The entire arena fell deathly silent.
Hyuga Hiashi abruptly rose to his feet in the stands.
The chair behind him was knocked away with force, scraping across the stone slabs with an ear-piercing screech.
"C-Clan Head?"
The branch family elder with the goatee beside him shuddered violently.
His old face was as white as paper.
The garlic stench on his breath drifted through the air with his heavy panting.
Hiashi ignored him.
He simply stared fixedly at the boy below with both hands in his pockets, his facial muscles twitching uncontrollably.
His palms were slick with cold sweat.
He clutched the exquisite silk hem in front of him so hard that it crumpled into a damp wad.
"The Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms... didn't even scratch his skin?"
Hiashi's heart pounded wildly in his chest.
That was the Hyuga Clan's ultimate taijutsu!
At the center of the ring.
Neji knelt on the ground, staring at his hands, swollen purple with blood streaking the gaps between his fingers.
His tears mingled with the hot sweat running down his forehead.
And the white lime dust clinging to his face.
They pattered onto the ground, splashing dark red spots of mud into the dust.
In that instant, his composure.
Shattered completely.
The Byakugan he took such pride in, before this boy who couldn't even be bothered to look at him.
Was nothing but a crude, ridiculous joke.
"No... this isn't real..."
Neji gritted his teeth as mouthfuls of rusty-tasting bloody foam kept welling up in his mouth.
"My Gentle Fist... can't be useless!"
He roared like a madman, his voice so hoarse it sounded as though it had been dragged across sandpaper.
"Sen Senju! You bastard! What dirty trick did you use?!"
"Destiny is predetermined! You're a loser who can't even throw a shuriken