Sarutobi Hiruzen smiled kindly, though his tone was firm. "Indeed... had that talisman been an explosive tag, you would be gravely wounded, if not dead. Your strength and comprehension are outstanding—but you understand where you lost."
Lucien lowered his head slightly in acknowledgment. "My swordsmanship. I relied on it even knowing it's my weakness."
"That is only part of it." The old Hokage nodded thoughtfully. "Your body is still young. It has yet to reach full maturity, and so neither your strength nor stamina have peaked. This isn't failure—it is time yet to arrive. Train steadily, and your time will come. Nobody is without flaws."
His voice softened, but grew edged with wisdom: "Ninjutsu is one thing, but even weapons carry the weight of mastery. You mustn't neglect the art of the shuriken. Properly combined—judgment, combat experience, and precision—you could rival even the strongest with mere steel."
Lucien smiled faintly. "Practice makes perfect. Talent plus hard work leads to mastery."
"Exactly," Hiruzen nodded, satisfied. "As for swordsmanship... allow me to recommend someone. Not Sakumo, White Fang—he seldom teaches. But his younger brother, Hatake Saku—the 'Gray Fang.' Fewer know him, but his blade... is no weaker. He is Kusuo's father. Seek him out, if you truly wish to temper your swordsmanship."
Lucien's eyes sharpened. "...Understood. I will find him."
Hiruzen left with that, impressed by the boy he secretly knew was far from ordinary.
Alone in the training ground, Lucien muttered to himself. "Shuriken Shadow Clone Technique... and Shuriken Enlargement Technique." With his Sharingan, he repeated them endlessly until mastery was his. Soon, an idea sparked—dangerous, brilliant.
Shadow Clones.
"They carry back experience when dispelled," he reasoned. "Originally Naruto's 'bug.' But for me... my Otsutsuki bloodline strengthens it even more."
Though limited by his small body, restricted to five clones at most, Lucien's eyes gleamed as the realization formed.
"What if I inscribe Flying Thunder God's mark on a special kunai... then let my Shadow Clone produce Kunai Shadow Clones?!"
The implication tightened his chest with excitement.
"That means... I could instantly teleport to any spot on the battlefield. Layer threats—clone attack, kunai volley, then unpredictable teleportation behind the enemy's guard. Three cascading strikes..."
His grin widened. "The true evolution—Flying Thunder God Stage Three!"
He walked through the process in mind again and again:
"Step one: Shadow Clone as the first threat—direct engagement. Step two: the clone hurls kunai with Shuriken Shadow Clones, multiplying unpredictability. Step three: I teleport at impossible angles, exploiting openings the enemy can't anticipate. Three-fold death."
Excitement roared in his blood. "This is it. This is real Flying Thunder God—Stage Three!"
And so, Lucien threw himself into obsession, training relentlessly. Clone after clone repeated the patterns, their experience flooding back into him with every dispel. Thousands of repetitions sped into his mind within days. To him, time itself bent into accelerated progress.
"Space itself... is like a window. The kunai mark is the path. If I pierce through it, I choose my exit."
Over and over, the battlefield played out. Shadow Clones flickered, kunai multiplied, the telltale hum of warped space shivered at his fingertips.
Days became a week. Then—it snapped into place.
Space bent when he willed it; the battlefield became his canvas. Minato had once terrified enemies with Stage Two. But Lucien? He perfected Stage Three.
Now, even dozens versus him, once the Shadow Clones spread his marks across the terrain, Lucien was invincible. Prediction became impossible, traps lost meaning, and pursuit answered only by death.
He exhaled raggedly, sweat dripping—but triumph dancing in his crimson eyes. "Finally... I've done it."
Just as he settled to rest, a knock rapped sharply from the door.
"...Who?" Lucien opened his Sharingan cautiously.
Outside stood a middle-aged man in a kimono, unfamiliar. Bowing deeply, he addressed him respectfully:
"Are you Uchiha Shigure-sama?"
Lucien almost laughed—it was absurd hearing sama for a five-year-old. But his expression remained calm. "That's me. And you are?"
The man bowed again. "I am a servant of the Hyuga clan. I was sent under orders of Lord Hizashi, who requests your presence at once."
Lucien's eyes glinted. "Mr. Hizashi, huh... rare that he takes the initiative. Very well. Let's go."
Following, Lucien walked the quiet streets until the grand Hyuga estate loomed into view. Walls, gates, and separate mansions bore stark marks—"Main Family" etched with luxury, and "Branch Family" marked more modestly.
Lucien's eyes cooled. So it's real. The cursed hierarchy of the Hyuga. I only read about it once... but seeing it this way is revolting. Such a cruel means to assure bloodline control.
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