"Sorry to intrude. Are you Uchiha Hikaru?"
The mont the door opened, a young man gave Hikaru a quick once-over before asking directly.
Hikaru scratched his head and yawned, staring at the visitor with a puzzled look.
"Did sothing happen in the clan that requires ?"
Uchiha Noboru was unusually polite—nothing like a typical Uchiha. He even ca off as a little overly familiar.
He first gestured that this wasn’t the right place to talk. Then, once Hikaru stepped aside, he walked into the house as if he were the one living there.
Only after sitting down did Uchiha Noboru finally speak.
"It’s like this. In response to the Second Hokage’s policy, the clan has decided to send you to the Ninja Academy."
"Of course, they won’t leave you empty-handed. You’ll get an additional monthly clan stipend of 100,000 Ryo. And when you graduate, you’ll be given a B-rank jutsu."
Yes—this era was very different from the future. The Ninja Academy wasn’t held in high regard.
At this ti, ninja clans still clung to old traditions, preferring to train their bloodlines internally.
The Ninja Academy, founded by the Second Hokage, was ant to popularize education, break monopolies, and give civilians a chance to change their fate.
It was like a sudden ergence of a supernatural school in the real world—but that school was a military academy.
When war breaks out, you’d be expected to fight.
If such an opportunity landed in front of you, what choice would you make?
Besides, if ninja forces couldn’t hold the front line, civilians wouldn’t be able to protect themselves anyway.
So even though many civilian-born ninja lacked talent and ended up spending their lives as low to mid-tier shinobi, for them, it was still a leap in social class. They were more than willing to study at the academy.
Moreover, compared to clan-trained shinobi, academy graduates emphasized teamwork.
And this wasn’t just so casual, small-squad teamwork—it was large-scale, coordinated, battalion-level operations.
Unless one’s power completely crushed the others, the strength of a team would always outmatch that of an individual.
Sure, ninja abilities were suited for solo operations.
But real battlefields weren’t full of covert missions.
If the front lines couldn’t hold, the entire defense would collapse.
What then—wait for the enemy to knock on Konoha’s door before resisting?
That’s why even the traditional clans would eventually send their children to the academy while training them in clan secrets during their spare ti.
It was a win-win: faster, more efficient growth.
To promote the academy system, the Second Hokage even selected a few graduates to be his close aides.
Those who got the first bite of the cake would later beco the high-level leaders of Hiruzen Sarutobi’s generation.
By the ti of Hiruzen Sarutobi, getting into the Ninja Academy ant earning the Hokage’s mark of approval.
So for the future of their clans, from whatever perspective, the ninja clans had no choice but to toe the line.
As for those old fossils who claid the academy was training cannon fodder—well, they weren’t wrong either.
But when war cos, even the clan-trained are just cannon fodder too.
What, you think you can avoid the war? Keep your clan off the battlefield?
When that ti cos, each clan fighting on its own and getting picked off one by one is an inevitable outco.
Otherwise, why would all the other nations follow Konoha’s lead and create their own ninja academies?
Of course, none of them could see that right now.
They stubbornly believed their own ways were superior.
Still, not wanting to offend the Hokage, they reluctantly followed the policy by sending a few clan mbers to enroll.
Those sent were basically half-abandoned by the clan—though the family would offer so compensation.
Why "half-abandoned"? Because if you weren’t raised within the clan, you wouldn’t build bonds with kids your age.
Once those sa-age clan mbers grew up, no matter what opportunities arose, they wouldn’t think of you.
In the current era, enrolling in the Ninja Academy was basically a sign that your clan didn’t care about you.
And most of the kids sent in this way were orphans—easier to push around when you had no backing.
Really, every world is the sa. People always squeeze the softest fruit.
But for Uchiha Hikaru, joining the academy was actually a good thing—not even counting the hidden benefits that ca with it.
He’d been struggling to find a way to approach certain key individuals, especially Tsunade. And Uchiha and Senju relations weren’t exactly friendly.
If he just boldly walked up to Tsunade, he might very well get strung up by the Senju and whipped.
So the ssage Uchiha Noboru brought was like getting a pillow when you’re drowsy.
After all, based on ani intel, Tsunade, Orochimaru, and Jiraiya would all attend the academy.
Even White Fang’s Hatake clan wasn’t so huge noble family. According to his estimate, Hatake Sakumo should also be enrolled around now.
Joining the academy gave Hikaru a legitimate excuse to interact with these future stars.
So when he heard Noboru’s words, he couldn’t help but smile.
Not only did it give him a plan for executing his strategy, but it also ca with a generous reward.
Even those Uchiha clan mbers he used to find annoying seed much more lovable now.
Suppressing his inner joy, Hikaru put on a slightly downcast face and asked dejectedly:
"Is the clan abandoning ?"
Uchiha Noboru panicked for a mont—completely lacking the usual Uchiha pride.
After all, Hikaru was only six years old. When a kid that age looks up at you all teary-eyed—and you know he just lost the most important person in his life—well, anyone with a shred of conscience would feel uneasy.
Noboru hurried to explain:
"No, no! Of course not! The clan would never abandon you."
"You can still co back for lessons during breaks or after school. It won’t affect things too much."
Naturally, this wasn’t what Hikaru really wanted. Seeing Noboru flustered, he decided to fully commit to the act.
He quickly made his eyes water, stood up, looked up with trembling lips, and asked pitifully:
"Really? Then... could I maybe get a little more compensation? Like... could you give so dical knowledge too?"
Now even more flustered, Noboru blurted out his agreent.
"Yes, yes! I have so basic dical materials—I’ll personally bring them to you as an extra gift. But... what do you need those for?"
Saying this, Noboru cald down a bit and looked at Hikaru in confusion.
But rather than panic, Hikaru doubled down on the performance.
"Uncle, I want to beco a dical ninja—to heal everyone. That way, no one will die, and they can all go ho to their families."
As the words left his mouth, two shimring tears rolled down Hikaru’s cheeks, stinging Noboru right in the heart.
Noboru walked up and gently patted Hikaru’s head, comforting him for a long mont before saying:
"You’re a good kid. Don’t worry—I’ll bring the dical texts over tonight."
"Thank you... Uncle."
Hikaru wiped his tears, sniffling as he bowed his head in gratitude.
Any Oscar-winning actor would’ve clapped and said: Give that golden statue to Hikaru right now.
After a while, once Hikaru had cald down, Noboru got up to leave.
When he reached the door, he paused and looked back at Hikaru for a mont. He didn’t say anything—just gave him a small nod and left.
Hikaru, however, frowned.
He had the feeling that Noboru might have seen through sothing—but wasn’t certain.
Still, he didn’t overthink it.
After all, asking for dical materials wasn’t an unreasonable request.
Even if his act had been seen through, the worst-case scenario was Noboru disliking him.
But for so reason, Hikaru felt that this Uchiha—who wasn’t in the original story, who behaved so differently from the rest—might end up playing a key role in his future plans.
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