"That little bastard…"
Uchiha Hachiyo gritted his teeth against the bone-deep pain, forcing himself to stay calm.As a veteran three-tomoe Sharingan user, he hadn't been backed into a corner like this in years. Seiji's jutsu and swordplay—fast, clever, unpredictable—were nothing like he expected.
Seiji's genjutsu is tricky, but the three-tomoe can break through it. I just need time…
Time he didn't have. His wounds were bad, and if he bled out, it was over.
Hachiyo's fingers flashed through seals before spewing a thick gray smoke that swallowed the already misted training ground.
"Fire Style: Hiding in Ash and Dust!"
Dense smoke billowed out, layer upon layer, cloaking everything. If Seiji couldn't see him either, then the kid lost his advantage.
"Don't panic. This isn't the Ash Pile Burning Technique," Tobirama Senju muttered with a wry grin, watching. "It won't explode. Smart countermeasure, but against that sly brat… he's still doomed."
Sure enough, Seiji's mist fused with the ash-smoke, thickening it into a heavy, oppressive fog.
Hachiyo forced his Sharingan to the limit, veins of bloodshot red webbing across his eyes until they looked monstrous. At last, his vision pierced the darkness.
Light again! Now, let's see you—
But what he saw made him freeze.
The fog was heavier than before. More suffocating than any genjutsu. His counter had backfired.
No… could it be that every move I've made… was already within Seiji's calculations?
For the first time, Uchiha Hachiyo felt something he thought himself immune to.
Fear.
That hesitation cost him.
Steel flashed. Seiji's blade cleaved into his shoulder from nowhere, drinking greedily of his blood. Hachiyo roared, spinning and slashing wildly, but his sword only split air. The battlefield fell silent once more.
All around him, he heard birdsong, leaves in the wind, the distant calls of merchants. Everything—except Seiji.
It was like being trapped in a cage outside the world itself.
No! Impossible! I won't lose to some snot-nosed brat!
Desperate, Hachiyo spewed more gray smoke, his chakra flaring violently.
"Careful," Tobirama warned dryly. "This one can explode. Too much heat will evaporate your mist, kid."
"Got it," Seiji answered calmly.
"Fire Style: Majestic Destroyer Flame!"
A sea of fire devoured the training ground, evaporating the mist in a deafening inferno. Flames lashed everywhere, sparing nothing. When it was over, the smoke was gone—finally, Hachiyo's Sharingan cut through to clarity.
"This time, I won't lose!"
Burned and bleeding, Hachiyo scanned frantically for Seiji—then froze in despair.
There he was, standing beside Shisui, perfectly untouched. Not even a hair out of place. A flowing water wall had shielded them effortlessly from the inferno.
Seiji's eyes softened with pity. He sighed.
"Hachiyo-senpai, you disappoint me. As an Uchiha, you've lost the wisdom to fight. Fear and rage won't make you stronger—they're just the screams of a weak heart running from itself."
Hachiyo's Sharingan trembled. Every move he made, every countermeasure, Seiji had already accounted for. It was suffocating. Maddening. Terrifying.
Seiji's gaze sharpened. "The Sharingan should be only one of our weapons. Even without it, the Uchiha should still dominate the shinobi world."
His own eyes flared red as tomoe spun into existence.
"But since you love those eyes so much, I'll fight you with them."
He glared straight into Hachiyo's eyes, commanding, voice cutting like steel:
"Pick up your sword. With that pathetic daze, you don't deserve to call yourself Uchiha."
Mind blank, Hachiyo obeyed, lifting his blade like a puppet. His thoughts reeled.
What the hell? Seiji… has the Sharingan? That little rebel who mocked it… his eyes are this powerful?!
Seiji blurred forward, blade flashing with each scolding strike:
"Your sword and eyes have to work together! If you rely only on the Sharingan, you're nothing but its slave!"
His genjutsu bent Hachiyo's perception, dizzying him, leaving his body open. The cursed blade Muramasa carved deeper into his flesh.
"Calm yourself! Use your Sharingan to read my movements—adapt your taijutsu!"
"Don't just rely on genjutsu—when you're losing ground, use it to create distance!"
"Why aren't you weaving seals? Train your one-handed signs!"
"Your swordplay is sloppy—if your body can't keep up with your eyes, then slow your tempo and fight smarter!"
Each lesson came with another slash, another painful reminder. Hachiyo's mind began to blur with memory—his grandfather teaching him swordsmanship as a child.
'Hachiyo, focus! You'll become a fine shinobi one day. Our sword style once even caught the eye of Lord Izuna himself… He taught me how to merge sword and Sharingan. That's the first rule.'
The voice of his grandfather overlapped with Seiji's scolding, until the two became indistinguishable.
Shaking, bleeding, Hachiyo looked at Seiji—and saw not the boy, but Izuna Uchiha himself stepping out of the clan shrine… and for a terrifying moment, also the face of Tobirama Senju.
His mind broke.
Dropping to his knees, exhausted and terrified, Hachiyo whispered hoarsely:
"…Who… the hell are you?"