The next morning, Makoto Uchiha rose quickly. He put on a clean blue outfit from his closet.
On the back was the crest of the Uchiha clan—red at the top, white at the bottom. The emblem, modeled after the uchiwa war fan that could quell flames, symbolized the clan's mastery of Fire Release. Yet, no matter how many times Makoto looked at it, he couldn't shake the impression that it resembled the ping-pong paddles of his previous life.
Still, wearing the crest wasn't optional. It was a declaration of pride and identity. As one of the clan's rising geniuses, Makoto knew he had to wear the Uchiha fan boldly.
He had also noticed that the shinobi world's technology was strangely uneven. In Konoha, vending machines and comic stores existed, and every household had electricity. Old televisions sat in living rooms, their designs outdated, yet still in use. Even telephone poles with perched crows or sparrows dotted the streets.
The night before, Makoto had switched on his television, hoping to see something unusual. Instead, the channels only displayed trivial Konoha news. No thrilling dramas, no "adult shows" he half-expected from similarities with his past world's culture.
"Could it be the rumors I heard before were all nonsense?" Makoto sighed, full of disappointment.
Still, training wasn't something he could ignore. Yet he knew he wasn't the type to endure constant harsh drills, especially in the body of a six-year-old. His motto was simple: study well, train steadily, play when you can, eat properly, and rest enough.
Today was important—his first day at the Ninja Academy. But before enrollment, he had to visit Fugaku, who promised to introduce him to a personal instructor.
He pushed away distracting thoughts and left home.
The Fugaku household stood out even among the Uchiha residences. Two clan members, wearing the Uchiha fan on their backs, guarded the entrance.
Spotting him, the younger ninja smiled. "Really, are you here to see Patriarch Fugaku?"
"Yes," Makoto replied respectfully. "Today is my first day at the Academy. I came to report to the patriarch."
The older ninja nodded. "Go in. The patriarch is waiting."
Crossing the threshold, Makoto saw an open training ground to the left, clearly the Fugaku family's private practice yard. Sasuke was absent. Makoto withdrew his gaze and entered the house.
At the entrance, he removed his sandals and advanced further inside. There, Fugaku sat formally, speaking with a shinobi crouched across from him. Hearing Makoto's footsteps, both turned.
Fugaku's stern gaze softened slightly. "Really. Sit down."
Makoto obeyed, kneeling formally. The posture felt strange to him; his legs quickly numbed, but he endured. His eyes drifted curiously to the shinobi beside Fugaku.
The man's features were striking: short black hair, a calm expression, and a distinctive rounded nose. His attire consisted of a dark turtleneck, short sleeves with light armor, shin guards, and a short wakizashi strapped to his back.
Is this the teacher Fugaku chose for me? Makoto wondered.
Noticing Makoto's curiosity, the shinobi smiled warmly. "Hello. My name is Shisui Uchiha. From today, if there's anything you don't understand, you can ask me."
Makoto quickly bowed his head. "Hello, Teacher Shisui. Please guide me from now on!"
Inside, however, his thoughts raced: So this is Shisui of the Body Flicker—the clan's prodigy known even outside Uchiha. If I can learn from him, I must squeeze out every ounce of ninjutsu knowledge he has.
Fugaku's voice carried pride and warning. "Really, today is your first day of school. You are a genius of the Uchiha. Do not forget to protect the honor of our clan. Shisui is also a genius—you must learn from him."
Makoto's heart stirred. So it's true. This ninja barely older than a teenager is already famed as a genius. If he's my teacher, I'll make his skills mine as quickly as possible. What belongs to the master belongs to the disciple. And what belongs to the disciple… still belongs to the disciple.
Fugaku's tone sharpened, his clan pride evident. "Remember this well. The Uchiha are one of the strongest clans in the village. Never forget that you carry our name."
Makoto bowed his head, feeling both the weight of expectation and the urgency of survival.
"Of course, I also hope you can grow quickly. The Uchiha clan needs more future jōnin…"
Fugaku's stern face softened slightly into a faint smile. "Speaking of which, Sasuke has been training nonstop since returning yesterday. It seems he's determined to compete with you."
Yeah? Makoto Uchiha secretly felt delighted.
It looked like the first step of his "Plan Three" was effective. If he wanted to become a trigger for Sasuke's Sharingan, the first move was to spark Sasuke's rivalry, draw out his competitive nature, and eventually become close to him.
Although it felt manipulative, Makoto didn't want to trick a child. But for the sake of surviving the coming massacre, befriending Sasuke was a necessity.
"Remember—never forget, you are an Uchiha," Fugaku reminded firmly one last time.
"You may go. It's the first day—don't be late."
With that, Fugaku signaled the visit was over.
Makoto nodded respectfully, rose to his feet, and bowed. After polite farewells to both Fugaku and Shisui, he put on his sandals and exited the patriarch's house, remembering also to greet the two guards at the entrance.
After Makoto left, Fugaku turned back to Shisui. "So, what's your impression of this boy? And… how is Itachi lately?"
Meanwhile, Makoto walked toward the Academy. On the way, villagers who noticed the Uchiha crest on his back instinctively gave him a wide berth.
That look again… Why? he thought. Could it be that people already see the Uchiha as dangerous? Was Itachi truly the sole murderer in the clan's downfall? Or was there a deeper purpose behind the massacre?
Makoto frowned. The massacre had always puzzled him. Why kill every member of the clan, yet spare Sasuke? No sane man would slaughter his family and still leave his brother alive—unless he were insane. But if Itachi were truly mad, how did Sasuke survive that night? No… the truth has to be more complicated.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud, passionate shout.
"Yosh! Starting today, I'll become the strongest at the Academy!"
A boy with thick eyebrows and a determined expression—clearly Rock Lee—rushed past him energetically.
"How tedious," came a calm voice right after. A pale-eyed boy with a bandaged forehead protector—Hyūga Neji—strode past, expression unreadable.
Makoto didn't respond. He remained still in the crowd, quiet yet naturally drawing attention. Being an Uchiha already made him stand out; he didn't need to flaunt it.
Showing his Sharingan was a calculated move. He disliked exposing himself, but as he well knew, only "geniuses" earned resources in the clan and in the village.
The Academy's entrance ceremony began. To Makoto, it was nothing but tedium.
The so-called speeches felt like a waste of precious training time. If they could just summarize everything in a few sentences, it would be far better. This chatter… useless. With this time, I'd rather practice ninjutsu, he thought, quietly focusing on the chakra circulating in his body.
Then, a man in his sixties, clad in the robes of the Hokage, stepped up to the podium. It was Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage.
"Where the leaves dance, the fire will continue to burn. That fire will shine on the village, allowing new leaves to sprout."
Makoto's eyebrow twitched.
Good grief… starting with slogans already? Is Konoha actually some kind of pyramid scheme? He shook his head, his thoughts spiraling with sarcasm.