Two blades clashed with a sharp, bone-rattling impact.
Uchiha Yatsushiro charged in with the most direct approach possible—relying on what he believed was his overwhelming speed and strength. His plan? End Seiji in one crushing blow, raw and unstoppable, no tricks required.
After all, fancy techniques and elegant swordplay meant nothing without brute force behind them. Without power, they were just flowers on water, moons in a mirror—pretty, but shattered at the first touch.
But the look on Yatsushiro's face now said it all—his calculation had just collapsed.
Seiji's grip tightened on the hilt. His muscles flexed, Muramasa grinding down mercilessly against Yatsushiro's blade. His tone was ice:
"Senior, are you really planning to throw away the Uchiha's pride and honor here today?"
"No matter who you're facing—if you draw your blade, you fight with everything you've got. That's what it means to be Uchiha."
Yatsushiro's expression twisted as he strained against Seiji's strength. His thoughts were much less dignified:The hell?! I'm using everything I've got! Kid, are you secretly a Senju? How the hell are you this strong?
And worse—you spouting crap like that just makes me look bad!
While his focus wavered for a single instant, Seiji suddenly shifted. He withdrew his crushing pressure at the last moment, letting Yatsushiro's own forward force topple him off balance. The man pitched forward awkwardly, momentum out of his control.
Seiji moved like a dragon through water. Enhanced by his sharpened reflexes and the clarity of his two-tomoe Sharingan, the world around him seemed to slow. His strike came clean and merciless, blade arcing upward toward Yatsushiro's exposed abdomen.
The cut was meant to gut him alive.
Every nerve in Yatsushiro screamed danger. His three-tomoe Sharingan spun frantically as his body launched backward in desperate retreat.
"Shhkk!"
His clothes tore open. He stumbled back more than ten meters, face tight with alarm as he looked down at Seiji. A deep gash ran from his abdomen up toward his chest, blood gushing freely and staining the training ground beneath them.
"You brat… you've pissed me off."
Yatsushiro ripped open his shredded shirt and slapped together a rough bandage, movements crisp despite the blood.
"Your kenjutsu… you're at least jōnin-level. And your strength—definitely not that of an academy student…" His eyes narrowed. "Yes, I underestimated you. I'll admit that much."
He inhaled, steadying himself. "But I did this for the clan's future. And you're right—as an Uchiha, I'll fight you with everything I've got."
"I'll apologize later—after I win." His gaze sharpened. "Now I'll take this seriously."
The three tomoe in Yatsushiro's eyes spun wildly, blood-red light focusing on Seiji like a predator locking onto prey.
This was the suffocating pressure of the fully matured Sharingan.
In one-on-one combat, it made most opponents crumble before the fight even began. If they lacked resistance to genjutsu, they couldn't even meet an Uchiha's gaze. And even those who could resist had to contend with the eye's enhanced perception and copying ability—before they even moved, the Uchiha already had the initiative.
Every jutsu, every strike, every twitch—mirrored and countered.
"You're a prodigy, no doubt," Yatsushiro said, his voice cold with confidence. "But in front of these eyes, every trick of yours is useless."
Seiji's lips curved faintly. Inwardly, he spoke to the presence within him. "Tobirama… didn't Uchiha Izuna say something like that to you back in the day?"
Tobirama chuckled, arms folded across his chest. "He did. More than once. The last time was right before my Flying Thunder God cut straight through his chest." His tone was calm, proud.
Seiji's hands blurred through seals.
"Genjutsu: Bringer-of-Darkness!"
Darkness swallowed the world. A suffocating void sealed over Yatsushiro's sight, freezing his grin mid-snarl.
But Seiji wasn't done. His hands flashed again.
"Water Release: Hidden Mist Jutsu!"
A thick mist rolled across the training ground, so dense that visibility dropped to almost nothing. Even Shisui, standing at the edge, found himself swallowed by it.
Shisui shrank back, slipping into a corner. As someone who had already been thrashed by Seiji before, he knew exactly how this felt—once Seiji seized the tempo, every step you took was wrong, every defense too late. The little Uchiha sat down quietly, a flicker of pity flashing in his eyes for Yatsushiro.
Yatsushiro, meanwhile, scowled into the void.
"Hmph. A cheap illusion? You think you can play genjutsu games in front of my Sharingan?" He sneered, his eyes glowing as his tomoe whirled, pupil force tearing against the darkness.
But the black void didn't vanish. Instead, the whistle of a blade roared through the dark. A killing slash descended from above, aimed to cleave him in two.
Shock hit Yatsushiro like ice water. My Sharingan can't break it?!
He had no idea this wasn't an ordinary illusion. Tobirama had modified it from Hashirama's genjutsu, laced with hints of Uzumaki sealing techniques. A Sharingan couldn't just blink it away—not immediately.
At least not on the first encounter.
Yatsushiro pushed his eyes to their limits. Bloodshot veins spread across his sclera as he forced his vision to catch the faint glint of Muramasa's edge.
With no elegance whatsoever, he hurled himself into a desperate roll—like a donkey kicking through dirt—to dodge the strike. It still tore open his arm, another raw wound oozing blood.
"Damn it… I remember now. The archives said this—Tobirama Senju created this jutsu specifically to counter Uchiha. And this brat—this brat knows it?!"
Through his anger, a strange relief crept in. Good thing Tobirama's dead. If that bastard had lived another twenty years, who knows how many more nightmares he'd have cooked up for us…
Seiji's voice echoed coldly from the darkness.
"Stay focused, Yatsushiro-senpai. I don't want to kill you. But if you keep drifting, I'll be forced to stain my blade with clan blood."
"Next strike… I'll be aiming for your left shoulder."