---

  Reiji stared at the frost creeping slowly across the paper.

  The thin sheet trembled slightly between his fingers as pale crystals spread through the damp fibers, freezing the moisture into delicate white veins. The air around his hand had grown colder without him noticing when it began.

  A small knot formed in his stomach.

  “Is it bad?” he asked, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

  His father did not answer immediately.

  Homura remained perfectly still beside him, the head of his cane resting lightly against the wooden floor of the veranda. His eyes lingered on the frost spreading across the paper as though confirming something he had suspected for some time.

  “Frankly…” Homura said at st, exhaling quietly, “I don’t know.”

  He lifted his gaze toward Reiji.

  “There was always a possibility you inherited her kekkei genkai,” he continued. “But I have no idea how to teach you to use it. There has never been a Hyōton user in Konoha. No teachers. No records. Not even scrolls describing techniques.”

  Reiji frowned.

  The paper crackled softly in his hand as the frost finished spreading across it.

  “So what do I do now?”

  Homura fell silent again.

  For a few seconds he seemed to be thinking, his fingers resting lightly on the head of his cane while his eyes drifted toward the quiet surface of the pond.

  “Well,” he said eventually, “even if you possess a kekkei genkai, at its root it is still a combination of wind and water.”

  His gaze returned to Reiji.

  “So that is where you will begin. You will learn wind and water techniques like any other shinobi.”

  Reiji’s shoulders sagged slightly.

  “That feels like a waste,” he muttered. “Shouldn’t I try to learn Hyōton jutsu instead? It’s in my blood. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

  Homura raised an eyebrow.

  “Who do you think you are?” he asked dryly. “The Second Hokage?”

  Reiji blinked.

  “Go ahead then,” Homura continued calmly. “Invent new jutsu. I’m sure it will be easy.”

  Reiji opened his mouth, then hesitated.

  His father tapped his cane lightly against the floor.

  “If inventing techniques were that simple, every shinobi would be doing it,” he said. “Entire cns spend generations refining their abilities.”

  He paused briefly.

  “The Yuki cn did not devote centuries to mastering their kekkei genkai and creating techniques for it just so you could rediscover everything in an afternoon.”

  Reiji scratched the back of his head, his ears warming slightly.

  “Well… when you say it like that, it sounds kind of dumb.”

  Homura nodded once.

  “For now, focus on what you can actually learn. Konoha possesses one of the rgest libraries of jutsu in the world. You would be foolish not to take advantage of that.”

  He looked at Reiji again.

  “So. Which will you start with? Water or wind?”

  Reiji frowned thoughtfully.

  “Which one is more useful?”

  “You want my advice?”

  Reiji nodded.

  Homura considered the question briefly.

  “There is no element that is strictly superior to another,” he said. “But if you are asking which you should begin with… I would suggest wind.”

  “Why?” Reiji asked. “Is water worse?”

  Homura shook his head.

  “Not at all. But wind chakra requires more delicate control. Learning it first will sharpen your chakra manipution.”

  He paused before continuing.

  “It is also extremely versatile in combat.”

  His eyes shifted briefly toward the trees beyond the garden.

  “Water techniques can be powerful and easier to grasp initially. But mastering them requires significant effort. And rge-scale techniques often depend on having water nearby.”

  Reiji nodded slowly.

  “So what do I do?” he asked. “Are you going to teach me a wind jutsu?”

  Homura shook his head.

  “Using an elemental technique is different from the academy jutsu you already know.”

  He tapped the cane once against the floor.

  “It requires something else first.”

  “What?”

  “Nature transformation.”

  Reiji frowned.

  “Nature transformation?”

  “Yes.”

  Homura leaned down slightly and picked a leaf from the ground near the veranda. He held it ft in his palm.

  “Before you can perform an elemental technique, your chakra must first take on the nature of that element.”

  Reiji stared at the leaf skeptically.

  “Huh… what’s the difference between normal chakra and wind chakra?”

  Homura considered the question carefully.

  “It is difficult to expin clearly,” he said. “The shape of the chakra… and the way it flows.”

  “The shape and flow…” Reiji repeated quietly.

  Homura’s fingers twitched.

  The leaf in his hand split cleanly in two.

  Reiji’s eyes widened slightly.

  “So wind chakra cuts things?”

  Homura nodded.

  “You said shape and flow,” Reiji murmured, already thinking. “So I need to shape my chakra into something thin and sharp.”

  He held his hand out thoughtfully.

  “Like a bde.”

  He paused.

  “Or maybe a thread.”

  A faint smile touched Homura’s face.

  “Exactly.”

  He handed the leaf to Reiji.

  “As with your earlier training, there is no simple expnation. You must experiment. When you can cut a leaf using nothing but your chakra, you will have taken your first step.”

  Reiji nodded immediately and began trying.

  He guided chakra into his palm, letting the familiar warmth gather beneath the skin. Slowly he tried to shape it, stretching it thinner and thinner, imagining the chakra sharpening into something narrow and precise.

  A bde.

  Or a thread.

  The leaf rested in his hand.

  Nothing happened.

  Reiji frowned slightly and adjusted the flow of chakra, concentrating harder. He imagined the chakra twisting tighter, compressing into a sharper form.

  Still nothing.

  The leaf remained perfectly intact.

  He tried again.

  And again.

  Homura pced a hand lightly on his shoulder.

  “It should not take too long.”

  .

  ---

  The pile beside him slowly grew rger as new leaves repced the ones he had crushed, bent, or torn by accident.

  But none of them had been cut.

  Reiji stared at the test leaf resting in his palm.

  ‘Shape and flow…’

  The words repeated in his mind.

  Bde.

  Thread.

  Wind.

  His fingers tightened slightly.

  If other shinobi could do it, then there was no reason he couldn’t.

  He pushed chakra into his palm again.

  The leaf didn’t split.

  But Reiji tried again anyway.

  Every afternoon he returned to the same spot in the yard behind their house. The training had quickly become routine: gather a handful of leaves, sit beneath the tree, and push chakra into his palm again and again.

  At first he approached it with curiosity.

  Wind chakra. Shape and flow.

  That had been his father’s expnation. Vague, but not useless. Reiji understood the idea well enough. If wind chakra cut things, then the chakra itself had to become thin. Focused. Sharp.

  He guided chakra into his palm and stretched it outward, thinning it again and again. He imagined the energy narrowing to an edge so sharp it could slice through air itself.

  The leaf trembled.

  But nothing happened.

  Not even a scratch.

  The first day he shrugged it off.

  Learning new things always took time. Chakra manipution had never been effortless for him. The academy exercises alone had taken weeks before they became second nature.

  The second day he tried harder.

  He adjusted the flow of chakra, experimenting with different shapes, different levels of pressure. Sometimes he pushed too much chakra into his palm and the leaf simply crumpled under the force. Other times he reduced the flow until the chakra barely stirred the air.

  Still nothing.

  By the third day, the quiet curiosity had begun to fade.

  The leaf remained perfectly intact.

  By the fourth, irritation had settled in.

  And by the end of the week, frustration had taken its pce entirely.

  It was Saturday morning when Reiji walked through the streets of Konoha with a scowl on his face.

  ‘Why can’t I cut this stupid leaf?’

  The training was starting to get on his nerves.

  Reiji didn’t consider himself arrogant—at least not when it came to actual skill—but he knew when he was doing something correctly. His control was steady. His chakra flowed exactly as he intended.

  Thin.

  Sharp.

  Focused.

  He had followed every part of his father’s expnation.

  And yet nothing happened.

  Not even the faintest mark.

  Reiji gnced down at the leaf resting in his palm.

  He pushed chakra through it again as he walked.

  The leaf trembled slightly between his fingers.

  Then it settled.

  Perfectly whole.

  “…Fuck.”

  He clenched his jaw.

  Is it not thin enough?

  Not sharp enough?

  ‘My ass.’

  It’s thinner than a bde already. Practically a string.

  And it still doesn’t cut anything.

  For the first time since he had begun training seriously as a shinobi, something unfamiliar crept into his thoughts.

  Doubt.

  He slowed his pace slightly as the thought formed.

  Was he simply not talented enough?

  The idea felt strange, almost ridiculous. Reiji had never been the best in the academy, but he had never been incompetent either. Every exercise he had attempted eventually made sense.

  Tree walking had taken time.

  The academy jutsu had taken repetition.

  But there had always been progress.

  Even small progress.

  This?

  Nothing.

  And he was doing everything correctly.

  Reiji exhaled slowly, trying to calm the irritation building in his chest.

  Then another thought surfaced—one he liked even less.

  Was he going to disappoint his father again?

  The memory flickered unpleasantly in the back of his mind. His father’s quiet expectations. The way Homura rarely raised his voice, yet somehow made failure feel heavier than any scolding could.

  Reiji stopped walking for a moment.

  No.

  He shook his head firmly.

  There had to be something he was missing.

  A detail.

  A feeling.

  Some small piece of understanding he hadn’t grasped yet.

  Because if shinobi across the world could learn elemental chakra…

  Then so could he.

  He pushed the darker thoughts aside and lifted his head again.

  Only then did he realize he had stopped in the middle of the street.

  And that the tall wooden gates of the Uchiha compound stood directly in front of him.

  Tall wooden gates marked with the red-and-white fan crest. Dark tiled roofs rose behind the walls, orderly and severe, like the cn itself.

  Leaning against the wall beside the entrance was a boy with dark hair and a annoyed expression.

  Arata.

  ? You’re te,” the young Uchiha said.

  Reiji shrugged.

  “Your brother didn’t specify the hour.”

  “Well, yeah,” Arata said. “He said morning. Not just before noon.”

  Reiji rolled one shoulder zily.

  “Sorry. I was busy with something else.”

  He paused, then added with a small grin,

  “Besides, it should be fine. I’m getting a little hungry too. I’m sure your family won’t let a guest starve when it’s time to eat, right?”

  Arata’s face tightened in irritation before he groaned and rubbed his face.

  “God… this is going to be a long day, isn’t it?”

  Reiji’s grin widened.

  “You bet.”

  Yes, Reiji was frustrated with his training.

  But the chance to trade blows with an Uchiha who had awakened their Sharingan?

  That was exactly the kind of distraction he needed.

  ---

  They walked deeper into the Uchiha compound, and Reiji looked around with open curiosity.

  The district was far quieter than the main streets of Konoha, but it was far from empty. People moved through their morning routines as if nothing about the pce was unusual. An elderly man swept the front of his house with slow, careful strokes while two women chatted beside a small vegetable stall. Further down the street, a group of children ran past them chasing a wooden ball, their ughter echoing between the houses.

  A shopkeeper was arranging baskets of fruit outside his doorway. Someone else was hanging fresh undry on a line stretched between two wooden posts. The smell of grilled fish drifted faintly from an open window.

  If not for the red-and-white fan painted on several walls and hanging above doorways, Reiji might have believed he was simply walking through another quiet neighborhood of Konoha.

  It looked… completely normal.

  He had expected something… grander.

  “It’s really like any other part of the vilge,” he said after a moment.

  Arata gnced sideways at him.

  “What do you mean?”

  Reiji shrugged as they walked.

  “I don’t know. When I imagined visiting the district of the most famous cn in Konoha, I expected something… more.”

  Arata chuckled quietly.

  “Don’t say that in front of the Hyūga twins. They’d see red.”

  Reiji raised an eyebrow.

  “Why? It’s true, isn’t it? The Uchiha are more famous.”

  Arata’s chest puffed up slightly.

  “Of course we are. But those white-eyed freaks don’t like admitting it.”

  Reiji slowly turned his head toward him.

  “Heeey… I didn’t know you were racist.”

  Arata snorted.

  “Not racist. Just realistic. My mother says they can spy on people while they’re bathing. Apparently they can even see through clothes.”

  He shuddered slightly.

  Reiji blinked.

  “That sounds extremely useful though.”

  Arata stopped walking for half a step and stared at him.

  “…Of course you’d say that.”

  They continued walking until the path opened toward a rge house.

  It was a traditional wooden residence with a wide tiled roof and sliding doors facing a spacious courtyard. Carefully trimmed trees lined the stone walkway, their branches casting shifting shadows across the ground as the wind stirred the leaves. The house itself was elegant but simple—well maintained without being overly decorated.

  It looked… surprisingly familiar.

  Reiji raised an eyebrow.

  “Huh. I didn’t know you were rich.”

  Arata shrugged casually.

  “My father is the chief of the police force.”

  He said it like that expined everything.

  Reiji rolled his eyes.

  “Of course. And your father is also the head of the Uchiha cn, I suppose?”

  Arata looked at him.

  “Yeah.”

  Reiji muttered under his breath, deadpan.

  “Well. That’s convenient.”

  He gnced sideways at Arata again.

  ‘Why are all the idiots around me the children of important people?’

  A moment ter another thought followed.

  ‘I’m starting to really think this vilge is doomed.’

  He shuddered dramatically.

  Arata eyed him suspiciously.

  “What are you thinking about? I know that look.”

  Reiji blinked.

  “What look?”

  “The look you always get right before you say someone is an idiot.”

  Reiji smiled pleasantly.

  “You know me well.”

  Arata scowled but said nothing.

  Instead he slid the door open and called into the house.

  “Brother! He’s here!”

  The sound echoed briefly through the hallway.

  A few moments ter footsteps approached from deeper inside the house—measured and unhurried.

  Fugaku appeared in the doorway, calm and composed as always.

  “Ah, Reiji. Welcome. I hope my brother welcomed you properly.”

  “Well…” Reiji said slowly, noticing Arata stiffen beside him. “He wasn’t very enthusiastic at the start.”

  He paused deliberately.

  “But he was accommodating in the end.”

  Beside him Arata released a quiet breath of relief.

  If Fugaku noticed anything suspicious in that statement, he chose not to comment on it.

  “Our parents are already at work,” Fugaku continued calmly. “But they said you are welcome in our home. Would you like something to eat before sparring with my brother?”

  Reiji shook his head.

  “No thanks. Maybe ter. Right now I just want to see those eyes in action.”

  Fugaku’s gaze shifted briefly toward Arata.

  The younger Uchiha nodded with quiet confidence.

  “Very well,” Fugaku said. “Follow me.”

  They walked around the house toward the garden behind it.

  The space opened suddenly into a wide clearing surrounded by tall, carefully maintained trees. Their branches formed a loose canopy overhead, letting shafts of sunlight spill across the grass below. A rge pond occupied one side of the garden, its dark surface broken only by the slow movement of koi gliding beneath the water.

  Near the center of the clearing the ground had been cleared of roots and stones, leaving a smooth patch of grass worn ft by years of practice.

  Reiji gnced around, impressed despite himself.

  “Nice pce.”

  “Thank you,” Fugaku replied calmly. “You will spar here.”

  Reiji rolled his shoulders, loosening the stiffness in his arms as he stepped onto the grass. The ground felt firm under his sandals, the earth compacted by countless previous matches.

  “I suppose I should ask,” he said casually, stretching one arm across his chest, “what the rules are.”

  “Taijutsu only for now,” Fugaku answered. “And I will stop the match when I deem it necessary.”

  “And when is that?”

  “I will judge that,” Fugaku said ftly.

  Reiji gave him a sidelong look but didn’t argue.

  Instead he turned toward Arata, who had just finished loosening his shoulders.

  “You ready to kiss the ground again?”

  To Reiji’s mild surprise, Arata didn’t react to the bait.

  The boy simply adjusted his footing on the grass.

  “Don’t cry when you lose,” he replied calmly.

  Reiji tilted his head slightly.

  ‘Oh?’

  A grin almost broke across his face.

  ‘You grew a spine now?’

  But before he could say anything else, he noticed something far more interesting.

  Arata’s eyes changed.

  The transformation happened in a single blink.

  Dark pupils turned crimson red, and within them a single tomoe rotated slowly like a drop of ink suspended in water.

  For a moment Reiji simply stared.

  The effect was strangely mesmerizing.

  ‘So that’s the Sharingan.’

  Excitement stirred immediately in his chest.

  A grin spread slowly across his face.

  Both boys lowered themselves into fighting stances.

  Arata’s posture was tense but steady, feet pnted firmly on the grass as his gaze locked onto Reiji with unnatural focus.

  Reiji’s stance was looser, lighter.

  Almost eager.

  “Ready?” Fugaku asked.

  They nodded.

  “Begin.”

  Reiji moved first.

  The grass bent beneath his foot as he pushed forward, closing the distance with sudden speed. His weight shifted smoothly from heel to toe as he drove into striking range, his right shoulder turning slightly as his arm shot forward. The punch was clean and direct, aimed straight for Arata’s face.

  It should have nded.

  Instead, Arata’s head slipped backward just before the strike arrived. The movement was small—barely more than a lean—but it was perfectly timed. Reiji’s knuckles passed a breath from the boy’s nose.

  Reiji didn’t pause. His momentum carried into the next motion as he pivoted on his pnted foot and whipped a low kick toward Arata’s thigh, aiming to disrupt his stance. Arata reacted instantly, turning his knee outward to intercept the strike. The impact sent a dull shock through Reiji’s shin.

  Reiji used the contact to spin his hips, converting the motion into an elbow aimed for Arata’s ribs.

  Arata twisted aside again.

  The elbow sliced through empty air.

  Reiji’s foot slid across the grass as he adjusted his bance, his body continuing the rotation. A spinning kick followed immediately, his leg cutting through the space where Arata had just been standing.

  But Arata had already moved.

  The Uchiha stepped out of range with surprising precision, his crimson eyes locked on Reiji’s movements.

  They separated slightly, both boys shifting their footing on the grass.

  Reiji’s eyes narrowed.

  Arata’s gaze was strange.

  The red pupils flickered constantly, tracking every small adjustment Reiji made—his shoulders, his hips, even the way his weight settled onto one leg or the other.

  Reiji stepped in again.

  This time he attacked faster.

  A quick jab toward the chest.

  Arata blocked.

  A hook toward the jaw.

  Arata leaned away.

  Reiji stepped closer and drove a knee toward the stomach.

  Arata twisted aside, the knee brushing his hip instead of striking cleanly.

  They moved through the clearing as they fought, feet sliding over grass fttened by repeated steps. The pond beside them rippled slightly where koi shifted beneath the water, disturbed by the vibrations of their movements.

  Reiji pressed forward with another short combination.

  A straight punch.

  A low kick.

  A sudden elbow.

  Each attack flowed naturally into the next, his body turning and resetting with practiced rhythm.

  And yet every strike missed.

  Arata moved before the attacks fully formed.

  Sometimes he blocked. Sometimes he slipped aside. Sometimes he simply stepped out of range.

  But every reaction came just a moment too early to be coincidence.

  Reiji broke away and took two steps back, creating space between them. His breathing remained steady as he studied the boy across from him.

  Arata smirked.

  “What? Scared now?”

  Reiji didn’t answer. His attention was still fixed on the crimson eyes staring back at him.

  Then his hand twitched toward the pouch at his hip.

  Arata reacted instantly.

  He jumped backward.

  Reiji’s grin widened.

  ‘Interesting.’

  “You were reaching for a kunai!” Arata said defensively.

  “Really?” Reiji replied, lowering his hand again. “Must be your imagination.”

  Arata’s jaw tightened.

  Then he lunged.

  Reiji shifted his stance as the distance vanished again, his weight settling lightly on the balls of his feet. Arata’s punch came fast, aimed straight at his face.

  Reiji tilted his head aside, letting the strike skim past his cheek, and countered with a jab toward the chest.

  Arata blocked.

  A kick followed immediately, snapping toward Reiji’s ribs.

  Reiji stepped back just far enough for the attack to miss, his foot sliding across the grass.

  The exchange accelerated.

  Fists and legs moved rapidly between them as they circled through the clearing. Grass fttened under their shifting steps as each tried to gain a better angle.

  Arata’s Sharingan tracked everything.

  Reiji noticed it clearly now.

  The moment his muscles tensed for an attack, the crimson eyes reacted.

  Before the punch.

  Before the kick.

  Before the motion even began.

  Reiji ducked beneath a strike aimed at his temple and slid to the side, his foot digging into the grass to stop his momentum.

  ‘So that’s how it works’, he thought.

  It reads the body.

  Muscle movement. Shifts in bance. The intention behind the attack.

  He drove a quick strike toward Arata’s chest.

  Arata blocked again.

  ‘I’m faster than him.’

  ‘But because he sees the attack coming…’

  ‘We’re stuck.’

  Arata seemed to realize the same thing. A confident grin slowly spread across his face.

  Reiji stepped back again, studying him carefully.

  So that was the Sharingan.

  It didn’t make Arata stronger.

  It simply allowed him to react before the attack truly existed.

  ‘Impressive.’

  But as he watched the boy adjust his stance across the clearing, a faint hint of disappointment crept quietly into his thoughts.

  ‘…Is that it?’

  For something spoken of with such weight—whispered about in the academy halls, praised in stories of legendary battles—Reiji had expected something more overwhelming.

  The ability was useful, certainly. Predicting attacks was no small advantage. But it didn’t make Arata faster. It didn’t make him stronger. It didn’t change the simple fact that every time Arata tried to press the attack, Reiji still slipped away before the strike could nd.

  Reiji rolled one shoulder slightly, loosening the tension in his arm as he considered the exchange.

  If this was all the Sharingan could do…

  Then the reputation of the Uchiha might be a little exaggerated.

  Still, the thought lingered in the back of his mind as he watched those red eyes continue to track his movements with mechanical precision.

  Useful.

  But not invincible.

  But as Reiji watched the boy move, something else caught his attention.

  Arata’s movements were changing.

  Subtle adjustments in stance.

  Cleaner steps.

  Sharper angles.

  The rhythm felt… familiar.

  Reiji’s eyes widened slightly.

  ‘He’s copying me.’

  Reiji chuckled.

  “What a copycat.”

  “You won’t be smiling for long!” Arata snapped.

  Reiji moved again.

  A punch toward the jaw.

  Arata leaned away easily, already preparing to counter the strike he had predicted would follow.

  But the expected attack never came.

  Instead, Reiji suddenly opened his hand and shoved his palm directly in front of Arata’s face.

  For a brief instant, Arata’s entire field of vision was filled with fingers.

  The Sharingan predicted a strike.

  But there was no strike.

  Only a hand.

  That moment of confusion was enough.

  Reiji’s leg swept low across the grass, hooking behind Arata’s ankles with precise timing.

  Arata’s footing vanished.

  His body hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.

  Before he could react, Reiji was already moving.

  A fist struck his cheek.

  His arm was seized and twisted sharply behind his back.

  Reiji pnted his foot firmly between Arata’s shoulder bdes, pressing him face-down into the grass and pinning him in pce.

  The clearing fell quiet again, broken only by Arata’s irritated breathing.

  Reiji tilted his head slightly as he looked down at him.

  “You were saying?”