Makoto Uchiha had spent the last few days dipping his toes (well, his chakra pathways) into the Lightning-Style Chakra Mode. Just a tiny thread of lightning chakra snaking through the main meridians in his arm.
Yeah, that shit was memorable. The kind of memory that gets tattooed on your soul with a cattle prod.
It felt like a swarm of rabid electric eels throwing a rave inside his veins (numb, stinging, itchy, bloated, all at the same time, each sensation cranking the others up to eleven). Like a million tiny lightning needles stabbing every cell, or a high-voltage cable jammed straight into his nervous system, cooking him from the inside while his muscles seized up like he was breakdancing on a power line.
Every pulse of lightning chakra was a ghost with a chainsaw slow-grinding his nerve endings. Cold sweat, clenched teeth, the whole nine yards. Dude was basically giving himself DIY electroshock therapy for the lulz (and the gains).
But Makoto's a stubborn bastard who lives for the grind. Pain? That's just weakness leaving the body… or some motivational-post bullshit he tells himself at 3 a.m. while crying in the shower. Point is, he could take it.
Problem was, going full caveman and figuring this out solo was slower than a DMV line on a Monday. Progress so sluggish he was about to start cursing in three dead languages.
If he didn't have his [Hentai Protagonist Physique] and that [Beginner Hashirama Bloodline] giving him freakish pain tolerance and Wolverine-level healing, he'd have already deep-fried his meridians and turned himself into a cautionary tale: "Here lies Makoto—tried to invent Lightning Mode, now jerks uncontutinously when he hears thunder."
"This self-taught crap is dogshit efficiency," Makoto growled, standing up in the hot spring like a goddamn Greek god who'd just remembered he left the stove on. Hot water cascaded down his chiseled, steadily-jacked frame, steam curling around him like he was the final boss of thirst traps.
He wiped his face, water dripping from his bangs. "At this rate, fully mastering Lightning Chakra Mode is gonna take until Jesus comes back—and the dude's already late."
Makoto's never been the type to waste time when there's a faster, stupider way. Brain went into overdrive.
Time for the nuclear option.
"Guess I'm going back to Kumogakure."
He stepped out of the spring, grabbed a towel, and started drying off—eyes sharpening like a predator who just smelled blood in the water.
He'd made up his mind. He was gonna roll up to the Fourth Raikage (who was, without question, currently big-mad) and "borrow" every single scroll, note, and drunken napkin scribble the previous Raikages ever wrote about Lightning Chakra Mode.
Yeah, it's probably behind seventeen layers of security and guarded by people who want him dead right now. Doesn't matter. You miss 100% of the shots you don't take.
And while he was at it? Smooth over the absolute shitstorm Itachi and Shisui just dropped on the village. Mostly so the Raikage doesn't take it out on Samui and Mabui—those two are his future… ahem …valued teammates. Everyone else? Lol, don't care, not my circus, not my monkeys.
Plus, with Flying Thunder God, revival coins, and the ultimate trump card "Art is an Explosion" in his back pocket, the whole damn ninja world could get in line. There ain't many people left who can make Makoto sweat.
Whole village wants to stop him from leaving? Hold this L.
"Time to roll."
A smirk crawled across his face. "Wonder what kinda faces they'll make when I just pop back in like nothing happened…"
Oh, and because he's an agent of chaos with zero chill, he dropped serious cash in the [Player Shop] for two perfect, ice-cold watermelons and two family-sized buckets of piping-hot fried chicken.
Gotta bring apology gifts, right? After Itachi and Shisui turned Kumogakure into their personal speedrun playground, walking in empty-handed would just be rude.
Kumogakure – Raikage's Office Building, Conference Room
The vibe in the room was heavier than the Raikage's balls after leg day.
Fourth Raikage Ai sat at the head of the table looking like someone pissed in his protein shake. Dude just sprinted back from the daimyo's place, still wearing the cape, and immediately called the most high-level "what the fuck happened while I was gone" meeting in village history.
"Someone got snatched right under your damn noses?!"
"What the hell do I even pay you people for?!"
"The ninja archives got robbed too?!"
"I leave for five fucking minutes and y'all let the village turn into a goddamn piñata?!"
"If I'd stayed gone any longer, would the sign out front say 'Welcome to Uchiha Town' already?!"
Every roar was a thunderclap that rattled the windows. Man was vibrating with rage, veins popping under dark skin like subway maps. Every elite jōnin in the room was sweating bullets, staring at the floor like it personally owed them money.
Up in the rafters, lightning flickered through the circular glass ceiling, strobe-lighting everyone's "oh shit" faces.
Samui and Mabui sat in the crowd, heads down. Mabui's lips were pressed into a thin line, eyes complicated. Samui was avoiding eye contact so hard she was practically counting threads on her sleeve.
The Raikage screamed himself hoarse, demolished a solid oak table with one pissed-off slam (wood chips everywhere), then finally growled, "Meeting over. Mabui, Samui, Yugito, Killer B, Dodai, Darui—my office. Now."
Raikage's Office – Minutes Later
Still tense enough to choke on.
Killer B stood front and center, wrapped in so many bandages he looked like a rap-battle mummy. No goofy flow, just guilt written all over him.
The Raikage's glare softened a couple degrees when it landed on his little brother. Voice dropped, almost gentle.
"You good, B? Those injuries holding up?"
"Big bro… I fucked up," B muttered, head low. "Let those three Uchiha brats slip right through my fingers…"
"Quit beating yourself up," Ai grunted. "Just tell me exactly what went down that night."
B's face did that thing your dog does when it knows it chewed your PS5 controller.
"So uh… I couldn't sleep, right? Figured since you were out, someone had to patrol—"
The Raikage's eyebrow twitched. "Skip the creative writing. Get to the part where we got clowned."
B swallowed and launched into the play... rap? Whatever, he spilled every detail of the fight.
When he got to the part where Makoto pulled out textbook-perfect Flying Thunder God, the whole room went full Piccolo-staring-at-the-ceiling.
Only Mabui didn't even blink.
The Raikage let out a nasal scoff that could've powered a small city.
"So that little bastard was strutting around our village this whole time because he had that in his back pocket…"
The more he thought about it, the worse it got. Kid's barely a teenager and already slinging Flying Thunder God like he's the second coming of the Yellow Flash. Chakra reserves big enough to yoink a full-powered Tailed Beast Bomb out of mid-air.
They used to be thrilled an Uchiha that broken wanted to live in Kumo.
Now he's gone, and the idea of that monster growing up in Konoha, three-eyed death beams included, made the Raikage's scalp tingle like he stuck his tongue in a light socket.
Future Makoto + Sharingan + Flying Thunder God = the Yellow Flash, but on bath salts and with anger issues.
Just imagining that headache made the Raikage's eye twitch.
Then he turned the death stare on Samui and Mabui. Pressure so thick you could spread it on toast.
"You two. Start talking. Every. Single. Detail."
Samui sucked in a breath, ready to give the report.
Mabui beat her to the punch, voice cool as steel:
"Let him explain it himself. He's already here."
Right on cue, the window slid open with a soft click.
Makoto Uchiha leaned against the frame like he owned the place, one hand balancing two massive buckets of fried chicken, the other casually holding two perfect watermelons like they were basketballs.
Grinning like the magnificent bastard he was.
"Yo. Heard y'all were having a bad day. Brought snacks."
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