The astonishment etched onto Uchiha Mao's face was rapidly eclipsed by a surging, toxic annoyance.
So what if a localized failure like Yao had managed to stumble into awakening his Sharingan through sheer, blind luck? Did he truly believe the world had shifted beneath his feet?
"Hmph. You think you're a big shot now just because you've opened a single-tomoe eye?"
Mao's gaze darkened, his voice thick with a volatile mixture of disdain and envy. "Don't think for a second that this changes the reality of what you are—trash is trash!"
With a low, guttural growl, Mao initiated the assault. He charged fiercely, his right fist bunching as he channeled a crude, meager amount of Chakra into his knuckles. He threw a heavy, direct punch aimed squarely at Yao's face, intending to shatter the boy's newfound confidence and ground him back into the dirt.
However, within the crimson-tinted world of Yao's active Sharingan, Mao's movements were agonizingly slow.
Yao could see it all: the clumsy flow of Chakra gathering in the fist, the telltale shift of Mao's shoulder, and the slight pivot of his waist as he committed his weight. This was the legendary insight of the Uchiha—the ability to read intent before it became action.
Too slow.
Yao snorted inwardly, his body responding with an instinctual fluidity that felt entirely foreign yet perfectly right.
Just as Mao's fist reached the point of no return, Yao's torso shifted a mere fraction. It was a minimal, efficient movement that let the punch whistle harmlessly past his ear. In the same heartbeat, Yao's right leg lashed out like a whip. Fueled by an explosive force far beyond his previous capacity, his heel struck with surgical precision against the side of Mao's supporting left knee.
Crack!
The sickening sound of a joint popping out of its socket echoed in the small room.
"Ah!"
Mao let out a ragged scream. A piercing, white-hot agony shot through his leg as his balance disintegrated. With a heavy thud, he collapsed onto one knee, cold sweat instantly drenching his brow.
One move.
In a single, effortless exchange, the boy who had been the apex predator of this hallway moments ago was brought to his knees.
"Brother Mao!"
Uchiha Gang and the third follower, Uchiha Jian, were frozen in a state of absolute alarm. They had spent years mocking "Waste Yao"; to see his strength skyrocket to this level after a single awakening defied every law of the clan they knew.
"You bastard! How dare you hurt him!"
Gang's shock curdled into a desperate rage. His hands flew into a blur of seals, his fingers fumbling in his haste to manifest a Ninjutsu.
Yao gave him no such luxury.
The moment Gang's fingers moved, Yao's eyes traced the seals and predicted the nature of the Chakra molding within his lungs.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
Yao's own hands moved in a blur—speed that was levels beyond Gang's frantic fumbling. He drew a deep, rhythmic breath, his chest swelling with the sudden heat of compressed Chakra, and then he exhaled with a sharp, focused roar.
Whoosh—!
A sphere of flame over a meter in diameter erupted into the room. It was larger, hotter, and more violent than anything the original owner had ever produced. The air shimmered and scorched as the miniature sun roared toward Uchiha Gang.
"What?!"
Gang was only halfway through his sequence when the wall of fire filled his vision. His pupils shrank to pinpricks; his face became a mask of pure terror. He had no time to finish his technique, and even less time to dodge.
Boom!
The searing fireball swallowed him whole.
"Ah—!"
A tragic, high-pitched scream rang out. Gang was thrown backward like a broken kite, his body slamming into the far wall. He slumped to the floor, his clothes charred and the air filling with the acrid, heavy scent of burnt fabric and singed flesh. He lost consciousness before he even hit the ground.
An instant kill.
Another one.
Yao stood his ground, his breathing steady. He had deliberately throttled his output; had he used the full extent of his Chunin-level reserves, Gang would have been reduced to nothing but ash and bone.
The remaining boy, Uchiha Jian, was now pale with a paralyzing fright. His legs shook like a sieve against the floorboards. He watched Yao approach, step by deliberate step, those blood-red eyes with their rotating tomoe appearing like the gaze of a Shinigami.
"Don't… stay back! Don't come any closer!"
Jian's voice broke, tinged with a sob. Every ounce of his former arrogance had been scorched away. He wanted to turn and flee, but his legs felt as though they were filled with molten lead, rooted to the spot by sheer primal fear.
Yao stopped inches from him, looking down with eyes that were cold, distant, and utterly devoid of mercy.
"Just now... who was it that called me a good-for-nothing?"
Jian trembled violently, a chill racing from his heels to the crown of his head.
"No… it wasn't me… it was Brother Mao… and Gang! They were the ones who said it!" he stammered, his words tumbling out in a frantic, incoherent attempt to shift the blame.
"Oh?" Yao's lips curled into a thin, mocking arc. "And what about the 'protection money'?"
"No… there is no money! Lord Yao… please, we were wrong! We'll never dare again!"
Jian collapsed to his knees with a heavy thud, tears and snot streaming down his face as he began to kowtow desperately, his forehead hitting the floor in a frantic plea for mercy.
The Yao standing before him was a stranger. This wasn't the weak, incompetent failure of their memories. The coldness and raw power radiating from his very marrow filled Jian with a soul-deep dread.
Yao looked at him with an indifferent silence.
He could feel the power—the Chunin-level Chakra and the physical refinements granted by the system. Combined with the Sharingan's clarity, these "Genin" bullies were nothing more than insects.
"Scram."
Yao uttered the single word with freezing finality.
Jian scrambled to his feet as if he had been granted a divine pardon. He grabbed the staggering, limping Mao and together they hauled the unconscious Gang out of the room, fleeing in a chaotic, stumbling panic.
As their figures disappeared from the hallway, the crimson glow in Yao's eyes began to recede, settling back into a calm, natural black.
He let out a long, heavy breath, the tension finally bleeding out of his nerves. As he felt the abundant energy still humming in his meridians and the lingering sharpness of his vision, a profound sense of control washed over him.
"From this day on," he whispered, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists, "I will no longer be a pawn for others to kick."
[Ding!]
[Host has successfully retaliated against bullies, demonstrating the proper demeanor of an Uchiha. Clan Glory Value +50!]
[Uchiha Yao: Attribute Panel]
Strength: Newly Promoted Chunin
Skills: Three-Body Technique (Proficient), Great Fireball Technique (Proficient), Sharingan (One-Tomoe)
Clan Status: Ordinary Genin
Clan Glory Value: 50
Overall Clan Strength: Genin Level (Initial)
[Warning: The Uchiha Clan is currently besieged by internal and external strife. Overall strength assessment is critically low. Survival Crisis Detected: Risk of Clan Annihilation is High!]
Looking at the holographic interface shimmering in his mind, Yao's brow furrowed.
Clan Glory Value? Overall Strength Assessment? It appeared this system wasn't interested in just making him a lone powerhouse.
"Internal and external strife..."
He muttered the words to himself. As the pieces of his past life's knowledge of the Konoha timeline began to click into place, a cold spike of dread pierced his heart.
Post-Nine-Tails. The ostracization. The surveillance. The inevitable night of the massacre.
He had no intention of being a casualty in Itachi's "peace" or Danzo's "order."
"System," Yao thought silently, his eyes gleaming with a new, sharp focus. "Explain your functions in detail. Everything."