Uchiha Jinzō and Minato Namikaze spent the afternoon trading notes on basic chakra cultivation.Well—mostly Jinzō talked, while Minato sat there with that politely focused face, soaking it all up like a genius sponge.
Jinzō rambled on about chakra accumulation, strengthening the body, sharpening combat ability—all the little tricks he'd pieced together through sheer desperation. Minato listened seriously, his sharp eyes narrowing as if already pulling the method apart and reassembling it in his head.
Even Kushina Uzumaki, normally impatient with this sort of thing, leaned in. She had it harder than either of them—every time she tried to stabilize her chakra, the Nine-Tails' power stirred inside her, ready to throw everything into chaos. But this "basic internal training" of Jinzō's… it actually helped. It didn't fix the problem, but it made her seal a little steadier. And that alone was enough to catch her full attention.
Jinzō wasn't teaching them out of pure charity, though. If even one of these prodigies advanced, he could piggyback on their progress, too. Better yet, when others practiced his method, the "data" of their attempts somehow fed back into his own mind—like background code, quietly strengthening his deductions. He'd only discovered that after Minato and Kushina left his house last night.
The first level of training was simple enough to explain, so it didn't take long before they wrapped things up.
"See you tomorrow," Minato said warmly, waving.
Kushina huffed, turning away with her cheeks puffed. But instead of storming off alone, she grabbed Minato by the arm and dragged him with her, shooting Jinzō a glare over her shoulder like he'd just stolen her favorite toy.
"Mm. A tsundere girl and a golden boy. Classic pairing," Jinzō muttered, stroking his chin. "The one who can't deal with her own emotions ends up being the girl. That's… new, actually."
He sighed, half amused, half wistful. "Guess I should find myself a cool blonde with an attitude problem. As long as they never meet…"
The evening breeze cut across his face as he walked toward the Uchiha compound.
The Uchiha still lived near Konoha's center in this era—close enough to the village's beating heart to feel prestigious, though that would change after the Nine-Tails incident. Everyone knew how it ended: red eyes on the fox's head, suspicion thick as blood, the clan shoved to the edge of the village like unwanted furniture.
Jinzō didn't have time to brood on that history, though. Because the moment he stepped into clan territory—
"That's him, Brother Yashiro!"
Little Uchiha Hiru pointed at Jinzō with righteous fury, dragging along a teen with short brown hair and those sharp lines under his eyes: Uchiha Yashiro.
Perfect. Just what Jinzō needed—three bratty classmates dragging in backup.
"They bullied me!" Hiru wailed, pointing again.
Without missing a beat, Jinzō's face crumpled into tragic misery. "Brother Yashiro! They picked on me! I-I didn't do anything!" He even squeezed out a few tears for good measure.
Any ordinary adult would have melted. Yashiro just pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Jinzō… you've used that trick a dozen times. Try a new one, at least."
Jinzō dropped the act instantly, lips curling in a smirk.
"Brother Yashiro, look! He's even mocking you!" Hiru practically bounced with excitement, thinking he'd finally found leverage.
Yashiro ruffled the boy's hair and sighed. "Kohiru. Uchiha don't bully the weak. That's not our way."
Too bad Yashiro was soft-hearted.
"Alright, Uncle Yashiro, you can head home now. Kids' business, we'll settle ourselves." Jinzō waved him off like a cranky host.
Yashiro let out another long-suffering sigh. When Jinzō needed him, it was Brother Yashiro. When he didn't, suddenly it was Uncle Yashiro. Typical.
"You could show me a little respect," Yashiro grumbled.
"Respect? Can you leave already?" Jinzō bared his teeth in mock threat.
Yashiro backed off with both hands raised. Married life had made him cautious—Jinzō had blackmailed him with "friendly gossip" before. Better not risk his wife's temper again.
"Fine, fine. I'm going."
As Yashiro trudged away, he tossed one last warning over his shoulder. "Don't go too far, Jinzō."
The three brats grinned like hyenas. "Don't worry, Brother Yashiro—we won't."
The moment he was gone, they turned on Jinzō. "Alright, let's—"
"Wrong answer."
Jinzō's voice came from behind one of them. Before the kid could react, Jinzō's hand chopped down on the back of his neck. Thud. Out cold.
"You bastard!" another yelled, drawing a kunai and charging.
Jinzō slipped aside with ease, slamming his knee into the boy's stomach. Down he went.
That left the last one—kunai shaking in his hands. Jinzō glanced his way, and the boy threw the weapon to the ground and flopped over like he'd been hit already.
"…Smart," Jinzō said, dusting off his hands.
Not far off, Yashiro turned at the noise. The fight was already over. He shook his head. Jinzō had guts, sure—but without ninjutsu, guts only carried you so far. One day, it would catch up with him.
Jinzō didn't care. He stepped over the groaning pile of future clanmates and headed home without a backward glance.
That night, he cooked. Stir-fried dishes, familiar flavors from a life no one here remembered. Naruto's world had so little variety—ramen, onigiri, the same stews over and over. Jinzō couldn't survive on instant noodles like an ordinary shinobi.
"If I don't pull off this whole immortality thing," he muttered, plating up kung pao chicken, "I'll just open a restaurant. Guaranteed profit."
It wasn't a joke. Chakra in this world had untapped potential. If sage beasts and toads could live for centuries, then immortality wasn't just a dream—it was a system waiting to be cracked.
He carried his dishes into the living room—only to freeze.
A boy with short black hair sat waiting for him.
Uchiha Fugaku.
The heir of the clan, and in Jinzō's eyes, one of the men who'd eventually steer it toward destruction.
Setting the food down calmly, Jinzō sat across from him. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Young Clan Chief?"
Fugaku's eyes were cold. "You've been spending time with Uzumaki Kushina."
"So what if I have?" Jinzō leaned back lazily. "That's none of your business."
"It is the clan's business," Fugaku said flatly. "Stay away from her."
Ah. Of course. The Nine-Tails' jinchūriki. To the village, she was a living weapon. To Uchiha, a source of suspicion. Jinzō understood all that, but he wasn't in the mood to bow.
The playful mask dropped. He picked up his chopsticks, tapping them together with a sharp clack.
"Who I get close to is my business, not yours. Don't stick your nose in it."
Fugaku's frown deepened. "This is an order."
Jinzō's grin sharpened, teeth bared. "Order? Fugaku, don't let the title 'Young Patriarch' go to your head. You're not clan head yet. You don't get to order me around."
His voice turned cold. "You'll drag this clan into ruin someday. That's on you. Don't think you can push me into your little script."
"You—!" Fugaku slammed the table, dishes rattling. His face darkened with rage, but he couldn't lash out—not without looking weak.
"Thought so." Jinzō calmly picked up a peanut from his dish. "I don't recall inviting you to dinner anyway."
Fugaku seethed, then stood and stormed out with a cold snort.
Jinzō popped the peanut into his mouth, savoring it. "You, control me? You can't even control yourself, 'Young Patriarch.'"