I slowly opened my eyes, still wrapped in a cozy blanket, the gentle hum of morning existence wafting through the paper partitions. For an instant, I gazed up at the ceiling, bewildered. That was not the coarse wood panels of my room or the gentle creak of my floorboard beside the window.
Then it hit me.
Right—Uncle Inoichi's house.
I'd returned here the night before because I couldn't stand the quiet of my own house. Not after he'd gone. Not with all the echoes still ringing through the halls.
I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and stretched. My muscles still hurt from the cave training, but it was a good kind of pain. The kind that let me know I was building strength.
I came out of the guest room and proceeded along the hallway. Inoichi was already in the kitchen, drinking tea and reading over a tiny scroll.
"Morning," I grunted.
"Sleep all right?" he asked, not looking up.
I nodded. "Yeah. I'm gonna wrap up my dailies. Be there in a minute."
"Okay. Breakfast will be served when you get back."
I walked towards the bathroom. As I'd spent so many times here, my toothbrush, soap, and towel were also already set inside the cabinet. Habit. Normal.
I opened the door—
And stood there.
Steam swirled in the air like a gentle fog. The fragrance of warm floral soap intertwined with the rush of water. The light within the bathroom shone softly through the mist, its warmth hazy and diffuse.
Aunt Inoki was standing under the shower, her back to me, completely oblivious.
Her figure was... graceful, sculpted like a kunoichi trained for speed and precision. Not bulky. Not delicate. Defined. The curve of her waist, the tone in her legs, the subtle arc of her spine—all of it perfectly framed through the frosted glass, just blurred enough to suggest more than it revealed.
My mind was short-circuited.
I didn't even blink.
I didn't breathe.
I simply stood there, stuck between the revelation of the gods and spiritual breakdown.
Click.
I closed the door as quietly as a master assassin and moved two steps back down the hallway, heart racing as I'd just battled a Jonin-level fighter—and lost.
In the guest room once more, I fell to my knees, hands together, and prayed:
"Dear gods, forgive me. I have sinned. I have strayed from the path."
I bowed my head.
"This was not my intent. I had wanted toothpaste and clarity. I received temptation and confusion."
I let out a deep breath, my forehead against the tatami mat.
"But," I went on, "surely even the gods recognize that this… this was a test. And I… I failed. At once."
I rolled over and glared at the ceiling, groaning into my sleeve.
"What manner of sickening curse is this? My body's not even matured enough to feel anything—but my mind? Capable enough to recall everything in pristine HD. Thanks, Nano."
"Recording saved in 'Heavenly Sensation' folder. Locked. Encrypted. Hidden."
"Don't remind me."
I sat up and groaned yet again. My body might be young, but my mental abilities were a cruel double-edged sword—imagination, memory, and analysis. The whole package.
The worst combination.
"I'm going to hell," I grumbled.
But even in shame, even in frustration—I couldn't help but deny the clarity of the moment. Not in the way I wanted to, anyway.
I tidied up, did my routines like nothing had occurred, and sat down with them at the table a few minutes later.
Breakfast was. awkward.
Aunt Inoki poured tea over me without meeting my eyes. I grunted and murmured a thanks, trying not to make anything of it. Uncle Inoichi, oblivious or benevolent, remained silent.
The awkwardness eventually subsided. Inoki made some joke about bedhead, I snorted my miso, and suddenly everything was fine.
After breakfast, I moved outside into the front yard and commenced my morning training.
Taijutsu first—quick, sharp, effective. I practiced combinations, interspersed with feints, and then picked up shadow-aided strikes. My limbs moved by reflex now. My father's patterns are integrated into mine. I continued moving until my shirt was soaked in sweat.
Then ninjutsu—Gale Palm, Mud Wolves, Shadow Possession, Shadow Sewing. I practiced them in succession, searing the muscle memory into my core.
Then I transitioned to what is my latest fixation—sensory chakra techniques.
I established the seal and extended it with chakra, attempting to sense the world.
It worked.
I could sense humans behind walls. I could chart emotional waves. But it tasted. hollow. Stale. As if I was doing the jutsu, yet not comprehending it.
As if I had learned the lyrics to a song without ever experiencing the music.
I balled my fists. "I don't get it. I'm doing all the right things—why is it hollow?"
That's when I felt footsteps behind me.
Uncle Inoichi.
"You've hit the wall," he said matter-of-factly.
I turned to him, annoyed. "Yeah."
"Because you're approaching it as if it were a technique," he said, coming over, "not what it is—a connection."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Yamanaka sensory techniques," he said, "are based on Yin chakra. Yin is not about power. It's about projection. About connection. Not something that begins in your hands. Something that begins in your mind."
He sat next to me, placing his palms on the ground.
"From the mind to the senses, to the cells… to the imagination. That's the way of Yin. If your mind is strong, your reach is unlimited."
I remained silent, soaking up each word.
"When you employ sensory methods," he explained, "you're constructing an invisible web—one only you can sense. A system with you at its core."
He regarded me, dead serious now.
"You determine who is attuned to it. What they sense. What they see. What they hear. You can speak to them. Direct them. Own them, if your will is powerful enough. You're not just perceiving chakra—you're entering their mind. Their consciousness."
He rapped his temple once.
"The key to Yin is domination of perception. Reality, filtered through you."
I looked at my hands. "So it's not just sensing…"
"It's an interface."
That word cut differently. I nodded slowly. Then I stood up.
And began again.
After Inoichi's explanation, I said nothing.
I simply sat down, legs crossed in the center of the yard, and closed my eyes.
No motion. No jutsu. Only silence.
I allowed my breathing to slow, my heart calm, mind open. I didn't reach out this time—I reached within.
"Nano, start the analysis of the Yamanaka clan sensory workflow. Integrate with yin chakra modulation training."
"Acknowledged. Mapping chakra network. Synchronizing brainwave interpretation with mental projection framework."
I could feel it taking place beneath the surface—information flowing, neurons sparking, my internal systems adjusting. Nano was synchronizing the jutsu patterns with my chakra pathways, imprinting the knowledge at a neurological level. Not mere imitation. Integration.
An hour passed in meditation.
Then I stood.
The world felt… different.
Not louder. Not clearer.
But connected.
I could sense the presence of even the tiniest insect around—the flutter of a moth's wings on the other side of the yard, the slight shift in Aunt Inoki's breathing from the kitchen, the slight vibration of a worm burrowing beneath the earth.
Was this normal?
Was this how Yamanaka felt?
Or was it enhanced by Nano's optimization?
Didn't matter.
It worked.
I entered my mindscape and started the simulation. The training ground coalesced around me—nothing to begin with. I called up familiar chakra patterns, readjusted them, and refixed them on the mental connection data.
I trained.
Sensing.
Linking.
Feeling.
Not awareness, but presence—connection, as if I was part of an immaterial web strung across the countryside. I could feel the intent of my simulations before they moved. I could feel their intent as it developed.
This wasn't detection alone.
This was communication.
Two hours had elapsed.
When I opened my eyes, the actual world greeted me back—and Inoichi remained, sitting calmly, arms crossed, gazing at me with those sharp, knowing eyes.
I stood up, took a slow breath, and raised my right hand.
Tiger. Ram. Boar. One hand.
Within less than one second, the sensory technique switched on—clean, sharp, and flawlessly controlled.
Inoichi's eyebrows shot up, a smile beginning to spread.
But I wasn't finished.
I created a new pattern—Mind Body Transmission Technique—still one-handed.
In an instant, I touched both Inoichi and Inoki at the same time, intertwining their minds with mine for just long enough to impart a single message:
"Throughout Heaven and Earth, I alone am the honored one."
My voice resonated within their minds.
With a very self-satisfied smile, I severed the link.
For precisely one second, there was silence.
Then—
"Akira!"
Both Inoichi and Inoki came running towards me, pretend-outraged, chasing me around the yard.
I took off, laughing. "It was just a quote! Jiraiya-level drama!"
Inoki attempted to grab me by the collar. I sidestepped. Inoichi threw a pebble that struck me right between the eyes.
"Okay, okay!" I yelled. "I surrender! I surrender with dignity!"
The morning slipped away into shared laughter, teasing, and drills that somehow became games. Inoichi made me repeat the technique fifteen more times—blindfolded, one-legged, mid-conversation.
I nailed ten of them.
Inoki made tea, then joined the fun by tossing flowers into the air for me to detect and tag mid-flight with the sensory thread.
I missed it most.
Nevertheless, we persisted until the sun climbed high in the sky, and my stomach also told me that chakra wasn't the only source of energy I required.
Having spent most of the day training and clowning with Inoichi and Inoki, I figured it was time to visit someone else—someone who was with me right from the start.
The Uchiha Compound was as still as ever—neat, tidy, and orderly to a fault. But the stillness wasn't peaceful. It never was. Not here.
As I entered, I sensed the gazes.
Several sets of them. Staring. Trailing. Judging.
But I did not blink. Did not break stride.
I'd been going in and out of this house too many times during the last three years to be rattled by that now. Let them look on. I wasn't there for them.
I paused in front of a recognized house, one that I'd gone to more times than I could remember, and called out carelessly.
"Itachi! Home, or busy overthinking about life again?"
There was a delay.
Then the door slid open.
Itachi materialized, always so unruffled and serene, wearing his dark Uchiha training uniform, stance upright, eyes as chilly as ever.
Before he could answer, another figure emerged behind him.
Mikoto Uchiha.
She smiled at me—gentle, warm, the sort of smile that made you feel like coming home.
"Akira-kun," she said warmly, wiping her hands against the hem of her apron. "You've grown taller. And I hear stronger too."
I bowed slightly, returning the smile. "It's all thanks to good teachers… and a lot of bruises."
She laughed, waving her hand. "A strong body and a sharp mind, hmm? You boys are growing up fast."
"I try," I replied, looking over at Itachi. "But I think I'd be growing faster if I didn't have to keep pulling this guy out of existential spirals."
Itachi blinked, eyes narrowing. "I don't overthink life."
I smiled. "Yes, you do."
Mikoto laughed. "True, sweetie. You do tend to go a little too deep sometimes."
"If thinking too much was a jutsu," I continued, "he'd be S-rank by now."
She grinned cheekily. "Honestly, if I overthought you the way you overthink everything else, you might have been born a year later."
Itachi shot her a side glance. "Even you?"
I burst out laughing. Even Itachi cracked a faint, near-invisible grin before pulling himself together once again.
"I am surrounded by jesters," he sighed.
"Correction," I said, still smiling. "You're followed by jesters. There is a difference."
The banter went on for another minute—Mikoto asking me what I ate, Itachi feigning indifference, and me feigning ignorance of the fact that he did. It was light and easy. Familiar.
Then the front door creaked open again.
Fugaku Uchiha came into sight.
He was the very picture of authority—stoic, keen-eyed, commanding even in silence. His eyes met mine, and I stood a little taller without realizing it.
"Good afternoon, Akira," he stated, voice stern but not harsh.
I bowed deeply. "Fugaku-sama."
His gaze flicked between me and Itachi. "You two are off to train?"
"Yes, Father," Itachi stated matter-of-factly.
Fugaku gazed at me once more, and there was something in his eyes—not judgment. Not suspicion.
Recognition.
"Good," he stated. "Push one another. Sharpen yourselves. Limits are there to be broken."
He turned and strode past us, down the corridor.
But I stood there a moment longer. Because I knew what that was.
He didn't speak much. He never did. But I'd caught him at the periphery of our training exercises before—quiet, observing from afar. Judging. Weighing.
And now, with only those words… he'd accepted me. Not simply as Itachi's friend.
As his rival.
It wasn't admiration. But it was something greater. It was acceptance.
"Let's go," Itachi said.
I nodded and strode alongside him, heart stable, feet light.
"How have you been?" I asked.
"Busy," he replied. "Father's been. demanding. More training. More missions. More expectations."
I nodded. "Sounds familiar."
"What about you?" he asked. "You said you were training with your father?"
"Yeah," I said. "He went all out on me. Three days. No holding back. Taijutsu. Shadow techniques. Yin chakra manipulation. Mental fortitude tests. Nearly broke me."
I glanced over at him, smiling. "But I didn't crack."
He was impressed. "That's good. You're honing."
"I have to," I replied. "If we're both going to make it in this world."
He nodded seriously, then up at the trees above.
"My dad's been pushing me hard too," he replied. "He's taught me the Great Fireball Technique. I mastered the Phoenix Sage Fire last week. I'm learning Uchiha-style shurikenjutsu as well. Rotational patterns, pinning throws, intercepting strikes."
"Advanced work," I commented, whistling. "They're preparing you to be a leader."
"They're instructing me in commanding a team. Leading missions. Making the tough decisions."
He didn't say it proudly. Just acceptance. As if it was a weight already resting on his shoulders.
We had arrived at the training grounds by then.
Mostly deserted—the rare rustle of leaves, soft bird chirps, and the acrid scent of burnt wood from past fire release exercises.
Then I saw him.
A silver-haired boy, slumped upon a fat tree limb, legs loose and swinging lazily, clad in a jonin vest and dark pants. Half of his face was obscured by a standard Konoha mask, and his forehead protector tilted crookedly across his left eye.
He wasn't breathing.
Wasn't blinking.
He just sat there, gazing off into space, his eyes as blank as the air.
But I recognized him at once.
The Copy Ninja.Hatake Kakashi.
Even when he was still, he seemed to emanate something hard and deadly. Like a knife left out in the hot sun—silent, but present.
"That's…" I breathed.
Itachi nodded. "Kakashi Hatake."
He didn't glance at us. Didn't even notice we were there.
He just gazed at nothing. As if the world had come to an end, and he was the only one who knew.
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