The main house hall felt suffocating. Air hung thick and still as the Hyuga elders' gazes fixed on Seiran like weights pressing down from all sides.
Silence stretched between heartbeats. Then Seiran spoke.
"I want to train at the clan grounds, but most people there are Chunin or Genin. I'm not even a shinobi yet. How can I compete with them? All I have is training at home."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"I only recently awakened Magnet Release. Before that, I knew almost nothing about bloodline limits. My parents died early. I didn't have the luxury of thinking about much else."
Seiran went quiet again. The smart play here was vulnerability—let them see a lost kid without guidance. The clan wouldn't know much about him anyway. He was barely a blip on their radar.
Hyuga Mizuki, the clan elder, exchanged looks with the others around the table. They'd already done their homework on him. Without that dual Kekkei Genkai, he'd be the type of person who'd slip through the cracks entirely.
Mizuki nodded, his voice dropping slightly. "Since you've awakened a second bloodline limit, you won't have to live like that anymore. From today forward, your living expenses triple."
"Thank you, Elder."
Seiran bowed. A pleasant surprise, but he'd expected worse.
Then Mizuki's eyes sharpened. His tone shifted like a blade being drawn. "I heard you look down on Gentle Fist. That you tampered with the basic technique without permission. Is that true?"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Seiran didn't move. He already knew who'd sold him out—Hyuga Iroha.
"Yes," he admitted.
Displeasure flickered across Mizuki's face. His frown deepened into something dangerous.
"The reason our clan has endured for a thousand years is Gentle Fist and the Byakugan. The foundation of Gentle Fist cannot be tampered with. Do you understand?"
Seiran took a breath. "Elder, I'd like to ask—has Gentle Fist never changed? In a thousand years?"
Mizuki paused, considering the question carefully. "Gentle Fist has evolved since its inception, but it's been fixed for a long time now. Over a hundred years, it's become the most suitable style for our clan. Capable of handling any situation."
"I read about tailed beasts in my father's codex," Seiran said quietly. "Can Gentle Fist handle a tailed beast?"
Mizuki's frown deepened. "What are you implying?"
"Gentle Fist has limits," Seiran said simply.
"Enough!" Mizuki's voice cracked like a whip. His irritation was palpable now.
"My Hyuga Clan stands here today because of Gentle Fist and the Byakugan. Just because you awakened Magnet Release doesn't mean you can walk some other path. Magnet Release is worthless compared to Gentle Fist. Worthless."
The guard beside Seiran bowed deeply, trembling slightly. His expression twisted between helplessness and bitter resignation, sweat beading on his forehead.
He didn't understand why Seiran would provoke the elders about Gentle Fist. Everyone knew they were obsessive about it.
It has its limits, Seiran thought to himself.
Gentle Fist had almost no long-range capability. Empty Palm was the only technique with distance, and it was severely limited. That was the ceiling right there.
And worse—the rigid, obsessive cultivation of Gentle Fist had strangled the Hyuga's ability to develop any other aspect of the Byakugan.
A clan with eyes that could see for kilometers was reduced to playing scout.
Gentle Fist had been the Hyuga's foundation once. Now it was a cage. A shackle. And the only way Seiran rose above it was to break free.
Mizuki waved his hand dismissively. "This conversation is finished. You're dismissed."
"Yes."
---
After Seiran and the guard left, Mizuki turned to the young man standing behind him.
"Hiashi," he said, his voice low and contemplative. "What do you think of that boy?"
Hiashi—a Hyuga descendant Mizuki had taken under his wing as a potential heir—thought for a moment. "He's the first dual-bloodline ninja in Hyuga history. His potential is considerable. But his dismissal of jutsu fundamentals... that could become a serious obstacle."
Mizuki snorted coldly. "Abandoning proper training to chase some crooked path? That'll cap his achievements. He's branch family anyway. Nothing to worry about."
Hiashi opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. Silence was safer.
---
Outside the main house, the guard wiped sweat from his forehead, looking at Seiran with barely concealed anxiety.
"That was reckless! You can't tell the patriarch his life's work is flawed!"
Seiran's gaze distant. "This was my first real look at how they think. Their stubbornness is... enlightening."
But there was a silver lining here, and Seiran understood it well. After today, Mizuki would dismiss him outright. Treat him as a lost cause, not worth attention. Which meant Seiran could develop Electromagnetic Manipulation in peace, without scrutiny.
He smiled at the guard and scratched his head.
"Thank you for worrying. I didn't catch your name, though."
"Hyuga Hiiragi. Call me Uncle Hiiragi."
"Understood, Uncle Hiiragi."
Hiiragi's eyes grew distant, nostalgic. "Your father went on a mission with me, years ago. Quiet man, but honest. Really honest." He looked back at Seiran. "I'm swamped with missions most days, so I can't check on you often. But if you need guidance with your training, you know where to find me."
Seiran's smile widened. That was exactly what he needed—an ally on the inside, someone who respected his father. Someone who was a shinobi himself, not bound by the rigid Hyuga orthodoxy.
"Thanks, Uncle Hiiragi," he said. "I really appreciate that."