From the outside, Konoha appeared peaceful.
The sky stretched wide and blue without a single cloud, birds flew low over rooftops, and the footsteps of shinobi departing for missions echoed in orderly rhythm. Children ran through the main streets, merchants opened their stalls, and civilians smiled as they always did.
Yet to Haruto Uchiha, that peace was only a thin surface.
A fragile layer hiding deep fractures beneath it.
He walked calmly through the village streets, both hands tucked into the pockets of his simple black jacket. His gaze was fixed forward, but his awareness spread in all directions. Every shadow, every reflection on glass, every fluctuation of chakra—no matter how faint—was quietly recorded.
"Root."
He did not see them.
But he felt them.
Shinobi without emotion, without names, without futures. They moved like ghosts, observing without truly existing. And in recent days, Haruto could sense one thing clearly—
Their attention was shifting toward the Uchiha clan.
Not only toward Fugaku.
Not only toward Itachi.
But toward the entire clan.
Including himself.
Haruto stopped at a crossroads and turned his gaze toward the Hokage Tower rising in the distance. The structure looked solid, dignified—a symbol of the village's protection.
To him, however, it resembled a gilded cage.
A place where decisions were made.
Where lives were weighed.
And where a kind old man was slowly losing control over his own shadows.
"Hiruzen Sarutobi…"
Haruto did not hate the Third Hokage.
But he did not trust him either.
Because kindness without decisiveness, in the shinobi world, was just as dangerous as cruelty.
He resumed walking.
Today, he did not return to the clan compound. Instead, he turned toward the public training forest—a place often used by genin and chunin. There, he could hide in plain sight, blending into the crowd without standing out.
Haruto stopped among tall trees and sat cross-legged.
He closed his eyes.
Regulated his breathing.
Chakra began to circulate slowly within his body, flowing through pathways he had refined countless times. There was no surge. No outward pressure. Everything was neatly locked inside, like a river forced through a narrow channel.
"Foundation…"
He opened his eyes.
Foundation was everything.
He had absorbed too much potential since childhood—not through Orochi, but through observation, discipline, and understanding. He knew the fatal mistake many talented shinobi made: chasing the peak too quickly.
Those who climbed too fast usually fell first.
Haruto rose and began to move.
His body shot forward, touched the ground, leapt, twisted, and struck the empty air as if facing invisible enemies. There were no flashy techniques—only control.
Control of strength.
Control of intent.
Control of self.
He did not activate the Sharingan.
Not even a single tomoe.
Everything was done with normal eyes.
"If I rely on my eyes…"
"…I will die because of them."
Sweat ran down his temples.
His muscles burned.
Yet his expression remained calm.
When he finally stopped, light footsteps sounded behind him.
"You're always training alone."
Haruto turned.
Shisui Uchiha stood there, leaning casually against a tree. His familiar smile was present, eyes full of life—yet Haruto sensed something different lately.
Heavier.
More guarded.
"You too," Haruto replied.
Shisui chuckled and walked closer.
"If Itachi saw you now, he'd feel left behind."
Haruto did not respond.
He knew.
Itachi was a genius—a prodigy shaped by expectations and the burden of the clan. But Itachi walked in the open, under watchful eyes.
Haruto chose the shadows.
Shisui sat on a large rock and gazed up at the sky.
"The situation is getting worse," he said quietly.
Haruto took a drink from his water bottle.
"Root?"
"Danzō," Shisui answered without hesitation.
Silence followed.
"He wants my eyes."
The words were spoken calmly, almost lightly. But Haruto could feel the tension beneath them.
"As expected."
"Did you report it to the Hokage?" Haruto asked.
Shisui nodded.
"He's concerned. But… hesitant."
Haruto slowly clenched his fist.
Hesitation.
Always hesitation.
In games of power, a single second of doubt could mean death.
"Shisui," Haruto said at last. "If something happens to you—"
"Relax," Shisui interrupted with a smile. "I won't die that easily."
Haruto stared at him sharply.
"You trust the system too much."
But he did not say it aloud.
Shisui stood and lightly patted Haruto's shoulder.
"You're different," he said suddenly. "You see farther than most."
Haruto brushed the hand away gently.
"Because I don't have a choice."
Shisui paused, then laughed softly.
"In that case… survive."
He vanished in a flicker, leaving only a thin trail of wind behind.
Haruto stood alone again.
But his chest felt heavy.
"He's standing in the center of the vortex."
"And he doesn't realize it."
By evening, Haruto returned to the clan compound.
The atmosphere was different.
Quieter.
Tighter.
He walked through the long corridors and saw Fugaku Uchiha speaking with several senior clan members. Fugaku's face was rigid, his eyes sharp, burdened by pressure he refused to release.
Nearby, Mikoto stood calmly, though deep concern lingered in her gaze.
When she noticed Haruto, she approached.
"You're late," she said gently.
"Sorry."
Mikoto studied him for a long moment.
"Haruto… if one day you're forced to choose…"
She stopped.
Haruto met her eyes.
"Choose life," she finished softly.
The words were simple.
Their meaning was not.
Haruto nodded.
"I promise."
That night, Haruto stood on the rooftop, staring up at a sky full of stars.
He opened Takamagahara—slightly wider than before.
His personal dimension unfolded, vast and silent.
He stood at its center, embraced by absolute stillness.
Here, he could think without interference.
"One month."
His fist tightened.
"I'm not strong enough yet."
And yet—
He could not appear too strong.
That was the paradox.
Strong enough to survive.
Weak enough not to be hunted too soon.
The winds of Takamagahara whispered softly.
Haruto opened his eyes.
"Starting tomorrow," he murmured, "I'll build a foundation that can't be destroyed."
Beyond the world, shadows began to stir.
And the wheel of fate had started to turn.
**********
Author: May you always be healthy!