Night settled quietly over the Uchiha district.
Inside his residence, Uchiha Yoru sat cross-legged on the floor, breathing slow and controlled. Chakra circulated through his body in carefully measured waves, threading through his tenketsu with unfamiliar ease.
Then came the pain.
It was sharp, invasive, and all-encompassing. His muscles tightened, nerves screamed, and his chakra pathways flared as if scorched from the inside. Yoru clenched his teeth and forced himself to remain still, riding out the sensation rather than resisting it.
The agony passed as quickly as it came.
Less than two minutes later, his breathing steadied.
Yoru opened his eyes and exhaled.
"So it works," he murmured.
The change was undeniable.
This was not a bloodline awakening. No sudden mutation. No miraculous leap.It was refinement.
His body felt denser. Stronger. Chakra moved faster, smoother, as if resistance had been shaved away from every pathway.
Yoru flexed his fingers slowly.
"The key isn't raw bloodline inheritance," he concluded. "It's specialization."
The Third Raikage had been terrifying not because of a kekkei genkai, but because his body itself had been honed beyond normal human limits. Stamina, durability, chakra volume, and lightning affinity, all pushed to absurd extremes through natural aptitude and relentless conditioning.
What Yoru had gained was not imitation, but direction.
At the same time, something else had changed.
He raised his hands and formed seals.
Fast.
Not just physically fast. The chakra followed instantly, snapping into position with precision that would have taken years of repetition to achieve under normal circumstances.
Hand seals were not about finger speed. They were about how quickly chakra could be mobilized, shaped, and stabilized across multiple pathways at once.
Most shinobi hit a natural ceiling.
Kakashi Hatake never did.
At twelve, Kakashi had created an A-rank technique. By adulthood, his seal execution bordered on absurd. Jutsu flowed from him almost reflexively, as if his body no longer needed conscious correction.
Yoru felt that same clarity now.
Not mastery, but potential fully unlocked.
He slowly formed another sequence, more complex this time. The chakra obeyed without lag, without turbulence.
"This level of control…" he said quietly. "I can learn techniques most jonin struggle with."
A faint reflection caught his eye in the window.
His Sharingan had changed.
Two tomoe now rotated steadily within each iris, calm and stable.
Yoru nodded to himself.
A bloodline evolution always brought explosive improvement. That alone was enough to justify the sudden increase in chakra efficiency and perception. No one would question it. No one could.
And the deeper changes? Those would reveal themselves only over time.
"Perfect," he said softly.
Even without further Sharingan development, this foundation alone could carry him to elite jonin territory. With it, he could absorb Orochimaru's teachings at a pace that wouldn't raise suspicion.
That mattered more than raw power.
The village, meanwhile, moved on.
Orochimaru's return caused no visible shockwaves. No upheaval. No celebration.
Instead, reports from the borders flooded in.
Sarutobi Shinnosuke's command along the Lightning Country front was praised openly. The Water Country border, jointly managed by the Hyuga and Uchiha, was declared stable.
Konoha, shaken half a year earlier by the Nine-Tails disaster, appeared to be healing.
And the narrative was clear.
It was the Third Hokage who had steadied the village.The Third Hokage who had guided Konoha back to order.The Third Hokage whose wisdom had preserved peace.
The Sannin were… quieter now.
Tsunade was absent. Jiraiya wandered. Orochimaru rarely appeared in public at all.
At the Ninja Academy, the story had already settled into certainty.
"Under the Third Hokage's leadership," an instructor declared passionately, "the village overcame chaos and reclaimed stability. His achievements surpass those of any Hokage before him."
The classroom buzzed with admiration.
Children listened with shining eyes, absorbing the words without question.
Only one student remained silent.
Uchiha Itachi.
At six years old, he sat perfectly still, hands folded, eyes lowered in thought.
He had seen the front lines.
He had heard Shisui speak of command structures, of pressure, of the man who had held the borders together while the village trembled.
Orochimaru-sama was the commander, Itachi thought.So why…
Why was his name fading?
Why did no one mention him now?
Where had the credit gone?
The question lodged itself deep in the boy's mind, heavy and unresolved.
"—Itachi-kun."
A soft voice broke his thoughts.
He turned to see a small girl beside him, posture tense, fingers twisting together. The Uchiha crest was stitched neatly on the back of her shirt.
"Since the front is stable now," she asked hesitantly, "does that mean… Yoru-sama has returned too?"
Itachi nodded once.
"Yes. Yoru-nii-san is back."
Her face brightened instantly.
Sunlight filtered through the classroom window, illuminating the red-and-white fan emblem on her back.
Itachi looked away, thoughtful.
Unaware of it himself, he had already stepped onto a path different from the one fate had prepared.