The sun peeked over the tiled rooftops of Konoha, casting its morning glow upon the Hidden Leaf Village. The village bustled with shinobi heading toward their assignments, merchants opening their stalls, and children racing through the streets. But deep within the quieter part of the Uchiha district, a boy with crimson-tinged black hair moved silently through a training courtyard, a wooden bokken in hand.
Renji Uchiha exhaled, low and steady, as his blade sliced the morning air.
Step. Shift. Cut.
Each swing was deliberate, balanced. His movements weren't flashy, nor did they carry the raw aggression most boys his age might show. Instead, they echoed discipline—each strike refined by endless repetition.
High slash. Turn. Lateral sweep.
"Your grip is loose again," came a firm voice behind him.
Renji didn't stop. "I adjusted to reduce wrist strain on follow-through. The angle gives better recovery if parried."
A pause.
"Good," Kagami Uchiha said, stepping into view. "But don't become so clever you forget simplicity. Most lives are lost not by genius—" he motioned with his own bokken, "—but by hesitation."
Renji lowered his blade and nodded, sweat beading on his brow. His Sharingan wasn't active. He hadn't even unlocked it yet. But Kagami didn't treat him like a child—and that was part of why he'd survived this long.
"Again," Kagami said. "This time with killing intent."
Renji stepped into the ready stance.
This was his routine. Not a life of games or praise. No birthdays. No lullabies. Kagami taught him to move like a shadow, to think beyond emotion, and to survive—not by mercy, but by understanding people and systems.
Because Renji understood one thing above all else.
This world did not reward the kind.
He had seen the way Danzo's agents operated, the veiled threats within the village council, and the sideways glances even within his own clan. The Uchiha were still respected—but increasingly isolated. They whispered among themselves, their pride curdling into bitterness. It was a slow decay, one Renji had seen before—he knew where it would end if left unchecked.
He wouldn't be caught in that trap.
He didn't hate the village. But he didn't trust it, either.
Later that day, Renji sat atop the sloped edge of a rooftop near the Academy, his eyes following the new batch of students gathered below.
He had entered under a false surname, Rin, as Kagami had insisted. The official record listed him as an orphan with Uchiha ancestry—not a clan member. Just close enough to blend in. Not enough to be watched too closely.
The Template System remained quiet most days. Occasionally, it would offer a new prompt.
[Synchronization: 9.2% - Red-Haired Shanks]
Mental Fortitude increased.
Observation-based skill replication improved.
Subtle changes. His footwork had grown more stable. His patience—already high from two lifetimes—was reaching monk-like levels. His sword strikes had more weight, more presence.
But no Haki. No magic power-ups. He understood now—it was more like overlaying the "will" and talent of Shanks onto his ninja foundation. No instant victories. He had to build it.
And that suited him.
In the Academy, he kept a low profile.
Renji made a point of finishing mid-tier in physical drills. He always lost a kunai-throwing round or two on purpose. Never too bad. Never too good.
But when it came to strategy tests or written exams? He aced them effortlessly.
Most of the kids found him boring.
Except one.
"You always sit alone, y'know."
Renji looked up. A boy with dark hair and a headband tied sloppily around his neck stood before him.
"You're Rin, right? You don't talk much."
Renji gave a slight nod. "I talk when needed."
The boy grinned. "I'm Sato. Wanna spar after class?"
Renji studied him. The boy's chakra flow was strong but erratic. Overconfident. He'd seen him mock a Hyuga girl in taijutsu last week and trip another kid during lunch.
"No thanks," Renji said coolly. "I don't spar with people who cheat when they lose."
Sato blinked, expression faltering. "What?"
"You slipped a tripwire onto Kentaro's bench yesterday. And your kunai pouch is rigged with a flash tag—probably to 'surprise' me when you pretend to drop it."
Sato flushed red, mouth twitching.
Renji's eyes narrowed slightly. Not Sharingan. Just instinct and training.
"I'm not your stepping stone, Sato. Try that trick again, and you won't walk straight for a week."
Sato stormed off, but Renji didn't care.
He wouldn't grovel to false kindness.
That night, Kagami returned late from a mission. His flak jacket bore cuts and soot stains, and a line of dried blood ran along his left sleeve.
"Enemy from Rain," Kagami muttered as he washed. "They've started moving early this year."
Renji stirred the stew silently. "The Second War is near."
Kagami froze. "You've been reading the sealed mission logs again?"
Renji didn't deny it.
Instead, he said, "I want a real blade. Not a bokken."
Kagami looked at him for a long time.
"You're not ready for a killing weapon."
"I am," Renji replied. Calm. Certain. "You taught me to strike only when it counts. I won't flail with it."
Kagami sighed and set down his rag. "Fine. I'll take you to the forge next week."
There was silence between them, warm but cautious.
"Renji," Kagami said slowly, sitting down beside him. "You're not like the others. You learn fast. You see people clearly. But don't lose yourself trying to stay above them all. Don't become a blade that cuts everything just because it can."
Renji nodded, but didn't promise anything.
He would never betray Kagami. The man had saved his life, trained him, sheltered him. But he wouldn't sacrifice himself for a system that didn't deserve it.
And he wouldn't waste mercy on the snakes in Konoha's underbelly.
The next morning, Danzo Shimura himself came to observe the Academy class.
He stood still in the corner, arms behind his back, one eye hidden beneath bandages.
Renji knew instantly.
Danger.
Danzo was like a shadow wrapped in skin—quiet, patient, but dripping in malice.
As students demonstrated their skills, Danzo watched without expression. But when it was Renji's turn to demonstrate a basic chakra control exercise, he felt it—that pressure.
Danzo was watching him more closely than the others.
Renji performed flawlessly, but not perfectly. He intentionally let the final chakra thread flicker slightly, as though strained.
Danzo's eyes narrowed.
The next day, a stranger followed him home. Masked, cloaked, pretending to sweep rooftops.
Root.
He didn't confront him. Didn't fight.
Instead, Renji circled a long route through the Uchiha alleyways, entered a side gate, and vanished behind a vendor stall with an illusion tag Kagami had shown him.
He slipped behind the shadow of the building, waited.
The man never followed. Probably didn't even notice he'd lost track.
Good.
Renji returned home late that night and stared out the window toward the Hokage Monument.
He didn't plan to change the world just yet. Not until he had the strength to survive its wrath.
But he was done hiding in full.
It was time to forge his blade.