Land of Fire, Konoha. The Uchiha District.
The air hung thick with tension, a palpable cocktail of murderous intent and the coppery scent of freshly spilled blood that no night breeze could dispel. Beyond the compound's walls, hidden amongst the shadows of neighboring buildings and the dense foliage of Konoha's trees, countless agents of Root and the Anbu stood vigilant. Their postures were taut, eyes sharp as kunai, and their chakra was carefully suppressed into near-invisibility. Every sense was tuned to the sprawling Uchiha compound before them, while a secondary, wary awareness monitored their own surroundings for any unexpected threat.
Their vigilance had never been higher, not even during the peak of suspicions regarding the clan's rumored rebellion. This unprecedented level of caution had a single, clear source: the meteoric and terrifying rise of one individual.
Uchiha Jin.
To the village's records, he was an unremarkable clansman—taciturn since his Academy days, with grades that were merely above average. A competent but undistinguished member of the Konoha Military Police Force. That facade had shattered one month ago with the awakening of his Mangekyo Sharingan, an event that had ripped the already fragile peace between the clan and the village to shreds.
***
Late night. Within the Uchiha Compound.
In a secluded three-courtyard residence, security was absolute. Patrol teams of Uchiha, their Sharingan active and sweeping the darkness, moved with synchronized precision along predetermined routes. Deeper in the shadows, unseen sentries perched in trees, crouched in alleyway corners, and lay concealed on tiled rooftops, their crimson eyes painting the world in the stark contrasts of chakra perception. This was no longer just a home; it was a fortress and a war room.
Inside the main reception hall, the atmosphere was grave, the air still and heavy. Only seven or eight individuals were present, but each was a cornerstone of the clan's Radical Faction, their expressions etched with a mixture of grim resolve and simmering fury.
Creak.
The wooden door slid open with a soft sigh. An Uchiha clansman, his black cardigan bearing the proud uchiwa fan, entered and dropped to one knee. The lingering glow of a Three-Tomoe Sharingan faded from his eyes as he made his report.
"Lord Jin. Elder Setsuna," he began, his voice low but steady. "The Seventh Squad has completed its mission. We successfully intercepted and eliminated three Root squads operating near the Naka River."
He paused, a flicker of cold satisfaction crossing his features. "During our return, we were intercepted by a jonin-led Anbu detachment attempting to investigate the disturbance. The engagement was… conclusive. All enemy personnel have been eradicated. Per protocol, the battlefield has been subjected to high-intensity fire-release techniques. Not even the Yamanaka Clan's mind-transmission techniques will recover usable intelligence from the ashes."
The kneeling Uchiha lifted his head, his gaze no longer just respectful but blazing with a fierce, defiant pride. The message was clear: the Uchiha would no longer be hunted with impunity.
A ripple of intense satisfaction moved through the room. One burly clansman slammed a fist onto his knee, trembling not with fear but with exhilaration.
"Finally! This is the power and will the Uchiha should wield!" he declared, his voice thick with emotion. "That coward Fugaku is unworthy of the title of clan head. His inaction is a disgrace!"
A chorus of grim agreement followed.
"Fugaku's leadership has been a chronicle of retreat and humiliation!"
"We bled the most in the Third War, yet the village treats us like pariahs!"
"We gave up our ancestral homes after the Nine-Tails' attack, and for what? To be caged and watched like criminals in our own district!"
"Lord Jin should be leading the entire clan, not just the faction!"
The grievances poured out, each one a sharp stone in the mound of their resentment. It was a testament to how desperately the Village's ostracism had cornered them.
At the center of this sat Uchiha Setsuna, his face a roadmap of deep lines and old grudges. Though aged, an aura of sharp, unyielding ferocity clung to him. He listened to the venting, his own deep-set eyes pools of bitter memory.
"Enough," he rasped, his voice like dry leaves. The room fell silent. "You speak truth. Under the Second Hokage, we were suspect, but we held our ground. Under Fugaku…" He let the name hang, heavy with contempt. "We have been eroded from within and besieged from without. His 'diplomacy' is capitulation. He cannot even maintain unity within our own walls, allowing this farce of factions—Compromise, Neutral, Radical—to fester. Worse, he nurtured vipers like Shisui and Itachi right in our bosom."
His gnarled hand gestured toward the calm young man seated in the place of honor. "But fortune has not entirely abandoned us. The heavens have sent us a true blade. My time has passed. Effective immediately, I relinquish leadership of the Radical Faction. Uchiha Jin will guide our path forward."
No objections were raised. Only looks of fierce approval and relief. They had not just lost faith in Fugaku; they had lost all hope in his direction. Jin represented action, consequences, and a restored, terrifying pride.
The object of their devotion, however, displayed no outward excitement. Uchiha Jin merely listened, his handsome face a mask of composed intensity. He was the nexus of this turmoil, and more.
He was a soul reborn, a transmigrant from Earth, who had entered this ninja world as an infant over a decade prior. There had been no welcoming system, no grand cheats—only the hard reality of the Shinobi path and the latent power in his blood. He had trained diligently, achieving a level of minor genius sufficient to survive but not so brilliant as to invite premature scrutiny. He had navigated the Third Great Ninja War, joined the Police Force, and played his part, all while planning a solitary escape.
He had kept to himself, avoiding the orbits of future legends like Kakashi or Minato. His plan had been cold, logical, and personal: use mission assignments to establish false identities and safe houses beyond Konoha's borders, then, before the inevitable storm of the clan's destruction, extract his family and vanish into the obscurity of a remote land like the Country of Snow. The subsequent chaos and border tensions would cover their trail.
But fate, in the form of Danzō's Root, had intervened brutally. A month ago, returning from a late-night training session, he had witnessed from the shadows the silent, efficient abduction of the two people who were his parents in this life. The cold, analytical part of his mind understood the 'why'—to fuel Danzō's collection of Sharingan, or to manipulate him as a pawn. The human part, the part that had known their care and love, was incinerated by a rage so pure it shattered a fundamental boundary within him.
In that desperate, vengeful dawn, he awakened his Mangekyo Sharingan.
The psychic backlash from the sudden surge of power and grief rendered him unconscious, foiling any chance of immediate pursuit. When he awoke, the reality was cemented. His unique perspective as a transmigrant, aware of the Uchiha's tragic flaws and the mechanics of their power, seemed to shape the very nature of his doujutsu.
His left eye housed "Susanoo," named for the legendary tempest god. Its power was not the construct of a chakra giant, but the authority of absolute destruction. Its gaze could designate a target for annihilation, an effect said to bypass conventional defenses and erase matter on a fundamental level, a conceptual devastation that whispered of threatening even space-time itself.
His right eye, born from his desperate desire to undo the tragedy and his meta-knowledge of the Mangekyo's curse, was "Amenosuehiro." Named for a deity of time, its power was reversion.
Primarily, it could revert his own physical and chakra state to a previous point in time. This included the precious, finite ocular power expended by his Mangekyo. While not a true Eternal Mangekyo—using the right eye's power still consumed its own unique chakra—it was a loophole of staggering potential.
He even intuited that, if mastered, it could reach into the past or future, a vastly superior Izanagi. More crucially, it possessed a passive, nurturing property: over time, it could slowly regenerate its own depleted ocular power, making it a renewable, if slow-charging, resource—a stark contrast to the inevitable blindness that awaited all other Mangekyo wielders.
The plan had changed. Escape was no longer enough. Retrieval and retribution were now the objectives. Knowing Fugaku's inaction was a given, he made his move. He revealed his Mangekyo not to the clan leadership, but directly to the Radical Faction. In a series of ruthless, brilliantly executed operations against Root and Anbu surveillance teams, he demonstrated the power and decisive leadership they craved. In one month, he had galvanized the faction and now stood as its unchallenged head.
Taking a measured breath, Uchiha Jin rose to his feet. The room's excited murmurs died instantly, all eyes locking onto him with fervent attention. He dispensed with platitudes.
"The formalities are unnecessary," he stated, his voice calm yet carrying an edge that demanded obedience. "As of this moment, I accept the leadership of the Radical Faction."
He met the gaze of each clansman present. "I make you this promise: I will lead you not to a futile rebellion, but to victory. I will lead us to reclaim every ounce of dignity that has been stripped from the Uchiha name. We will no longer be the village's scapegoats or its prisoners. We will be…"
Knock. Knock.
The urgent rapping at the door cut through his declaration. The door slid open to reveal another clansman, his expression tense.
"Lord Jin. Elder Setsuna," the messenger said, bowing quickly. "A message from the main family compound. Clan Head Fugaku has called an emergency meeting of all clan elders and faction representatives. Your presence is required immediately."
A heavy silence descended upon the room. Jin's eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest crimson flicker deep within them. The first move of the new game was about to be played.