"Of course, there were no instructions in the texts like what's the point? I had gone to speak with one of the elders and apparently, I was too young and not mature enough to know the requirements. Do you believe that? Me? Not mature enough."
I looked at her with a deadpan expression. "Totally."
She reacted as if she had been stabbed, clutching her chest dramatically.
But beneath the humor, my mind was already working through the implications. Due to the memories I had from my past life, from the manga, I knew that the Amaterasu was one of the abilities it was possible to gain through the unlocking of the Mangekyō Sharingan.
If I remembered well, both Sasuke and Itachi were able to use it, even if Sasuke could do so better due to his additional technique that allowed him to manipulate the flames once they'd been summoned. Itachi could only invoke them, could only place them where his gaze fell, but Sasuke, Sasuke could shape them, mold them, turn them into weapons and shields and constructs.
Like I'd thought earlier, unlocking the Mangekyō Sharingan came with abilities mostly tailored to their users, unique expressions of their psyche and circumstances. Unlike what most may think, all Uchihas by unlocking the Mangekyō didn't get Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi. Obito wasn't the exception to the rule with his Kamui and his intangibility. He was actually proof of how diverse the Mangekyō's abilities could be.
The only ability that could be said to be common amongst all users of the Mangekyō was the Susanoo, which needed the use of both Mangekyō eyes to manifest. Well, unless you were Madara and thus able to spew bullshit left and right, using Susanoo with no eyes at all during the war because apparently the rules didn't apply to reincarnations of Indra when the plot demanded it.
I knew why the elder had told my aunt that she was not mature enough. The Blaze Release, which in other words was the ability to shape, control, manipulate, do more than just invoke the dark flames of Amaterasu, was one of the abilities possible to gain by unlocking the Mangekyō. It was one of the two abilities, with the other being the basic Amaterasu invocation, that Sasuke had gained through his Mangekyō.
With the way my aunt was passionate about fire nature, obsessed even, I was certain that if she unlocked the Mangekyō, she would have access to an ability related to fire. The specifics would depend on her exact mental state and circumstances at the time of awakening, but given her entire fighting style and philosophy revolved around flames, it was almost guaranteed.
But then presented itself the problem, the reason why I knew the instructions had not been written down, why the elder had not shared them with her.
According to what most Uchihas in the know understood when it came to unlocking the Mangekyō, the solution to do so was to kill someone you held dear, someone you loved, whether it was a family member or your best friend. That was the legend, the dark secret passed down through whispers and warnings. That was why Itachi had supposedly killed Shisui, why the technique was considered cursed, why those who possessed it were often viewed with a mixture of awe and horror.
In those circumstances, I understood why the secret to possibly gain the Blaze Release was not shared with my aunt. What responsible elder would tell an eager, passionate young woman that the path to her dream required murdering someone she loved? That was a recipe for disaster, for corruption, for the kind of tragedy that had plagued the Uchiha clan throughout its history.
I knew my aunt, so I knew that even if she knew the "traditional" method, she would not in any case try to murder or kill somebody she loved. But she was my aunt and I had memories of literally growing up with her always at my side, so what I thought was probably different from what the elder thought. They saw an ambitious Jonin who might be tempted by power. I saw the woman who'd ruffled my hair and snuck me sweets and made me laugh even when I was drowning in memories of two different lifetimes.
It was also much a shame that everyone who thought that the Mangekyō could only be unlocked through personally caused tragedy were wrong, and that I was maybe the only one of my clan who knew this.
Tobirama Senju, the Second Hokage and probably the greatest scientific mind the shinobi world had ever produced when it came to understanding the mechanics of jutsu and kekkei genkai, had explained it during the Fourth Shinobi World War. I could remember his words almost perfectly, preserved by my past-life memories and the Sharingan's perfect recall working in concert.
The Sharingan, he'd explained, was connected to the brain in a very literal, physical way. Specifically, it responded to a special chakra that was produced in the brain. This chakra was released in response to strong emotions, particularly negative ones. When an Uchiha experienced profound loss, grief, or hatred, their brain released this special chakra, which then flowed through the optical nerves and into the eyes, catalyzing changes in the Sharingan.
The more powerful the emotion, the more of this special chakra was released, and the more dramatic the evolution of the Sharingan. A mild trauma might awaken dormant eyes or add a tomoe. A profound loss could fully mature the Sharingan to three tomoe. And the most intense emotional upheaval, the kind that fundamentally altered a person's entire worldview and psyche, could trigger the awakening of the Mangekyō Sharingan.
But here was the thing that everyone seemed to miss, the critical detail that Tobirama had mentioned but that most people glossed over because they were too focused on the "kill someone you love" narrative.
It wasn't the act of killing that mattered. It was the emotional impact.
I thought that this phenomenon could be seen in another way, a more scientific way that aligned with what I knew from both worlds.
In my opinion, what triggered the release of the Sharingan wasn't necessarily grief or hatred specifically, but any emotion sufficiently strong enough to literally impact the brain chemistry in dramatic ways.
Consider serotonin first. This was the neurotransmitter primarily responsible for mood regulation, emotional stability, and feelings of well-being. Under normal circumstances, serotonin maintained a relatively steady baseline, keeping emotions within manageable ranges. But during intense experiences, serotonin levels could fluctuate wildly.
Trauma, particularly the kind involving loss or betrayal, caused serotonin to crash. And I don't mean a gentle decline. I meant precipitous drops of fifty, sixty, even seventy percent below baseline. This was why depression and emotional instability were so closely linked to traumatic experiences. The serotonergic system had been fundamentally disrupted, leaving the person unable to regulate their emotional state properly.
But here was what most people missed: serotonin didn't just crash in response to negative experiences. It could also spike dramatically during moments of profound positive emotion. Feelings of deep contentment, perfect harmony, transcendent peace, those were all driven by serotonergic surges that could reach levels two or even three times above normal.
The key wasn't whether serotonin went up or down. The key was the magnitude of the change. A sudden, dramatic shift in either direction represented a fundamental alteration in brain chemistry, the kind of change that could ripple through every neural system in the body. For an Uchiha, whose eyes were already modified to respond to brain-generated chakra, that kind of neurochemical earthquake could easily trigger the release of the special chakra Tobirama had described.
Then there was oxytocin, and this one was particularly fascinating when you considered the Mangekyō's supposed unlock conditions.
Oxytocin was commonly called the "love hormone" or "bonding hormone." It flooded the system during moments of social connection, trust, and attachment. When you hugged someone you cared about, when you felt that warm sense of belonging, when you looked at someone and felt completely safe and understood, that was oxytocin at work.
But here was the thing most people didn't realize, the critical detail that reframed everything: oxytocin levels also spiked in response to the loss of social bonds.
When someone you loved died, when a relationship shattered, when you were suddenly and violently separated from someone you'd felt deeply connected to, your brain released massive amounts of oxytocin. It was as if your mind was desperately trying to maintain an attachment that no longer existed, flooding your system with the same hormone that had reinforced the bond when the person was still there.
This might explain why losing someone you loved was so devastatingly effective at triggering the Mangekyō. It wasn't just the grief, the pain, the sense of loss. It was that your brain was simultaneously processing the absence while flooding your system with the hormone associated with presence and connection. You were experiencing maximum attachment and maximum separation at the same time.
That kind of profound contradiction, that simultaneous firing of completely opposed neural patterns, created a neurochemical crisis that the brain struggled to resolve. The oxytocin was screaming "bond is present and strong" while every other sensory input was screaming "bond is gone forever." That cognitive dissonance, that impossible-to-reconcile contradiction between what your hormones were telling you and what reality was showing you, could easily generate the kind of extreme chakra release necessary for Mangekyō awakening.
But, and this was the critical insight that everyone seemed to miss, oxytocin also spiked during moments of intense positive bonding. The birth of a child produced oxytocin surges that could rival or exceed those associated with loss. A moment of perfect understanding with someone you loved, a profound sense of being truly seen and accepted, a transcendent experience of connection, these could all create oxytocin levels that went far beyond normal ranges.
The difference was in the context, not the magnitude. Loss combined with oxytocin created unbearable contradiction. But profound connection combined with oxytocin created perfect harmony, a sense of completeness so intense it was almost painful in its beauty.
Both could theoretically trigger Sharingan evolution. Both represented massive departures from normal neurochemical baselines. Both fundamentally altered brain state in ways that could generate that special chakra.
The serotonin and oxytocin systems also interacted in complex ways. Serotonin influenced oxytocin release, and vice versa. A crash in serotonin could amplify the contradictory nature of an oxytocin spike during loss, making the cognitive dissonance even more severe. Conversely, a surge in serotonin could enhance an oxytocin spike during bonding, creating a state of neurochemical euphoria that might be intense enough to trigger evolution.
What I was proposing was simple: the Sharingan responded to neurochemical extremes, not to specific emotions. Grief worked because it reliably created those extremes through serotonin crashes and paradoxical oxytocin spikes. But other experiences could create equally dramatic changes through different combinations.
Intense joy combined with profound bonding could spike both serotonin and oxytocin simultaneously to extreme levels. Perfect understanding or acceptance could create a sense of harmony so complete that it fundamentally rewrote neural patterns. Even something like the experience of unconditional love, given and received in perfect balance, could generate the kind of neurochemical transformation necessary for Mangekyō awakening.
The tragedy-focused narrative persisted because it was reliable. Killing someone you loved practically guaranteed the neurochemical upheaval necessary. But reliability didn't mean exclusivity. It just meant that this world was cruel and fucked enough that this seemingly became the only option.
Still, while my theory meant that trauma was not necessary in unlocking further stages of the Sharingan, it still didn't change the fact that finding something, making an event that would significantly affect the brain chemistry of my aunt to the degree necessary for Mangekyō awakening was something that sounded more complicated than worth it in my opinion.
How do you deliberately trigger a neurochemical cascade intense enough to catalyze Mangekyō awakening without resorting to trauma? How do you create joy so profound, understanding so complete, love so overwhelming that it literally rewrites brain structure? Those weren't things you could schedule or plan well unless I wanted to become ninja Walter White.
And all of that didn't include the fact that the Mangekyō progressively, the more it was used, caused blindness in its user unless they were able to switch Mangekyōs with a close relative who also had their own Mangekyō, creating what was called the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan.
The only ones in the manga who didn't have to fear the blindness of the Mangekyō had been Obito, due to the Hashirama cells he had been implanted with that somehow arrested or reversed the degeneration, and Indra who, if I remembered well, was born either with an Eternal Mangekyō or a lesser version of the Rinnegan in the manga at least, because the anime had completely messed up that part with inconsistent flashbacks.
Wait. Indra hadn't needed to unlock the Mangekyō or to switch eyes with anyone. He'd been born with advanced eyes, had progressed to even more powerful states without any of the normal requirements or drawbacks. He was Indra Ōtsutsuki, son of the Sage of Six Paths, possessing a significant fraction of alien genetics that normal Uchiha had diluted over generations.
I might have an idea.
I looked at my aunt. "Auntie, are we alone?"
The expression on her face morphed to utter seriousness in such a way that I would have thought my laughing aunt from moments ago an illusion. The transformation was instant and complete. Her posture straightened, her eyes sharpened, her entire demeanor shifting from playful family member to experienced Jonin evaluating potential threats.
She closed her eyes for three seconds, and I felt rather than saw the pulse of chakra as she performed some kind of sensory technique. When she opened them again, she spoke with certainty. "We are alone. It's about your abilities, isn't it?"
My mind was racing with the implications of what I was about to propose. The pink slime, according to what I understood, was supposed to make someone the queen version of their species. The superior version. The apex.
For an Uchiha, that probably meant one of two things. Either it would push them toward becoming an Ōtsutsuki, since that alien clan were the ancestors of the Uchiha bloodline, the source of the Sharingan itself through Kaguya and her sons. Or it would create something like Indra, who as the son of Hagoromo and grandson of Kaguya, was a quarter Ōtsutsuki, a quarter alien, carrying enough of that extraterrestrial genetic material to transcend normal human limitations.
In either case, it probably meant not only unlocking all the stages of the Sharingan and beyond, but also being untouched by the inconveniences that plagued normal users. The progressive blindness of the Mangekyō. The chakra drain. The physical deterioration. Indra hadn't suffered from any of that. The Ōtsutsuki clan certainly didn't. They used their dōjutsu freely, without fear of losing their sight or burning out their life force.
If the pink slime could elevate my aunt to that level, could give her the genetic advantages that Indra had possessed by birth, then she could have her Mangekyō, could use it freely, could master the Blaze Release she dreamed of, all without the curse of blindness hanging over her head like a executioner's blade.
The question was whether my theory was correct, and whether I could actually use the ability safely. But that was what testing was for.
I took a breath. "I know how you could reach the next stage of fire manipulation, Auntie."
Her eyes widened in shock. "How?!"
Then her eyes narrowed, her analytical mind already working through possibilities. She thought out loud, "Your abilities, of course."
I neither denied nor agreed. Better she thought such. I was not going to tell her that it was because I had lived a previous life in which this universe was a manga.
"I can't promise you anything," I continued carefully, "but one of the abilities I discovered I had gained after the clan meeting is one that, more than just healing, should be able to get you to reach the next stage through another way that is both simpler and safer than the normal one."
She looked at me for a long moment, her Sharingan briefly flickering to life as if trying to read truth in my expression. Then, slowly, a small smile bloomed on her face. She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, the gesture so gentle and fond that it made my chest ache. "You're such a sweet child, Ren. You don't have to, you know?"
"Huh?"
"Try to handle my grown-up problems," Fumiko said softly. "I know the clan head said a lot of things about how your abilities will help all of us, all of the clan, but don't forget, never forget, they are yours first. You're not an object, a tool, little Renny, no matter what they or yourself may try to believe."
"I know that," I said softly. "I am doing this just because I want to. Is wanting to help you wrong?"
"Of course it's not wrong, you're not wrong, Ren," she said quickly. "It's just, thinking about it, it's like a dream coming true, but at the same time, it feels like using my itty little nephew and I know it's not necessarily logical but us Uchihas have never truly been that logical. I am thankful, I am happy, but... I don't know."
She ruffled her own hair with one hand and sighed. "I am not good with things like this."
I let a teasing tone enter my voice. "Clearly. Could have just said thank you, my so incredible and cool and favorite nephew."
She smiled, the tension breaking. "You're right." Then, with exaggerated formality, "Thank you, my so incredible and cool and favorite nephew."
Her expression turned more serious again. "We'll wait for your mom, your dad, and the two others and try to firstly understand the ability, ensure that it's not harmful to you before anything."
I left her lap, standing up and stretching. My body still ached from the training, but it was a good ache, the kind that came from pushing limits rather than injury.
Fumiko stood up as well, brushing grass from her Jonin uniform. "It's time to go. We passed more time here than I thought we would."
She helped me to my feet by grabbing my arm, her grip careful but firm, and we began walking away in the direction of the clan compound. The sun was lowering on the horizon, painting everything in shades of orange and gold.
We walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just the sound of our footsteps and the evening insects beginning their songs. Then Fumiko spoke again.
"Hey, Renny, I had told you that I believed you would become someone as strong as Madara and Hashirama. I was wrong."
She turned to look at me, and the fading sunlight caught her just right. The dusk rays fell around her, illuminating her dark hair until it seemed to glow with an inner fire. Her face was cast in warm light that softened her features, made her look younger, more peaceful. The orange-gold luminescence created a halo effect, tiny particles of pollen or dust catching the light like floating embers around her head. Her eyes, dark and warm without the Sharingan active, held an expression of such genuine affection and pride that it made something in my chest constrict.
She looked ethereal in that moment, like something out of a painting, a figure of light and warmth against the darkening sky.
"You'll be stronger," she said, her smile growing, "because you're kind and kind people, the one who are truly can only be strong in a world as such."
In other words, it's not that the Uchiha clan is fucked but that the universe that they live is the one that is fucked and with their neurochemistry and the tragedies inherent to a world of Shinobi and murder, of course, the Uchihas are like that. They are a symptom, not the problem itself. The Uchihas are a clan I could see thrive without any of their self sabotaging particularities if they lived in a world that was just a little bit kinder. I am kinda hesitating mentioning even it's canon because Boruto is Boruto but in the new chapters, Sarana unlocked her Mangekyou which got the ability to make black holes by the way because of how much she loved Boruto so, if Boruto can be taken as canon, it kinda means I am not wrong. Anyways, Tell me what you think about it? If you were trying to unlock the Sharingan and its late stages without traumatic experiences in Uchihas, what would be your strategy?
PS: I got a p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / Eileen715 with two more chapters. With less than 5$, you have access to everything I write in a month. Don't hesitate to visit if you like my stories, want to read more or simply support me. In any case, thanks for reading
Failed roll:
Messenger Cards [200 - Sailor Moon] These are blank cards that imprint vague images on themselves when you hold them and picture the image in your mind. You may plant these cards in places where the recipient can find them, and they won't question how the card got there. The intended recipient of these cards will always recognize the images on these cards and will know exactly what it means, so if one wishes to give someone a sign to act, or to warn them of someone, they may use these cards
200 cp banked
"Tell me Arashi, why are you hesitating?"
The question hung in the air of the dimly lit office, heavy and accusatory despite the elder's measured tone. Arashi didn't turn from the window where he stood, watching the compound below. From this height, he could see the training grounds where young Uchiha practiced their fire jutsu, the residential quarters where families gathered for evening meals, the memorial stone where names of the fallen were etched into black granite. All of it, every single person moving through those streets, every child laughing in those courtyards, every widow lighting incense at that memorial, all of it rested on his shoulders.
"Me, hesitating? What makes you think such, elder Tsurugi?"
The words came out lighter than he felt, almost casual, but Arashi knew better than to think he could fool a man who had seen two Hokage rise to power, who had fought in battles before Konoha even existed. Tsurugi had been there when Madara had walked away from the village, had been one of the voices arguing for reconciliation even as their greatest warrior abandoned everything they'd built. The old man knew hesitation when he saw it, could probably smell it like blood in the water.
"You saw what happened."
Four words. Just four simple words, but they carried the weight of everything that had transpired over the past hours, days, weeks. Everything that had shifted and changed and fundamentally altered the trajectory of the Uchiha clan.
Arashi sighed, finally turning from the window to face the elder properly. Tsurugi sat in one of the simple wooden chairs that furnished the clan head's office, his weathered face illuminated by the soft glow of the oil lamp on the desk. The man looked older than Arashi remembered, the lines around his eyes deeper, the gray in his hair more pronounced. Or perhaps it was just that recent events had aged them all.
"Yes, I did."
The admission felt like defeat somehow, like acknowledging a weakness he couldn't afford to have. But there was no point in denying it, not to Tsurugi, not to himself. He had seen it all, had witnessed every impossible moment.
He had told his nephew that only five Uchiha, amongst them his mother, his father, and his aunt, plus two Uchiha medics, were necessary to monitor his first activation of whatever abilities he had gained. It had been said with confidence, with the assurance of a clan head who knew what precautions were sufficient for testing a new bloodline ability.
The truth was that it was a lie, one they all knew without Ren. Not a malicious deception, but a necessary one, the kind of gentle fiction you told to keep a child from panicking, from understanding just how dangerous the situation truly was. Because Ren had almost died. Could even be argued to have died for some moments, his heart stopping, his breathing ceasing, his chakra network collapsing in on itself like a star going supernova. And when he had come back, clawing his way back to life, his Yin had been different. Heavier. Changed in ways that Arashi still didn't fully understand.
He had thought at first that it was because of his nephew's brush with death, the fact that he had awakened not only his Sharingan but his Sharingan with three tomoe. A complete maturation in a single moment, bypassing all the stages that normally took years of combat and loss and gradually accumulated trauma. It was unprecedented, shocking, the kind of thing that happened maybe once in a generation if that.
Things like that, changes like that, they changed your chakra naturally because your chakra, that fundamental mixture of physical energy and spiritual energy, couldn't not be affected by serious, important things happening to you. Death changed you. Coming back from death changed you even more. It rewrote something fundamental in your spiritual makeup, left scars that went deeper than flesh and bone.
Everyone's chakra had their own signature, a different color, a different texture, a different resonance when you felt it with sensory techniques. Your chakra was you, distilled into pure energy. It reflected your personality, your experiences, your traumas and triumphs, every significant moment that had shaped you into who you were. Sensor-nin could identify people by their chakra alone precisely because of this uniqueness, this fundamental impossibility of duplication.
Still, he hadn't expected that the change in Ren's Yin could have brought a mutation, a new bloodline limit. One that, like all things coming from Yin, could be said to be unnatural, different, new, foreign to what you should expect from normal human capability. Yin was deviation, after all. Yin was the power to make real what shouldn't be, to impose imagination onto reality, to break the rules that Yang enforced.
If Yang was life, the energy that animated and sustained the physical world, then Yin was death, or perhaps more accurately, the power to deny life's limitations. If Yin was what made the shape, the form, the concept of a thing, then Yang was what animated it, gave it substance and function and the ability to exist in the material world.
This was why people who used Genjutsu, who favored illusions, who were more cerebral and analytical in their approach to combat, were more inclined to Yin. They were imposing false realities onto the world, making people see and feel and experience things that didn't exist. That was pure Yin, the power of imagination and deception made manifest through spiritual energy.
This was why the strongest shinobi physically were the ones with a lot of Yang. Yang enhanced the body, made muscles stronger, bones harder, healing faster. It was additive, reinforcing what already existed and pushing it beyond normal human limitations.
It could be argued that, in other words, Yang ensured something worked the way it should, following the natural laws of the world, while Yin ensured something worked the way it could, bending or breaking those laws to achieve impossible results.
Yin was deviation from what should be the logical order of the world. Yang was advancement, an adding to something natural, an enhancement of existing capabilities rather than the creation of new ones.
This was why the Nara, with their Yin chakra, could control and manipulate shadows. Shadows weren't supposed to be solid, weren't supposed to be able to bind or strangle or move independently. But Yin made it possible, imposed that impossible reality onto the world and forced it to comply.
This was why the Yamanaka, with their Yin chakra, could read through your mind, see what you thought, access everything you had ever experienced, and warp all of it if they chose. Minds were supposed to be private, inviolable, but Yin said otherwise and made it true.
This was why the Akimichi could, with their Yang chakra, become bigger, stronger, transform into giants that towered over the battlefield. They were adding to the base they already were, strengthening the concept of their physical form, taking what already existed and multiplying it to extreme proportions.
But of all the clans in all the Elemental Nations with leanings toward Yang and Yin, it was the Senju with their Yang chakra, their Yang bodies that could sustain injuries and punishment that would kill normal shinobi, and the Uchiha with their Yin, with their Sharingan that imposed impossible perception and prediction onto reality, who did the most with their affinities.
Hashirama and Madara had been gods and demons in human shape. One who could create forests from nothing, whose Yang was so profound he could literally reshape landscapes. The other who could trap you in illusions so complete you couldn't distinguish them from reality, whose Yin was strong enough to control the most powerful of the tailed beasts.
Taking all of that into account, Ren's Yin mutation that allowed him to gain new abilities foreign to their understanding, abilities that he shouldn't have been able to possess while surprising, while extraordinarily rare, should not have been that shocking. Yin mutations happened. They were documented throughout shinobi history, new bloodline limits emerging when spiritual energy took unexpected forms.
This was what he had thought before the boy broke the greatest rule that the Uchiha clan, since its inception, had never been able to break.
The rule about unlocking the Mangekyō. The price to pay initially, blood and death of a loved one, the kind of trauma that shattered something fundamental in your psyche and rebuilt it into something harder and colder and infinitely more powerful. And the price to pay after, the progressive loss of sight the more one used the Mangekyō, darkness encroaching with every technique until you were blind, your greatest power rendered useless by its own cost.
Unless you switched eyes with another Mangekyō user, usually a close relative, creating what was called the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan. But with how its activation was most of the time related to the demise of said relative, the murder or death of the person whose eyes you'd need to escape the blindness, and the way shinobi, especially Uchiha with their Sharingan, valued their eyesight above almost everything, that path was rarely walked. It required a level of sacrifice that most couldn't stomach, asking a loved one to give up their eyes, or worse, taking them from a corpse still warm from the kill that had awakened the Mangekyō in the first place.
The boy, his nephew, had unlocked an ability. A pink slime of all things he could summon and unsummon, manifesting it from nothing and dismissing it back into whatever space it occupied when not called. And he had said, had demonstrated with a certainty that brooked no argument, that this slime could not only heal but also, when ingested, make someone's chakra much stronger and bigger. And, most impossibly, unlock all the stages of the Sharingan without any drawback.
No trauma required. No death necessary. No progressive blindness. Just consumption of this substance and evolution, clean and simple and completely unprecedented in the entire history of the Uchiha clan.
The healing alone was proof enough that Ren was indeed the golden goose, the most valuable asset the Uchiha clan had possessed in generations, perhaps ever. Having him watched and protected by Uchiha specialized in stealth and protection details, shinobi whose entire purpose was to ensure nothing and no one could harm the boy, members beyond the five who were only supposed to be his minders and teachers, that was not just a good choice. It was the only choice, the bare minimum of what responsible leadership demanded.
Arashi had been there, even if in a way that ensured he would not be seen, his presence masked by both distance and the jutsu of the stealth specialists surrounding the testing ground. He had watched when the boy not only healed the bruises and little burns he had received from training with his aunt, injuries that should have taken days to fade vanishing in seconds under that pink substance. And he had been there when a retired elder who had once been a Jonin of significant skill, a man missing an arm lost in the wars before Konoha's founding, was discreetly brought forward so that the boy's healing could be properly tested.
The arm had literally regrown. Not regenerated slowly over weeks or months, but regrown in minutes, flesh and bone and muscle and skin forming from nothing, or perhaps from the pink slime itself, Arashi wasn't entirely sure. And when it was done, the elder looked as if too full of energy, moving like a man thirty years his junior, the chronic pain that had defined his retirement completely absent.
Just with that, all the Uchiha who were injured, who suffered from disabilities accumulated over years of service, who carried the physical costs of their sacrifice for the clan and village, could be healed. Now, each time one of them went into a mission and came back injured, came back with wounds that should be career-ending or life-altering, they could have the certainty that said family member would be healed even when it shouldn't be possible. Burns that should leave permanent scars, broken bones that should never set properly, damaged chakra networks that should end a shinobi's career, all of it could be fixed.
Of course, it should be done in a way that didn't attract the gaze of Tobirama, didn't draw the attention of the village leadership or the other clans until they were ready for that scrutiny. Sudden miraculous recoveries would raise questions they couldn't afford to answer, not yet. But still, the implications were staggering. The strategic advantage alone, the ability to maintain combat effectiveness even after injuries that would normally require months of recovery, was worth more than any number of jutsu scrolls or summoning contracts.
He had wondered immediately if this could be used to alleviate the problems that came with the Mangekyō. If it could heal the progressive damage, restore sight that had been lost to the eyes' own power. That alone would change everything.
In the clan, while all members with a mature Sharingan, the full three tomoe, who were older than thirty-five or who were proven worthy through service and accomplishment and thus permitted to know and read the Naka Shrine tablet with its secrets written in a script only their eyes could decipher, were aware of the Mangekyō's existence, there were no more than seven of them who actually possessed it. Seven users in the entire clan, and that was counting Arashi himself.
He had gained his years ago in the First Great Shinobi War, back when the villages were still finding their footing and conflicts erupted over borders that hadn't existed before the founding. His teammate had turned traitor, had led their squad into an ambush that killed three of their number and would have killed them all if Arashi hadn't done what was necessary. Putting a kunai through the throat of someone you'd trained with for years, someone you'd shared meals with and laughed with and trusted with your life, that did something to you. Changed something fundamental. And his eyes had evolved in that moment, the three tomoe bleeding into new patterns, new power, new cost.
He was the head of his clan, which meant that even without taking his eyes into account, he was strong enough to be worthy of the position. You didn't lead the Uchiha through politics alone, through clever words or family connections. You led because you were strong, because you could stand against any challenger and prove your right to command. But it didn't change that he had been losing his sight more and more since he had unlocked the Mangekyō, darkness encroaching from the edges of his vision, colors fading, details becoming harder to distinguish. Every time he used those eyes, every time he called upon their power in combat or crisis, he paid the price in increments of his vision.
If Ren's healing could put the degradation back to zero, could restore what had been lost and arrest what would continue to be lost, this would be a game-changer for the clan. For him personally. Because while the Mangekyō had heavy costs, costs that made you think twice before using it, costs that meant you saved it for only the most desperate moments, it still was powerful enough to eclipse said costs. The ability to cast genjutsu that even other Sharingan users struggled to break, to perceive time differently in combat, to access techniques unique to your eyes alone, that power was worth almost any price when your life or the lives of your comrades hung in the balance.
This was what he had thought before the boy showed the strengthening part of his ability. Before everything had shifted from "invaluable asset" to "fundamental threat to the balance of the shinobi world."
The boy had wanted to test it on himself, had volunteered with the kind of naive enthusiasm children had before the world taught them to be afraid. But the idea had been rightfully knocked down instantaneously by every adult present. The boy was too important to risk, too valuable to expose to unknown effects. What if it killed him? What if there were side effects they couldn't predict? No, testing on Ren himself was absolutely not acceptable.
The aunt of the boy, Fumiko, had made herself a volunteer instead. Had stepped forward with that reckless determination she'd always possessed, the same quality that made her brilliant in combat and terrifying in any situation requiring caution. And they had let her, partly because someone needed to test it and partly because if something went wrong, better a Jonin than the source of the ability itself.
The result of her eating part of the slime, consuming that pink substance that seemed to dissolve on contact with saliva, had been immediate and undeniable. Her chakra had exploded, surging from the respectable reserves of a skilled Jonin to something that rivaled, no, equaled what the founders of the village themselves, of Hashirama and Madara in their prime when he was young and had been lucky enough to interact with them. The sheer volume of it had been palpable even from Arashi's concealed position, washing over the training ground like a tsunami of spiritual energy, and he'd had to suppress his own Sharingan's instinctive activation in response to the threat.
But the chakra increase, as staggering as it was, hadn't been the most shocking part. What had stolen his breath, had made his heart skip beats in his chest, was what happened to her eyes.
The crimson of the Sharingan remained, but the pattern within was a spiral, elegant and hypnotic and completely unprecedented.
He knew just by looking that it was beyond his own Mangekyō. Knew it with the instinct of someone who had possessed advanced eyes for years, who understood power when he saw it. Whatever Fumiko had gained, it transcended the normal evolutionary path. It was something new, something different, something that existed outside the established rules.
And that was the reason why he was right now talking with and even entertaining elder Tsurugi's questions and concerns. Because what happened to Fumiko had proven that Ren's ability wasn't just limited to spying, healing and recovery. It was evolution, forced and artificial and apparently without limit. And that changed everything.
The logical thing, the rational choice that any clan head worth the title would make, would be to put Ren in a safe haven. A vault somewhere, protected by every seal and guard the Uchiha could muster, where nothing could ever hurt him, where no enemy could ever reach him, where he'd be completely secure from any possible threat.
He knew it was the logical thing, the choice that protected the clan's most valuable asset. Ren was too important, his abilities too precious, his potential too vast. Putting him in a cage, even if it was a golden cage with every comfort and luxury they could provide, was the thing he should do as the head of the Uchiha clan. The responsible thing. The strategic thing. The thing that ensured the boy's safety and the clan's future.
He knew this intellectually, could map out the reasoning, could articulate the arguments for why it was necessary. Yet he couldn't do it. Couldn't bring himself to give that order, to condemn a child to imprisonment no matter how gentle, to sacrifice a young life on the altar of clan security.
Because that boy was his nephew, was one of them. Was family in a way that transcended strategic value. And he didn't want to sacrifice the life, the happiness, the childhood of a boy who'd already been through too much, just for the greater good of the clan. Didn't want to become the kind of leader who saw people as tools, as assets to be protected and deployed and used up.
It would leave a bad taste in his mouth, he knew. One he would not be able to stomach, that would poison every decision afterward, that would turn him into something he'd sworn never to become. He'd seen what that path led to, had watched others grow cold and calculating and willing to sacrifice anything for power. He'd promised himself he'd be different, that he'd remember the people behind the Shogi pieces.
"I know." The words came out quieter than he intended, carrying all the weight of his internal conflict. "I know that I am hesitating, hesitating on a lot of things when as the clan head, I shouldn't. I am hesitating about how to deal with Konoha because no matter how much it tries to strangle us, no matter how many restrictions Tobirama places on our movements and our positions and our opportunities, it was born also of the will of our clan. Madara and Hashirama built it together, dreamed it into existence together, and we were part of that dream from the beginning."
He moved away from the window, pacing the small office like a caged animal. "I grew up believing in it, in this idea where children would not have to fight or be sacrificed or killed. Where they could play instead of training for war, where they could grow up with their families instead of dying before their voices deepened. That was the promise, wasn't it? That was what Konoha was supposed to be. And I still believe in that promise, even if the reality has fallen so far short."
Tsurugi watched him pace, silent, patient in the way only old men who'd seen everything could be patient.
"I am hesitating on how things should go forward," Arashi continued, his voice rising slightly with frustration. "If we should wait for long or not, wait until after the Second Great Shinobi War that we can all see coming, the one that will make the first one look small by comparison. If we should be bloody in our response to the village's treatment, show them we won't be pushed further, or if we should try negotiating, try reasoning with people who seem determined to see us as threats no matter what we do."
He stopped pacing, turned to face Tsurugi directly. "I hesitate a lot when I should not, when a clan head should be decisive and certain and willing to do whatever is necessary. But tell me, should I stop and do only the logical thing no matter how many it hurts? Should I stop hesitating, stop searching for other alternatives? Should I just lock Ren away and turn him into the clan's secret weapon, sacrifice his childhood and maybe his sanity for our security? Should I prepare for war with the village that was supposed to protect us? Should I make all the hard choices and stop caring about the costs?"
The questions hung in the air between them, desperate and genuine. Because Arashi truly didn't know. Didn't know if his hesitation was wisdom or weakness, if his desire to find another way was hope or delusion.
The elder sighed, a sound that carried decades of experience and loss. He shifted in his chair, and for a moment he looked every one of his many years. Then he stood, moving with the careful precision of someone whose body had been broken and healed too many times, and sat down on the cushioned seat beside Arashi's desk.
"To begin with," Tsurugi said, his tone shifting to something almost amused, "you should put more sake in this room. It would probably make things a lot easier in different ways. Difficult conversations go down smoother with good alcohol."
Despite everything, despite the weight of the decisions pressing down on him, Arashi felt a small smile tug at his lips. Leave it to Tsurugi to find humor in crisis.
But then the elder's expression softened, became serious again, and when he spoke his voice carried a gentleness that Arashi hadn't heard in years. "I can understand why you're hesitating. You're an Uchiha, it's in your nature to care. We feel everything more intensely than other clans, love and hatred and loyalty and grief. It's what makes our eyes what they are, that intensity of emotion. I wouldn't have pushed for you to be clan head so many years ago if you didn't care, if you were the type to sacrifice your people without a second thought."
Tsurugi leaned back, his weathered hands folding in his lap. "I can tell you only one thing, Arashi. Do what your heart tells you to do, no matter how harsh or foolish it may seem to others. In this world of war, death, and shinobi, the most important thing, what marks one as truly strong, is their heart. Their convictions. Their willingness to stand by their choices even when the whole world tells them they're wrong."
The old man's eyes, dark and knowing, held Arashi's gaze. "That's nothing but our way. The Uchiha way. We don't do things by halves, don't compromise our convictions for convenience. When we love, we love absolutely. When we fight, we fight until there's nothing left. When we believe in something, we hold to it even if it destroys us. That's what makes us strong, and it's also what makes us dangerous, to others and to ourselves."
Arashi felt something loosen in his chest, some knot of tension he hadn't realized was there. It wasn't permission exactly, but it was understanding.
"So you're saying I should trust myself," Arashi said slowly. "Even if it means going against what seems logical."
"I'm saying," Tsurugi corrected, "that logic is a tool, not a master. Use it to inform your decisions, but don't let it override what you know in your heart to be right. The purely logical choice is often the cruelest one, the one that treats people like numbers on a page. And while sometimes cruelty is necessary, it should never be your first choice. Never be something you do easily."
The elder stood, his joints creaking audibly. "Whatever you decide about the boy, about the clan, about Konoha, make sure it's a decision you can live with. Because you'll have to live with it for the rest of your life, and we Uchiha have long memories. We remember everything, our choices, our failures, our compromises. Our eyes don't allow us to forget. Those things, they haunt us in ways other people can't understand."
Arashi nodded slowly, feeling the weight of those words settle into him. Tsurugi moved toward the door, but paused with his hand on the frame.
"And Arashi? For what it's worth, I think the boy is lucky to have you as his clan head. Lucky to have someone who sees him as a nephew first and an asset second. Don't lose that. Don't let this world take that from you. We've lost too many good men to the kind of thinking that treats people as tools."
Then he was gone, leaving Arashi alone with his thoughts and his decisions and the weight that was leading.
Why do you fear Ichigo Arashi? More seriously, we see a little bit of what is happening behind the curtains in the Uchiha's clan. Ren should thank god (me in this case) that the clan head is his uncle because if it was not the case, he would be in such situation that Mother gotel herself would say that's too much. While writing Arashi, I tried writing in a way where he feels both like a pragmatic bastard who will do the worst without batting an eye for the clan and at the same time who cares more than he probably should. Anyways, what do you think of the chapter? Did you like it? Disliked it? Anything interesting ? Do you think that the pink slime should be able to reset each time the Mangekyou's blindness or do you think the spiritual component of it may make it dicey? Tell me in the comments.
This must be hell.
I let myself fall into the grass, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. The ground was cool against my back, damp from the morning dew that hadn't quite burned off yet, and for a moment I just lay there, staring up at the sky through the leaves of the training ground's trees. My lungs burned. My arms felt like jelly. There was a particularly nasty bruise forming on my ribs where aunt Fumiko's kick had landed, the kind that would turn spectacular shades of purple and yellow over the next few days.
The teasing voice of my aunt Fumiko drifted down from somewhere above me. "Ain't what you expected the life of a genin to be, huh?"
I groaned, not even bothering to lift my head to look at her. "Yes."
Sure, I had known that most genin began with D-rank missions. Missions that were essentially chores, glorified civilian work that somehow required shinobi intervention. Catching cats that had escaped from their owners, tending to gardens for people too old or too lazy to do it themselves, babysitting screaming children while their parents went out for the evening, painting fences, cleaning up trash, delivering groceries. The grunt work of the village, the bottom of the barrel, the stuff that made you question why you'd spent years training to be a killer when you were instead playing gardener for the fifth time this week.
I had known it would be tedious. The manga had made that clear enough, showing Team 7's frustrated faces as they dealt with Tora the demon cat or weeded some old lady's vegetable patch. But I hadn't known it would be that tedious. Hadn't understood the soul-crushing monotony of it, the way each mission blurred into the next until you couldn't remember if you'd caught three cats or thirty, if you'd painted two fences or twenty.
I was supposed to become someone so strong that even Hashirama and Madara would look like nothing in comparison, someone who could reshape the shinobi world, who possessed abilities that broke all the established rules. Not babysitting babies and toddlers who screamed and cried and somehow always needed diaper changes at the worst possible moments. Not playing the role of a gardener, pulling weeds under the hot sun while some civilian lectured me about proper soil pH levels as if I hadn't spent years learning to manipulate chakra.
If it was only that, if it was just the D-rank missions, it would have been bearable. Annoying, sure, but bearable. Something I could grit my teeth through while keeping my eyes on the bigger picture, the real missions that would come eventually.
But since I had become a genin, each of my days were separated into two distinct phases of suffering. Before noon, I was the bitch of the village through D-rank missions, running around at the beck and call of civilians who saw shinobi as convenient servants rather than trained killers. And after noon, I was the bitch of my aunt through training that had somehow gotten even more intense than before, if that was even possible.
Don't get me wrong, I was happy that my theory had been right. Happy that my aunt was much stronger than before, that my pink slime had been enough to, from what I'd heard whispered in the compound through the help of my abilities, give her chakra reserves at the low end rivaling those of Madara Uchiha himself. The Madara, the legend, the ghost that hung over every Uchiha's head as the standard we could never quite reach. And Fumiko had reached it, had grasped that level of power through my ability rather than through decades of combat and loss.
She'd been able to skip through all the steps to unlock the Mangekyō and the Eternal Mangekyō, bypassing the traditional requirements of trauma and eye transplants. No death required, no blindness to fear, just evolution granted through consumption of that pink substance. Happy that it meant my aunt would be safer now, that she could be said to be the equal in raw power to someone like Hashirama, who was considered the God of Shinobi, whose name was spoken with reverence even by people who'd never met him.
I was happy that it had allowed her to reach, to unlock the Blaze Release. The flames of Amaterasu, black fire that burned hotter than anything else in the world, that couldn't be extinguished by normal means, that Sasuke and Itachi had wielded in the manga. Amongst many other things, abilities she was still discovering, still learning to control as her new eyes revealed capabilities she'd never imagined possessing.
What I kind of regretted, even if I knew the necessity of it, even if I understood why it had to be this way, was how much harsher and longer our training sessions had become, especially after I had become a genin.
I didn't know how it exactly happened, whatever political maneuvering the clan had done to make it possible, but all of a sudden, I had at ten years old graduated from the Academy. And the Jonin sensei who had been assigned to me, and only me, which made it more of an apprenticeship than the traditional three-man cell, which while it had happened before was rare enough to raise eyebrows, said Jonin was my aunt.
It smelled like blatant interference and nepotism. Reeked of it, actually. The kind of thing that should have caused a massive scandal, that should have had other clans crying foul, that should have made Tobirama personally intervene to shut it down. And I truly wondered how the clan head, how Uncle Arashi, had been able to plan and execute this with Tobirama actively hating our clan, with the Hokage looking for any excuse to curtail Uchiha influence and power.
The political capital it must have cost, the favors called in, the compromises made, I couldn't even begin to imagine. But somehow they'd pulled it off, had arranged for me to have personal instruction from a Jonin-level shinobi who also happened to be family, who knew my abilities and could train me specifically for them.
My aunt's voice interrupted my brooding, warm and teasing. "Cheer up, you know that's for a good cause."
I forced myself to sit up, wincing as the movement pulled at sore muscles and that spectacular bruise on my ribs. "Yeah, I know. Doesn't stop it from making it annoying though."
My aunt had told me, back when I'd first started the D-rank grind and complained loudly about the apparent waste of time and talent, that these missions existed for two important reasons even if they didn't seem important at first glance.
The first thing was that it created an illusion of closeness, of humanity, to the civilian population who was indeed the main source of said missions. The people who hired genin to catch their cats or weed their gardens or watch their children, they got to see us as people rather than weapons. Got to chat with us, to learn our names, to watch us struggle with mundane tasks just like they did. It made us approachable, relatable, human in a way that was easy to forget when you only saw shinobi as the masked figures who appeared and disappeared in the night.
This was so that they would not be seen by the population as the killers we were, the people they ought to be scared of because we could end their lives with casual ease, but as protectors, as friends, as neighbors who just happened to have extraordinary abilities. It built trust, created bonds between the shinobi population and the civilian one, made the village feel like an actual community rather than two separate castes tolerating each other's existence.
The second reason was because it disciplined us. It showed that the shinobi accomplishing these tedious, often degrading tasks had the capacity to listen, to obey, to do things they might not like or find ridiculous, to be ready to debase themselves as long as it was for the benefit of the mission. Because if you couldn't handle the humiliation of chasing a cat around for an hour, if you couldn't swallow your pride enough to take orders from civilians who knew nothing about combat, then how could you be trusted with actual important missions? How could your superiors rely on you to follow orders in enemy territory, to maintain cover even when it was uncomfortable, to do what was necessary rather than what was easy?
This was why you needed, on average, at least fifteen of those D-rank missions when you had a sensei to be even considered for a higher-tier mission as a genin, something like a C-rank that involved actual travel outside the village. Apparently, it took at least five times that amount, seventy-five completed D-ranks, when the genin didn't have a Jonin sensei guiding them. The three-man cells without proper supervision had to prove themselves more thoroughly, had to demonstrate competence and discipline over a longer period.
I'd been doing D-ranks for what felt like forever but was probably only a few months. Fifteen missions of pure tedium, of biting my tongue and smiling and pretending that yes, catching your cat was absolutely a worthy use of my training and abilities. Fifteen missions of slowly losing my will to live while maintaining the cheerful genin facade.
My aunt's voice took on a different quality, something almost sing-song. "This is why I think you're really going to like what I am going to say~"
I looked at her properly for the first time since collapsing, taking in her expression. She was smiling, that particular smile that meant she knew something I didn't, that she was about to drop information that would change things. Hope, dangerous and desperate, flared in my chest.
"Tell me you're not joking," I said slowly, sitting up fully and ignoring my body's protests, "or I swear on the unrequited love between Madara and Hashirama, I'll find a way to give you a fate worse than death, Auntie."
Her smile widened, genuine amusement dancing in her eyes. "Woah, woah, firstly, I see that you are becoming a young man of culture. Finally caved and read some of the novels I shared with you, huh?" She leaned back against the tree, crossing her arms. "And secondly, it was not unrequited! It's just Mito with her evil ways who came and cucked Hashirama from Madara. Classic love triangle tragedy."
I felt my face heat slightly, embarrassment warring with indignation. "You threw those books at me after a training session where I couldn't even move my legs. It was either read that or die from boredom, and that was the slightly less worse version." I paused, genuine curiosity overcoming embarrassment. "Also, I wanted to ask, who was crazy enough to write such... filth?"
The novels in question were romance stories, or what passed for romance in this world. Lurid, dramatic tales of forbidden love and passionate encounters and emotional devastation. The one I'd been forced to read due to immobility and lack of other options had focused on Hashirama and Madara, casting them as tragic lovers separated by duty and circumstance and political reality. In other words, it was a Shinobi Yaoi story.
It was... not what I'd expected from shinobi literature.
My aunt's expression turned thoughtful, almost analytical. "Said filth that you liked, that is also very popular amongst noble civilians, civilians who can read, and shinobi alike." She paused, and when she spoke again there was something darker in her tone. "And it probably was Tobirama."
I blinked. "Don't believe you. Why would he write something like this about his own brother and someone like Madara who we all knew he hated?"
Fumiko's smile faded, replaced by something more serious, more calculating. The shift was immediate and jarring
"Ren, when the average person today thinks of Madara Uchiha, who do you think they imagine first? The ghost of the Uchiha clan? The equal of Hashirama? A genius who redefined what was possible?" She shook her head slowly. "No. For the average person, because of those books, Madara is someone who loved obsessively for the worst, who was self-destructive, who lost the love of the most important person in his life and in the end amounted to nothing. A tragic figure, yes, but ultimately a failure defined by his inability to move on."
She pushed off from the tree, her voice taking on an edge. "Even shinobi who should know otherwise, who should remember Madara as the warrior who could level mountains, would still have a part of this image in their head when they think of him. The lovesick fool, the man who couldn't let go, the cautionary tale about letting personal feelings override duty."
Understanding, cold and unpleasant, settled into my gut. "Tobirama did it because by doing so, he spat on the legacy, on the weight of the name Madara."
"Exactly." Fumiko nodded, looking pleased that I'd grasped it. "Character assassination, but subtle. He didn't write propaganda calling Madara a monster or a traitor. That would have been obvious. Instead, he made Madara sympathetic, tragic, human. Made people pity him rather than fear him. And pity is so much more effective at diminishing someone's legacy than hatred could ever be."
Could Tobirama create an erotica book about his brother and Madara just so that he could try to spite and spit on the legacy and image of the man forever? Yeah, that was something I could actually believe the man would do. It was clever, insidious, the kind of long-term thinking that I could see Tobirama capable of. You couldn't fight an image that had been carefully constructed over years, couldn't argue against emotions that had been subtly implanted through fiction.
My aunt's expression shifted again, back to playfulness, the serious moment passing as quickly as it had come. "Secondly, we've done enough D-rank missions, which means that if you think you're ready for it, we can try to see if a C-rank is available. Watching you suffer and be annoyed going through D-ranks is not as funny as it was at the beginning."
The words took a moment to process, my brain still stuck on the Tobirama revelation. Then they hit me properly. C-rank. Actual mission. Outside the village. No more cats or gardens or screaming children.
"You found it funny," I said, grabbing a kunai from my pouch and throwing it at her face in one smooth motion.
She leaned her head slightly to the side, barely moving, letting the kunai pass by her ear without any concern. It was effortless, casual, the kind of reaction that came from having perception and reflexes far beyond human norm. "Oh, don't be like that, little Renny. You'll understand when you're older. You have to find your amusement as much as you can in this life."
I grumbled something unflattering under my breath, pushing myself to my feet despite my body's protests. The soreness would fade, it always did, my recovery speed enhanced by my unusual constitution. "Let's go."
We made our way through the village toward the Hokage Tower, that massive structure that dominated Konoha's skyline. The afternoon sun was warm on my face, the streets busy with the usual traffic of civilians and shinobi going about their business. People nodded to us as we passed, recognizing the Uchiha clan symbol, some with respect and others with the wariness that had become depressingly common.
The Hokage Tower's mission room was less crowded than I'd expected, just a few other shinobi browsing the available assignments posted on the walls. Fumiko moved toward the C-rank section with purpose, her eyes scanning the various scrolls and papers that detailed missions available for genin with Jonin supervision.
I watched her inspect them, taking her time, occasionally pulling one down to read more carefully before replacing it. She was looking for something specific, I realized, not just grabbing the first available C-rank. Whatever criteria she had in mind, most of these missions weren't meeting them.
Finally, after what felt like forever but was probably only ten minutes, she selected one, pulling the scroll from the board and taking it with what seemed like a nod of satisfaction.
She gave it to a secretary stationed at the desk, a chunin who would handle the administrative side of accepting the mission. The woman took it, made a note in what looked like a ledger, and nodded back. Official now. We were committed.
Fumiko walked back to me, and I could see she was pleased with her choice. "A simple escort mission. The client shall be informed that we've accepted, so when they're ready to depart, favorably tomorrow if everything goes smoothly, they'll meet up with us first thing in the morning."
I felt excitement bubble up, tempered by caution. An escort mission could mean anything from babysitting a merchant to protecting a noble. The details mattered. "Is there anything special about it that made you choose it instead of the others?"
Her expression became thoughtful, almost careful in a way that made my instincts prickle. "Well, first, it's in the Land of Rain, which means a nice trip between Aunty and nephew and the possibility for you to see things beyond Konoha while things are relatively peaceful. Many people around my age only were able to discover the world outside of Konoha while said outside was actively trying to kill us all, and that kind of thing gives you a warped sense of the world that's hard to dissociate away from."
Her voice softened, carrying a weight of experiences I didn't fully understand. "I don't want this for you, Ren. I want your first exposure to the other nations to be in a time when you can actually appreciate what you're seeing, can understand different cultures and landscapes without associating everything with death and combat."
The sentiment was touching, protective in a way that made my chest tight. Before I could respond, she continued.
"The second thing is, while we're supposed to protect the client, we will not be the only protection. If things happen the way they should, even if there were a threat to the client, it should be one minor enough that we don't have to intervene. Multiple layers of security, low risk, perfect for a first C-rank."
That made sense. Ease me into actual missions rather than throwing me into something dangerous right off the bat. Smart, responsible, exactly what I'd expect from someone who actually cared about my development rather than just seeing me as a resource.
Then her expression shifted, becoming almost mischievous, and I felt my relief evaporate. "The third reason is that, according to reliable sources, men from the Land of Rain are very pretty, affectionate, and easy to get with when you show that you can take all that sadness and misery in their heart and channel it into something more positive."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache building. "Your books are your reliable source, aren't they, Auntie?"
She straightened, looking affronted, as if I'd accused her of something heinous. "And also what I heard and was told by female shinobi who went there in the past. Multiple independent confirmations."
I gave her my best deadpan expression, the one I'd perfected over months of dealing with her nonsense. "So, in other words, gossip."
I sighed, long and suffering, the kind of sigh that carried the weight of having to deal with a grown woman who sometimes acted like she was twelve. "Life isn't a book, you know, Auntie. It's pathetic at this point, but it's okay. Like I told you once, there will be a little place in my heart and my home for you when you become an old, bitter, lonely spinster with a lot of cats."
Fumiko reacted as if I'd physically stabbed her, her hand clutching her chest dramatically, eyes wide with exaggerated betrayal. The performance was Oscar-worthy, really.
She pouted, actually pouted, her lower lip sticking out in a way that would have been adorable if she wasn't a grown woman capable of incinerating city blocks. "Ruthless as always."
I felt a smile tug at my lips despite myself. "You're a grown-ass woman. Stop pouting like a child. It doesn't work."
She whispered under her breath, but loud enough that I could definitely hear, "It works though."
Before I could respond to that, before I could point out that yes, it absolutely did work and that was exactly why she shouldn't be allowed to do it, she continued speaking, her tone shifting back to something more serious. "Anyways, the fourth reason is about who this mission came from."
I felt my attention sharpen, instincts honed by training recognizing that shift in her demeanor. "Who it came from?"
She smiled, but it wasn't the playful expression from before. This one was different, carrying weight and significance. "Indeed, this is the most important reason. It comes from an Uzumaki."
The way she said it, the way a shadow passed over her face and seriousness erased any trace of playfulness from her expression, made the word sound both like a good and ominous thing. Her entire presence changed, posture straightening, eyes focusing in a way that reminded me she was a Jonin, a warrior who'd seen things I couldn't yet imagine.
Uzumaki. The clan that had been allied with Konoha since its founding. Mito's clan. The people known for their incredible life force, their sealing techniques that were considered the best in the world, their distinctive red hair and chakra chains. One of the two clans with the Senju descending of Asura, the youngest of the sage of the six path. The clan from which Ninja Jesus, Naruto, the Protagonist will come from. A clan that, if I remembered the manga correctly, would eventually be destroyed, scattered, nearly wiped out in the wars to come.
But right now they were still a power, still had their village of Uzushiogakure, still maintained their alliance with Konoha.
"Why does that matter?" I asked carefully, watching her face for clues. "I mean, they're allies, right? Isn't it normal for allies to hire Konoha shinobi for escort missions?"
Fumiko's expression remained serious, and when she spoke her voice carried layers of meaning I was still learning to parse. "The Uzumaki don't hire just anyone for their escorts, Ren. They have their own shinobi, their own security. When they specifically request Konoha assistance, it means something. It means the situation is delicate enough that they want the visible presence of their alliance on display, or it means they're testing something for the best and probably the worst."
I follow the theory that multiple ninja villages don't ally together even though they hate each other since their creation to attack one target for no reason. I was doing research on Fuinjustu and apparently, juinjustu, cursed seals like Orochimaru created are apparently a branch of fuinjutsu which meant that the Uzumaki in their prime must have done straight sorcery even in the eyes of other ninjas. All of that to say that I am going to approach in this fanfic the clan of future ninja Jesus with the gravitas I think it deserves. Anyways, what do y'all think could the Uzumaki have done with seals that would make them scary enough to be attack by multiple villages? Let's say you were an Uzumaki and you had to use seals to fuck up the enemies of your clan. What kind of application would you come with based on what we know of canon? Give me ideas. If it's interesting enough, maybe they'll be included.
PS: I got a p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / Eileen715 with two more chapters of this story. That's also without mentioning everything else I write. With less than 5$ a month, you have access to everything I write in a month so don't hesitate to visit if you want to read more or just support
Failed roll :
Cinderella [200 - Peter Pan] A makeshift boat-carriage with a small cottage attached. It was based roughly on fairy tales such as Cinderella, and is powered by an old-fashioned sewing machine. It uses sails to travel both on land and sea, and it can also travel through the air using a magic stone inside the carriage. Could feasibly be combined with The Little House.
Luna Ball [400 - Sailor Moon] You now have a Luna Ball! Which is like a magical swiss army knife, but on steroids. This can hypnotize people and get them to believe anything within reason (Such as you being a married couple's niece or nephew who has come over to stay for an indefinite amount of time, letting you mooch off them), can turn into a (nonlethal) gun that looks like an actual gun indistinguishable from the real deal, a parasol, and other assorted items.