The sun was setting behind the carved faces of the Hokage Monument, bathing the Uchiha District in a deep orange glow. Inside the clan's main residence, silence reigned, broken only by the rhythmic sound of something slicing through the air in the private training courtyard.
Fugaku Uchiha watched from the veranda, his arms folded inside the sleeves of his kimono. His gaze rested on his younger son, Itachi, who at five years old already displayed a posture many Chunin would envy. However, something was different today.
Instead of the usual static straw targets, Itachi stood before a strange device made of metal and springs.
With a mechanical snap, the machine launched a ceramic disk in a high, erratic arc. In the same instant, Itachi leapt, twisting mid-air; three shuriken left his fingers and struck the disk in flight with surgical precision.
"Where did you get that, Itachi?" Fugaku's voice echoed, firm and authoritative, though there was a note of genuine curiosity behind the stern tone.
Itachi landed silently, composing himself before giving his father a slight bow.
"It's a mechanical launcher, Father. Shisui and I found it in a new shop in the northern commercial alley three days ago."
Fugaku descended the wooden steps and approached the device. He touched it, noting the superior finish and the engineering that allowed the spring's force to be adjusted. It was simple—but terrifyingly efficient for training reflexes without requiring a human instructor to waste time.
"And that on your wrists?" Fugaku pointed to the dark, soft material wrapped around his son's forearms.
"Gel compression weights," Itachi explained, undoing the velcro to show him. "They don't restrict circulation like lead weights and adapt to the movement of the muscles. The owner said they're designed not to harm bone development during growth."
Fugaku narrowed his eyes.
This was not ordinary blacksmith technology. In the shinobi world, small advantages could mean the difference between life and death during a long mission. If a civilian was selling items that surpassed the standard arsenal of the most powerful clan in the village, that was a variable he could not ignore.
"Prepare yourself, Itachi," Fugaku said, adjusting the collar of his attire. "I want to see what kind of man is supplying this kind of advantage to my children. We're going to this 'Urahara Shop.'"
The doorbell chimed.
Urahara, who was polishing a can of Dr Pepper behind the ice bucket, didn't need to look up to know the "big fish" had finally taken the bait. The atmospheric pressure inside the shop changed; the air grew heavier, filled with the natural authority of Konoha's Military Police leader.
Fugaku entered, his presence filling the small space, followed by little Itachi. The Uchiha leader scanned the shop, his gaze passing over shelves of colorful candy before stopping at the section labeled "Modern Comforts."
Urahara snapped his fan shut and tilted his head slightly. The striped hat hid his eyes but allowed his merchant's smile to be seen.
"Welcome, Chief of Police. You arrived earlier than expected," Urahara said, his voice smooth and relaxed, in sharp contrast to Fugaku's rigidity. "It's an honor to see that the training samples pleased such a demanding clan."
Fugaku walked to the counter and placed his hands on the wood.
"Your name is Kisuke Urahara?" he asked, his eyes analyzing every detail of the man before him, searching for signs that he might be a spy or a disguised ninja. "Your items are… unusual. Where does this technology come from? The Land of Fire does not produce this type of synthetic material."
Urahara let out a soft chuckle, slowly fanning himself.
"The world is vast, Fugaku-dono. There are places where people grow tired of inventing new ways to kill—and begin inventing ways to make life more comfortable. I merely… facilitate the exchange. What you saw with your son is only the tip of the iceberg."
Urahara then leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Tell me, as clan leader, do you prefer your shinobi to waste energy fighting their own equipment, or to have the equipment work for them? Because if the interest is real, we can discuss supplying the entire Military Police."
Fugaku's face remained impassive, but Urahara noticed the slight movement of his fingers against the counter. The Uchiha leader was calculating.
Urahara felt the weight of Fugaku's gaze. It was the kind of look that searched for weaknesses, that tried to unravel the secrets behind that relaxed smile. Yet the businessman did not retreat; he merely adjusted his hat, preserving the mystery that was his greatest currency.
"I cannot make a decision like that alone," Fugaku said after a moment. "You will demonstrate these items before the elders of the clan."
"A test before the elders?" Urahara repeated, closing his fan and tapping it lightly against his palm. "An excellent opportunity to demonstrate the future, Fugaku-dono. If the Uchiha clan seeks perfection, it is only fair to test the tools that provide it. Give me three—no, two days."
"I will be waiting," Fugaku said as he left the shop. "If you cannot manage even that, you are not worthy of supplying the Uchiha clan."