"You want to test your own strength, don't you? I can see that hunger in your eyes."
Might Duy's voice carried the weight of an adult, steady and serious.
Uchiha Jinzō raised a hand to his face, touching the corner of his eyes. How the hell does he even see that? He could barely understand people's expressions, let alone their hearts.
But Duy didn't stop. "I don't think it's right to chase power blindly. But… if you've got a reason, then that's different."
Jinzō blinked. So this guy can read people's motivations just by looking at them? That's some terrifying spy-level nonsense…
Then Duy's tone shifted. "Alright then. I'll teach you the Eight Gates. In return—you teach me your basics. Internal skills, chakra refinement, even ninjutsu."
Jinzō's mind stalled. Wait, what? Just like that?! He'd wanted the Eight Gates for ages, but he hadn't expected Duy to just hand over the keys like candy.
Duy sat up straighter, face deadly serious. "I'm only a genin, but I've trained every single day for more than ten years. I've walked this path. I know the pain, and the price. So listen well."
He raised a finger. "The first condition for using this technique is absolute self-discipline."
Jinzō grimaced. Yeah… about that. My entire cultivation philosophy is the exact opposite—survive, have fun, do whatever the hell I want. The only 'time limit' I recognize is eternity.
Still, he listened carefully. The more Duy explained, the clearer it became: the Eight Gates sounded simple, but the training was brutal. The technique wasn't about secret hand seals or genius talent—it was about shattering the body's natural limiters, gate by gate, until you could channel raw chakra through them.
A limiter, huh. It reminded him of stories from his old world: people lifting cars in a panic, breaking through their body's safety locks for a burst of strength, only to collapse after. Except here, the Eight Gates let you force that state through relentless training.
No wonder Kakashi in the future would gape at Rock Lee busting out four gates. Each gate meant breaking past your body's limits again.
Jinzō exhaled slowly. "This taijutsu isn't for me."
Sure, he had persistence. But he wasn't about to burn decades chasing gates when he could invent better ninjutsu in the same time. Even Duy had needed ten years to open five gates. Seven? Forget it. And the eighth… well, the eighth was easy to open. Too easy. All you had to pay was your life.
And Jinzō had no intention of cashing out early.
Duy, of course, wasn't fazed. He gave Jinzō a thumbs-up, his teeth sparkling. "Don't worry, young man! Everyone has someone they'll protect with their youth someday!"
Jinzō's eyebrow twitched. …Did this guy just curse me to an early grave?
Still, when it was Jinzō's turn to teach, he quickly realized how hopeless Duy really was. His chakra control was awful—five times the effort for half the result. No wonder he couldn't use ninjutsu or genjutsu. For him, even a basic D-rank was C-rank difficulty.
So that's the gap, Jinzō thought grimly. In this world, bloodline and talent weren't just advantages—they were the whole damn game. The Uchiha had chakra sensitivity running in their veins. Duy had nothing. Which explained why taijutsu, and the Eight Gates in particular, was his only path forward.
He really is insane, Jinzō mused. Insane, but… kind of incredible too.
As for himself? He wasn't just another Uchiha kid. He had all elemental affinities, the kind of raw potential only monsters like the Third Hokage were born with. With time, maybe even beyond. Not that he could tell anyone—Konoha's politics meant Uchiha power was something to be smothered, not nurtured.
So Jinzō kept it secret. He trained in the forest, using shadow clones to spar against himself—taijutsu against ninjutsu, fire release against substitution tricks. Each clone's memory fed back into him when dispelled. The perfect cheat.
His limit was only three clones, nothing like future Naruto's absurd thousands, but it was enough. The fatigue piled up on him, sure—but the gains were worth it.
"Not bad," Jinzō muttered, dispersing his clones after another round. "Still… fighting myself is nothing compared to fighting Duy."
That was when he noticed movement in the grass. He reacted instantly, kunai flashing. A pale white snake writhed, pinned to the dirt. He frowned. Weird. Not common around here.
He pulled the blade free, and the little snake darted off—only for a shuriken to slice its head clean off mid-slither.
The killing intent hit him like a wave. The air grew heavy, black, suffocating. Jinzō's chest tightened. He readied his kunai, every nerve screaming.
Footsteps. Slow. Measured.
A tall figure emerged, pale skin, long black hair, moving with the grace of a predator. Dressed simply in white, no battle stance, yet every step made Jinzō's heartbeat stutter.
The man paused at the snake's corpse, expression tinged with sorrow, though the murderous pressure didn't fade.
"You see it too, don't you… Uchiha boy?"
Jinzō's throat went dry. He already knew that voice.
"Orochimaru."