Neji's palm stopped in midair.
A small, fair hand had locked around his wrist.
That hand looked soft, yet it was like a pair of red-hot iron pincers. No matter how much force Neji exerted, it did not budge.
Son Goten raised his head slightly, his dark eyes fixed on Neji, without a trace of his usual joking manner.
"Were you trying to kill my wife just now?"
Son Goten repeated the question.
His voice was quiet, yet it sent chills down the spines of those around him.
Neji gritted his teeth, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
"Let go of me! This is an internal dispute of the Hyuga Clan. Outsiders have no right to interfere!"
Son Goten tilted his head as though he had heard a joke.
"An internal dispute? The moment you intended to kill her, this became my personal business."
With one hand, Son Goten lifted Neji right off the ground.
He looked as though he were holding a chick awaiting slaughter.
Every candidate present stared, dumbfounded.
Neji was an acknowledged genius, yet he could not even put up a fight?
"Bastard! Let go!"
Neji roared in midair, bringing the fingers of his left hand together and thrusting them toward Son Goten's chest in a blur.
"Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms!"
Thwack, thwack, thwack!
A series of dull sounds rang out.
Neji moved extremely fast, striking Son Goten's chest and abdomen dozens of times in the space of a breath.
It was the technique the Hyuga Clan took the greatest pride in, capable of sealing the chakra pathways inside a ninja's body.
But Neji realized something was wrong.
When his fingers struck Son Goten's body, it did not feel like human flesh.
It felt more like striking a solid plate of alloy steel.
The impacts made