It was early morning. Fresh air crept in through the window, and Mitsuro, as usual, was supposed to get ready and head to the orphanage. But not this time. His steps, instead of taking him out, led him to the bathroom of the house. He stood in front of the mirror.
He exhaled slowly, closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again… the glow of a pair of two-tomoe Sharingan shone in his gaze.
He muttered under his breath:
"Finally… after seventeen damn years. The day I've always feared."
Mitsuro wasn't an ordinary Uchiha. He was a soul from another world—a powerless world, a place full of sickness and quiet deaths in hospital beds. He didn't clearly remember his past: not his name, not his job, not his face. The only thing that stayed vivid in his mind was that anime he had watched over and over: Naruto.
The last image of his previous life came from there too: a small Sasuke staring at his brother, Itachi, with tear-filled eyes. The night of the Uchiha massacre… and then, complete darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw his one-year-old body. He had reincarnated into the body of an Uchiha clan member.
At first, he panicked. He knew what fate awaited this clan. But when he realized that even the Third Ninja War hadn't started yet, a spark of hope lit up inside him. He thought to himself, maybe, like in so many other stories, he'd get a "system" or some extraordinary talent. Something that would make him the strongest ninja in history.
But nothing like that ever happened. There were no gifts waiting for him. All he had was a normal body and relentless effort.
Years passed in training, studying, and spilling blood. By the age of six, he stepped onto the battlefield, and by ten, he barely managed to reach the rank of Chunin—without his Sharingan ever activating even once. It was as if fate was fucking with him.
Until that damn night when the Kyuubi attacked the village. When flames and roars shook everything, the first tomoe of his Sharingan appeared in his eyes. Later, with blood, sweat, and endless effort, he managed to awaken the second tomoe. Yet, he was still far from that legendary Uchiha power. His only weapons were skill in basic jutsus, two elemental techniques—Earth and Fire—and a bit of medical knowledge.
Still, his goal hadn't changed: survival.
He knew the Uchiha disaster was coming, just like in the stories he'd seen. So he made a plan: before everything fell apart, he had to vanish quietly. He opened his ninja bag and pulled out a small scroll. His hands trembled slightly. With a summoning jutsu, a puff of smoke appeared, and in front of him materialized an object: a tiny glass vial, inside which lay a pair of three-tomoe Sharingan.
Mitsuro stared at it. Under his breath, he muttered:
"Hold the fuck together… you can do this…"
He swallowed hard.
He lifted his hand to his eye. Fingers dug into the corner of his eyeball. The first pressure felt like stabbing a thorn into flesh. The sound of his nails scraping against the bone echoed painfully. From the very moment his fingers touched the socket, pain shot through his entire body like electricity. But he didn't flinch. He gritted his teeth and pulled his eye out. The room filled with ragged breaths. A groan escaped his throat almost involuntarily. Without pause, he placed the bloody eye into the container and picked up one of the three-tomoe Sharingan.
He pressed it into the empty socket and immediately activated his medical jutsu. Tears mixed with blood ran down his cheeks. Cold sweat slid across his forehead. He knew now that there was no turning back.
Breath ragged, he didn't give himself a moment. He raised his other hand and did the same with the other eye.
Half an hour later, with the sink full of blood and water, he looked into the mirror.
His eyes were no longer ordinary. A pair of red, glistening three-tomoe Sharingan sparkled in his sockets like drops of fresh blood. They weren't his original eyes, but they were enough. Mitsuro pressed his dry lips together and focused some chakra; the red flames faded, and his pupils returned to black.
Time for the plan. The final stage.
He put on his clothes and set off. The orphanage lay in a remote corner of the clan territory, a place where even the wind seemed slow. For five years, this forgotten spot had been his home. He played the role of the mentor, but behind his smiling mask, he was nurturing something else.
As he entered the courtyard, he saw an old woman bent over, talking to a five-year-old child. Mitsuro stepped forward, quietly, as always:
"Grandma Yukina."
Yukina looked up, her wrinkled smile spreading across her face:
"Oh… Mitsuro! You're late again today." He smiled too, a smile that even he could taste as fake.
"Overdid it last night… overslept," he said.
Yukina frowned and spoke in that motherly tone she always used:
"Sweetie, you're only seventeen. This wandering around isn't really for your age."
Mitsuro nodded warmly, but behind that smile, his eyes said something entirely different.
"Alright… I'll be careful. Where are you going?"
"A couple of grumpy old men are looking for me. I need to see what they want." Then she looked at the kids and added,
"I left the older ones in charge of the little ones. And you… if those six troublemakers let you, check on them."
Mitsuro replied softly,
"Okay… no promises. I told them I'd take them on a trip today. If I get back early, I'll stop by."
"That's good enough," Yukina said with a smile, and left.
But "good enough" wasn't good for Mitsuro. Nothing was. Once six o'clock passed, this place would no longer be an orphanage. Everything would be painted in blood.
He stepped toward the small wooden building. Inside were the six orphaned rascals—the ones who always ruined his plans with their childish mischief. He turned the handle and opened the door.
At that exact moment, a bucket of water dropped from above.
Mitsuro had anticipated it. He stepped back, raised his hand, redirected the force, and flung the bucket toward the six kids. Screams and laughter erupted; they were soaked little rats.
Mitsuro's half-lidded, emotionless eyes glinted.
"You don't even have an ounce of creativity. Learn from Naruto; his pranks are the kind that even Sandayme-sama can't ignore!"
Hiroshi, a drenched four-year-old, looked up at him and said,
"Sensei, you always foil our jokes. You're the most boring of all."
Mitsuro answered without hesitation:
"That's because there's no creativity in your pranks. Repeat a trap ten times and it's no longer a trap. A ninja has to surprise the enemy in a new way."
Tenma, the slightly slower boy, scratched his head:
"Huh? But didn't you say last time a ninja shouldn't get surprised?"
Mitsuro's lips curled at the corner.
"Exactly. A real ninja can surprise their enemy… but never be surprised themselves."
Then he turned and pointed at Daiki:
"You! Go get a cloth. The floor needs to be dry in thirty seconds." Daiki frowned:
"But Sensei! Why me? That was Hiroshi and Tenma's doing!"
Mitsuro's eyes narrowed.
"One: you tattled. Did I ask whose fault it was? Two: you're older than them, you should have stopped them. You didn't. So the punishment is on you."
Hiroshi and Tenma were both four, Daiki was five. The boy stood there, sulking.
"If that's the case, Hikari's older than me! She should be punished too!"
Hikari, almost six, went pale.
Mitsuro's lips curled into a cold smile.
"Good point. Hikari, you take a cloth too."
Hikari whispered, scared:
"But… I'm a girl!"
"For an Uchiha ninja, shinobi and kunoichi mean nothing. Move!"
Yuko, the youngest girl of the group, piped up in her high voice:
"But Sensei, we're not ninjas yet! We haven't even gone to school!"
Mitsuro spoke softly, but there was an edge like a blade:
"You will be, eventually. Don't you all want to become ninjas? Then learn now. A ninja obeys first. Orders are given, you execute them. Quickly. Without question."
Suddenly, a spark lit in all their eyes, and they nodded in agreement.
Hikari and Daiki dried the floor quickly and returned to their spots.
Mitsuro, though far from calm inside, said:
"Alright, now onto the main point! Today we're going on an important mission. But not one of those usual trips…"
The kids' eyes lit up: finally, Sensei's serious moment had come.
Mitsuro continued, his voice calm as ever:
"Yes. Until today, I hadn't shared any details because I was afraid you'd spill the secret. But now it's time. We're going to escape the village—together!!"
It was time to vanish silently from the clan.
Eight hours until the Uchiha massacre.