Uchiha Yuan subtly studied the young boy before him, his gaze flickering briefly up and down before he broke into a hearty smile. "Don't mind me—it's my fault for interrupting your training."
Standing before him was a tender, adorable child with pure, earnest eyes and a face still soft with youth, filled with courtesy and humility.
At this age, Uchiha Itachi had yet to be caught between the clan and the village, struggling under the weight of impossible choices.
It was difficult for Yuan to connect this polite, well-mannered boy with the distant, lonely figure of tragic sorrow that existed in his memory.
Whose fault was it, really?
"Hello, I'm Uchiha Yuan," he said with a gentle smile.
"I'm Uchiha Itachi," the boy replied softly. "I know you—you're Izumi's older brother."
Yuan chuckled. "And I know you too. Izumi's always talking about you. You're the clan head's eldest son—why are you out here training with shuriken all by yourself?"
Itachi walked over to the tree and pulled a few shuriken out of the trunk. "It's quiet here," he said in his clear, childish voice. "I like to be alone in peace."
Yuan took a few steps closer, his gaze sweeping over the wooden targets hanging from nearby trees. "I watched your practice just now," he said. "I didn't expect your shuriken technique to be this refined. I've never seen anyone throw with such accuracy—and such creativity.
"You're only six years old, and yet your talent already stands out. You'll definitely become another genius of the Uchiha clan."
At that, a faint blush rose to Itachi's cheeks. "You flatter me. I'm still not strong enough—my shuriken technique has a long way to go."
Then, studying the targets again, Itachi resumed his practice.
Yuan stood at the edge of the clearing, quietly observing as the boy attempted to throw five shuriken simultaneously.
The first two attempts—two shuriken missed their mark.
The next few—three missed entirely.
And then, all five went wide.
Yet Yuan's eyes gleamed with admiration, and he nodded approvingly. As expected of Uchiha Itachi—what a monstrous talent.
Though the shuriken kept missing, Yuan could tell Itachi was adjusting his technique each time—fine-tuning his angle, recalibrating the strength behind his throw.
Sure enough, when Itachi tried again, Yuan caught a subtle flick of his wrist—so light it was almost imperceptible.
A moment later—five sharp thwacks! rang out in unison.
Each shuriken struck dead center on its respective target.
Seeing the perfect hits, Itachi's face lit up with a pure, innocent smile of delight.
Then, noticing Yuan turning to leave, his brows furrowed slightly. A hint of puzzlement flickered in his eyes—he could sense, faintly, that Yuan was intentionally keeping his distance.
As Yuan walked down the shaded forest path, his expression grew contemplative.
His feelings were complicated. This unexpected encounter had let him witness firsthand the breathtaking genius that was beginning to bloom within Uchiha Itachi.
What a terrifying talent, Yuan thought. That kind of intricate shuriken technique—most would need hundreds of repetitions to master it. But Itachi grasped it after barely a dozen attempts. And that last throw—the chakra fluctuation I felt… his control has already reached an incredibly fine level.
He could sense that the chakra infused into each of the five shuriken was perfectly equal in amount and nature—an astonishing display of precision.
For a moment, Yuan was tempted—he wanted to pull Itachi to his side, to win him over.
But reason quickly quelled that impulse.
With Itachi's lineage and rapidly emerging brilliance, both the Uchiha clan and the village would soon fix their eyes upon him. Any visible connection between Yuan and Itachi would draw dangerous attention to Yuan himself—something he had worked hard to avoid.
And beyond that… he harbored doubts.
Itachi was a prodigy—precocious, thoughtful, capable of deep reasoning. Yet in the end, he had chosen "the greater good" and sacrificed his clan.
If Yuan ever tried to bring him into his fold… would he one day be betrayed for that same ideal?
When Yuan returned home, his mother, Uchiha Rei, was preparing dinner, while his little sister Izumi lay across the table, painting on a sheet of paper with colored pencils.
"Izumi, what are you drawing?" Yuan asked, walking over and ruffling her soft hair with a fond smile.
"Big Brother, it's our family! This is Mom, this is you, and this is me," Izumi said sweetly, looking up at him with a bright grin.
"Our Izumi's amazing," Yuan praised. "Your drawing's really good."
As he looked through her other sketches, something caught his eye. He gently pulled out one particular drawing from the pile.
Izumi's face instantly turned flustered.
But Yuan's expression remained calm as he studied the picture—it showed Uchiha Itachi smiling tenderly as he comforted a crying Sasuke in his arms.
"This one's drawn really well," Yuan said lightly.
Izumi blinked in surprise. "Big Brother, you're… not angry?"
"Why would I be angry?"
She bit her lip and murmured, "Because… you don't like Itachi-kun."
Though the two siblings had long since reconciled, Izumi still remembered clearly that her brother disliked Itachi. She never understood why—why her kind, gentle Itachi-kun drew such disapproval from him.
Yuan smiled faintly and rubbed her head again. "As long as you're happy, Izumi, that's what matters. I don't actually dislike him."
I just can't agree with him, he added silently in his heart.
After that day, Yuan never again crossed paths with Uchiha Itachi.
Every few days after school, however, he continued to visit the Hatake compound to oversee Hatake Haru's training.
Two quiet months slipped by.
Now, on the open grounds of the Hatake estate, sharp thuds echoed one after another.
Two figures blurred and clashed repeatedly, their movements swift and fluid.
Yuan was sparring with Haru once more.
It was clear that Yuan was holding a defensive stance—his hands moved like flowing water, smooth and seamless, as though weaving an invisible net that effortlessly caught every one of Haru's strikes.
Moments later, Yuan spoke calmly: "Careful, Haru—I'm making my move."
Haru's expression tensed, and he immediately shifted into a defensive posture.
In the next instant, Yuan's palms flashed like blades, slicing through the air.
A sharp blur crossed Haru's vision—then a tremendous force sent him flying backward.
When he climbed to his feet, he found a long tear in his clothes, stretching diagonally from his left shoulder to his right waist where the palm wind had grazed him.
"Yuan-kun, your attacks are getting harder and harder to guard against," Haru said breathlessly. "That last strike was so fast—I couldn't even see it!"
Yuan smiled slightly. "It's thanks to the Hatake Sword Style you taught me. It helped me realize how to strip away unnecessary movements from my own techniques, making my attacks sharper and more concise."
"No wonder the clan holds the Hatake Sword Style in such high regard," Yuan continued. "It's truly impressive.
"I can almost imagine how, in White Fang-senpai's hands, this swordsmanship made the entire ninja world tremble in fear."
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