The air in the scorched training ground did not simply hang; it shimmered, thick with the aftermath of controlled cataclysm. Waves of heat, visible as liquid distortions, rose from the three fresh craters that formed a rough triangle around Miwa's seated form.
Tiny embers, like dying fireflies, winked out one by one in the settling dust. Against this backdrop of recent devastation, Renjiro stood at the tree line, a figure of preternatural calm.
His tri-wheel Mangekyō Sharingan was already active, a silent, crimson revolution in his eyes. Through its heightened perception, the world was not just seen but decoded. The residual chakra in the air wasn't merely heat; it was a fading tapestry of intent. He could see the ghostly afterimages of Miwa's technique—not as fire, but as violent points of chakra ignition.
He observed how the energy hadn't been projected from her body along a stream, but rather gathered, condensed, and violently destabilised at a specific point in space before erupting inward-then-outward. It was a reversal of standard Fire Release principles, which focused on expulsion and flow. This was about instantaneous, localized creation through collapse.
A low, appreciative murmur escaped him, more to himself than to her. "Hmm… this is interesting."
Miwa, still seated on her stone, slowly unfolded her legs and rose with the fluid grace of a veteran shinobi. She dusted nonexistent ash from her gi, her own dark eyes now fixed on him, taking in the active Mangekyō without a flicker of surprise.
"See something you like?" she asked, her tone dry.
"I've never seen Fire Release structured that way," Renjiro said, taking a few steps into the scorched zone, his boots crunching on brittle, blackened earth.
"It's not a stream or a sphere. It's a… punctuation mark. A full-stop made of flame. That's not standard Uchiha doctrine."
A faint, dismissive wave of her hand. "Don't mind an old woman's tinkering. Just developing a new trick. The old ones are getting predictable."
Renjiro's Sharingan-imbued gaze swept over the perfectly formed craters, noting the uniformity of their destruction, the lack of splash damage. "It already feels complete. The control is absolute."
Miwa's lips thinned slightly, a telltale sign of her perfectionism. "Complete? Hardly. The chakra cost per ignition is still five percent too high. The sound signature is distinct—a dead giveaway. And I haven't yet managed sequential detonations in a true spherical pattern."
Her critique was razor-sharp, clinical. This was the difference between them: Renjiro saw a masterpiece of power; Miwa saw a draft with three correctable flaws. Their dynamic had long since evolved from teacher-student to something rarer: mentor-equals, where respect was expressed through blunt honesty.
Her eyes, however, didn't linger on the craters. They remained locked on the spinning patterns in his. She noted the steadiness of the light, the absence of the subtle, straining flicker that had sometimes been present before.
"Your timing is impeccable," she observed, shifting the subject with the sharpness of a kunai pivot. "You show up just as I'm finishing. And with those eyes already spinning. So. Did you finally get over the 'block'?"
Renjiro allowed the Mangekyō to remain active, a tacit confirmation. "I did."
A single, slow nod from Miwa. She didn't congratulate him. She probed. "And how does it feel?"
He considered the question, his gaze turning inward for a moment. The sensation wasn't the explosive rush of new power he'd experienced in the past. It was quieter, more foundational.
"Strange," he admitted, his voice thoughtful. "Weirdly… complete. Like a door inside my head I didn't know was ajar has finally been shut. Or maybe opened all the way. It's hard to describe."
It was the feeling of internal alignment, of a civil war ending with a negotiated peace, not a slaughter.
"Hmph." Miwa folded her arms, the picture of skeptical expectation. "And the method? Don't tell me you just 'willed' it into submission."
"Meditation," Renjiro said, the word simple and true on the surface.
Miwa's eyebrow arched. She gave him a look that could have etched glass.
"Meditation," she repeated, flatly disbelieving.
"Deep meditation," he amended, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "It… drew me into a memory. A specific one."
That caught her genuine interest. The sharp scepticism softened into curiosity. Her arms unfolded.
"Which memory?"
Here, Renjiro hesitated. The full truth—the grey space, the Other, the terrible choice—was a chasm he could not ask her to peer into.
To reveal it would be to confirm her long-ago, offhand theory about 'possession' in a way that would raise unanswerable, dangerous questions.
It would force him to explain the unexplainable: the transmigration, the dual consciousness. That secret was a burden he had sworn to carry alone; it would die with him. He needed to redirect, not lie outright. To offer a truth that was real, just not the whole truth.
"A bath," he said finally, his voice softening, adopting a nostalgic tone that was not entirely manufactured.
"When I was little. Back in Uzushiogakure. I was running, laughing. My mother was chasing me, pretending to be stern. My father came home and scooped me up… he smelled of sea salt and clean fabric. He scolded me, but he was smiling." He painted the scene with broad, warm strokes, emphasising its mundane, human sweetness.
"It was just… a moment. Nothing tragic. Nothing grand. Just a piece of being a child."
Miwa listened, her expression unreadable. She knew the weight he carried from that destroyed village; a memory of peaceful domesticity from that time was a poignant treasure.
"That single memory… it was like a key," Renjiro continued, building the half-truth. "It didn't just play. It unlocked others. A cascade. Memories of Uzushio I didn't even realise I'd forgotten. The layout of our kitchen. The pattern of light on the harbour water at dawn. The smell of my aunt's sealing ink." He shook his head slightly, as if in wonder.
"They weren't gone. They were just… fragmented. Waiting."
Miwa's eyes narrowed in thought. "Are you saying the block was in your memories? Not your chakra?"
"I think… the block was caused by the memories. Or by the act of forgetting them," Renjiro theorised, walking the tightrope between revelation and concealment.
"A kind of emotional suppression that manifested as a spiritual wall. When I stopped fighting the memory—when I just let it exist—the wall lost its reason to be."
It was a psychologically sound explanation, one that fit within the known bounds of shinobi trauma and kekkei genkai manifestation. Miwa, who had seen the Mangekyō born from profound loss, could follow the logic. The mind protecting itself, even from seemingly happy memories tied to an annihilated home, could create strange feedback with ocular power.
"And the abilities?" she asked, cutting to the heart of the matter. "Did this… meditation simply hand them to you?"
"In a manner of speaking. The knowledge was just… there. Understood." He met her gaze squarely, the crimson wheels in his eyes spinning with serene certainty.
"One of them, in particular, addresses what you've always said is my most glaring weakness."
That got her full attention. Her posture straightened. "Close combat," she stated. It wasn't a question. For all his prowess with ninjutsu, fuinjutsu, and now the Susanoo, Renjiro's style had always favoured tactical distance or overwhelming power.
A master of the gentle fist or a relentless taijutsu specialist closing inside his guard had long been his theoretical—and occasionally practical—downfall.
"Close combat," he confirmed.
The anticipation in the clearing became a palpable thing, thicker than the lingering heat. The dying embers seemed to pulse in time with her focused interest. "Explain," Miwa commanded, her voice low.
Renjiro didn't answer immediately. He let the silence stretch, feeling the weight of the moment—the first demonstration of his fully integrated power to the person whose opinion mattered most. A small, confident smirk, one that held no arrogance but pure, tested certainty, touched his lips.
"Why don't I just show you?"
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