"Dad?!"
The word hung in the air, sucking all the sound out of the room. Everyone present was utterly stunned, none more so than Namikaze Raimon himself. He'd watched the boy stew in his own dramatic silence, building up to what he assumed would be a formal, if desperate, request. He hadn't expected this.
To be fair, the idea of becoming Uchiha Mikoto's man did have a certain appeal. (A true connoisseur appreciates the classics!)
Sasuke, realizing the catastrophic verbal blunder he'd just made, flushed a brilliant, mortified scarlet.
"N-no, no, no! That's not what I meant!" he stammered, waving his hands frantically as if he could physically erase the word from the air.
"My m-mother taught me to be respectful!" The more he tried to explain, the worse it got. In that moment, Sasuke wished with every fiber of his being that the floor would open up and swallow him whole, preferably depositing him in a three-meter-deep hole where he could lie in peaceful, silent oblivion.
"Enough!" he finally gritted out, forcing his embarrassment down and replacing it with a mask of grim determination. "I want to become stronger. Strong enough to kill that man! Please… teach me!"
It was clear the desire for revenge had fully consumed him. In truth, if he were a little more cunning, he could probably challenge Uchiha Itachi right now. A little family sentiment, a dash of theatrical acting, and his older brother, with his notorious brother complex, would likely be disarmed. Then, in a tearful embrace, he could slip a kunai between his ribs…
Of course, that was a fantasy. In reality, the current Sasuke would be trapped in a genjutsu the moment he laid eyes on Itachi.
Namikaze Raimon stroked his chin thoughtfully. Teaching one kid was a chore. Teaching two was a class. But having two powerful allies early on could only be a good thing for the future.
"Alright, I see your bone structure is quite…"
Ahem!
"My apologies, wrong script," Raimon coughed twice, shaking his head. The side effects of binge-watching late-night dramas in his previous life were still lingering.
Having agreed to take Sasuke on, Raimon led the two boys to a training ground on the outskirts of Konoha. The training he had in mind was bound to be… disruptive, and disturbing the peace of the village wouldn't do.
As for Sakura, who had followed them at a distance, there wasn't much he could directly teach her. He was no medic-nin, and he couldn't very well send her to Might Guy to learn the Eight Gates, could he? The image of a massively muscular Sakura standing next to a slender Sasuke was… unsettling, to say the least.
...
Arriving at a wide, open clearing, Namikaze Raimon's sharp senses immediately picked up on a presence hiding in a nearby thicket. A small, knowing smile played on his lips. When it came to illusions, who in the entire shinobi world could compare to the self-hypnosis of Kotoamatsukami?
Hidden in the bushes, Sakura Haruno felt a pang of anxiety. They were supposed to be a three-person team, but it was painfully clear she was being left behind. Her handsome Sasuke-kun would be moving into a world of power she couldn't follow, and the only one who'd still pay her any mind was Naruto, who was clueless about romance.
Putting Sakura's spying out of his mind, Raimon turned his attention to Sasuke. "Alright, show me what you've got. Hit me with your best shot."
"This… Are you sure?" Sasuke asked hesitantly, his hand unconsciously moving to protect his backside. The man's reputation preceded him.
"Don't worry," Raimon said calmly. "I won't fight back."
It was an easy promise to make. In his Edo Tensei state, the current Sasuke couldn't so much as scratch him.
"Really?" Sasuke searched his face for any sign of deception.
"Will you stop dithering? Do you want to kill Itachi or not?!" Raimon snapped, his voice sharp.
The provocation was like a spark to tinder. Sasuke's eyes instantly flooded with crimson, the two tomoe of his Sharingan spinning violently. A arrogant, confident smirk twisted his lips. This was the power of the Uchiha!
"Nothing can escape these eyes!" he declared, his confidence surging. If his teacher was offering a free shot and he was too scared to take it, he might as well dig these precious eyes out and give them to someone with more nerve.
(Namikaze Raimon, for the record, would absolutely take them. Who wouldn't want to pilot a chakra mech? Hashirama's Wood Golem was impressive, but it didn't have the sheer, cool factor of a full-body Susano'o.)
"Here I come!" Sasuke yelled, pulling a volley of shuriken from his pouch and hurling them with practiced precision. His Sharingan's dynamic vision was already active, tracking Raimon's slightest twitch, ready to adjust the shuriken's trajectory to intercept any dodge.
But Raimon didn't dodge. He didn't even flinch. The shuriken sank into his chest with a series of dull thuds.
"UNCLE!" Naruto cried out, rushing forward in a panic, but Raimon held up a hand to stop him.
Sasuke stood frozen, watching as Raimon calmly reached up and plucked the shuriken from his torso one by one. "Good accuracy. Pitiful power."
The small, paper-like wounds sealed themselves shut in less than three seconds. Shuriken are so useless past the early stages, Raimon mused. They're less effective than just spitting on your enemy to insult them.
"Again!" Raimon commanded, his voice dropping an octave. "And this time, come at me with the intent to kill!"
He let his killing intent roll off him in waves, a palpable, suffocating pressure that made the young Uchiha's legs tremble.
Just how many people has this man slaughtered? Sasuke thought, his breath catching. This felt even more intense than the killing intent he'd felt from Itachi on the night of the massacre.
Sasuke stood there, kunai in hand, mouth agape, his back drenched in a cold sweat. His brain was screaming at his body to move, to attack, but his limbs were locked in place, paralyzed by primal fear.
"What's the matter?" Raimon taunted, a cruel smirk on his face. "And you still talk of revenge? Don't make me laugh!"
It seemed this Uchiha brat only responded to harsh treatment. His stress tolerance was high; he needed to be broken down to be rebuilt.
"Think of your mother. Such a gentle woman. What a tragic waste..." Raimon shook his head with genuine pity, still unable to fathom the twisted logic behind Itachi's actions.
"Damn you!" Sasuke snarled, the memories of that night flooding back, each one a jagged shard of glass tearing through his heart. He saw Itachi standing over him, the blade dripping with his clan's blood, forcing him to relive the murder of his parents through the endless torture of Tsukuyomi.
"RAAAAAGH!"
The Cursed Seal on Sasuke's neck flared to life, its inky, jagged patterns spreading rapidly across half his face, distorting his features.
"Tch. So young and already getting face tattoos? What, are you trying to join a gang?" Raimon's voice came from directly behind him.
Whoosh—THWACK!
Before Sasuke could even process the movement, a powerful kick connected squarely with his backside, sending him stumbling forward. Of course, Raimon had held back significantly; a full-powered "Ultraman Kick" would have left the boy's future happiness in serious jeopardy.
Naruto watched his friend get kicked over, a worried frown on his face. "Uncle! You said you wouldn't fight back!"
"Hmm? Did I?" Raimon asked innocently, raising the foot he'd just used. That was just a love tap.
...
From her hiding spot in the bushes, Sakura mentally cursed him as a shameless liar, while her inner self fantasized about pummeling his handsome face into a pulp.
Sasuke pushed himself up from the dirt, spitting out a mouthful of grass and soil. His backside was throbbing, but the shock had caused the Cursed Seal to recede back to its place on his neck.
"Damn it!" he slammed a fist into the ground, the familiar tide of self-loathing and hatred for his own weakness washing over him.
His arsenal was pathetically limited: the Chidori, which Kakashi had taught him, and the Great Fireball Technique. Using them now would only make him look like a fool. He couldn't even properly control the power Orochimaru had given him.
As he tried to rise, a heavy foot came down on the back of his head, pressing his face back into the dirt.
"Useless," Raimon's voice was cold and flat. "With this level of strength, I don't even need ninjutsu to handle you. Right now, you can't even beat that green-spandex-wearing, bowl-cut kid."
"I AM NOT USELESS!" Sasuke roared, his hands pushing against the ground, muscles straining as he tried to throw the foot off.
"Damn it!"
"Damn it!"
His mind was a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts—shame, rage, and a desperate, burning need for power. His handsome face was now pressed into the mud, contorted with effort and humiliation.
Maybe this is a bit too much, Raimon pondered, stroking his chin. The Uchiha were notoriously unstable. He didn't want to break the kid completely.
As he relaxed the pressure for a split second, Sasuke seized the opening. With a burst of adrenaline, he twisted free, rolled forward, and sprang to his feet, breathing heavily and holding his kunai in a defensive stance. His Sharingan had seen the opening, but his body had been too slow to capitalize before.
He stood there, panting, a large, muddy footprint stark on his right cheek. And then he felt it—a shift, an unlocking. His Sharingan spun, the two tomoe blurring and reforming.
Into three.
Raimon looked at the newly evolved Three-Tomoe Sharingan and gave a slow, approving clap.
"Not bad. Not bad at all."
Awakening the Mangekyō, however, would require far more than this. Sasuke's body and spirit weren't ready. Besides, Raimon had no idea what specific trauma was needed to trigger Sasuke's particular Mangekyō.
Sasuke, feeling the new power coursing through his eyes, felt a surge of triumph that momentarily eclipsed the memory of having his face stomped into the dirt.
Uchiha Itachi, he thought, a vicious smile finally gracing his lips. Just you wait. Your neck is mine.