Under the night sky, with no chunin present, Rikusei reigned supreme.
The people of this era were still fairly honest; no one would pretend to be a genin just to enter the arena.
Representatives from every village maintained order around the arena. Even if someone shamelessly went up there, being exposed by an acquaintance would make their name known throughout the entire Shinobi World.
That was no longer merely social death—it meant the end of their entire shinobi career.
Rikusei's Three-Tomoe Sharingan gleamed brilliantly in his right eye. Those scarlet eyes, exceptionally conspicuous beneath the night sky, silently intimidated everyone present.
He had already lost count of how many Bloodline Limits had fallen beneath those eyes. He only knew that after fighting until now, his wrists ached faintly.
"Does anyone else want to spar?"
He stood beside the wooden boards destroyed by Lava Release, breathing in the pungent smell of scorching, and spoke to the crowd below, whose expressions varied greatly.
The young man's question stirred a wave of discussion among the crowd.
"How are we supposed to fight that monster? His Sharingan has already reached Three Tomoe and Double Tomoe. No one his age can possibly beat him in Illusion Techniques."
"Especially in taijutsu. What's infuriating is that he can even copy and improve your taijutsu, making you experience the humiliation of being defeated by your own moves."
"Even more maddening was his third-round battle against the Uzumaki Clan. Thinking about it now, it still feels like my mouth is full of sand. I never expected the chakra storm unleashed by the chakra-rich Uzumaki Clan to lose to him."
Quite a few experienced jonin had come over to watch the excitement. Genin were the future of every hidden village, so many people took this arena quite seriously.
"He is