.
On the other side, Kagura, weaponless, had clung onto Ryosuke from behind. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, locking her elbow against his throat.
Her face was a ss of blood, grit, and fury.
She squeezed harder.
But…
"With strength like yours… even if I let you hit , what would it change?"
Ryosuke didn't flinch.
He showed no discomfort. No effort. No reaction at all.
Then, with a simple movent, he grabbed Kagura's arm.
A heartbeat later, he flipped her over his shoulder—slam!
Her body crashed into the earth like a ragdoll, cratering the dirt beneath her. Dust plud upward in a thick cloud.
Ryosuke stood over her, his hand still gripping her ankle.
He let go and looked down.
Kagura lay unconscious, her hand still twitching as it reached for him.
"Congratulations," Ryosuke said flatly, "you wasted one second of my ti… and gave him one more second of life."
Then, he smiled.
Turning around, he saw a familiar figure—bloodied, staggering—but standing.
Sakata Gintoki.
His grip tightened around the katana Shinpachi had dropped earlier. He dragged the blade behind him like a wounded beast rising for one last stand.
"Oi," Gintoki said, voice hoarse and barely audible, "aren't you being a little too rough?"
He glanced down at Kagura's unconscious body. His expression twisted. For a second, a flicker of crimson passed through his eyes.
Even in his ragged state, he raised his head and glared at Ryosuke.
"I get it. You've been trying to rile up—provoke my fighting spirit. But you went too far, bastard."
"You beat soone's precious daughter to the ground for no reason," Gintoki said through gritted teeth. "If her bald old man were here, you'd already be dead."
"Oh?" Ryosuke raised an eyebrow. "Now that's soone I'd like to et. Is he here, too?"
"He's not," Gintoki said, taking another shaky step forward. "Unfortunately."
Blood trailed behind him.
"But even if he's not… I'm her guardian for now. And I'm not going to let you off easy."
Ryosuke's Byakugan pulsed.
He saw it clearly—the change in Gintoki. His energy, his spirit—they were rising. Not through chakra, but through raw willpower.
Vitality was being consud, burnt like fuel.
Step by step, Gintoki shed his weariness. His gaze sharpened. Killing intent spilled from his fra like heat.
"I don't care if you hold back this ti or not," Gintoki said, teeth clenched. "But I'm not holding anything back anymore."
The instant his voice dropped, his body vanished.
"Now we're talking," Ryosuke said, his smile stretching wider.
He turned just in ti to et the strike.
Boom!
A pulse of energy exploded between the two.
Gintoki's blade slamd down in a flash. Ryosuke raised his lightning-coated hand in response, slashing upward with a knife-hand strike.
They t in the middle—neither side backing down.
Gintoki's eyes were wild—unlike the lazy, half-lidded stare from before. Blood caked his body, and his expression twisted with fury.
He looked less like a man—and more like a demon risen from hell.
Ryosuke's grin grew wider.
He could feel it.
Strength. Speed. Everything about Gintoki had evolved.
This wasn't the sa opponent from before.
Slash!
Another blade ca swinging toward his side.
Ryosuke barely blocked it in ti.
Gintoki had switched to dual-wielding—his wooden sword in one hand, the real blade in the other. And he wielded them with a natural grace, as if he'd trained that way his whole life.
Unlike most shinobi, Gintoki didn't use chakra to enhance his swordsmanship.
He used will.
"Impressive," Ryosuke muttered between clashes. "Your sword style… it's completely different from what we use in the ninja world."
While shinobi swordsmanship relied on chakra-infused techniques, Gintoki's was sothing else entirely—raw, physical, pure.
His will was so powerful it sharpened the edge of his sword as if it were coated in wind-nature chakra.
That sharpness… that weight… Ryosuke could feel the danger now.
Each strike was harder to block than the last.
Each swing pushed him back a step farther.
No answer ca from Gintoki. There was no room for talking anymore.
Wounds on his body had stopped bleeding. His muscles had stretched past the limit. His bones groaned—but he kept fighting.
The air between them cracked with pressure.
Even the sky trembled. Clouds dispersed, shredded by the air currents stirred from their battle.
They were no longer just fighting.
They were breaking the world around them.
"You're enjoying this way too much, bastard!"
Finally, Gintoki snapped. His shout echoed through the desolate wasteland.
But even as he scread, his sword swung harder.
His blade carried no chakra.
But it carried sothing even more dangerous.
Resolve.
And once again, Gintoki thought—
This guy is disgusting.
Check my Pâtreon for Advanced Chapters
Pâtreon /Fanficlord03
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