The second blade cost 46,000 ryo. It felt average noticeably heavier than the last one, and it didn't suit him.
The third… A few minutes later, all five shinobi swords had passed through Uchiha Gen's hands.
Overall, aside from one being a bit too heavy, the five blades were fairly similar in quality. Since these swords would be obsolete soon anyway, Gen didn't fuss; he simply picked the one that felt best.
His wallet instantly lightened by 47,000 ryo.
With the new sword in tow, Gen stopped at another shop and spent 3,000 ryo on premium tobacco and two delicate yet affordable bracelets, bringing his total spending to 50,000 ryo.
These were gifts for the Great Elder, and for Mikoto and Mika. They had long insisted he needn't bother, arguing that a newly minted ninja had no money and their family lacked for nothing, but when the boss says "no gifts," you still bring one.
He can refuse, yet you must offer; it is the most basic sign of respect toward leadership.
I truly keep you in mind you carry weight in my heart.
Only then will the boss be more inclined to count you as one of his own.
"Sister Mikoto, Aunt Mika, a small token hardly worth mentioning."
In the entryway, Gen handed the gift boxes to Mika.
"Oh, child, coming to visit is enough why bring presents?" Uchiha Mika greeted him with a smile.
"All right, let us accept the child's goodwill, but next time, come empty-handed. Please, come inside."
The Great Elder appeared, his hands tucked behind his back.
Uchiha Mikoto naturally set out cups of hot tea for their guest. But the Great Elder skipped the small talk; after a single sip, he asked point-blank:
"Out with it why have you come?"
"Great Elder, I have awakened the Sharingan," Gen spoke softly.
The elder paused, then nodded in approval.
"Awakening at this age is not late. One month after becoming a full shinobi you have proven my eye for talent. Show me your eyes."
At his words, Gen blinked, revealing a pair of single-tomoe Sharingan.
"Mikoto."
The Great Elder spoke calmly.
"Little Gen, look here."
Mikoto set down the teapot and softly called to him. The instant their eyes met, she activated her own Sharingan.
At fifteen, Uchiha Mikoto bore double-tomoe Sharingan.
"Genjutsu: Sharingan!"
Gen felt a far stronger ocular power surge toward his mind.
"Ngh!"
He grunted softly. The tomoe in his eyes spun faster, and his expression relaxed. Mikoto meant no harm; through the genjutsu, she was helping him hone and familiarize himself with his own ocular strength.
Thus, he didn't resist, instead pitting his full power against hers to learn its flow. The two youngsters sat across the tea table, red eyes locked in an eerie stalemate.
The Great Elder sipped his tea and waited.
One minute later.
Mikoto released the illusion, blinking away the dryness. Gen rubbed his eyes. After such a staring contest, even the Sharingan felt parched.
"Holding out for a minute shows quick adaptation. Your Sharingan aptitude is decent, but you need training. First, we will visit the training ground for my guidance, then the Clan Treasury for jutsu. Do you need a rest?"
The Great Elder set down his cup, his aged yet sharp eyes softening a rarity. A shinobi who had survived the Warring States era, now riddled with old wounds, he enjoyed the clan's best medicine yet had only a few years left. To spend his final days fostering talented Uchiha and restoring the clan to its peak was his last purpose.
"Let's go now, Great Elder."
Gen had Orochimaru, a top-tier all-around master, guiding his general Ninjutsu path, but for the Sharingan and Uchiha secret arts, he needed the elders. As a contemporary of Madara and Izuna, even though this elder had never awakened the Mangekyo, he was a seasoned Three-Tomoe veteran keen-eyed and incredibly experienced. No one in the clan was better suited to mentor him.
They followed the Great Elder to a training ground inside the Uchiha compound.
"Old injuries keep me from sparring; Mikoto will test you instead," he said, straightening as he addressed Gen.
"Injuries?"
"Old wounds?"
The elder nodded, lifting a loose pant leg. A chunk of his calf was missing, replaced by a clever wooden mechanism fitted with springs.
"During the First Great Ninja War, while fighting the Hidden Cloud, the man who would become the Third Raikage did this. Had Senju Tobirama not arrived, I would have died to the Cloud's Hell Stab."
He lowered the pant leg and tapped his chest.
"Thirty-five years ago, the year before the village was founded, while escorting supplies with Lord Izuna, we met Tobirama again. That sly, white-haired bastard's lightning-laced Water Style chakra seeped into me; I had to cut out part of my lung to survive."
As he spoke, his eyes were full of nostalgia and regret. When Tobirama's name came up, his tone turned indescribably complex. He once hated Tobirama utterly, yet after the Uchiha and Senju reconciled, Tobirama had saved his life without a second thought.
Losing part of a lung had crippled his stamina; losing a chunk of his calf had crippled his explosive power and mobility.