The morning mist still hung low over the Uchiha compound when Haruto opened his eyes.
There was no dream.
No lingering echo.
He awoke like someone who had never truly slept—only dimmed his awareness for a moment before igniting it again. The wooden ceiling stared back at him unchanged, the small crack in the corner beam still exactly where it had been yesterday. The faint scent of aged wood mixed with nearly extinguished incense filled the air.
Haruto lay still for several seconds.
Listening.
Not with his ears, but with instincts sharpened far too early. The pulse of life around him—neighbors stirring awake, the soft slide of doors opening, the steady breathing of those still asleep. All of it entered his awareness as neat, orderly patterns.
Nothing unusual.
He rose from his futon with light, silent movements. His bare feet touched the cold wooden floor, yet his expression did not change. At thirteen years old, his manner of movement did not resemble that of a child. There was no carelessness. No wasted motion.
A small mirror in the corner of the room reflected his figure.
Black hair slightly disheveled, dark eyes without the distinctive gleam of the Sharingan. His face still carried traces of youth, yet his gaze was far too calm—far too aware—to be called innocent.
Haruto stared at the reflection for a moment.
"Still alive."
He washed his face, put on simple training clothes, and left the house before the sun fully rose. The streets of the Uchiha compound were still quiet, occupied only by a few adults heading out early for patrols or covert assignments. No one paid him more than a passing glance.
And that was exactly what he wanted.
In Konoha, attention was the most dangerous currency.
---
The small forest at the edge of the compound had long been Haruto's training ground. There were no signs, no official markers—only tall trees and soil that had absorbed chakra countless times.
He stood in the middle of a small clearing concealed by thick brush and drew in a deep breath.
The morning air filled his lungs.
Then—
He closed his eyes.
The world shifted.
Chakra circulated slowly within his body, orderly and controlled. There was no overflow. No outward pressure. Everything was stored neatly, like water sealed inside a vessel.
Haruto opened his eyes.
For an instant—
The pattern of the Mangekyō Sharingan rotated behind his pupils—then vanished.
Only a fraction of a second.
But it was enough to make the air around him tremble faintly.
He exhaled.
"Still too heavy."
The Mangekyō Sharingan was not a power meant for someone his age. He knew that. More than that—he knew exactly how the world would react if the truth were discovered.
Shisui Uchiha.
The name crossed his mind unbidden.
Shisui, who was kind. Shisui, who was too honest. Shisui, who believed that sharing power was the path to trust.
And what was the result?
Haruto clenched his fist.
"He told too much."
The Third Hokage had begun to grow wary. The elders had started taking notes. And Danzō Shimura—
He did not need to finish the thought.
In Konoha, power that could not be controlled by the system would always be labeled a threat. And threats… had to be secured. By any means necessary.
Haruto moved.
Training began without any signal.
His body shot forward, kicking off a tree trunk, spinning in midair, landing, then moving again. There were no flashy ninjutsu. No conspicuous techniques. Only the fundamentals—taijutsu, breathing control, balance.
Each motion was repeated dozens of times.
Hundreds.
Until sweat flowed freely and his muscles began to burn.
He stopped.
Stood upright.
Then raised his right hand.
"Enough."
The word was not directed at anyone else.
It was a command to himself.
He sat cross-legged on the ground and closed his eyes again. This time, deeper. Chakra was drawn inward, folded, compressed. He did not summon the power of his eyes—not fully.
Yet something still stirred behind his eyelids.
The dimension of Takamagahara.
He did not open it.
He merely touched it.
That vast space felt like a calm but unfathomable sea. A personal dimension, as large as the village of Konoha itself, stretched out in absolute silence. There, time felt different—not stopped, yet not flowing like it did in the outside world.
Haruto opened a single, tiny slit.
Extremely small.
Just enough to feel its stability.
Just enough to confirm there were no cracks.
"Still safe."
He closed it immediately.
Using Takamagahara in full was far too risky. His Mangekyō was not eternal. Every major use was a step closer to blindness—or worse, attention he could not control.
He stood, brushed the dirt from his clothes, and prepared to leave.
That was when—
Another presence appeared at the edge of the forest.
"Up early again, as always."
Haruto turned.
Mikoto Uchiha stood there, carrying a small basket. Her face was gentle as ever, her smile calm, her eyes filled with a warmth rarely found in a clan growing increasingly tense.
"Aunt Mikoto," Haruto greeted politely.
"Training again?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
Haruto nodded.
She approached and handed him a bottle of water and several onigiri.
"You need to eat. Your body is still growing."
Haruto accepted them with both hands.
"Thank you."
He sat on a stone and ate slowly. Mikoto watched him quietly, as if there was something she wanted to say—but held back.
"There's something happening in the clan," Mikoto said at last.
Haruto was not surprised.
"What now?"
"Tension," she replied softly. "Meetings. Whispers growing louder."
Haruto lowered his gaze.
"One month."
He did not say it aloud, but the number was clear in his mind. One month before the night that would change everything.
"Haruto," Mikoto called his name gently. "No matter what happens… protect yourself."
He looked at her.
"I will."
But in his heart, that promise carried a meaning far broader.
Not just himself.
Not just the clan.
---
As the sun climbed higher, Haruto walked back through the compound. In the distance, he spotted Izumi Uchiha talking with several children their age. Her black hair shimmered, her smile bright, her presence noticeable even without trying.
Izumi turned her head.
Their gazes met.
She waved.
Haruto responded with a small nod.
The moment was brief.
Yet it was enough to plant a feeling he did not yet fully understand.
"I need to become stronger."
Not for pride.
Not for recognition.
But because he knew—this world would not allow precious things to remain intact without resistance.
And behind Konoha's gentle smile, the shadows were already moving.
From the outside, Konoha appeared peaceful.
The sky stretched wide and blue without a single cloud, birds flew low over rooftops, and the footsteps of shinobi departing for missions echoed in orderly rhythm. Children ran through the main streets, merchants opened their stalls, and civilians smiled as they always did.
Yet to Haruto Uchiha, that peace was only a thin surface.
A fragile layer hiding deep fractures beneath it.
He walked calmly through the village streets, both hands tucked into the pockets of his simple black jacket. His gaze was fixed forward, but his awareness spread in all directions. Every shadow, every reflection on glass, every fluctuation of chakra—no matter how faint—was quietly recorded.
"Root."
He did not see them.
But he felt them.
Shinobi without emotion, without names, without futures. They moved like ghosts, observing without truly existing. And in recent days, Haruto could sense one thing clearly—
Their attention was shifting toward the Uchiha clan.
Not only toward Fugaku.
Not only toward Itachi.
But toward the entire clan.
Including himself.
Haruto stopped at a crossroads and turned his gaze toward the Hokage Tower rising in the distance. The structure looked solid, dignified—a symbol of the village's protection.
To him, however, it resembled a gilded cage.
A place where decisions were made.
Where lives were weighed.
And where a kind old man was slowly losing control over his own shadows.
"Hiruzen Sarutobi…"
Haruto did not hate the Third Hokage.
But he did not trust him either.
Because kindness without decisiveness, in the shinobi world, was just as dangerous as cruelty.
He resumed walking.
Today, he did not return to the clan compound. Instead, he turned toward the public training forest—a place often used by genin and chunin. There, he could hide in plain sight, blending into the crowd without standing out.
Haruto stopped among tall trees and sat cross-legged.
He closed his eyes.
Regulated his breathing.
Chakra began to circulate slowly within his body, flowing through pathways he had refined countless times. There was no surge. No outward pressure. Everything was neatly locked inside, like a river forced through a narrow channel.
"Foundation…"
He opened his eyes.
Foundation was everything.
He had absorbed too much potential since childhood—not through Orochi, but through observation, discipline, and understanding. He knew the fatal mistake many talented shinobi made: chasing the peak too quickly.
Those who climbed too fast usually fell first.
Haruto rose and began to move.
His body shot forward, touched the ground, leapt, twisted, and struck the empty air as if facing invisible enemies. There were no flashy techniques—only control.
Control of strength.
Control of intent.
Control of self.
He did not activate the Sharingan.
Not even a single tomoe.
Everything was done with normal eyes.
"If I rely on my eyes…"
"…I will die because of them."
Sweat ran down his temples.
His muscles burned.
Yet his expression remained calm.
When he finally stopped, light footsteps sounded behind him.
"You're always training alone."
Haruto turned.
Shisui Uchiha stood there, leaning casually against a tree. His familiar smile was present, eyes full of life—yet Haruto sensed something different lately.
Heavier.
More guarded.
"You too," Haruto replied.
Shisui chuckled and walked closer.
"If Itachi saw you now, he'd feel left behind."
Haruto did not respond.
He knew.
Itachi was a genius—a prodigy shaped by expectations and the burden of the clan. But Itachi walked in the open, under watchful eyes.
Haruto chose the shadows.
Shisui sat on a large rock and gazed up at the sky.
"The situation is getting worse," he said quietly.
Haruto took a drink from his water bottle.
"Root?"
"Danzō," Shisui answered without hesitation.
Silence followed.
"He wants my eyes."
The words were spoken calmly, almost lightly. But Haruto could feel the tension beneath them.
"As expected."
"Did you report it to the Hokage?" Haruto asked.
Shisui nodded.
"He's concerned. But… hesitant."
Haruto slowly clenched his fist.
Hesitation.
Always hesitation.
In games of power, a single second of doubt could mean death.
"Shisui," Haruto said at last. "If something happens to you—"
"Relax," Shisui interrupted with a smile. "I won't die that easily."
Haruto stared at him sharply.
"You trust the system too much."
But he did not say it aloud.
Shisui stood and lightly patted Haruto's shoulder.
"You're different," he said suddenly. "You see farther than most."
Haruto brushed the hand away gently.
"Because I don't have a choice."
Shisui paused, then laughed softly.
"In that case… survive."
He vanished in a flicker, leaving only a thin trail of wind behind.
Haruto stood alone again.
But his chest felt heavy.
"He's standing in the center of the vortex."
"And he doesn't realize it."
By evening, Haruto returned to the clan compound.
The atmosphere was different.
Quieter.
Tighter.
He walked through the long corridors and saw Fugaku Uchiha speaking with several senior clan members. Fugaku's face was rigid, his eyes sharp, burdened by pressure he refused to release.
Nearby, Mikoto stood calmly, though deep concern lingered in her gaze.
When she noticed Haruto, she approached.
"You're late," she said gently.
"Sorry."
Mikoto studied him for a long moment.
"Haruto… if one day you're forced to choose…"
She stopped.
Haruto met her eyes.
"Choose life," she finished softly.
The words were simple.
Their meaning was not.
Haruto nodded.
"I promise."
That night, Haruto stood on the rooftop, staring up at a sky full of stars.
He opened Takamagahara—slightly wider than before.
His personal dimension unfolded, vast and silent.
He stood at its center, embraced by absolute stillness.
Here, he could think without interference.
"One month."
His fist tightened.
"I'm not strong enough yet."
And yet—
He could not appear too strong.
That was the paradox.
Strong enough to survive.
Weak enough not to be hunted too soon.
The winds of Takamagahara whispered softly.
Haruto opened his eyes.
"Starting tomorrow," he murmured, "I'll build a foundation that can't be destroyed."
Beyond the world, shadows began to stir.
And the wheel of fate had started to turn.
**********
Author: May you always be healthy!