Hyūga Hizashi's pale eyes flicked downward. The bell still hung from his hip… yet the one in Shigure's hand gleamed undeniably real.
"What…?" Hizashi's brows furrowed as he tugged the bell from his waist. His chakra confirmed it. This was wrong. This was—
Snap!
The bell in his fingers vanished in a puff of smoke, revealing not steel—but Shigure's shadow clone. Hizashi blinked, momentarily shocked.
From across the training field, the real Uchiha Shigure smirked thinly. "You remember, sensei—just before my Fireball Jutsu? You knocked away one clone, then struck the second, and smoke filled the field."
"I remember." Hizashi nodded.
"At that moment," Shigure explained coolly, "the first clone disappeared exactly as you expected. But the second didn't. It simply transformed into a bell. You believed what your Byakugan told you—dismissed it as smoke. Then, when you turned fully to repel my Fireball, you ignored the fraud at your waist."
Hizashi stood silent, absorbing every word.
"Which means," Shigure continued, his pale eyes narrowing slyly, "the real bell you thought you carried was never yours since that moment."
The Shigure standing before him shimmered—and dispelled into smoke.
Both Kusuo Hatake and Hyūga Akane gaped openly, their worldviews overturned at once.
In the clearing, Shigure held up the real bell with a quiet jingling chime, the faintest smile tugging his lips. The cunning combination of Shadow Clone feint and Transformation had outmaneuvered even the Byakugan.
For a long moment, Hizashi simply stood there, silent as stone. Then he exhaled slowly, and a smile crept ever so slightly across his stern face. So that's why the Hokage singled this boy out… This is no ordinary genius.
"Take it," Shigure said casually, tossing the bell toward Kusuo.
The masked swordsman almost flinched catching it. "Why are you giving this to me?"
"Because you and Akane already hold the bells. One each. There's no team if I keep the prize all to myself. A true squad isn't measured by scraps of steel."
Shigure's tone was calm, but resolute. It wasn't the bell he cared about—it was the strength he now embodied.
Both Kusuo and Akane stared at him, guilt and awe warring inside them. Kusuo clenched the small prize in his hand tightly, realizing bitterly how tunnel-visioned he had been. Akane blushed faintly, eyes wide in admiration.
Together, almost at the same time, they tried to return the bells to Shigure in shame.
But Hizashi's hands were faster, plucking them both effortlessly from midair.
"Well done," Hizashi said at last, voice warmer now. "Congratulations—the three of you pass."
Shock flashed in their eyes, then joy.
"Your strength amazed me," their teacher continued. "But more than that—your choice to trust, to stand together, when division was the easier path. That is what Konoha values most. From today onward… you are officially shinobi of the Leaf. Team 7, under my command."
He patted their heads, uncharacteristic kindness breaking through his discipline. The tension of combat unraveled at last.
Laughter, small and nervous at first, bubbled between the three new Genin. A thread of understanding, forged by fire and trust, bound them tighter than any classroom ever could.
That evening, Shigure returned to his quarters alone. Excitement crackled in his chest. Not because of the bells—but because of what he had harvested.
He stood before his mirror, practicing silently.
"Jūken—the Gentle Fist," he murmured, dropping smoothly into a Hyūga stance. His pale eyes activated, pupils tracing chakra pathways as if illuminated across his own reflection. "A taijutsu capable of striking the meridians directly. With my eyes, I can replicate every movement flawlessly—and none will even realize…"
His hands moved, air shuddering faintly from a palm strike. "Hakke Kūshō—the Eight Trigrams Air Palm. A strike beyond arm's length, a shockwave flowing from chakra itself…"
He tensed, spinning. "And Kaiten—the absolute defense. Releasing chakra through every tenketsu. Repelling all attacks as though the world itself twists around you…"
He stopped, panting slightly, exhilaration blazing in his veins.
"These techniques are supposed to be Hyūga secrets. Even most of their clan will never touch them… But I can. My eyes—the fusion of Sharingan and Byakugan—show me everything." His grin widened. "With chakra at Kage-level inside me… those techniques are already mine. And no one else will even understand how."
Later that night, Shigure lay down, exhaustion settling into his bones. His lids began to close when—
Snap. His nerves jolted awake.
The Sharingan flared as he opened his eyes. On the rooftop, three figures moved in the shadows—quiet, deliberate, and hostile. Their chakra signatures were all too familiar.
Uchiha.
Shigure's hand tightened instantly. With a faint whisper of smoke, three shadow clones bloomed beside him. He pressed a Transformation over his real body and slipped quietly into hiding.
A harsh whisper outside confirmed it.
"Quiet. He's here."
The leader's face shifted into focus. A familiar smirk, a grudge that refused to die.
"Uchiha Mamoru," Shigure hissed under his breath, pupils constricting with cold fury. His fists clenched tight.
They hadn't come to spar, or to mock.
They had come to kill him.
And in the darkness of night, blood spilled within the Uchiha's own ranks was about to begin.