The dojo floor glimmered faintly with the sheen of oil lamps, their light flickering across polished blades. Hatake Shaku's voice rang sharp and firm, cutting through the air like steel drawn from its sheath.
"Watch closely! Hatake-ryū swordsmanship is fast, precise, and merciless! You strike to kill, and you strike without hesitation!" His hands moved fluently across the length of White Fang, blade flashing as he demonstrated. His stance shifted, each transition deliberate, every swing cutting into the air with clean angles. "The key to slaying your opponent lies entirely in your ability to target their weakness. One well-placed strike can end everything."
He pivoted smoothly, his body darting forward in a blistering frontal charge that seemed to split the air itself. "This—this is the Konoha-ryū. Lord Tobirama himself popularized this style throughout the village. Straightforward, direct, unstoppable. As Tobirama's water-style jutsu carved streams through mountains, his sword cut through everything in his path. The frontal assault… this is its essence!"
Shaku's voice carried the weight of authority. More importantly, his movements carried decades of battlefield discipline. Not a single step, grip, or swing was glossed over. His instructions were meticulous, every detail accounted for.
And unlike with others, he gave Shigure his everything.
It was not difficult to guess why. Shigure—Uchiha Shigure now in name and blood—was Sarutobi Hiruzen's disciple. His potential was undeniable, his growth terrifyingly rapid. The boy had not only inherited the Sharingan but also demonstrated the Uzumaki clan's instinctive sensory perception. Genius was one thing; genius backed by clear drive and character was another. To Shaku, it felt only natural to entrust Shigure with the distilled essence of Hatake swordsmanship.
That, and Shigure now wielded both the Hatake short sword—White Fang—and his own strange new blade, the meteorite-forged weapon that bore his name. For Shigure, Shaku had split open the core jewels of both the Konoha-ryū and Hatake-ryū, passing them down as though entrusting life itself.
Beside him, Kusuo Hatake, his son and Shigure's rival teammate, concentrated hard. Raised in the Hatake household and hand-fed by his father's teachings since childhood, Kusuo naturally grasped the larger points swiftly—yet, small details still slipped past him, like sand through clenched fists.
Shigure, however—Shigure absorbed everything. His gaze burned with three spinning tomoe in the depths of his Sharingan, every movement of Shaku's blade captured and internalized. His strikes replicated the demonstration with unnerving accuracy. His innate sensory field allowed him to read timing and weight as though the sword sang directly to him.
Blade by blade, swing by swing, he adjusted. His small frame adapted to stances meant for fully grown shinobi, trimming movements down to compact power. He did not merely copy. He reshaped.
It wasn't long before the young Uchiha had folded both Konoha-ryū and Hatake-ryū into his own rhythm, practicing tirelessly, sweat rolling down his jaw as his swords carved fluid arcs across the dojo.
Kusuo couldn't believe what he was seeing. "How—how can you grasp both styles so quickly!? That… that isn't even genius anymore!"
For a son of the Hatake clan, who had swung a sword since before he could walk, it was a hard pill to swallow. He clenched his fists, eyes wide, unable to deny the reality before him.
Even Shaku himself faltered. Watching the boy's swordplay deepen, evolve, perfect itself—it was as though Shigure had slipped into another realm entirely.
"This boy… he's immersed himself in the very essence of the sword." Shaku rubbed his beard, face hardening with awe. "At such a young age… I underestimated him."
"Don't disturb him," Shaku whispered when Kusuo stepped closer. "He's entered a state of selflessness. Let him be."
Kusuo bit his lip, but nodded. "Yes, Father."
Time slipped. With each flick of wrist, each pivot of stance, Shigure's dual blades seemed to shed their borrowed motions, forging something all his own.
Then, Shaku's eyes widened in shock. "That… that form—those aren't my teachings! That is not Konoha-ryū, nor Hatake-ryū. That's—" His breath caught in his throat. "Uchiha swordsmanship…? Kagami's school? I never showed him this…"
As the realization hit, teacher and son alike could only stand frozen, watching the boy's flowing dance of steel.
Finally, Shigure let out a fierce shout, twin blades halting mid-swing before sliding smoothly back into their scabbards. The dojo's heavy silence fell around them. He straightened, chest heaving, eyes bright.
He turned sheepishly. "Senior Shaku, really… your swordsmanship is incredible. That training—super useful." His words were simple and genuine, awkward only because of the stunned way both Hatakes were staring at him.
"W-why are you looking at me like that? …Wait—it's late already?"
Glancing outside, Shigure saw the lanterns lit, heard the storm of evening insects. Stars had risen unnoticed while he trained.
Shaku broke the silence with a laugh, clapping Shigure's shoulder hard. "You're something else, boy. In one day, you've distilled two great schools into your own sword path. From this moment, I can say you truly stand at the threshold as a master of sword and blade alike."
Shigure bowed his head in silent gratitude, even as Shaku's expression hardened again.
"But killing one or two enemies means little. Don't mistake this. You're still missing something vital. A barrier I cannot instruct you past. That… you must find on your own."
Shigure understood the finality in his tone, so he leaned forward and offered a proper disciple's bow. "Hatake Shaku, I will never forget your kindness and guidance."
Shaku waved it off gruffly but tilted his head. "While you were immersed in training, a Hyūga clan servant came, asking for you. He seemed… urgent. Mentioned something about your mother."
Shigure froze. "My… mother?"
He remembered Hizashi-sensei hinting at something before. Heart quickening, he nodded. "I see. Thank you, Shaku-sensei."
"If trouble comes, don't forget—the Hatake clan stands behind you."
The words struck him deeply. Whatever Shaku's reasons, they rang with conviction. Shigure bowed low, gratitude clear in every motion. "Understood."
He turned on his heel, giving parting words to Kusuo and Shaku before leaving the dojo.
The Hatake hall fell quiet after his departure. Kusuo looked up to his father, voice tight. "What did you mean before—that he's just one step away from mastery?"
Shaku folded his arms. "That missing piece is battle. He's still young; he must carve this path in war. Only then will he complete his blade."
"…And me? How far am I from surpassing him?" Kusuo asked bitterly.
Shaku sighed. "For you as well, the answer lies in diligence and battlefield scars. You must keep training. There are no shortcuts."
Outside, night draped over the village. Shigure blurred across rooftops with the Shunshin no Jutsu, the world thinning and folding around his speed until he stood before the Hyūga compound.
The Hyūga estate remained serene in its traditional grandeur—simple yet imposing, lanterns glowing against wood and stone. From the courtyard came the sound of fists breaking air, precise breaths carried into the night.
On the practice field, Hyūga Hizashi stood alone, body shifting with crisp control as he struck invisible foes into silence.
"Lord Hizashi, Uchiha Shigure has arrived," a servant announced.
Hizashi lowered his stance, exhaling before signaling dismissal. As the servant departed, the elder Hyūga turned his pale eyes onto Shigure, cold sharpness softening ever so slightly.
"Hizashi-sensei." Shigure bowed lightly. "It's been a while. How may I serve this time?"
Though he already suspected, Shigure asked the question deliberately, gauging Hizashi's reaction.
The corners of Hizashi's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "Smart boy. You don't tread blindly."
He stepped forward, gaze steady.
"Shigure… this time, I will entrust to you the essence of the Hyūga's secret arts. If you master them—if you wield Byakugan and jūken as a true child of our clan—then you may challenge for acknowledgment. Prove yourself, and the Hyūga clan will accept you fully."
Shigure's breath caught. His hands curled into fists as a different kind of anticipation seized him.
At last, everything was pointing toward the truth of his bloodline.
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