Uchiha Klaen started noticing it around his fourth year.
Not words.
Looks.
Those brief, guarded glances adults thought children couldn't read.
Thanks to Observation Haki, he felt them before he consciously understood them — subtle tension in body language, hesitation in speech, restrained hostility.
When Uchiha civilians walked through the village market, conversations dipped slightly. Villagers remained polite, but distant. Smiles rarely reached their eyes.
And the Uchiha?
They walked stiffly. Proud. Defensive. Always slightly on edge.
Like people expecting betrayal.
Kaen watched quietly.
Children often absorbed prejudice without understanding it.
Kaen analyzed it.
Patterns emerged.
The police force being almost entirely Uchiha.
Their district positioned slightly apart from the village center.
Rumors whispered by elders when they thought kids weren't listening:
"Ever since the Second Hokage's time…"
"…can't trust those eyes completely…"
"…better to keep them where we can see them…"
Senju Tobirama.
Second Hokage. Administrator. Strategist.
Official history praised his organizational genius.
Unofficial conversations hinted at something colder.
Kaen didn't jump to conclusions.
But he observed.
Carefully.
The clan believed the village never truly trusted them.
The village believed the Uchiha were inherently dangerous.
A perfect circle of suspicion.
And circles like that rarely formed by accident.
One afternoon, while collecting their monthly allowance packet from a clan office, Kaen felt it again — that subtle dismissal.
The attendant didn't insult him.
Didn't threaten him.
But the message was clear:
Take it and leave.
Hitomi squeezed his hand quietly as they walked back through the district.
She noticed things too, even without Haki.
"Why do they look at us like that?" she asked softly.
Kaen considered answering honestly.
Because they see us as burdens.
Because politics shape how children are treated.
Because history never really ends.
But she was still just a child.
"Because adults are complicated," he said simply.
That night, he thought longer about Tobirama.
From his previous-life memories, Kaen knew fragments of future history — Uchiha surveillance, eventual tragedy, cycles of mistrust.
But knowing future canon and living inside it were very different things.
Reality had nuance.
Maybe Tobirama intended stability.
Maybe he feared another Madara.
Maybe he believed separation prevented conflict.
Intentions, however, didn't erase consequences.
The result was clear:
Distance. Suspicion. Isolation.
Children like Kaen grew up in the cracks created by those decisions.
He didn't hate the village.
He didn't blindly support the clan either.
Both had protected him… technically.
Both had failed him… practically.
So Kaen chose a third path:
Observation first. Allegiance later.
If ever.
Training intensified after that realization.
Not out of revenge.
Out of preparation.
If politics could shape entire clans, then strength was the only reliable insurance.
Armament Haki flickered faintly now during extreme exertion — not visible, not fully formed, but Kaen could feel the density building under his skin.
Conqueror's Haki still slept.
The system shop remained locked.
But Kaen was patient.
He'd already lived one wasted life.
This one would be deliberate.
Calculated.
And hidden until the right moment.
Meanwhile, Hitomi stayed his constant.
Her laughter softened the harsh edges of their days. Her presence grounded him when his thoughts drifted too far into strategy and survival.
Sometimes, when she smiled at him without fear or suspicion, Kaen felt something unfamiliar:
Safety.
A feeling neither clan nor village had ever given him.
As the sun set over the Uchiha district, Kaen stood on the rooftop of their broken housing block, watching both the clan compound and the village skyline beyond.
Two worlds.
Neither fully his.
Yet.