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... link of an eye.
On Mount Myōboku, beneath a roaring waterfall, a black-haired teenage boy sat cross-legged on a smooth stone at its center. He wore nothing but short training pants, letting the crushing torrent hammer directly against his body.
Beneath his sun-darkened skin, power churned quietly. Not explosive, not wild—just contained, compressed, waiting. The kind of strength that didn’t shout until it was already too late.
After an unknown stretch of time, the boy open ...
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