Three years had passed since the world was shaken by a night of fire and fury.
The Nine-Tails had attacked the Hidden Leaf. Buildings crumbled, families perished, and the Fourth Hokage—Minato Namikaze—fell while sealing the beast into his newborn son. The price of survival was heavy. The village mourned. And suspicion took root like rot in soil.
The Uchiha clan, once praised for their service in the war, was now a whisper away from being named traitors.
They had been the only ones with the dōjutsu capable of controlling the Nine-Tails. That alone was enough to turn eyes on them.
And so, under the guise of village security, surveillance increased.
Uchiha clan members were quietly relocated to the outer district of the village. Checkpoints increased. ANBU masked their presence poorly.
The ROOT division, weakened from the battle, had withdrawn their specialized agents. Too many of their own had been consumed trying to contain the Nine-Tails.
Danzo Shimura, ever cold, had dismissed the idea of continuing direct monitoring on the younger Uchiha twins.
"They're children," he said, waving away the scrolls. "What can a child do?"
But the surveillance never truly stopped. It only shifted—broader now. More suffocating.
The Uchiha compound became a cage.
In the heart of the now-isolated Uchiha district, the courtyard was quiet.
Itachi Uchiha stood tall for his age, a faint smile on his face as he knelt beside a small boy holding a wooden shuriken.
"Sasuke," he said gently, "do you want to practice shuriken throwing today?"
"Yes, nii-san!" Sasuke beamed, his small hands clutching the weapon tightly.
Not far from them, on the far edge of the Uchiha training grounds, another child stood.
Hirito Uchiha.
His posture mirrored Sasuke's, but his expression was calmer, more composed. His gaze fixed on the wooden target before him—paint peeling from years of use. He took a breath, raised the wooden shuriken, and launched it with a clean flick of his wrist.
Thwack.
The weapon struck the center of the mark cleanly before clattering to the ground, its weight too light to hold.
Hirito tilted his head and smiled slightly.
He turned, sensing familiar chakra approaching.
Itachi and Sasuke arrived moments later, and Hirito greeted them with a warm, genuine smile. "Good morning."
"Hirito," Itachi said, nodding back. "You're up early."
Sasuke grinned. "Did you hit the bullseye?"
"Close enough," Hirito replied. "Wood's too light to stick."
Itachi glanced at the mark and paused. The placement was perfect. For a three-year-old… it was better than even he had been at that age.
He crouched beside Hirito, observing him more carefully now.
"You've been practicing alone?" he asked.
Hirito nodded. "Only in the mornings. When the air feels calmer."
Itachi studied his younger brother silently. There was something uncanny about Hirito's presence. His aura was centered—more than a child's should be. His chakra, though still undeveloped, seemed to flow evenly. No surges. No imbalance.
He turned to Sasuke. "Come on. Let's train together."
The three of them stood side by side.
Itachi demonstrated the throw slowly, guiding Sasuke's arm. The younger boy struggled, but his determination burned brightly. Hirito watched, absorbing every movement.
When it was Hirito's turn, he adjusted his posture slightly and launched the shuriken again.
Thwack.
Dead center.
Again.
Itachi blinked.
Sasuke frowned. "Hey! That's not fair! You've been practicing more!"
Hirito smiled, brushing off the compliment. "You'll catch up soon."
But even Itachi wasn't so sure.
He learns by watching once… maybe twice. And his throws aren't luck. They're calculated.
Just like Shisui's.
Inside the Uchiha council hall, whispers grew louder.
The elders were growing restless. Being moved to the outer district had wounded their pride, but it was the stigma that burned them the most. Every mission now went to the Yamanaka, the Nara, or even foreign-born shinobi. The Uchiha were treated as weapons in storage even though many are from police force some are ninja who make a living with missions from the village.
And weapons, when cornered, eventually strike.
"We've confirmed it," murmured one of the great elders. "ANBU have increased their presence near the southern wall."
Another nodded grimly. "Even within the clan district, our members are followed."
A younger elder placed a scroll on the table. "We've begun acquiring explosive tags and kunai. The Neko Clan was willing to sell—discreetly."
There were murmurs of approval.
"Just for defense," one said.
"Yes. For now," another echoed.
They didn't know if war was coming—but if it did, the Uchiha would not kneel.
Back in the training grounds, Sasuke lay flat on the grass, exhausted after the third round of throwing practice. Hirito sat beside him, arms crossed behind his head.
"Why do you get it so fast?" Sasuke asked, half-pouting.
Hirito turned to him and smiled softly. "I don't. I just… feel the target."
Itachi raised a brow. "Feel the target?"
"I don't know how to explain it," Hirito admitted. "The space between me and the mark… I can sense it. The weight of the shuriken. The way the wind moves. It's like I know when it's right to throw."
He didn't add the part about how that strange presence—the breath of nature—still lingered within him.
Always just outside reach. Whispering.
Watching.
Itachi stared at him for a long moment.
He had never seen a prodigy develop like this. Not even Shisui had described things this way. It was something else.
Itachi looked up toward the compound wall, where the faint shadow of a masked shinobi flickered just out of sight.
End of the Chapter.