Sasuke steadied his breathing and took stock of himself.
Compared to the Sasuke who should have existed at this age, his position was already different.
First, information.He knew what lay ahead. Not in detail, not perfectly, but enough to avoid walking blind. That alone shifted the board.
Second, his eyes.Three tomoe, fully formed, responsive at will. The Sasuke of memory had barely brushed awakening on that night, his vision dormant for years afterward. This time, it had taken root immediately. Whatever the reason, the result was undeniable.
Third, what he carried.Two more pairs of eyes, both bound by blood. One Mangekyō. One fully matured Sharingan. Even set aside, they represented a future path that could not be ignored.
Fourth, perception.He noticed attention. Not chakra signatures like a sensor-nin, but intent. The weight of a gaze. It had followed him since before he understood it, and here it had sharpened further. It would not help him track armies, but it would warn him before a knife reached his back.
That was all, for now.
In raw skill, ninjutsu and taijutsu, he was no better than the boy he had replaced. Not yet. Five days was not enough to overwrite muscle memory or training gaps.
Satisfied, Sasuke moved to the desk and picked up a pen.
Two questions mattered.
How do I grow stronger quickly?What am I aiming for?
He wrote only two lines.
Mangekyō Sharingan.Eternal Mangekyō.
With Fugaku's eyes already secured, the fastest route forward was obvious. But the path had obstacles.
First, his own eyes had to reach Mangekyō.Second, he needed the means to perform the transplant himself, or someone he could trust absolutely.
He paused, pen hovering.
Mangekyō had always been described the same way. Love, then loss. Emotion strong enough to rupture something inside the mind, forcing the eyes to change.
He studied the words and felt nothing answer them.
His parents had died before him, and yet the transformation had not come. Worse, as days passed, the sharpness of that night dulled rather than deepened. If this continued, even killing Itachi one day might not be enough.
And even if it were, he refused that path.
Being cornered. Being guided. Being led step by step to a predetermined awakening, watched over by others who decided when he was allowed to grow.
He had no interest in that kind of strength.
Sasuke's gaze darkened.
There were other precedents.
Some power did not come from shock, but accumulation. The Sage himself was not forged by loss in every telling. In some, his eyes were simply… born complete.
Blood. Spirit. Time.
If violent emotion was one way to force the door open, then sustained pressure might pry it apart just the same.
He wrote again.
Mental fortitude.Experience.Meditative training.
They were crude words for a subtle thing, but enough to mark the direction. Increasing spiritual energy would never be wasted, whether it led to Mangekyō or not.
With that settled, he turned to the second problem.
Medical ninjutsu.
His body was not built like Madara's. Eyes could not be swapped casually. Precision would matter. Control would matter.
The academy taught none of it beyond basics. Healing arts demanded deep knowledge of the body, delicate chakra control, and the use of Yang Release.
Yang was not forbidden to Uchiha. It was simply undeveloped. Their weakness lay only in comparison to clans built around vitality.
Whether his own chakra balance would resist it remained unknown.
That question could wait.
He underlined two points.
Increase spiritual energy.Acquire medical capability, at minimum sufficient for transplantation.
That was enough.
Sasuke burned the paper until nothing remained but ash.
Loose plans survived better in the mind than on a page.
He changed clothes and lay down, letting the room go dark.
The academy exams had passed while he was unconscious. For now, he would not be required to attend. Two months, perhaps more, spent inside the clan grounds.
Time.
When morning came, he would begin searching the Uchiha archives.