June 1, 1 bNb
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A wooden archway marked the entrance to the Uchiha Clan compound, and it looked just as it had when Izuma last saw it.
The archway itself was a gift from Hashirama Senju as a mark of reconciliation and trust between the Senju and Uchiha. It had very minor cracks on the corners, mainly because the last time it had been refurbished was when Madara was still a part of the village, but overall, it stood as proud as the clan itself.
Izuma slowed down as he passed under it, peering up at the clan symbol on the archway. The sound of his footsteps echoed over the smooth stone underfoot.
It had been months since he'd been back, and yet it seemed all the same.
The same old smell of freshly scrubbed wood, the same old quiet that, thankfully, never seemed unnerving, and the same old light breeze that wafted the scent of roses.
A winding street surrounded by traditional Japanese wooden houses cut through the compound, marking a path for onlookers to follow. Lanterns hung unlit above the doorways, and in another couple of hours, they would be illuminated beautifully. Trees lined the paths—towering, old, and ramrod straight, much like the clan they belonged to.
People were out, which wasn't surprising considering the good weather.
Izuma hummed a tune as he followed the path. Some glanced up as he passed—whispers followed, then more heads turned. Full-blown conversations died down quickly; instead, the folks opted to greet him.
"Welcome home, Izuma."
"Good to see you, kid," An elderly Uchiha clansman said.
Izuma nodded and returned their greeting before continuing on his way.
A pair of Uchiha police officers passed him on their way to the station. Both were garbed in flak vests, with batons slung at their sides.
One of them, no younger than thirty, gave him a whistle. "Red Fang, huh? Don't say we have to start saluting you now," he joked.
The other elbowed him and said, "What do you mean start? I saluted him last year after that mission in the Frost."
He chuckled and waved them off. He had been popular before, but never to this extent. Clearly, word of his exploits in the war had gotten around, and now everyone was raring to see the new Uchiha celebrity.
No surprise there, the Uchiha compound was quiet by nature, sure, but news—especially about one of their own—moved faster than any summoning hawk. If you so much as changed your hairstyle, three aunties would know before you turned the corner.
And he wasn't some child who'd changed his hairstyle; rather, he was a ninja who had changed entire landscapes to his will. To the Uchihas, he was the pride and joy of the clan, someone whom the entire village respected and admired.
Even the older folk—sticklers who would cross their arms, furrow their brows, and argue that this newer generation was so much softer than the old—didn't bother fighting the small smiles that tugged at their mouths as he passed by.
It was like having an old head say LeBron was the goat.
He was snapped out of his musings as three kids ran by on the far side of the road—two boys and a girl, maybe eight or nine, all grinning. They slowed down when they spotted him. The girl's eyes widened.
"Is that him?" she whispered, just loud enough for Izuma to hear.
"The Red Fang," one of the boys answered, awestruck.
Izuma lifted a hand lazily in greeting. "Boo."
All three jumped, then giggled and ran off faster. He smiled and kept walking.
As he turned the corner, the path narrowed slightly as he neared the home of the clan leader.
The white stone steps remained all the same: smooth from decades of use and weathered storms. A wind chime was hung in the corner, swaying gently. The paper door was half-slid open.
Izuma exhaled, finally allowing himself to feel a sliver of comfort.
He was home.
He climbed the steps and rapped twice on the wood frame before stepping inside.
"Mikoto?" he called out softly.
A moment later, a voice answered from within.
"In here!"
He toed off his boots and stepped inside the house.
The scent of something miso-based drifted through the house. Izuma followed it down the narrow hallway until he turned into the kitchen.
Mikoto stood at the stove, long black hair swept up, apron over a simple blue yukata. She turned when she saw him, and her face lit with a smile that reached her eyes.
"There you are," she said.
He smiled. "Hope I'm not interrupting."
"You're exactly on time. I just finished the soup." She waved a hand at the small dining table set against the back window. "Sit down, you look thinner than I remember."
He did as told, dropping into the cushion with a soft exhale. He felt any lingering tension in his shoulders leave as he sank deeper into the seat.
He turned back slightly, gazing out the window behind him to see the garden in the back, where the wind caused gentle ripples in the koi pond.
Mikoto moved fluidly and soundlessly, setting bowls down with practiced ease.
Grilled fish, steamed greens, miso soup, rice. All comfort food.
He waited until she sat across from him before he spoke.
"You didn't have to go through all this."
Mikoto arched a brow. "I didn't. This is what I was making for myself. You just got lucky."
Izuma huffed a laugh. "Guess I've still got good timing."
She smiled. But it softened a moment later.
"You've been gone a long time."
He looked down at the bowl of soup, steam curling from the surface. "War's been…busy."
"Are you hurt?"
"Nah."
She didn't press. That was another thing he'd always appreciated about Mikoto—she never pushed too far.
That didn't mean she did not help, however. She sat close and was there if you needed to talk. Made sure you didn't carry any burden alone.
"I heard from Fugaku you were being recalled," she said after a moment.
He nodded. "Just got back this morning. Hokage called me in. Looks like I'll be here until the eighth."
"That's good," she said quietly. "You'll stay the night?"
He hesitated for half a second. But he was tired, and this was home.
"If it's not a bother."
Mikoto gave him a look. "This is your home, too, Izuma. You never need to ask that."
He smiled.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. He looked up halfway through and said, "Where's Itachi?"
"Out with Fugaku. He took him to the headquarters for the day—wanted to show him around, introduce him to the patrol captains and all."
He nodded. It made sense. Itachi was getting older, and people had begun to see how talented he was, so Fugaku probably wanted to start grooming him early.
God, speaking of Itachi, when he was first reincarnated, the man he feared most was none other than Uchiha Itachi. The fuckin' Baba Yaga of the Uchiha clan.
Turns out his worries were all for naught. He was born way ahead of the timeline—so far, that he wasn't just there for Itachi's birth, but the future clan killer even called him his elder brother.
The first time Itachi had referred to him as such, Izuma had spent two weeks straight perfecting his kunai and shuriken tossing so he could teach Itachi.
Now, when the world would see Itachi's skills in action, Izuma would be able to say he taught Itachi everything he knew.
And the world would see his skills, just not in the form of the Uchiha massacre. No way. Every ounce of training—and he had put a lot of ounces in training, the sheer number of broken bones could attest to that—was to thwart that very future.
It was also partially why he had decided to help out so much with Itachi and Shisui's training.
Though he supposed he would always have helped Itachi. Fugaku and Mikoto were pretty much his parents in all but name—by the way, did that even matter? All Uchiha were technically related after all.
Shisui, on the other hand, didn't have the luck of being born the son of the clan leader. After his parents had passed, all he was left with was his grandmother. Despite his cheerful smile, he had been quite the sad little Uchiha prodigy.
That's where he stepped in—and wasn't that the best decision he had ever made? It killed two birds with one stone, really. He got two awesome little brothers, and hopefully, also got to prevent the massacre.
Although he began his preparations early, circumventing something as disastrous as the massacre would take a lot of small steps.
One such step was helping Itachi and Shisui not to follow the will of fire blindly. The ideal itself wasn't that bad, but when it was taken to the extreme, where your only concern was the village, then it became an issue.
"Izuma?"
Izuma's eyes flew up to Mikoto, and he gave a sheepish smile before continuing his meal.
Mikoto's hand paused over her chopsticks as her mouth parted slightly for the faintest moment.
"Something on your mind?" he asked.
Truthfully, it was unusual to see Mikoto hesitate—usually, she was quite forthcoming with whatever she had to say.
"No," she shook her head.
She finished another bite of her food before looking up again.
"You know, seeing you again reminds me of when Fugaku brought you along to the headquarters for the first time."
Izuma chuckled. "I think I spent the whole tour staring at his back and pretending I wasn't intimidated."
"He said you were insufferably curious. Asked questions about everything. So much that one of the other officers even asked you to shut up."
Mikoto laughed alongside him this time.
"I'm happy you never lost it, though—your curiosity, I mean. It's nice to see someone take an interest in the world around them, not to mention I'm sure it's saved your skin a couple of times as a shinobi."
He smiled faintly. "Probably more than a couple," he admitted, putting his chopsticks down with a satisfied sigh.
"If half the idiots I fought asked more questions and were a bit more curious—about their surroundings, especially—I'm sure they wouldn't have got their heads taken clean off."
Mikoto gave him a flat look. "Izuma."
He held up a hand in surrender. "Fine, fine. Head nearly taken off."
She let out an exasperated sigh, but turned back to her meal nonetheless.
.
The clink of dishes and rumbling of water faded behind him as he stepped into the hallway.
The house wasn't very big. Heck, by some clan standards—cough, Hyuga, cough—it was even modest.
But that didn't really matter when there were only four members in it. Not to mention, the smaller size made it feel more homely.
Every room held a piece of someone: a low table cluttered with half-read scrolls, a pair of Itachi's sandals tucked just beside the door, the edge of Mikoto's embroidery kit peeking out from beneath a cushion.
He passed the living room and the doors that led to his old room. Mikoto hadn't touched it, far as he could tell.
He let his cloak slide off his shoulders and onto the floor. The ceiling beams above hadn't changed either, still etched with tiny scratch marks where he'd once tossed senbon up in boredom.
And there, on the edge of the doorframe, was the tiny scrap of tape he'd once placed as a lazy security seal—it had been torn through ages ago, but never fully peeled off. A single triangle of it still clung to the wood.
He'd meant to take it off years ago, but had gotten lazy. Though, a small part of him felt oddly comforted at the sight.
This place, unlike him, hadn't changed in the slightest.
.
Outside, the sun was still bright, and in a few hours, the academy day would end. School was from eight to three, just like how it was in the US.
Death, taxes, and egregious school times were, apparently, the three things you could never escape from.
He was planning on picking Shisui up from the academy, one, to surprise him. And two, to ask why he hadn't said anything about graduation.
Besides, it was only fair that he was the one to pick him up now that he was back, considering that it had been he who had pushed Shisui to try and make friends at the academy.
That was the thing with Uchihas; they barely made any. And how can you have a good mental state—as good as it could get, considering their profession—if you had no one to share your woes and victories with?
He stood on the wooden engawa, hands tucked into his cloak sleeves as he looked down, watching the koi pond ripple as a fish emerged, only to dip back into the water just as quickly.
This place—this house—was the first home he'd really had in either life.
An elderly Uchiha couple had gifted him his own little place before, but this house had his family.
Upon hearing that he was living alone, Fugaku had brought him over for dinner whenever the two trained together. Which was really often, considering that Fugaku was his jonin sensei. Now that he looked back on it, he had really lucked out—having the Wicked Eye training, and practically adopting you, was about as lucky as one could get.
He still remembered the first dinner he had shared with Fugaku and Mikoto. They had no children at that point, so it was just the three of them, and man, oh man, was it awkward as hell.
Mikoto, bless her heart, had practically carried the conversation by herself. Fugaku was as stoic as always, and he was too intimidated by Fukagu to get a sentence out without stammering.
A rustle behind him snapped him from his thoughts, and he had to fight the urge to create space and pull out a kunai. It seemed like he really had gotten too comfortable here if he was spacing out like that.
Mikoto stepped out onto the engawa with a folded blanket in her arms.
"I laid out your futon," she said. "Sheets might be a little stiff—I washed them last week, but they haven't been used. Hopefully, come nighttime, they'll be more comfortable. "
"Thanks," he said quietly.
She set the blanket down and joined him at the railing. The silence between them was comfortable.
After a moment, she glanced sideways. "You've changed."
"Yeah?" He kept his eyes on the pond.
"Hmm, how do I say this? I guess you carry yourself differently now, more like the way Fugaku does. It looks a bit like you're weighed down by responsibilities. But, I suppose that's to be expected with how much the village expects you to do," she finished with a sad smile.
He didn't know what to say to that, so he settled for a nod.
"You used to come home from missions talking a mile a minute," Mikoto continued. "Now you barely speak."
"That's war for you," he murmured, inwardly cringing at his younger self. Man, now that he was reminiscing, he really did use to blabber so much.
Mikoto fell quiet again. Then she said, "You know, he never says it, but he's proud of you."
He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the koi pond, and instead met Mikoto's gaze.
She met his gaze with a proud smile this time. "Fugaku. You know just as well as I how terrible he is with words. I'm telling you, he'd sooner face a Kage than compliment someone to their face," she sighed.
He snorted, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, that sounds about right."
Mikoto chuckled and leaned forward to rest her chin on her palm. "Still, he brags about you whenever he can. A jonin from the patrol squad came by last week, and Fugaku spent a full ten minutes talking about your last mission in the Frost region. Not to mention, whenever he's training with Itachi, he always tells him to just do whatever you did."
"Ten minutes?" Izuma raised a brow.
She laughed again, more freely this time. "Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late."
The sky deepened into orange, and a gust of wind rustled the leaves of nearby trees.
"I should probably get going soon," he said at last.
"Shisui?"
"Mhm. Thought I'd pick him up today."
"He'll be happy to see you. He's started swinging by to ask Fugaku how your missions have been going pretty often as of late. I think he's really been missing you, but you didn't hear that from me."
He shook his head in amusement. "To be honest, I've missed him as well. It's been…odd not having someone yap my ears off."
Mikoto stood straight and brushed off her hands. "Tell him to stop by after. Dinner's at seven."
Izuma gave a two-fingered salute. "Will do. Thanks again for everything, Mom."
Mikoto's smile widened. "Anytime."
.
The breeze wafted the scent of grilled skewers from food stalls still preparing for the evening rush. Izuma stood with his back against a post just outside the Academy gate, arms folded, head reclined back, and eyes closed.
The din of chattering students spilled from the open windows—most were complaining about the bell.
He tapped his fingers idly against his bicep, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in boredom. It felt strange, waiting like this—strange, but not unpleasant. Usually, his free time was spent buried face-deep in briefing scrolls or memorizing the terrain before an upcoming battle.
Now he was just a guy waiting to pick up his kid brother from class. A mundane task he hadn't done even in his past life.
A sudden clang snapped him from his musings: the final bell. It brought back memories if he were honest. Attending school back in America, and going to the academy in his pre-genin days. Both were torture. Although he would be lying if he said he didn't miss the simpler times.
The doors of the Academy burst open, and a wave of students exploded out in quick succession. Some kids made a dash for the playground, some shot straight to the streets, and others into the awaiting arms of their parents.
Izuma let his eyes flicker from one person to the next—a bad habit from his time in the field. However, it proved to be helpful as his gaze found Shisui's own near the back of the crowd.
He was flanked by two other boys, one tall and scrawny, the other short with a crooked grin. Shisui was grinning too.
He allowed himself to smile at the sight. Honestly, although Shisui had always been much more extroverted and less…edgy than the average Uchiha, a small part of him had still been worried Shisui would isolate himself, or only interact with other Uchihas.
Turns out, his worries were for naught. There he was, laughing, play-punching his friend's arm, and dodging a retaliatory elbow.
Shisui spotted him, and a second later, he was in a full sprint.
"Hey! Look who finally remembered I exist."
Izuma raised a brow. "Loud as ever," he muttered with no real heat.
Instead of replying, Shisui kept coming—full speed—and slammed into him with full force. Izuma grunted, steadying them both.
"You do know most people open with a wave."
"What, and miss the chance to knock the wind out of you? No thanks."
"Brat," Izuma muttered, ruffling his hair roughly. "You've grown."
"Don't sound so surprised," Shisui said, stepping back to fix his hair with a scowl. "You're the one who keeps vanishing for half a decade."
"A couple of months."
"Might as well have been forever."
Izuma rolled his eyes. "Come on. Let's get something to eat before your drama gives me indigestion."
"Only if I get to pick."
"Only if you're paying."
"Ha. Funny."
They grabbed skewers from a food stall near the market and wandered aimlessly through the village. People passed them with casual nods and double-takes. Some recognized Izuma.
They ended up at the Hokage Monument, climbing high up Tobirama's carved face. The stone was warm under their palms. Officially, it was a restricted area for Shisui—you weren't supposed to come here unless you were chuunin or higher—Izuma didn't care. Technically, he outranked the monument, they were all dead after all.
They sat on a ledge that overlooked the whole village. The wind ran cooler up here, and Shisui dangled his legs over the edge like it was just another curbside.
"So," Izuma said, picking at his last skewer. "What'd I miss?"
Shisui leaned back on his hands. "Academy stuff. Pretty boring stuff. Oh! I made some friends. You saw them. Tetsu and Kaoru. Tetsu's obsessed with swords. Kaoru's smart."
"You like them?"
"Yeah. They're idiots. But, like, good idiots."
Izuma grinned. "Good. You need more idiots in your life."
"You saying you're not enough?"
He swatted the back of Shisui's head.
Shisui smiled, then went quiet. He peeled a bit of char off his skewer, eyes tracking the horizon.
"One of my friends—not those two—he was in the year ahead."
Izuma tore his gaze away from the breathtaking sight down below and motioned for Shisui to continue.
"He graduated early, like I always asked you to allow me to do. He said his parents wanted him to be like you. Get famous in the war, y'know?"
Shisui's own gaze dipped to the world below.
The gap between them and the buildings below was vast, and it felt like a chasm that separated worlds. But no matter the distance, the people down below were the reason Izuma fought, so to him it barely felt like there was any separation at all.
He wondered if Shisui felt the same? A part of him hoped for it, and the remaining, more cynical, part dearly hoped not.
The peaceful quiet between them remained for a few moments longer, only to be broken by Shisui's whisper.
"He died."
Izuma sighed, setting his skewer down.
Pity. That was all he felt.
When he had first arrived in this world, he would have felt a tad more, yet years of seeing lives being taken—or rather, years of taking lives, had tempered that part of him.
Still, a life was a life.
"What was his name?"
"Riku. He was way stronger than me. And you know how great I am, so just imagine," Shisui forced a grin. "We would practice after class together sometimes. Even though he always complained about his clan treating him like a weapon, he was still really proud. When he got his hitai-ate early, he kept talking about how he'd teach me stuff the Academy wouldn't."
Izuma listened without interrupting, eyes fixed on the line where rooftops blurred into treetops beyond the walls. Riku. Another name to add to the ever-growing list.
"His death was just two weeks ago. I didn't find out until yesterday."
Izuma looked away. The sky over the rooftops was turning gold.
"That's why," Shisui said. "Right? That's why you didn't want me to graduate early."
Izuma's jaw tightened. "Yeah. That's part of it."
He sighed, then looked at Shisui fully.
"Look… war makes people do stupid things. It makes parents think that getting their kid famous is worth sending them to die. And yeah, maybe he could fight. Maybe he had the skill. But that doesn't mean he should have been out there."
Shisui nodded slowly.
"You graduate early, and sure, maybe you survive. Maybe you even get famous. But you miss everything. You lose the time to be a dumb kid. You get shoved onto teams with people who don't get your jokes. You get lonely. And if you're not careful, you stop even remembering what you liked before you put on the vest."
Izuma rubbed a hand down his face. "Shisui. I want you to have a childhood. I want you to climb rooftops and sneak snacks, and get in trouble with teachers. Not because I think you can't handle the shinobi life. But because once you're in it, really in it, you don't get time back."
Shisui watched him like he was memorizing every word. And Izuma was certainly glad for it.
He saw how Shisui's fate played out in the anime, and his self-appointed job was to change that. Whether he was making good on that, only time would tell, however.
"When I'm out there," he went on, "what helps isn't just skill or instinct. It's the people who keep me sane. There's way more to life than just killing because someone told you to."
That was for certain. The world of Naruto was so different from his last, but no less beautiful, nay, he would argue perhaps it was even more so. It was brimming with places that would certainly qualify as wonders of the world. That's why he found no appeal in being a borrowed blade for the rest of his life.
His teacher had always told him he had a one-track mind and tended to get tunnel vision too often. On the battlefield, it was a surefire way to die, but concerning one's goals, it was a boon. And his mind had been focused on one thing since he had come to this world. And now, more than ever, he was close.
That's why he couldn't necessarily follow the sage advice he was giving Shisui, at the very least for the next year or so. After that, well, it was up to Minato.
Shisui nodded. "So for now… train? Don't worry about becoming a ninja?"
"Exactly. Be a menace. Kick a tree or some shit," he shrugged to Shisui's wholly unimpressed look. "I didn't tell you to be smart. Besides, I heard you're graduating anyway, so a whole lot of good this talk did."
Shisui laughed and waved him off. "That doesn't count, I'm older now and have way more friends."
Izuma resisted the urge to sigh. For all of Shisui's smarts, at times, he was genuinely a dumbass.
Shisui perked up again, snapping Izuma's not-so-nice train of thought. "Oh! Itachi and I have been training more. He's crazy smart, even more than you said. But he's been… off, lately. Like, sad. You know where he is?"
He raised a brow; that was news to him. He checked the time and cursed.
"Crap. We're supposed to be at the compound by seven."
"It's already seven."
They scrambled to their feet.
"Come on. Mikoto's gonna kill me if we're late again."
.
The Uchiha compound gates loomed tall. Inside, Fugaku and Itachi were already seated at the low dining table. Mikoto moved through the kitchen with the practiced grace of someone who'd juggled feeding a family of 30 for years. It was impressive, really.
Dinner began, and just like always, he cracked a few jokes. Even got Mikoto and Fugaku to snort, which was an accomplishment in and of itself.
Although, surprisingly, it was Itachi who remained stone-faced. That was odd; despite his gentle nature, he usually found amusement in his misfortune.
So it would seem Shisui was right, something was off with the resident, soon-to-be, but hopefully not, serial killer.
After dinner, as the others cleared the dishes, Fugaku gestured for him to join him outside.
They stepped onto the porch. The night air was cool. Cicadas hummed somewhere in the hedges.
The Uchiha compound was really quite the luxurious place. And he got to stay here free of charge.
In fact, when it came to matters of the Uchiha, he could only thank God for nepotism.
"I took him," Fugaku said.
He gave his mentor a flat look. Really, what was it with powerful ninja, and their need to be cryptic; just tell it to him straight.
"So, any plans to let me know who?"
At least Fugaku had the decency to look slightly embarrassed by his mistake.
He coughed lightly. "Itachi. I took him to the front. A scouting mission went violent, and he had to kill."
The words didn't register at first.
Then they did.
He stared at Uchiha Patriarch with his mouth agape. A part of him dearly hoped Fugaku was pulling his leg, but the more rational part knew better. Fugaku was not one to lie.
"He's not even in the Academy yet."
Fugaku nodded slowly. "I know. It wasn't planned. But after what happened to Riku—"
"—Wait. Let me get this straight. You sent a child to a warfront because another child died at one? How the fuck does that make any sense? If anything, you should've learned your lesson and kept Itachi far, far away!"
For fucks sake, he was making tangible progress at stopping Itachi from becoming a brain-washed mass-murderer, but no, the one who should've been on his side was acting like a double agent!
What was the line he'd read in those Chinese novels again? It seemed fitting.
Ah, right. 'We fear not God-like opponents, but pig-like team members.'
He glared at his mentor.
For the first time, surprisingly, Fugaku seemed to wilt slightly under his stare. "Because I was afraid. I saw that child, Riku, spar with a few Uchiha clansmen, and he thoroughly thrashed them. Itachi is a prodigy, too, I thought if I gave him more exposure, maybe…perhaps he would survive where others had not."
Yeah, fat load of good that would do. Whatever Itachi had witnessed that day on the battlefield was one of the primary catalysts for his willingness to slaughter his whole clan.
He groaned at the thought. Fucking hell, here he was thinking he'd get a nice long vacation in the time leading to the Kannabi bridge mission, but, of course, that was just him being naive. Because whenever could you actually catch a break in this hellhole of a timeline?
"You really thought exposing a four-year-old kid to killing would be a good idea?" His glare didn't relent as he chewed out his mentor.
This world really needed help, he thought grimly. Not stronger jutsu. Not younger soldiers. Just… help. How Naruto dealt with it, he had no clue, but props to him.
He was yet to turn 16 in this world, and yet he still felt like murdering everything around him.
Fugaku didn't argue. He looked tired and defeated.
Fugaku shrugged as he slouched against the railing, a rarity. "After mulling it over, Mikoto seconded it. We thought it would do him good."
A part of him wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Because, how could he forget, the best way for a child to get over something was "more trauma, but earlier," how obvious.
Izuma didn't respond, mostly because he didn't quite know what to say. And here, people had the gall to say he spoke too much.
The awkward silence seemed to unnerve the Uchiha Patriarch, because he was the first to break it.
"Can you help him?" Fugaku asked. "He listens to you. If anyone can help him, it would be you."
How great, make the mistake, then send Izuma the Builder.
Izuma sighed, but nodded nonetheless. "Of course I will."
Fugaku stepped down into the grass and looked back.
"Thank you, Izuma. Truly."
He gave another nod to his mentor. For all his bemoaning, he didn't truly mean much of it.
He was definitely irritated, but he had somewhat expected this turn of events based on what had happened in canon. The saddest part of this whole ordeal—besides the whole four-year-old killer thing—was seeing he hadn't influenced the people around him as much as he would have liked.
Oh, well, he thought, still plenty of time left.
"Oh, Izuma," Fugaku called, "in the meantime, let me evaluate how far you've come."
Izuma gave his sensei a surprised look before breaking into laughter.
"You?"
Fugaku's brow twitched in irritation. "Is that a problem?"
Izuma looked him up and down slowly, deliberately. "I don't know," he said. "You sure? Might pull something, old man."
Fugaku scoffed. "Watch your mouth."
"Oh, I am," he replied easily. "I just don't want Mikoto yelling at me for putting the clan head out of commission."
Despite himself, Fugaku's lips curved into a slight sneer. "You always did have too much confidence."
"And you always did confuse experience with inevitability."
X
Izuma rolled his shoulders as he followed the older Uchiha at a brisk pace, making their way toward the Forest of Death.
Call him paranoid, but he was certainly not going to take any possible chances of Danzo learning about his skillset. It was probably an unnecessary worry—scratch that, it was certainly an unnecessary worry, Danzo didn't have that type of authority at the moment—but he was no Shisui—oh, evil man, this is my sharingan ability! Come steal it!
As they stepped into the secluded forest, he mirrored the older Uchiha as they faced each other under the moonlight.
Two generations. Two Uchiha.
A scenic scene.
Then they moved.
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Please leave some comments and power stones would be nice as well.
And have a good day.