Clang! Clang! Clang!
As their training began, the only sound filling the practice field was the clash of shuriken colliding mid-air.
The little white snake hidden nearby went from shock, to confusion, to calm, and finally to numb resignation before slipping away. What it experienced in that short time, no one could say.
Two children, only five years old, had shaken its very worldview.
At five years old… what had it been doing?
Probably just reading.
Then came enrollment in the Ninja Academy, and only after graduating did it receive the careful guidance of the Third Hokage. By then, it had been nearly ten.
Even with early graduation, it wouldn't have dared to call itself a genius in front of these two.
Were they really just five?
Meanwhile, back at Orochimaru's base, Anko was completely absorbed in the ninjutsu manual her teacher had given her. Orochimaru, however, stared at the documents before him, his face dark as if his world had been overturned.
He finally picked up a pen and wrote down two names on the paper in front of him.
Itachi Uchiha
Hakken Yoru.
Afterward, he frowned in doubt.
The Uchiha clan were known masters of shuriken, able to redirect thrown weapons even mid-flight. That was normal. Even without awakening the Sharingan, their talent in this field was remarkable.
But Hakken Yoru?
Judging by his movements, this wasn't his first time engaging in such terrifying training with Itachi. In fact, he seemed to hold the upper hand.
How?
He was just a commoner.
Orochimaru's brows furrowed tighter. He couldn't figure it out.
...
"Ugh… Ken-san… I can't go on!"
Half an hour later, a voice with unintended undertones rang across the training ground.
Of course, the scene wasn't what those words might suggest. But the result was similar enough—two people in the middle of grueling exercise, one still brimming with energy, the other completely spent.
"That's all it takes to wear you out?"
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Hakken swung his blade again, knocking the shuriken aside. This time, however, they didn't rebound toward Itachi. Instead, every single one embedded itself dead center in the bullseye painted on the nearby tree trunk.
The precision was terrifying.
"You're really weak."
Frowning, Hakken helped the limp, gasping Itachi over to a nearby rock to rest.
Weak?
Itachi couldn't bring himself to respond. His face flushed red as he rolled his eyes in frustration. Compared to Hakken, he truly was weak. At least the other boy was still full of energy, while he himself was completely spent.
There was nothing he could do. As fatigue piled up, he could no longer track the shuriken flying toward him, and the ones he threw lost all accuracy. Pushing further would only be meaningless.
But the one before him—that man was a monster.
He had known it from their very first encounter.
In Konoha, Hakken was the only five-year-old capable of swinging a blade over a thousand times in succession. That much, Itachi was sure of.
Forced to rest, Hakken uncorked his gourd, took a long swig, then habitually offered it to Itachi.
After yesterday's drinking incident, Itachi hesitated. The temptation was there, but he couldn't muster the courage to accept. His father had warned him just that morning—he dared not risk it now.
The air between them grew silent.
Itachi lacked the strength to speak.
Hakken, meanwhile, was lost in thought.
The little white snake had vanished, and even if it hadn't, Hakken wouldn't have cared. What weighed on him was Itachi's condition.
He frowned as he looked at him.
In the original story, this tragic youth had ended his life by unleashing a final storm upon his brother. But even without that, even if Sasuke had never struck him down, Itachi's time had been short.
He was already gravely ill, his body failing.
But what illness? What terminal disease? The story had never said.
The aftermath of patricide? The weight of darkness made flesh?
Hakken didn't know.
What he did know was that, if the time ever came, he would find a way.
He had no medical skills, but the System Store had everything.
The only question was, when that moment arrived, would Itachi still see him as the same—still see him as that simple friend?
The current Itachi wouldn't understand the meaning behind those words.
As he had once said to Kisame, only at the moment of death does one truly see themselves.
"Itachi."
Hakken spun his sword lightly in his hand, then smiled.
"What is it?"
Itachi blinked, his young face showing a trace of confusion.
"If you ever run into a problem you can't solve…"
"Or if you come to a crossroads…"
"You can ask me."
He paused.
Thinking of the tragedy that lay ahead for this boy, Hakken sighed softly.
"If… you consider me a friend."
Before his death, Itachi had seen himself clearly.
Even after his Edo Tensei revival, he realized that bearing everything alone had been a mistake.
Naruto had even used that very truth against him in his own way.
But life never handed out do-overs.
"Alright, you rest. My body won't let me slack off."
"I've still got 2000 swings to finish today."
Without another word, Hakken returned to his training.
Itachi sat on the rock, staring blankly at his back.
If… you consider me a friend.
What did Ken-san mean?
What did he know?
I know!
Suddenly, Itachi clenched his teeth and glanced at the gourd of liquor Hakken had left beside him.
Could it be…
There's no other way!
Hands trembling, he picked up the gourd and let out a long sigh.
Gulp.