The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Uchiha training ground, the air thick with the scent of pine resin and turned earth. Instructor Shin's voice cut through the murmur of children. "Form a line! Demonstrate what you've learned. Genyu," he added, his tone softening slightly as he handed five cold, steel shuriken to the small boy, "you'll go last. Deep breaths. First attempts are about feeling the throw, not perfection." Shin's assessment was pragmatic – Genyu's earlier declaration of instant mastery reeked of inexperience. He expected wild throws, maybe a blade stuck harmlessly in the dirt.
One by one, the children stepped forward. A nervous six-year-old managed two hits out of five, one grazing the outer ring of the bullseye. Respectable for his age. Others followed – some showing promise, others clumsiness. Izumi moved with graceful precision, her five shuriken striking with satisfying thunks: three dead center, two close. A ripple of appreciation went through the onlookers. Then came Sasuke. At barely three, his focus was intense, tiny brows furrowed. With surprising coordination, he landed two shuriken near the bullseye and hit all five posts. Murmurs of "Fugaku's son" and "talent runs deep" followed him back to Itachi's side.
"Itachi," Shin called, his voice carrying a note of expectation. "Show them."
All movement ceased. Every eye, wide with anticipation, locked onto the clan's prodigy. Even the breeze seemed to still. Genyu watched, his double-pupiled gaze sharp and analytical. Let's measure this 'genius,' he thought, a flicker of challenge beneath his calm exterior. How much of it is real, and how much is clan hype?
Itachi stepped into the designated area, his movements economical, devoid of wasted energy. There was no flourish, no unnecessary tension – just pure, focused potential. With a motion so fluid it seemed part of his anatomy, his wrist flicked. Five shuriken fanned out across his palm like the petals of a lethal steel flower. Another flick, almost too fast to follow. The blades became streaks of silver in the dying light.
THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!
Five impacts, sharp and final, resonating in the sudden silence. Five shuriken stood embedded, vibrating slightly, each dead center in its target's heart. Perfect symmetry. Perfect lethality.
The precision was breathtaking. Shin felt a familiar mix of awe and professional resignation; this boy would eclipse his teachers before his next birthday. Tetsu simply shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. Sasuke's small chest swelled with pride, his eyes shining like stars. "Amazing, big brother! I'll be that strong!" he breathed, the words a fervent vow.
The dam broke. "Incredible!" "Itachi-nii is the best!" "Genius!" The children's voices rose in a chorus of adulation. Izumi watched Itachi, admiration clear in her gaze, tinged with something softer. Itachi, however, remained an island of stillness amidst the fervor. He turned away, his face a mask of cool detachment, already distancing himself from the predictable praise. The noise seemed to wash over him, leaving no mark. Perhaps it had become mere static.
"Genyu," Shin said, breaking the spell. "Your turn."
Genyu accepted the five shuriken. They felt substantial in his small hands, the polished steel cool and heavy. For a typical three-year-old, merely lifting one might be a struggle, let throwing it ten meters with intent. But Genyu's body was no ordinary vessel. Weeks of relentless chakra absorption, channeling raw energy through his pathways, had forged nascent strength. His muscles, fed by mountains of protein, hummed with dense, coiled power. He felt it thrumming beneath his skin, a reservoir waiting to be tapped.
He walked to the line, the packed earth firm under his sandals. First shuriken. He mimicked Shin's earlier demonstration – feet planted, shoulder squared, elbow bent. He gauged the distance to the first post, a simple calculation unfolding behind his unique eyes. Then, with a grunt of effort that seemed too large for his frame, he hurled it.
WHOOOSH!
The blade didn't arc; it screamed. It missed the first post by a clear two feet, a silver blur that tore through the air with terrifying velocity. It struck a thick pine tree trunk twenty meters behind the targets with a sickening, deep CRUNCH!, embedding itself over halfway to the hilt. Wood splinters rained down.
Tetsu, who had been casually moving towards the back to collect stray throws, froze mid-step. His face drained of color, a cold sweat instantly slicking his skin. He slowly, shakily, raised a hand to touch the top of his head. The displaced air from the passing shuriken still tingled his scalp. He turned stiffly, staring at the deeply embedded blade vibrating in the pine tree, then back at Genyu. The boy offered a small, apologetic smile, utterly incongruous with the destructive power he'd just unleashed. Gods above... was that deliberate? The raw kinetic force required to drive a shuriken that deep, that far... it spoke of wrist and forearm strength easily matching a seasoned Chunin. But the aim... hopeless.
A wave of nervous giggles and pointed whispers swept through the children. "Missed by a mile!" "See? Monster strength, no skill!" "Scary!"
Itachi's previously impassive expression tightened almost imperceptibly. A flicker of genuine surprise – quickly banked – crossed his features before settling into a deeper layer of disdain. Brute force alone, he dismissed internally, his Sharingan subtly active, analyzing the throw's trajectory and power. Predictable. Unrefined. In a real engagement, his lack of control would be his end. Three moves. No more. His confidence reasserted itself, cold and absolute.
"Ha! Just getting a feel for the weight!" Genyu called out, his voice bright and unbothered. He picked up the second shuriken. This time, his focus shifted. He consciously reined in the torrent of physical power, recalling Shin's precise instructions on grip and release. His double pupils tracked the minute adjustments in his own tendons and joints. He threw.
THUD!
It struck the second post – solid hit, but low and left of center. A respectable five out of ten, perhaps. Shin nodded slowly. Beginner's luck mixed with terrifying strength. He's raw, but there's... something.
"Still dialing it in!" Genyu announced, almost cheerfully, selecting the third shuriken. He took a deliberate breath, his unusual eyes narrowing slightly. This time, it wasn't just mimicry. His pupils seemed to absorb the geometry of the space, the distance, the target's position, integrating Shin's lesson and Itachi's lethal demonstration. He saw the path. Muscle memory, nascent but guided by an extraordinary visual processor, took over. He threw, not with overwhelming force, but with smooth, controlled intent.
THUNK!
The sound was different – cleaner, final. The third shuriken stood quivering, dead center in the bullseye of the third post.
Silence. Thicker than before. The nervous giggles died instantly. Shin's eyebrows shot up. Tetsu stopped rubbing his head, his mouth slightly agape. Even the dismissive whispers ceased. Itachi's analytical gaze sharpened, the faint crimson of his Sharingan pulsing slightly. One perfect throw... after two wild ones? Probability? Or...?
A slow, satisfied smile touched Genyu's lips. He wasn't finished. He scooped up the final two shuriken. His small fingers moved with sudden, uncanny dexterity. With a flick of his wrist, he fanned the two blades across his palm – not clumsily, but with a fluid, economical grace that was chillingly familiar. It was an exact, mirror-image replica of Itachi's own signature flourish moments before.
"Impossible." The word escaped Itachi's lips, a bare whisper, but it carried in the sudden stillness like a thunderclap. His carefully constructed mask of detached superiority shattered. His dark eyes widened, genuine shock and disbelief flooding his features. The grip, the precise angle of the blades against his small fingers, the subtle roll of his wrist distributing their weight – it was his technique. A technique honed through countless hours of solitary practice, refined over years. Displayed publicly for the first time minutes ago.
Shin's breath hitched. Tetsu took an involuntary step back. They recognized the motion instantly, flawlessly executed. He saw it once... The implication was staggering, world-breaking. He couldn't have... not like this...
Before the collective disbelief could fully crystallize, before Itachi could process the violation of his unique skill being so effortlessly appropriated, Genyu's small arm snapped forward. Not with Itachi's economy, but with a focused power all his own.
SWIISH! SWIISH!
Two silver streaks lanced across the training ground.
THUNK! THUNK!
The impacts were simultaneous, decisive. The fourth and fifth shuriken slammed into the centers of their respective targets, buried deep beside their predecessors, forming a perfect, mocking mirror to Itachi's own earlier quintet of bullseyes.
Absolute Silence.Time froze. The training ground became a tableau of stunned immobility. The breeze returned, rustling leaves, the only sound in a world holding its breath. The adulation that had washed over Itachi moments before was gone, replaced by a vacuum of pure shock, now directed entirely at the small figure standing calmly before the targets. Shin stared, his mind struggling to reconcile the image of a three-year-old with the impossible feat he'd just witnessed. Tetsu simply gaped, his near-decapitation forgotten.
Itachi stood rigid. His face, usually so controlled, was a battlefield of conflicting emotions – shock, disbelief, a dawning, horrifying realization, and beneath it all, a spark of something perilously close to fear. His knuckles were white where his fists were clenched at his sides, hidden within his sleeves. His Sharingan spun wildly, unconsciously, desperately scanning Genyu, seeking any flaw, any trick, any explanation that didn't defy everything he understood about talent, training, and the nature of power. He found none. The evidence was embedded in the wood before him.
Genyu lowered his arm, dusted his small hands together with an air of casual finality, and turned to Shin. "Can I have a snack now?" His stomach chose that moment to emit a loud, plaintive growl, shattering the suffocating silence with jarring, childish normalcy.