Uchiha Hachiyo's three-tomoe Sharingan gleamed with killing intent, the chill of his gaze pressing down on Seiji until even the air in the training ground seemed to drop a few degrees.
In the shinobi world, a fully awakened three-tomoe Uchiha had a terrifying reputation:*"One on one? Run. Two jōnin together? Maybe—*maybe—try to fight, but only with a front-back pincer."
Shisui darted in front of Seiji, his short blade lifted, eyes narrowing.
"Shisui, don't be rude to your senior," Seiji muttered, tugging the boy behind him. His Sharingan flared just enough to make his point: Don't you dare show your eyes right now.
Shisui's lips pressed together. He tugged at Seiji's sleeve to say he understood.
"Senior Hachiyo," Seiji began evenly, locking eyes with the older Uchiha, "this is my training ground. My brother and I train here. Curious how you happened to wander in. If I'm not mistaken, I put a very clear sign on the gate."
He tilted his head slightly, voice polite but edged like drawn steel."So tell me—did you come to trade swordsmanship pointers, or just looking for an excuse to fight me?"
The persona he'd been wearing lately—"the Uchiha Tobirama who understands the Will of Fire"—did not mean he had to bow and smile when someone came stomping onto his land itching for a fight. The place was too wide, too obvious to "accidentally" stumble into. Hachiyo wasn't here by mistake. He was one of the hawkish backbone figures in the clan.
So what is it then? Because I've criticized the Sharingan cult? Or because my water-style and tactics ruffle the feathers of some war-era fossils? This your idea of putting me in line, old man?
Seiji's battle spirit surged. Convenient, actually—he'd been looking for a chance to measure himself against a strong opponent, someone who could give him a clean benchmark of his own strength. Right now he had water release, genjutsu, and the Sharingan. Useful, yes. Safe? Not even close.
"Hmph… brat. Doesn't matter. What matters is your ideas are dangerous—and they need correcting."
Hachiyo's face stiffened even as he spoke. Nearly thirty years old, a seasoned three-tomoe, and Uchiha Setsuna had asked him—him!—to deal with a kid who hadn't even graduated the Academy yet? If Setsuna hadn't been so insistent, and if Seiji hadn't just humiliated Obito—the so-called hawkish prodigy—Hachiyo would have flat-out refused.
Losing here was impossible. But winning? Still humiliating. A grown three-tomoe against a school kid? In the clan's eyes, that was nothing but bullying.
Shisui's face was red with anger. If Seiji hadn't shot him a look, the boy would've spat out curses he barely even knew how to use.
What kind of coward needs three tomoe just to pick on people at home?
Even Tobirama chuckled coldly in the back of Seiji's mind. The Uchiha have fallen far indeed… sending a three-tomoe against a child? Pathetic. In Madara's day, this would have been unthinkable.
His smirk deepened. From this alone I can say it: with Sarutobi and Danzō working together, today's Uchiha will never be a real threat.
"Boy, don't be afraid. I'll tell you exactly how to deal with him. With me here, you won't lose."
Seiji grinned. "Tobirama, I already picked up your water release and genjutsu tricks. Plus Izuna's swordsmanship. Worst case? I still have my two-tomoe Sharingan. Don't worry about me."
"And for you to care enough to warn me? Touching. Makes me glad I've rubbed off on you. You've clearly picked up some of my Will of Fire."
Tobirama's expression twisted. Water release? Genjutsu? Izuna's name? That was already enough to make him twitch. But then—this brat was claiming to have inspired him with the Will of Fire?
*Do you even know who I am? I'm Tobirama Senju. Second Hokage. The man Izuna could barely keep up with. And you—*an upstart Uchiha kid—think you're grading me?
Strangely, though, Tobirama didn't snap. Instead, he smirked faintly."Get lost, brat. But hear me: if you lose this fight, don't you dare talk about the Will of Fire again."
"Losers don't get to preach. Not in the Uchiha, not in the Senju, not in Konoha, not anywhere. Only winners earn the right to speak."
Seiji nodded. Then frowned. "Mm. But that doesn't sound very Will-of-Fire-like, does it? Don't worry, I'll straighten you out later."
"You little—!" Tobirama almost swore.
Before Hachiyo cut in, voice sharp: "Enough. If you don't have the guts to face me, come to the next clan assembly and apologize in front of everyone. Admit your mistakes, and this ends. You're still a student. Nobody wants to crush you if you turn back now. You could even be nurtured."
And he meant it. Hachiyo, hawk or not, wasn't in the business of stomping children.
But Seiji only drew the blade Muramasa and spun a crisp flower with the tip."You interrupted my conversation, senior." His tone was soft, but his eyes glinted dangerously. "Even if you've abandoned the Uchiha's pride, I won't shame the clan's name. Enough talk. Draw your sword."
Heat burned Hachiyo's cheeks. Here he was—a grown man, a three-tomoe—squaring off against a boy with a steel backbone. Wasn't this just thuggery by another name?
"…Fine. I was ordered here, but now that it's come to this, I won't hold back."
His blade hissed free. In the next instant he blurred into a high-speed afterimage, rushing Seiji.
Seiji snorted and charged to meet him head-on.
Sword against sword?
You think you can out-blade me, Uchiha Seiji? Show me you've got the strength!