Makoto Uchiha's fingertip traced lazy circles on the tatami mat. The second the door slid open, he knew it was Itachi—didn't even need to look up. Those footsteps were light, like a cat padding across fallen leaves, with that one-of-a-kind rhythm only his big brother had.
Only today, the rhythm had a jittery edge, like someone tapping out Morse code for "panic."
"Didn't find Shisui at the usual spot," Itachi said, standing dead-center in the room. Grass clippings clung to his clothes, the tips of his hair still quivering. His voice carried the leftover rasp of someone who'd sprinted the whole way home.
Makoto wrinkled his nose. He'd been so busy messing with chakra-refining tricks that he'd tossed out a half-baked excuse to get Itachi out of the house. Asking to borrow cash right now felt… awkward.
But Itachi was the ultimate little-brother stan. A flimsy excuse would probably slide.
Makoto pretended to think, then slapped his thigh like a light bulb just popped. "Oh yeah! I remember now!"
"Last night I had this dream—Shisui showed up looking for you. Must've mixed it up."
"You're not mad at me, are you?" he added, all syrupy sweet.
Sure enough, Itachi didn't get mad. He just lifted a hand out of habit—fingertips half an inch from Makoto's forehead—only for Makoto to tilt his head like he was dodging a falling leaf.
The hand froze mid-air. Itachi blinked, stunned. Makoto seized the opening.
"Hey, spot me some cash."
Itachi had been running missions for a while now. Add in clan stipends and mission pay, and the kid had a nice little nest egg.
"How much?" Itachi asked, voice soft.
For a certified brother-obsessed Itachi, saying no to Makoto was basically impossible.
Especially after making him cry yesterday. If a little pocket change could put a smile on Makoto's face, Itachi figured it was money well spent.
"All of it," Makoto said. "Leave yourself enough for a couple skewers of tri-color dango, cool?"
Itachi didn't even blink. He handed over every cent.
"Thanks," Makoto said, sounding almost serious for once.
Cash in hand, Makoto was itching to drop it all on microtransactions.
He sent Itachi off to play with Sasuke, waited until the hallway went quiet, then flipped the latch with a satisfying click. Every last coin went straight into the virtual top-up screen.
Itachi's savings were fat—over 2.5 million ryō. Had to be mostly clan money; the kid was still a genin, so mission pay wasn't that good. Rich clan perks, baby.
Makoto pulled up the pale-gold virtual shop, scrolling with his mind. The list was endless, and nothing came cheap. After some quick math, his eyes locked on:
[Single-Tomoe Sharingan: 2.5 million ryō]
Itachi's stash covered it perfectly. At his age and power level, the only other fast cash was churning out smutty ninja novels—Jiraiya and Kakashi had proven that pipeline works.
With his current budget, the single-tomoe was the best bang for the buck. Instant proof he was a prodigy.
Plus, he remembered Madara straight-up saying in the original story that the moment an Uchiha awakens the Sharingan, their power skyrockets.
As for whether a two-and-a-half-year-old unlocking it would ping the Hokage's radar—or worse, Danzō—he wasn't sweating it.
He had revival coins. Die, chill in hiding, level up, then roll back with Pain (Nagato) in tow and make the village feel the pain.
Picture it: him and Pain kicking back on Konoha's rubble, shooting the breeze.
Revival coins meant no reason to play small. Slowing his own growth just to stay under the radar? Hard pass.
Right as he went to confirm the purchase, Makoto paused. Something this huge needed a witness.
He yanked the door open. Afternoon sun spilled across his face—warm, golden, a total 180 from yesterday's gloom.
Itachi was outside coaxing two-and-a-half-year-old Sasuke through some game. Makoto cleared his throat. "Family meeting!"
Sasuke lit up like someone flipped his "on" switch.
He scrambled to his feet, stubby legs pumping, zoomed to the low living-room table, plopped his butt on the cushion, and straightened up like a tiny salaryman. Face scrunched into a rice-cake scowl of pure determination.
Itachi sighed, but the corners of his mouth twitched as he followed his brothers over.
The three of them parked around the table again, same as yesterday.
Makoto cleared his throat, locked eyes with Itachi, and went for it. "Same deal as last time. Answer honestly."
"Love your brothers or love money?"
"Brothers!" Itachi blurted.
Makoto face-palmed. He was so hyped to spend he'd flubbed the line. "Wrong one. Brothers or the village?"
The air went arctic. Itachi's lashes fluttered; the shadow under his eyes looked exactly like yesterday. No straight answer.
Makoto let out a soft chuckle, then bellowed, "This whole world's messed up—I'm gonna burn it down!!"
At the exact same second, he mentally smashed the Buy button on the [Single-Tomoe Sharingan].
Balance deducted—whoosh.
A warm tingle hit his eyeballs, like special chakra was seeping through his veins straight into his sockets.
He blinked. Crimson flooded his pupils. A split-second later, a scarlet dot flared in the center, stretched, and locked into the shape of a single tomoe.
The blood-red tomoe spun like a gear dipped in gore, glinting wickedly. The faster it turned, the sharper the world snapped into focus.
Everything looked different. The chakra inside him woke up—yesterday it was a trickle; now it roared through his limbs like a river after the rain.
Makoto narrowed his eyes, riding the high of power surging through every cell.
Itachi's fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white. He'd seen Sharingan awaken before—he knew exactly how much "pain" Makoto must've felt to unlock it at two and a half.
Under his breath: "He'd rather deny the whole world than doubt me…?"
"Guess I really mean that much to him…"
The thought hit like warm water over his heart, stinging his eyes.
"Makoto…" Itachi's voice cracked.
Before he could finish, a shrill "WHAT THE HECK?!" exploded beside them.
Sasuke's eyes were saucers. Chubby finger pointed straight at Makoto's new Sharingan. His little face went beet-red.
Mouth wide enough to fit an egg, he roared, "NO WAY!"
He'd only been born a few minutes after Makoto—and now this guy awakens the Sharingan first? That meant Sasuke was weaker!
Sasuke Uchiha did not do second place!
"Impossible! ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE!!"
His tiny body shook like a leaf in a hurricane. He rubbed his eyes raw, pounded the table with baby fists, emotions cranked past eleven.
Then—thud. Sasuke toppled backward, legs kicking once in mid-air before he passed out cold. Kid conked out faster than a light switch.
Makoto barely had time to savor his power-up before staring at the unconscious toddler.
"Wait, aren't I supposed to be the one fainting here?"
"Dude, stop stealing my spotlight…"
Thanks to buying it from the player shop, there was zero backlash—no pain, no emotional whiplash. Just pure, clean power.
Makoto rubbed the corner of his eye. Two-and-a-half million ryō well spent.
…
Mikoto and Fugaku burst in after hearing Sasuke's banshee screech, still clueless. Mikoto's apron was dusted with flour; she'd bolted straight from the kitchen. One look at Makoto's single-tomoe Sharingan and worry flooded her face.
Fugaku clamped a hand on her shoulder, square jaw tight, but his eyes lit up like stadium lights on Makoto.
Sure, awakening this young could strain a kid's body—but Makoto looked bouncy as ever. No issues.
Fugaku's voice actually cracked with pride. "That's my boy."
"Future Hokage material!"
Makoto fired right back with Fugaku's own words from earlier: "Anything that hurts village unity, keep it zipped!"
"Also, at home you call me Second Young Master!" (He was still salty Fugaku wouldn't lend him cash.)
Fugaku froze, instantly convinced Makoto was the ultimate dutiful son. Little did he know the real champion of filial piety was Itachi.
Itachi leaned in quietly. "Makoto, turn it off. Flashing the Sharingan at your age is begging for attention. Don't tell a soul."
Konoha was already side-eyeing the Uchiha. Too much talent too early? Hello, early grave.
Makoto nodded—didn't mean he agreed.
He'd hustled for every ryō, dumped it all into the Sharingan, specifically to flex his genius and attract investors.
Otherwise, even if he sold Fugaku—body and eyes—he couldn't afford a Mangekyō.
Death? Pfft. Revival coins.
The scary part was running out of cash. No cash, no power-ups. No power-ups, no cash. Vicious cycle.
The rush of going from weak to strong in minutes only made him hungrier.
The three adults peppered him with questions. Suddenly a wave of exhaustion crashed over him—he'd pulled an all-nighter and hadn't slept. Pressure gone, eyelids heavier than dumbbells.
He waved goodnight and shuffled to his room.
Once he left, the others filed out too.
Sasuke stayed sprawled on the living-room floor, totally forgotten.
Mikoto kept feeling like she'd spaced on something while cooking, but couldn't put her finger on it.
Makoto face-planted into his pillow—ding!
A pale-gold panel popped up in his mind:
[Naruto World Online – Updating]