Chapter 1: The Legacy of a Ghost
The rock was cold. It was always cold, just like the looks the Uchiha clansmen gave me when they thought I wasn't looking. My name is Uchiha Tenchi, and I'm ten years old. I'm also a walking, talking political headache for Konohagakure.
See, my old man was Uchiha Madara. Yeah, that Madara. The one who decided founding a village with his best friend was a great idea, until it wasn't, and then tried to level the place. The First Hokage put him down at the Valley of the End. My mom… she couldn't handle the whispers. The "traitor's wife" whispers that followed her in the market, the pity in the eyes of the few who dared to look at her. She just… faded away. Left me here alone.
So, I'm an orphan. But not the kind people feel sorry for. I'm the kind they nervously watch, like a lit fuse on a powder keg.
It's weird. I have these memories, sharp and clear, of another life. A life of sitting on a couch, watching my life—or a version of it—as a cartoon. I knew the whole story. Or I thought I did. Because in that story, Madara didn't have a son. Which means I'm an unscripted character, and in my experience, those usually get killed off fast.
For a little while, I had a protector. The First Hokage, Hashirama Senju. Despite everything my father did, the man had a heart bigger than his stupidly powerful Wood Release. He stood between me and his brother, Tobirama, who looked at me like I was a roach that needed squashing. "The child is not to blame for the father's madness," Hashirama had declared. I think it was his last, desperate attempt to hold onto the dream he and my father shared.
But good times in this world have a lifespan shorter than a mayfly. Hashirama died two years later, they say from the wounds he took fighting my old man. And just like that, my shield was gone.
Tobirama Senju became the Second Hokage. The promise of an Uchiha taking the hat one day? Gone with my father's defection. At five years old, when every other kid was heading to the Academy to learn how to throw a shuriken, I was told I wasn't welcome. My father's wealth, his scrolls, his everything—confiscated. "For the village's security," they said.
My home is a small, dusty house on the very edge of the Uchiha compound. It's my personal prison. And my jailers? The Anbu. Tobirama's personal black-ops squad. I see their masks glinting in the sunlight sometimes, watching from the shadows. Even my own clan avoids me. Getting close to Madara's son is a great way to get on the Hokage's bad side.
But you can't lock up bloodline. I might not have fancy jutsu scrolls, but I have the three basics my mom taught me before she died: the Clone, Transformation, and Substitution Techniques. I've practiced them until my fingers were numb and my chakra felt thin as water. I've gotten good. Scary good. I can move without a sound, substitute with a stray leaf, and hold a transformation for hours.
And that, of course, just made Tobirama even more nervous. I've felt it—the cold spike of killing intent from the shadows more than once. I think the only reason I'm still breathing is Uzumaki Mito, the First Hokage's wife. She's stepped in a few times. I don't know why she bothers, but her word still carries weight. For now.
So here I am, skipping a flat stone across the Naka River. Pathetic, I thought. I have the knowledge of a modern person, the blood of a legend, and I'm stuck. By the time Naruto's story even starts, I'll be a middle-aged man who can do three academy jutsu really, really well. What's the point?
The stone sank with a soft plunk.
No scrolls. No teacher. How was I supposed to get stronger? I couldn't just… invent new jutsu, could I?
The idea hit me so hard I actually staggered.
Wait.
Why couldn't I?
"Damn, I'm an idiot!" I hissed, smacking my own forehead hard enough to sting. First things first, I needed to know what I was working with. I needed chakra paper.
It was a simple, crazy hope. But it was hope. I took off running towards the main market, a sudden, desperate energy fueling my steps.
Up in a tree, three Anbu watched me go.
"Captain, this is a waste of time," one with a cat mask grumbled. "He's just a kid moping by the river."
The leader, his mask shaped like a hound, didn't even glance his way. His voice was flat. "You see a kid. The Hokage sees the son of Uchiha Madara. That 'kid' carries the blood of the man who nearly destroyed this village at its founding. Our job isn't to see the child. It's to see the potential weapon. Now, follow."
I didn't care about them right then. I bought the chakra paper from a grumpy old man at a stall who didn't even look at me twice. Perfect.
I ran back to my empty house, my heart thumping. Slamming the door shut, I knelt on the dusty floorboards, the square of paper looking impossibly fragile in my hand.
"Okay," I breathed. "Show me."
I focused, pushing a trickle of chakra into it.
The top-left corner caught fire, burning to a crisp. Fire. Duh.
But then… the top-right corner wrinkled and roughened. Earth?
A sharp crack as the bottom-left split. Lightning!
The bottom-right grew damp, then soaked. Water!
And finally, the very center of the paper withered and turned to dust. Wind.
All five. I had an affinity for all five basic natures.
My blood ran cold. This wasn't a gift; it was a death warrant. Tobirama was already looking for an excuse. If he found out I had this kind of potential… he wouldn't send Anbu. He'd teleport here himself and personally make sure the "Madara problem" was permanently solved.
"Stupid, stupid, STUPID!" I scrambled over to the small, unused brazier in the corner. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely strike the flint. Finally, a spark caught, and I watched the chakra paper blacken and curl, the proof of my talent turning to smoke. I didn't relax until it was a pile of grey ash.
And then, a voice that wasn't a voice echoed directly in my skull.
[Ding! Point System initializing… Host bound: Uchiha Tenchi.]
A searing, white-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. It felt like my brain was being rewired. I collapsed, curling into a ball on the floor, gasping as schematics, rules, and cold, hard data branded itself into my mind. It felt like an eternity before the pain faded, leaving me drenched in sweat and panting.
When I opened my eyes, a transparent blue screen was hanging in the air in front of me.
My breath hitched. A System? Like in those web novels from my past life? Seriously?
Words scrolled across the screen.
[The System will issue tasks. Complete them for Points. Spend Points in the Shop. Fail tasks, and you will be obliterated.]
[First Task: Humiliate Uchiha Yang when he comes to provoke you.]
[Reward: 100 Points.]
[Failure: Obliteration.]
"Hey! Wait a minute!" I yelled at the empty room. "What the hell is this? 'Obliteration'? You can't just drop this on me!"
Silence. The screen just hung there, menacingly.
I pushed myself up, my head throbbing. So, this was my "golden finger." A taskmaster that would kill me if I failed. Of course. Why would anything in my life be easy? Everyone wanted me dead—the Hokage, my circumstances, and now my own damn cheat ability.
A slow, simmering anger began to burn away the fear. Fine. If this was the game, I'd play.
Open the Shop, I thought, my mental voice a snarl.
The list that appeared made my heart sink.
Rinnegan: 100,000,000 Points
Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan: 50,000,000 Points
Senju Hashirama's Cell-infused Constitution (Wood Release): 75,000,000 Points
I stared at the string of zeros, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. It was a cosmic joke. The path to power wasn't just dangerous; it was a mountain I had to climb with my bare hands, with a tyrant at the bottom and a slave-driver in my head whipping me on.
"Great," I muttered to the silent, judging screen. "Just great."
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