Rain hammered the broken roof like it wanted to erase the house from existence.
Water slipped through cracks in the ceiling, dripping steadily onto the worn tatami floor. The air smelled of damp wood and quiet neglect.
Wrapped in a thin towel that barely held warmth, three-year-old Uchiha Kaen sat near the doorway, watching the rain without expression.
He didn't cry.
War had already taken that from him.
His parents died fighting for the village — like many Uchiha before them. The clan didn't completely abandon their war orphans… but neither did they truly care.
Each month, a small allowance arrived.
Officially: support for fallen shinobi families.
Reality: barely enough rice to keep children alive.
Not enough for full stomachs.
Not enough for comfort.
Certainly not enough for dignity.
And Kaen knew — this wasn't just him.
This was how the Uchiha handled inconvenient reminders of war.
The public housing stood inside their district as proof:
"See? We didn't abandon them."
But nobody checked if they ate.
Nobody asked if they were safe.
Kaen understood early:
He was a responsibility, not family.
Lightning flashed, illuminating his reflection in the cracked window — small, underfed, but his eyes… steady.
Then something stirred inside his mind.
[Physical Growth System Activated]
Host: Uchiha Kaen
Age: 3 Years
Granted Ability:
• Observation Haki — Basic Awakening
Notice:
• Chakra training restricted until host reaches 5 years (world rule acknowledged).
• System Shop: LOCKED.
→ Unlock Condition: Awakening of Conqueror's Haki.
Kaen blinked once.
No panic. No excitement.
Just quiet acceptance.
Suddenly, his senses stretched outward.
Raindrops became distinct sounds.
Footsteps several houses away registered clearly.
Even faint hostile intent from passing clan members brushed against his awareness.
Observation Haki.
Useful.
Necessary.
He stepped toward the doorway just as his senses picked up something else — unstable breathing, fading vitality.
A woman staggered through the rain.
Beside her, a small girl clung tightly to her hand.
The woman collapsed at Kaen's feet.
"Kaen… please…" she whispered weakly. "Look after Hitomi… I don't have much time…"
The girl hid behind her, eyes swollen from crying yet stubbornly silent.
Kaen studied them calmly.
Then he nodded.
"Okay."
That was all.
Two days later, the woman passed away quietly inside that same decaying house.
No clan visit.
No village condolence.
Just another orphan added to the district's silent statistics.
From then on, it was the two of them.
Kaen stretched the clan allowance carefully — rationing rice, trading scraps, sometimes going hungry so Hitomi wouldn't have to. Observation Haki helped him avoid trouble and locate opportunities.
But he also started something else.
Training.
Secretly.
Every dawn before anyone woke, Kaen pushed his small body beyond comfort:
Running until his lungs burned.
Holding stances to build balance.
Striking tree trunks until his knuckles toughened.
Armament Haki didn't fully awaken yet — but he could feel something forming beneath his skin. A latent hardness waiting to surface.
Stamina improved slowly.
Pain became familiar.
And secrecy became essential.
If the clan noticed unusual strength, questions would follow.
Questions meant attention.
Attention meant loss of freedom.
Kaen trusted neither clan nor village enough for that.
Chakra training could only legally begin at age five — a rule even prodigies followed. Until then, physical conditioning was all he could safely pursue.
So he did.
Relentlessly.
Silently.
Hitomi stayed close to him.
At first from fear.
Later because she simply chose to.
They shared meals. Winters. Silence. Small smiles.
Neither spoke about loneliness anymore.
Yet deep inside Kaen, one belief hardened:
The Uchiha clan protected their pride.
The village protected its image.
But children like him?
They survived on leftovers.
Sometimes, late at night, the system notification would flicker again:
Conqueror's Haki — Dormant Potential Detected
System Shop Unlock Condition Pending
Power slept inside him.
When it awakened… things would change.
Kaen didn't know how yet.
But he knew one thing clearly:
Next time rain fell like this…
He wouldn't be the helpless child beneath it.