When Rin opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in a spacious training ground.
Wooden posts, targets, and scattered shuriken littered the area. The sky was overcast, heavy with clouds, as if rain could fall at any moment.
At the center of the field stood a black-haired boy, around twelve or thirteen years old, practicing shuriken throwing.
It was Uchiha Madara.
He was shirtless, sweat sliding along his lean muscles. Every shuriken struck the bullseye fifty meters away with perfect accuracy—yet the boy's brow only furrowed deeper.
"Not right," Madara muttered.
He walked over and pulled the shuriken from the target. The bullseye was riddled with holes, but on closer inspection, each impact point was slightly off—some a hair to the left, some a fraction too high.
"This isn't enough," Madara said quietly, gripping a shuriken. "Father can throw twelve at once, all hitting the same spot. Izuna can already do eight."
He returned to the throwing line and took a deep breath.
This time, he held three shuriken in each hand.
Six silver flashes arced through the air at once.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Six impacts rang out nearly simultaneously, but Madara's expression darkened further.
He went over to inspect the target. All six shuriken had hit the bullseye—but their spacing was uneven. Two were almost overlapping, while another was off by half a finger's width.
"Trash," Madara cursed under his breath.
He gathered the shuriken and started again.
Once.
Twice.
Three times…
The sky dimmed. Raindrops began to fall.
Madara paid them no mind and continued throwing. Sweat mixed with rain, soaking his hair and plastering it to his forehead.
Not until the seventh attempt did the six shuriken finally spread evenly around the bullseye, forming a flawless hexagon.
Panting, Madara stared at the pattern and finally allowed himself a faint smile.
But it vanished almost immediately.
He turned toward the entrance of the training ground.
A middle-aged man stood there, dressed in Uchiha clan attire, his expression unreadable.
"Father," Madara straightened instantly.
It was Uchiha Tajima.
"How long have you been training?" Tajima asked.
"Since morning."
"Have you eaten?"
"No."
Tajima walked forward, examined the hexagonal pattern on the target, then looked at his son, drenched from head to toe.
"You're too impatient."
"I want to become strong," Madara said, meeting his father's gaze head-on. "Stronger than everyone else."
"Why?"
Madara clenched his fist.
"Because I don't want to see our clansmen die anymore. I don't want to see Izuna get hurt. If I'm strong enough, I can end all of this."
Tajima was silent for a long time.
Then he stepped onto the throwing line and drew twelve shuriken from his ninja tool pouch.
"Watch carefully."
He didn't even assume a stance.
With a simple flick of his wrist, twelve streaks of silver shot out, weaving an intricate pattern through the air.
In the next instant—
All twelve shuriken were embedded in the bullseye.
Not scattered.
Not spaced.
Every single one overlapped perfectly, as if only a single shuriken had been thrown.
Madara's eyes widened.
"Strength isn't built through impatience," Tajima said, turning away and patting his son's shoulder. "Go home and eat. Izuna is waiting."
He left.
Madara remained there, staring at the bullseye pierced by twelve shuriken as the rain grew heavier.
"Not enough," he murmured. "Still not strong enough. I have to become stronger… strong enough to change everything."
The scene began to blur.
Rin heard Madara's final words—soft, yet heavy with resolve:
"I will become stronger than everyone else, and then… end this chaotic world."
---
The memory shattered.
Rin snapped back to reality, his body drenched in cold sweat.
This wasn't just about techniques.
That near-maniacal obsession with strength, that restless urgency—it still lingered in his chest.
He sat up, pulled a shuriken from his ninja tool pouch, and spun it idly between his fingers.
Madara had sought strength to protect his clan, to bring an end to endless war.
And him?
One thing was clear: to truly play the role of Uchiha Madara, mimicking words and actions wasn't enough.
He needed that same extreme hunger for power.
Rin lay back down and closed his eyes.
Outside the window, rain began to fall in earnest.
---
Late that night, after Rin had fallen asleep, a figure appeared silently outside his window.
A man dressed in black, wearing a spiral-patterned mask.
The single eye behind the mask stared through the window crack at the sleeping Rin.
"An Uchiha brat who survived by chance…" the man whispered.
"The chakra I feel from him… it's strangely familiar."
The figure dissolved into the rain as if he had never been there.
Inside, Rin frowned in his sleep, as though sensing something.
"Izuna…" he murmured.
---
The next morning, 7:50 a.m.
There were only a few people gathered in front of the Hokage Building.
Naruto was already there, hopping in place and muttering excitedly, "First mission… first mission…"
Sasuke leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, holding a small paper bag. Sakura was meticulously rearranging the kunai and shuriken in her ninja pouch—for the third time.
Rin arrived right on time.
He walked up to Sasuke and held out his hand. Sasuke opened his eyes and passed him the bag.
"Three-color dango," Sasuke said. "You said you wanted it for breakfast."
Sakura watched from the side, an inexplicable wave of jealousy rising in her chest.
She looked at Rin.
Then at Sasuke.
These two…
Rin accepted the bag without ceremony, opened it, and took a bite. Sweet red bean paste—just right.
"Thanks," he said.
Sasuke gave no response and closed his eyes again.
Naruto leaned in immediately. "Hey! Sasuke, you actually brought breakfast for Rin?! That's not fair! I want some too!"
"Shut up, dead last."
"What did you say?!"
Sakura hurried to intervene. "Alright, alright—Kakashi-sensei will be here any second—"
"Good morning."
A voice suddenly spoke from behind them.
"Wah!" Naruto jumped. "Where did you come from?!"
"I've been here the whole time," said Kakashi Hatake, blinking innocently. "You just didn't notice."
Rin finished the last dango and tossed the skewer into the trash.
"So, what's today's mission?"
"We'll find out after checking the mission assignment office."
Kakashi led Team 7 into the Hokage Building.
On the first floor, the mission completion counter was on the left, the assignment desk on the right. A chūnin behind the counter was yawning, but straightened immediately upon seeing Kakashi.
"Jōnin Kakashi, Team 7, here to take a mission."
The chūnin flipped through the register. "Let's see… today's D-rank missions include helping move flower pots at the Yamanaka flower shop, cleaning trash along the lower Naka River, and—"
"Catching a cat," Kakashi said calmly.
"Huh? But that mission's been posted for three days already," the chūnin said hesitantly. "That cat is extremely cunning."
"This one," Kakashi said, taking the mission scroll. "Let's go."
As they exited the building, Naruto wailed, "Catching a cat again?! I want a cool mission! Escorting a daimyo! Beating up bandits!"
"Genin only do D-rank missions," Kakashi replied without turning back. "That's the rule."
"But Rin even stole a bell from you yesterday!"
"That was an exercise, not a mission." Kakashi stopped and looked at Naruto. "Besides, Rin succeeded because the three of you drew my attention. Teamwork. Got it?"
Naruto pouted and fell silent.
Rin said casually, "Hashirama and Madara's first mission together was D-rank too—helping villagers fix their roofs."
Kakashi glanced at him. "You really do know a lot."
"Someone told me."
"Who?"
Rin replied calmly—
"The old man in the ring."