After the brief commotion, Indra devoted himself entirely to the meal. The atmosphere remained persistently quiet, as if the world had slowed down just for that moment. Shortly after, Kushina finished the last portions and joined him, bringing pots that still exuded clouds of fragrant steam, whose gentle heat spread through the air in the room.
On the table was a normal feast, which Indra had seen on the few occasions he had left his quarters, something reserved for members of the clan. It was a typical Eastern meal—a cultural trait shared by both the Uchiha and the inhabitants of the Leaf.
The arrangement consisted of pearly white rice, meticulously placed; golden omelets cooked to perfection; and various side dishes organized with almost ceremonial care. Among them was a steaming bowl of miso soup, its deep aroma dancing in the air, awakening the senses even before the first sip. It was classic cuisine, relatively simple in essence, but executed with a precision so refined it bordered on the divine.
Above all, there was something Indra recognized immediately: the Matriarch's affection imbued into every dish. It wasn't just food; it was intention transformed into a gesture.
Indra knew that even if the taste were intolerable, he would eat every grain in silence. In his situation life, marked by brutal privations, he had consumed unspeakable substances just to maintain his body's vital functions. Survival had always come before pleasure. Yet, the scent emanating from that table was unlike anything he had ever known. Enveloping. Comforting. It promised an experience he was not used to allowing himself.
He took the ceramic bowl and served the rice with precise, almost ritualistic movements, as if handling a fragile relic. Every gesture was controlled, without waste. He composed his plate with care, attentive to the harmony of colors and textures, as if that visible order helped keep something within him equally aligned. Kushina sat across from him, serving herself naturally, her simple gestures contrasting drastically with the almost military rigidity that still molded the young man's posture.
They ate in silence.
It was not the suffocating stillness of an interrogation or constant surveillance, but a warm and vibrant peace. The kind of silence that demanded no explanations. Kushina's presence was like a lit hearth on a winter night: constant, steady, impossible to ignore. Indra, however, could hardly process anything beyond the flavor. The food was rich, deep, almost overwhelming—it seemed to fill not only his stomach but also the silent voids of his soul, spaces he had never had the time or safety to acknowledge.
When the frenzy ended, having devoured almost everything served, the young Uchiha leaned back in his chair. The furniture creaked softly under the shift of weight. His stomach showed a slight curve, betraying the excess. He was stuffed as he had never been in his entire existence, a sensation both strange and disconcerting.
It was only then, with his senses numbed by satiety, that he noticed the Saint's gaze.
Kushina had stopped eating some time ago—in truth, a being of her level did not even require biological sustenance. She merely observed him, her eyes shining with genuine satisfaction, a subtle smile on her lips. There was something almost contemplative in her expression, as if she appreciated not the act itself, but the meaning behind that demonstration of voracious appetite.
Noticing the scrutiny, Indra felt a knot of embarrassment tighten in his stomach, displacing part of the newly acquired comfort. Kushina let out a light, clear laugh, shattering any possibility of tension.
"You're exactly right, little fox! That is how one should eat! For someone who spends hours at the stove, there is no greater proof of success than seeing someone's plate empty. Seeing you eat like that is the best compliment I could receive."
Heat rose up Indra's neck until it set his face ablaze. His cheeks turned intensely red, a stark contrast to his usual pallor. He looked away, struck by a vulnerability that involved no blades, strategies, or poisons, but something far more difficult to combat. Once again, he was discovering a side of himself that only that crimson-haired woman could awaken.
"Thank you very much for the meal," he murmured, shyness tinting his voice.
The silence that followed was comfortable. A bubble of simple, almost fragile peace that Indra never believed possible in his life. However, as soon as he caught his breath, the atmosphere shifted. Kushina's gaze lost its softness, acquiring an intensity that made the air turn dense, almost solid, as if the room itself had grown narrower.
"I am going to begin your training."
She stood up immediately, crossing her arms in a posture that exhaled millennial authority. The maternal side remained, undeniable, but now shrouded by a frigid severity—that of a Saint who tolerates neither failure nor illusions.
"Prepare yourself, Indra. From now on, I will provide everything you require. From me, you will receive the comfort and affection that were denied to you, but also the firmness necessary to mold your essence. I will not merely train you; I will refine you with everything I can teach, until you become the most absolute version of yourself. I will make you understand the paths you must follow, so that you not only improve but understand the very purpose of your existence."
There was a heavy promise in her words, something that went beyond instruction or power. She offered not just strength, but direction; she would be a compass for a soul that had always walked without a north.
Kushina was the shelter—but also the forge.
Under her care, Indra would have the peace he desired, provided he survived the rigor she was about to impose to guide him through the fire.
Without another word, she turned and headed toward the exit of the dining hall. Indra did not hesitate. This was more than simple training; Kushina was offering him everything she possessed—knowledge, power, care, and warmth. In exchange, he was willing to give everything he had. He would not just follow orders. He would surpass limits to meet the expectations of that woman.
Glancing sideways at the table, he noticed the dirty dishes had disappeared at some point, as if the shadows themselves had erased the traces of the meal. No proof remained of that moment of normalcy. Without looking back, he followed close behind the crimson-haired woman, moved by a silent determination not to disappoint the only person who had seen him as something more than a tool.
Accompanying the Saint, Indra maintained silent footsteps—an infiltration technique etched into his bones, refined over years. He expected a short and mute walk, but the silence was soon broken by her voice, now carrying a different weight.
"I know very well what you were created for, Indra. Forged like a blade in the dark. An assassin trained only to reap humans. They taught you how to kill, what to sacrifice to complete a mission, and how to establish dominance through advantage and the element of surprise."
Without breaking her stride, Kushina continued. Indra felt a trace of disdain in her words—not directed at him, but at the methods that had molded him.
"But that is small. It is the path of the weak who fear the light. Assassins who depend on tricks and ambushes are disposable tools, which break as soon as the advantage vanishes. For what is to come, being a mere executioner is not enough. You must be more. Much more."
She paused for a moment, and her presence seemed to grow, making the corridor too narrow to contain her.
"You must tread the path of an absolute lord. Someone capable of facing any horror head-on, regardless of the situation or disadvantage. A true lord of war does not hide; he bends reality to his own will until there is no place for the enemy to flee."
The words echoed through the corridors like a silent judgment. Indra felt the foundations of his technical base being questioned, not with hostility, but with an uncomfortable truth. Yet, there was something undeniable in the Matriarch's voice. She didn't want him to be a disposable blade. She wanted him to be the master of them.
"A true lord does not sustain himself by force alone, but by the ability to see the flaws in another's soul and transform them into loyalty or submission. You will learn to lead people, to understand the weight of every function within a structure, and to manage lives like one organizing a battlefield. You will know when to inspire devotion in the righteous and when to impose the necessary fear to restrain traitors. I will teach you to raise and sustain hierarchies, to read the mood of the masses, and to control the flow of information until every decision made by you becomes the only possible truth."
Her voice was firm, absolute, carrying the certainty of one who stood at the peak.
"A Lord must be the axis around which everything turns. It is he who carries the bearing that imposes silence, the knowledge that sustains choices, and the courage to shoulder the weight of the consequences. For you to occupy that place, you must learn to be the beginning of everything… and the one who has the last word."
The passage continued beyond the main corridors of the manor. As they advanced, the architecture ceased to be merely ancient and became deliberately solemn. The walls, once adorned with refined carvings and discrete tapestries, gave way to smooth surfaces of obsidian, polished until they reflected the torchlight like an opaque mirror. The silence there was not accidental—it was imposed. Every step echoed low and controlled.
Indra realized this was not a simple physical displacement. The manor seemed to lead them into something deeper, almost like a living organism opening only for those it recognized as worthy. Finally, Kushina pushed open a large double door carved with the clan symbol. It opened without a creak, revealing a vast field too large to fit inside a common building.
It was an open, internal space, protected by high walls that vanished into the upper gloom of the manor. The sky was not visible, but a diffuse, cold, and constant red light illuminated the place uniformly, with no apparent source. The floor was made of the same ancestral obsidian as the cathedral. Irregular veins crossed the entire length of the field, pulsing slowly in glowing shades of cyan, as if living energy flowed beneath the solid surface. With every pulse, the air vibrated almost imperceptibly.
Indra felt his skin crawl. This was not just a training ground. It was a sanctuary. An altar raised by something between the divine and the profane.
"This is the exclusive field of the main lineage," Kushina said, breaking the silence. Her voice reverberated through the wide space, acquiring a ritualistic weight. "Created by the Original himself, Madara Uchiha. Used only by my father and me, his direct descendants. My mother belonged to the branch lineage; she was chosen for possessing the greatest blood purity of the time, but even so, she never had the right to enter here."
She walked forward a few steps, the soles of her feet touching the marble as if they recognized the place. The cyan veins responded, glowing more intensely under her presence.
"It is here that you will be forged into someone worthy of continuing the Uchiha lineage."
Indra remained motionless at the entrance, eyes alert, absorbing every detail. His instincts screamed. Something in that field was watching him, evaluating him, as if he were being weighed by forces beyond human comprehension.
"Until now, this place has been closed," the Matriarch continued, turning to face him. Her gaze was direct, without concession. "Today, it opens exclusively for you."
The weight of those words fell upon Indra like an invisible blade. And he took his first step into the field.
The instant his foot touched the dark marble, a violent sensation ran through his body. It wasn't pain, but pressure—as if gravity had increased. His muscles stiffened, his bones protested in silence, and his breath grew heavy for a brief second. Still, he did not waver.
The field reacted. The moment Indra planted his feet, the cyan glow beneath the marble intensified, the luminous veins pulsing with enough force to make the air turn almost viscous. The Saint merely tilted her head, acknowledging the awakening of the sanctuary.
Behind her, the shadows folded. Without sound or footsteps, two familiar figures emerged from the collapse of space, revealing themselves once more. Both knelt instantly in a deep and absolute bow before the Matriarch, ignoring Indra's presence for a second, as if he were merely a detail in the sacred setting. The White one was the first to rise, tilting his head with almost childlike curiosity.
"Oooh~ so the young lord is still standing? I thought the pressure of the field would have made him kiss the floor before the first lesson!"
The Black Zetsu manifested immediately after, detaching himself from the marble like a stain of solid darkness. He did not move with the same agitation as the other; he remained static, a cold presence that seemed to absorb the heat around it.
"Silence, fool. The fact that he hasn't fallen is the baseline. How he fares during the Lady's guidance is what will show what he is truly for. Whether he is the future of the clan or merely an empty vessel destined to collapse."
Kushina remained silent for a moment, the crimson flames of her hair seeming to float gently despite the absence of wind. She stepped forward, and the pressure of the field seemed to oscillate, as if reality itself were adjusting its focus onto her figure. She ignored the Zetsus and stopped before Indra, crossing her arms.
"An empty vessel… Tell me, Indra. Before we take the first step on this soil, I need to know one thing. What do you want? What is your desire right now, at this very moment?"
The question was direct and simple, but to Indra, it felt as if she were trying to see through his flesh. He did not hesitate. His response was immediate, fired with the precision of a conditioned reflex, hammered into his mind for as long as he could remember.
"I want to be strong. I want to show the clan that I am worthy, that I can erase the failure that is my existence and that of my progenitor. Thus, I may help them with my head held high; not as a bastard, but as a legacy they can be proud of."
Kushina tilted her head slightly, her red eyes shining with enigmatic curiosity. She seemed neither impressed nor disappointed—only contemplative.
"To help the clan… But tell me, Indra… which clan? Is that truly what you desire?"
Indra opened his mouth to answer, the word Leaf already on the tip of his tongue, but something caught. The automatic impulse hit an invisible barrier, a mental static he had never felt before. For a second, he sought the images of his tutors, of Kabuto, and even of his grandfather. But those figures, which once sustained his motivation even amidst his suffering, now seemed emptier, stripped of the crushing weight they once held over him.
He realized, with a jolt of silent panic, that the chains binding him to the Leaf—the whispered orders, the expectations, every poisonous word from Kabuto promising that if he obeyed, he would one day become worthy enough for a second look from his grandfather—were beginning to crack slowly.
When he thought of what he truly wanted, the image that arose was not that of his grandfather, nor of the Leaf clan that had denied him. What filled his will was the sudden, illogical affection of the crimson-haired Saint—someone who had appeared out of nowhere and infiltrated his life.
"I…"
"You speak of helping the clan as if it were a rule etched into the depths of your soul, little fox. But whose desire is that, Indra? Is it yours? Or is it merely the will of someone who molded you to be a useful tool?"
"You are confused," Black Zetsu hissed. "Does the vessel begin to question its contents? Dangerous."
Kushina smiled slightly at the words. "Think carefully, Indra. If the clan you wish to prove your worth to is not the one that has given you orders your whole life… without them, what is left of you? Are you here to be another's blade, or to discover who you truly are?"
Indra looked at his own hands, trembling under the gravity. Doubt was a poison. He wanted to prove his value to his grandfather, to the Leaf, but deep down, a spark of immense and profound hatred—destined for them and for himself—began to rise again. It had always been there, but something had suppressed it. Before he could drown in self-loathing, the woman with crimson hair interrupted him with a casual tone.
"Let's put that aside for now, little fox. Existential crises don't help keep bones intact under pressure," she said, snapping her fingers, making the cyan glow pulse. "This field is at its lowest possible level; enough to strain an Aspirant with the divine Uchiha lineage. For any other 'normal' person, this ground would be an immediate tomb. For you, it is only the beginning. And it will increase."
"Here, you will learn combat—not assassination. No more hiding, no more attacking only with an advantage. Those are the methods of the weak. I do not deny their efficiency, but tricks matter naught before true strength. I will teach you to face that which is stronger than you… and kill it head-on. I will teach you to dominate the battlefield until reality bends to your will, and not the other way around."