The Uchiha compound was restless. News of Itachi's defeat at the hands of Mali's team had spread like wildfire, igniting gossip and unease among the clan's elders. In the main hall, Fugaku Uchiha sat in silence, disappointment etched deep into his features. His son, the genius everyone pinned their hopes on, had been bested—publicly, swiftly, and without excuse.
Itachi, shaken by the humiliation, slipped away before dusk. He ran through the winding alleys, past the watchful eyes of relatives, until he found Shisui—the only one who might understand. Shisui, grandson of the late Kagami Uchiha, was training by the river, his movements fluid and precise.
"Itachi," Shisui greeted, not pausing in his kata. "You look troubled."
Itachi hesitated, then spoke, voice barely above a whisper. "I lost. Not just to Mali, but to his whole team. Father… he barely looked at me."
Shisui stopped, sheathing his practice sword. "Strength isn't just about winning. It's about learning. Even prodigies fall, Itachi. What matters is what you do next."
Itachi nodded, eyes burning with renewed determination. "I want to be stronger. Will you train with me?"
Shisui smiled, clapping his cousin on the shoulder. "Always."
The Radical Gathering
Elsewhere, in a quiet wing of the estate, Raigen Uchiha—Mali's grandfather—hosted a gathering of the clan's more radical elders. They sipped tea, voices low as they discussed the future of the Uchiha. The recent events had shaken even the most conservative among them.
"Your grandson is… unusual," one elder remarked, eyeing Raigen with a mix of suspicion and respect.
Raigen chuckled. "He's not like the others. But perhaps that's what we need."
As the conversation drifted to clan politics and the village's growing distrust, Mali himself was nowhere to be seen.
The Lone Path
Mali had slipped away to his private training ground, a secluded clearing at the edge of the compound. There, he trained with a ferocity that bordered on obsession. His body, already remarkable for his age, was transforming—muscles thickening, his back developing the distinctive "demon back" reminiscent of Yujiro Hanma from Baki, a figure Mali admired for his overwhelming strength and fearless attitude.
He alternated between brutal physical drills—lifting stones, sprinting, one-handed push-ups—and deep meditation, drawing in Qi and chakra, refining both to their limits. Meals were simple but hearty: grilled meat, rice, and water, fueling his ever-growing frame. Sleep came in short, efficient bursts, his mind always returning to one question: how far could he push the Uchiha bloodline?
But even as his body grew stronger, Mali's mind was restless. He was fascinated by the forbidden techniques rumored to be locked away in the Hokage's secret archives—jutsu that could shatter mountains or steal souls, seals that only the most trusted jonin or ANBU were allowed to study. He knew the risks: the Hokage's office was one of the most secure places in the village, guarded by elite shinobi and layered with detection barriers.