The clang of iron and the thud of fists echoed through the Uchiha compound's private training yard. Dawn's first light found Mali already sweating, his shirt clinging to his back as he hauled a heavy stone above his head. Around him, his ten loyal orphans strained with their own burdens—pull-ups on wooden beams, squats with logs, sprints until their legs burned. They moved like a pack, each driven by the rhythm of Mali's example.
"Again!" Mali barked, voice sharp but not unkind. His own arms trembled, veins standing out as he lowered the stone and dropped into push-ups. Sweat dripped onto the packed earth, mingling with the dust. He relished the ache in his muscles, the pounding of his heart, the vivid sensation of blood surging through his veins. This was more than training—it was a meditation in motion, a way to feel every fiber of his being and the subtle current of Qi threading through it.
After hours of exertion, the group collapsed beneath a tree, chests heaving. Mali signaled, and steaming platters of roasted meat and rice were brought out by silent Uchiha attendants. They ate ravenously, tearing into the protein-rich ninja fare—meat from wild boar, chicken, and even the rare chakra-enhanced beast. Water was gulped down, faces wiped, and then, without complaint, they returned to their drills.
The day unfolded in cycles: weight training, sparring, eating, and meditation. Mali led them through blindfolded fights, forcing each orphan to sense their opponent's intent through the flow of Qi and the subtle shifts in the air. Sometimes, he paired them unevenly, making the weaker face the strong, teaching resilience and humility in equal measure.
As dusk painted the sky in crimson, the group gathered in the cool, candle-lit basement. There, Mali sat at the center, legs folded, breath steady. "Feel your blood," he whispered. "Sense the warmth in your belly. Draw Qi from the world—let it gather in your dantian." The children fell into stillness, sweat drying on their skin, minds focused inward. Mali felt the energy swirl inside him, a gentle tide that soothed the ache of the day.
This was their life: eat, train, meditate, sleep. Day after day, they grew stronger—bodies hardening, senses sharpening, spirits unyielding. The orphans, once scattered and lost, now moved as a single unit, bound by Mali's vision and the silent approval of Uchiha Raigen, who watched from the shadows.
Beyond the Compound
Outside, the world of Konoha spun on. The village bustled with life—merchants shouting in the market, Academy students racing through the streets, shinobi leaping across rooftops. The Uchiha, proud and aloof, kept to their compound, their isolation deepening as whispers of distrust spread among the elders. The Hokage's office watched, wary but silent, as the clan's prodigies trained behind closed doors.