These snacks weren't 'bought' by Makoto to give to him, they were clearly for the guy's own cravings.
No wonder, out of this huge pile of snacks, there wasn't a single one he liked… they were all Makoto's favorites!
Remembering how he had carried this heavy load from the snack shop at the easternmost part of the clan's compound all the way to the Taijutsu training ground at the westernmost end, his arms still aching and numb, Sasuke's entire face contorted with anger.
His gaze swept over the surrounding bluestone ground. A half-curled dead leaf was still embedded in the wooden post at the edge of the training ground.
'Taijutsu training ground?'
Sasuke snorted inwardly, his eyes scanning Makoto, who was leisurely eating snacks. His fists clenched even tighter.
The sunlight warmed him. A smirk tugged at Sasuke's lips as he prepared to spar with Makoto later, 'Just Taijutsu! I, Uchiha Uchiha, feared no one my age, practically invincible among my peers!'
'Even the one hailed as the future of the Uchiha Clan, Uchiha Makoto, he, Uchiha Sasuke, was not the least bit afraid!'
Thinking this, images of Makoto being beaten to the ground by him and begging for mercy already flashed through Sasuke's mind.
"Hahaha…"
Lost too deeply in his fantasy, he couldn't hold back, and a laugh, like a leaky tire, escaped.
The laughter carried a bit of childishness but already had a touch of the flair of the Uchiha Maniacs.
Hearing the familiar manic laughter, Makoto turned to look, his gaze coincidentally landing on Sasuke's face. The kid's face instantly flushed bright red.
Spreading from his ears all the way to his neck, Sasuke now wished he could find a hole to crawl into.
He hurriedly looked up, pretending to study the clouds in the sky, but his ears were perked up like two radar dishes, terrified that Makoto would whisper about him.
The wicker chair creaked, probably Makoto had shifted position.
Sasuke's heart rate instantly skyrocketed, like a frantic rabbit was trapped in his chest. He was both afraid the other would mock him and faintly hoping for a word, even teasing would do...
But after waiting for what felt like ages, there wasn't a sound from behind.
Only the crisp sound of potato chips continued to tap leisurely against the air.
Sasuke stole a glance back out of the corner of his eye. Makoto's gaze had long since returned to the center of the training ground, he simply didn't care.
'Damn it!' Sasuke clenched his fists tightly, preparing to have a good spar with Makoto later. They would determine who was superior, and settle it once and for all!!
Makoto continued watching the two girls sparring on the Taijutsu training ground. One of them, he was quite familiar with.
The girl was named Uchiha Izumi. Her father was not a member of the Uchiha Clan. After witnessing her father's death during the Kyubi Rampage, Izumi awakened her Sharingan.
Her talent was quite remarkable. According to the original plot, she awakened the Three Tomoe Sharingan at just thirteen years old, and then... that was it. She died at thirteen...
A beautiful flower destroyed, roots and all, before it could even begin to bloom.
…
After Izumi's father died, her mother, Uchiha Hazuki, brought her back to the Uchiha Clan, changing their surname to Uchiha. She had been ostracized by the Uchiha Clan's members since childhood.
Even after awakening the Sharingan, no one taught her how to use it properly, the same treatment Sasuke received later in the original work.
Makoto, however, got along very well with her because, unlike other Uchiha, he had always liked pretty older sisters since he was little.
The sparring on the training ground grew more intense, carrying a faint wisp of fragrance. Makoto's gaze settled on Izumi.
Her jet-black hair was tied into a loose ponytail at the back of her head, swaying gently with her kicking motions. The ends of her hair brushed against the hem of her purple short jacket, stirring a faint, elusive scent of gardenia.
The small tear mole at the lower right corner of her eye was like a red bean fallen on snow, exceptionally conspicuous against her fair skin.
Her already delicate features were made even more lively by this tear mole, like an ink wash painting freshly finished by a master's wolf-hair brush, every stroke perfect.
And that tear mole was the finishing touch, the stroke that brought the painting to life.
Right now, those beautiful eyes were shimmering with a crimson light.
The Sharingan spun rapidly within her pupils, breaking down her opponent's movements into countless minute fragments.
Izumi could always precisely catch the moment in her opponent's force exertion, that most awkward, most difficult time to change moves, and deliver a light palm strike or a kick.
Not seeking heavy impact, only aiming to accurately disrupt the opponent's rhythm.
Like fingers plucking strings, seemingly gentle, yet firmly controlling the melody of the entire piece.
The girl sparring with her was considerably older than Izumi, the red glow of the Sharingan also floating in her eyes, but her movements grew increasingly stiff, like a rusty mechanical puppet.
Clearly the same Kekkei Genkai, but in Izumi's hands, it played out in a completely different style.
Her steps shifted, turned, leaped, and dodged, sometimes like a butterfly flitting through flowers, sometimes like a nimble cat pouncing on a mouse, as if performing a graceful dance.
Every move matched her opponent's breathing rhythm, turning the entire battlefield into her own stage.
Makoto, chin in hand, watched intently. He couldn't help but recall Madara's dance moves, musing inwardly.
'I must find an opportunity to properly exchange pointers dance moves with Uchiha Madara someday.'
'I could learn some Taijutsu from Izumi. Itachi and Shisui excel at Ninjutsu and Genjutsu, while Izumi's strongest suit is Taijutsu.'
Just as Makoto was pondering, a dull thud came from the training ground.
Izumi, using the momentum of her spinning body, drove her elbow like an iron pestle into her opponent's side. The move was clean, like a sharp knife cutting through tangled hemp, without the slightest hesitation.
The girl grunted and retreated three steps, clutching her stomach and frowning.
Izumi had already steadied herself, her chest rising and falling lightly with her breath.
The strands of hair on her forehead were stuck to her smooth skin by sweat, like ink stains blurred by water.
She raised the back of her hand to wipe her face. When her fingertips brushed past the tear mole, she thought inwardly: 'As expected, only sparring with older opponents yields gains.'
As Izumi walked off the training ground, sweat dripped continuously, leaving a trail of faint wet marks at her feet.
She instinctively glanced around the sidelines. Clan members were either bowing their heads wiping wooden swords with cloths or turning away to adjust their arm guards. Not a single extra glance came her way.
Even though her clean, spinning elbow strike had been a clear victory, the training ground was so quiet you could hear the wind rolling dead leaves across the ground.
Not a single person applauded her victory...
Seeing this, Izumi frowned slightly, her fingertips unconsciously tightening on the hem of her purple short jacket.
The fabric, damp with sweat, was slightly wrinkled, much like her current mood… all because she only had half Uchiha blood.
From the day she returned to the clan, she had been like a black stone in a bowl of white rice, never able to blend in.
Makoto, sitting in the wicker chair, watched this scene. For some reason, he suddenly thought of Madara's feelings when he left Konoha back then, as it seemed roughly the same.
Makoto suddenly stood up.
Clap.
Clap.
Two crisp claps echoed through the empty and quiet training ground, like two drops of hot oil hitting ice water, instantly shattering the stagnant air.
Hearing the applause, Izumi whirled around and met a pair of eyes curved in a smile.
The sunlight was falling on Makoto's hair, plating it with a golden edge, like a little sun radiating light. He was clapping, the sound of his palms meeting not loud, but it seemed to strike everyone's eardrums present, carrying an undeniable force.
Izumi was stunned for a moment, the shadows cast by her long eyelashes trembling slightly.
Then the corners of her mouth curved upwards, even the tear mole at the corner of her eye seeming to curve with it.
That smile was like the first trickle of meltwater dripping from the eaves when the snow thaws in early spring, or like mountain cherries on a branch, holding back all winter, finally quietly pushing open their petal tips, carrying an indescribable freshness and sweetness.
Her memory of Makoto was deep. They had known each other since the night of the Kyubi Rampage, when Makoto and Sasuke were still being held in Itachi's arms.
When Makoto saw her back then, he crawled towards her chest, and Itachi couldn't hold him back no matter what.
Later, after returning to the clan with her mother, Uchiha Hazuki, she was ostracized by many clan members because of her mixed blood.
Only the Clan Head's family didn't reject her, and Makoto often played with her.
Makoto smiled back at her, raised the drink bottle in his hand, and gestured for her to come share it.
The clansmen at the sidelines were collectively stunned for a moment.
After clearly seeing it was Makoto applauding, their eyes gradually became more animated.
A few youths who had been stony-faced earlier also quietly raised their hands and clapped a couple of times, their movements as awkward as if they were learning hand seals for the first time.
A few older clan members exchanged glances, their originally cold, hard mouths relaxing slightly, the exclusion in their eyes when looking at Izumi lessening a bit.
The Uchiha Clan had always admired strength.
Although Makoto wasn't a strong person yet due to his young age, as long as he didn't die young, his talent would inevitably lead the clan to prosperity again in the future!
Moreover, over half a year ago, that scene where Makoto furiously rebuked Danzo was witnessed by almost all the clan's strong members...
Even now, recalling it makes their blood boil.
If not for Makoto's age being too young, he would have long been pushed into the Clan Head's position. As for Uchiha Fugaku? Who was that? They weren't familiar.
Izumi walked over to Makoto, bringing with her a faint scent of gardenia.
The two sat side-by-side on the wicker chair. Makoto unscrewed the drink and handed it over. Izumi took it and took a small sip. As the cool liquid slid down her throat, a faint pink crept up the tips of her ears.
Izumi remembered again how Makoto had peed on the Sandaime Hokage's face over half a year ago, and even her cheeks flushed slightly.
"That elbow strike earlier was pretty good. Teach me when you have time."
Makoto casually tossed the empty drink bottle into a nearby bamboo basket, his tone offhand.
He had practiced the 'Otsutsuki Elbow Strike' in his previous life and had some understanding, but it was far inferior to Izumi's move just now. (T/N: It's actually a meme in China. When Urashiki is fighting Sasuke, he could have used Ninjutsu to push Sasuke away, but he chose to use a very simple elbow strike to do so. That's why it's called Otsutsuki Elbow Strike.)