All through dinner, Renji's grandfather did not say a single word to his father. Renji felt his old man had it rough, though at least his grandfather had not gone so far as to forbid his parents from sharing a room.
The next morning, Renji was woken up by his grandfather and told to follow. They walked deep into the mountain forest. Along the way his grandfather asked small questions about life back in Konoha. Renji could tell the old man did miss home, though whether it was because of his devotion to the sword or something else, he had never once returned in five years.
They came to a bamboo grove. Renji thought to himself that swordsmen always looked right in a bamboo forest. His grandfather pointed at the grove and said, "Cut some bamboo. I need to make something."
Renji reached for his blade, but his grandfather stopped him. "Are you stupid? Who chops bamboo with a sword? You'll ruin the edge. Use this." He handed Renji an axe. "Remember this. In life it's not about using what feels cool or convenient. It's about using the right tool for the right job."
Renji chopped for an hour straight and wondered if his grandfather had fallen asleep. Finally the old man said, "I wanted you to cut trees too, but at this pace I'll be dead before you're finished. Your father ruined such a good seedling. Carry what you have and follow me down."
Renji looked at the mountain of bamboo, then at his grandfather already heading downhill without lifting a finger to help. He had no choice but to hoist the load and trudge after him.
After breakfast, his grandfather set him to chopping trees. Renji hacked away the whole morning. Eventually his grandfather shook his head, took the axe from him, and demonstrated. The rhythm of blade meeting wood was steady and almost musical.
"Finally showing a bit of my blood in you," the old man said. "Listen carefully. Every tree has its grain. Every swing of the axe has a point of release that suits you best. You have to find that spot. Use rhythm, breathing, and strength together. Watch with your body, not your eyes."
Renji instinctively opened his Sharingan. A sharp smack landed on his head. "You going to eat with those eyes too? That is the curse of our clan. They lean on the Sharingan for everything, until they forget how to fight without it. The eyes are just a tool. Nothing more. You kill with a blade, not your eyes. Stop wasting them. Use them only when it matters, as a trump card. True strength is turning everything into instinct."
So Renji chopped until noon, then carried lumber down again. His grandfather ordered him to leave the wood for his father to build a hut, while he himself slid away on a raft to fish.
Renji kept at it until sunset, exhausted but gradually finding a strange new feeling. He could not see the grain clearly, but his body was learning to sense it.
That night his grandfather handed him a wooden sword and told him to practice basic kata. After one set, the old man tied a cloth over his eyes. "Now train blind until bedtime."
Renji didn't understand any of it, but he knew one thing. His grandfather was teaching him, and these strange tasks were pieces of a lesson.
For two days he cut trees, split logs, and helped raise a hut. On the third morning his grandfather brought out a vest made of bamboo strips with little bells attached. "Put this on. We're hunting today."
Renji groaned. Bells jingling at every step meant no animal in the forest would stay. His grandfather only smiled. "Catch something with your bare hands. Rabbit, pheasant, deer, whatever you dare. Hide yourself, be still, and when you move, strike like the wind. One strike, one catch. The bells will teach you control. Blend with the forest."
All day Renji managed to catch only a single rabbit, and even that one seemed to have given up on life and ran straight into his hands.
So his life settled into a pattern. Chop in the morning, hunt in the afternoon, train blindfolded at night. The days blurred together until half a year had passed. By then Renji could see the grain of wood as if it shone before him. Each swing landed true, each cut rang like a note of music.
He traded chopped wood to villagers nearby for small goods. The people were simple and kind. No scheming, no politics, just honest smiles and a life close to nature. Renji felt his heart ease in a way it never had in Konoha.
His grandfather and father built training equipment around the hut they had raised. There were balance posts, hidden traps, and bell chimes. At first Renji was beaten black and blue, but over time he grew sharper. Soon his grandfather changed the drill again. Renji had to cross the posts blindfolded, guided only by the sound of bells. He fell so many times it was painful to watch, but slowly he improved.
A year passed. Training had shifted to sparring with wooden swords, carrying water in heavy buckets, practicing in rivers, and striking with greater control.
That day his grandfather finally said, "You can begin training in the Uchiha sword style. Use chakra. Use your Sharingan if you must. The foundation is set."
Renji stood frozen. A year had passed like a dream. For a moment he had forgotten he was even an Uchiha. His grandfather's training had been like living in a temple, chopping wood, carrying water, living like a monk.
He had grumbled often, but the gains were undeniable. His foundation was rock solid. His chakra control was almost inhuman. His body was taller, stronger, faster. With eyes closed he could sense the faintest rustle within twenty meters. His strikes were sharper, his heart calmer.
This was not ninja training. It was the discipline of a warrior reborn.
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.
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The tale of the Uchiha does not end with these words. Beyond this point lies the Legendary Hall, where the storm rages fiercer, and the shadows reveal truths not yet told. For those who dare to walk ahead of fate, the sealed scrolls await your hand.
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