“Itachi, you’ve gone too far.”
At dawn, within the Uchiha compound, in the courtyard of the clan head’s residence, the atmosphere was tense.
Itachi knelt silently on the floor, accepting his father’s reprimand. The stubbornness on his young face showed clearly that he still believed he had done the right thing. Even if his parents disapproved, he would endure it—for the sake of friendship.
After that drink, he and Hakken were true friends.
But he had underestimated just how strong the drink was. When he returned ho and tried to sneak so water, he ended up falling asleep right there in the living room, only waking now.
The liquor was strong, but the taste lingered in his mory.
There was nothing else to it.
Since the day his father had brought him back from the battlefield, Itachi hadn’t slept this soundly in a long ti. It was pure relief.
To spend ti thinking of nothing at all—it was happiness.
Even sleep felt peaceful.
He didn’t wake in the night questioning the aning of life. He didn’t wonder why Father’s gaze faltered whenever he looked toward the village. He didn’t hear the voices outside whispering about the Uchiha.
And these were things he could never explain to his father. He could only endure his reproach.
Still, when it ca to drinking, it was best not to repeat it. That much, Itachi understood.
“Enough. Let’s put this matter behind us. I called you here for sothing else.”
Fugaku’s anger gradually faded as he looked at his son. His wife was pregnant; there was no need to scold their promising child too harshly in front of her.
“The Ninja Academy will begin its new round of admissions soon. I’ve already enrolled you.”
“Rember, outside these walls, you carry the Uchiha na. You represent the clan.”
He gave Itachi a firm pat on the shoulder.
“Yes, Father. I understand.”
Itachi nodded, though a fleeting confusion flashed in his eyes.
I understand?
Do I really understand?
Maybe.
Why does the clan only ever think of itself, and not of the whole?
He couldn’t understand.
Uchiha—aren’t we the Uchiha of Konoha?
...
At a training ground in Konoha, Hakken swung his sword again and again, striking the wooden post as if venting his emotions.
Yet the fervor on his face showed he was enjoying every chanical slash.
The Daily Mission had refreshed.
Today’s task gave Hakken an unexpected delight.
Two thousand strikes.
The reward: 0.2% template progress.
Once completed, he would hold 3% of Zaraki Kenpachi’s power.
Of course, mastery and actual use were very different things. At his age, the strength he could truly bring out was still severely limited. That was why training his will and body through this endless slashing was so necessary.
To Hakken, these daily missions were no longer just tasks, but the very foundation and process of his growth.
Even so, among children his age, his strength was already unmatched. Calling him peerless among his peers was no exaggeration.
“So why do you have to drag along?”
During a brief pause, Hakken turned to glance at Anko, who was sitting on a stone nearby, resting her chin in her hand as she watched him.
There was no doubt—Anko’s teacher was Orochimaru.
The undisputed scientist of the shinobi world.
A man who pursued immortality and obsessed over the study of ninjutsu.
Orochimaru’s value was beyond question.
Just look at how much Konoha had changed after Naruto beca Hokage—technology had advanced so far, they had even built trains. Absurd.
“Are you dumb? Orochimaru-sama is one of the Legendary Sannin! If I bring you along and he happens to take an interest in you, maybe he’ll teach you a few techniques. Who knows, he might even take you in as well.”
Anko rolled her eyes.
This ti, the usually brash girl was showing genuine concern for her brother.
Orochimaru.
Opportunities to be guided by him were rare.
“Oh.”
But the reaction she expected—excitent, joy—never ca.
Her brother kept on with his task, calm and unshaken.
Draw, slash, sheath.
Repeating the sa motion over and over.
The prospect of Orochimaru’s guidance didn’t stir him in the slightest.
As if it mattered.
Did Orochimaru’s ninjutsu an anything to him?
With his system, Hakken needed no teacher.
He was the King of Normal Attacks.
No need for anything flashy.
As for chakra, spiritual pressure, or his physical constitution—once he unlocked 5% of Zaraki Kenpachi’s template, the system’s normal attack trait would give him the answers.
That’s what the system spirit had told him.
In short, he needed no master.
No one in this world was worthy to teach him.
All he had to do was keep swinging. The more he slashed, the stronger he would beco. It was that simple.
“Good spirit.”
Suddenly, a cold voice filled with interest sounded from behind.
Hakken’s hand faltered for a split second before resuming its steady rhythm of slashes.
Orochimaru was standing there.
Clearly, he had been watching for so ti, simply waiting to reveal himself.
“A fine little brat.”
His tongue slid out, deliberately licking in a way that made one’s stomach turn. Orochimaru’s gaze carried a dangerous wildness as it fell upon Hakken Yoru, who continued to slash without pause.
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