It was sulfuric acid. I added sulfuric acid.

Squats, bench press, deadlifts.

These three exercises, known as the “big three” in fitness, are the simplest way to reflect a person’s physical strength.

Generally, the standard for the big three isn’t just the total weight lifted, but how many times your bodyweight you can manage in total.

A beginner can usually reach three times their bodyweight, an expert might achieve five times or more, but Kisame had already surpassed ten times his own bodyweight.

He currently weighed 100 kilograms, and the combined total of his big three was exactly one metric ton—and he was far from reaching his limit.

It should be noted that during training, Kisame relied solely on his physical strength, never using chakra. Otherwise, this number could easily double or triple.

In the gym, Kisame’s veins bulged all over his body as he let out a low, guttural roar.

Reality proved that true mastery lies in simplicity.

During this period of training, after experimenting with various complex methods, Kisame had recently returned to the simplest of routines—the big three—and in doing so, had smoothly broken through his plateau and made rapid progress.

Bone-crushing squats!

Shoulder-destroying bench presses!

Back-breaking deadlifts!

After finishing these simple daily routines, Kisame broke into a sweat and felt a refreshing comfort throughout his body. He then headed to the shower, preparing to leave.

But just as Kisame was about to exit, a figure as massive as a mountain squeezed in through the gym’s doorway.

Kisame’s pupils contracted at once.

Standing before him was a man with a barrel chest and thick waist, his long orange hair hanging down to his waist, green stripes painted across his cheeks, exuding a wild, primitive strength.

Though Kisame stood nearly one meter ninety, in front of this giant he seemed as small as a child.

For the man stood a staggering two and a half meters tall, weighing over three hundred jin, making people wonder if he’d wandered in from a different manga altogether.

This was Fugu Demon of Watermelon Mountain.

Another member of the Seven Swordsmen, and, in all the shinobi world, the tallest ninja of them all.

“Sir.”

Kisame stepped aside to let Fugu Demon pass, bowing in respect.

Fugu Demon was a formidable and highly esteemed ninja in the Hidden Mist. Deeply shrewd, he commanded the village’s covert forces. For the sake of the Bloody Mist, he carried out countless secret missions over the years—so much so that even Uchiha Obito in the original timeline regarded him with respect.

In brief, Fugu Demon was the Hidden Mist’s own “Danzo.”

Without so much as a glance at Kisame, Fugu Demon strode straight past. After all, it was only proper for a junior ninja to bow and show deference.

He walked over to the equipment area and, before starting his workout, took the enormous sword wrapped in white bandages off his back, leaning it casually against the wall.

Seeing this, Kisame’s mouth went dry and his heart pounded.

That was… the Great Blade: Samehada.

Among the Seven Swords of the Mist, there was indeed a hierarchy.

The Executioner’s Blade was arguably the least remarkable, with limited practical use. The Thunder Blade, Long Blade, and Blast Blade—which Kisame had acquired—were mid-tier, each with formidable special abilities.

But the two strongest were the Twin Swords: Hiramekarei, usually wielded by the most powerful Swordsman of each generation, and the Great Blade: Samehada.

At that moment—

“Hup!”

With a short grunt, Fugu Demon deadlifted a full ton of weight.

On earth in his previous life, only someone like the world’s strongest man “The Mountain” could dream of such a feat. For Fugu Demon, though, this was merely a warm-up.

So strong.

Kisame couldn’t help but marvel.

Unlike the other swords, Samehada was unique—it was alive.

Samehada only recognized those it liked, and to earn its favor, one needed an immense and delectable chakra.

Fugu Demon’s mammoth frame, all two and a half meters and hundreds of jin, clearly harbored a vast reserve of chakra in every cell.

Therefore, even though Samehada now sat in the corner, seemingly within Kisame’s reach, he dared not make a move.

To take down Fugu Demon, he would have to become even stronger.

Or, as in his previous life, he could infiltrate the covert forces as Fugu Demon’s subordinate, patiently earning his trust over the years until the perfect moment for a surprise attack.

Kisame cast a deep glance at Samehada before withdrawing his gaze and preparing to leave.

As he turned, he nearly collided with Mangetsu Hozuki.

“Hey, Kisame, you’re here for a workout too? What a coincidence!”

Mangetsu Hozuki greeted him enthusiastically, slapping Kisame on the shoulder as if they were old friends.

Kisame frowned slightly, surprised at how persistent this guy was. He had never seen Mangetsu in the gym before; the other must have followed him here.

“Huh? Fugu Demon is here too?”

Mangetsu suddenly sounded surprised, heading over to greet Watermelon Mountain’s Fugu Demon.

Not only did he seem quite familiar with Fugu Demon, but on a whim, he even picked up Samehada and swung it spiritedly. Fugu Demon, seeing this, simply grinned without comment.

Soon, Mangetsu, shouldering the massive Samehada—which was taller than he was—walked over to Kisame.

“Wanna give it a try? Go ahead. Don’t worry, Fugu Demon won’t be angry.”

He tempted Kisame, offering him Samehada.

But Kisame, unmoved by Mangetsu’s probing, replied calmly, “How could someone as lowly as me dare to desecrate a blade that stands for honor and status?”

With that, he strode out of the gym.

On the street—

Kisame had barely taken a few steps when someone blocked his path again.

“So your urgent business was just a gym session? Careful, I’ll tell Mei Terumi you’re slacking off on purpose—hmph!”

Ameyuri Ringo’s mischievous face was full of threats.

“What do you want?” Kisame asked, glancing at the feisty girl.

“Give me something nice and I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Ameyuri said slyly, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together.

“Fine.” Kisame happened to spot a nearby toy store and told her, “Wait here.”

He walked over to the stand, selected a finely crafted high-pressure water gun, fiddled with it for a moment with his back to her, and then handed it over.

“A water gun? You think I’m three years old?” Ameyuri felt insulted, baring her little sharp teeth at him.

“Just try it,” Kisame said, adding, “Careful not to aim at people.”

Suspicious, Ameyuri pointed the water gun at a nearby tree and pulled the trigger—a sharp “pew” shot out.

Ssssss—

Smoke instantly curled from the tree’s trunk as it was violently corroded, the bark blackening rapidly.

“What did you put in this?” Ameyuri asked, startled.

“Sulfuric acid. I filled it with sulfuric acid,” Kisame replied truthfully, then explained how to use this weapon.

“You look like an innocent little girl—your appearance is deceiving. So when you’re on missions, try not to wear your forehead protector or anything else that gives away your ninja identity. Instead of kunai or shuriken, this water gun lets you pass for a civilian child playing with water, making it easier to approach enemies for a surprise attack.”

He shared this hard-won wisdom in a calm, measured tone.

Ameyuri listened in a daze, then stared at Kisame for a long time before saying, “You really are a bad guy.”

Kisame didn’t deny it; instead, he handed her another bottle of sulfuric acid, instructing her to refill it when it ran out, but to be careful and not hurt herself.

“Then I’ll take it—hee hee, this is fun,” Ameyuri said, taking the bottle and skipping off with the water gun, delighted.