The next day.
Before dawn, Arata Uchiha opened his eyes.
The clock on the wall read 5:30, not a minute early or late. It was a body clock etched into his bones, unchanged for years.
He got dressed, washed up, and swallowed a Military Ration Pill in place of breakfast. Then he sat by the entrance and strapped on his weights, moving mechanically, without a single pause.
But when his hand reached for the doorknob, ready to leave, he slowed—an unusual thing for him. His gaze turned back to the living room, just across the way.
The table had been cleared, leaving only a few bright red apples sitting quietly on it.
But what Arata saw was something else entirely:
"What's this?"
The girl held up a snowflake-shaped hairpin, her eyes full of confusion.
"So sweet."
She frowned slightly at the Three-Color Dango in her hand. She set it down several times, but in the end, she still ate it in small bites. It seemed girls could never quite resist sweets.
But that was all.
All night, Yuki-onna had said only those two things. Afterward, silence settled over the room again.
Still, that was enough to make Arata happy.
Perhaps everything would slowly get better, just as Izumi had said.
The ten-kilometer weighted run was the easiest part of Arata's daily routine. He simply ran a lap around the outskirts of the Uchiha Clan Compound.
He had finished by the time the sky began to lighten.
By then, early-rising grandfathers and grandmothers were already out on the streets. Whenever Arata passed, they would praise him, saying that there weren't many young people like him left in the clan, and how wonderful it would be if their own children could be like him.
Arata would habitually respond with polite modesty. Sometimes, when they needed help, he would lend a hand and carry their things.
After that, he headed to the training ground reserved for the clan to practice kenjutsu.
This was the most grueling part of his routine.
Meditation was peaceful, and the weighted run gave him a clear goal. But swinging his sword over and over was the most tedious of all.
Fortunately, Arata had grown fully accustomed to the tedium. He could even enjoy the sensation of each swing and savor the increase in his strength.
"Three hundred and forty-five."
"Three hundred and forty-six."
"Three hundred—"
Arata stopped mid-training, his movements as mechanical as ever, and looked toward the space behind a Giant Tree.
Someone was coming.
His field of vision remained still, with nothing unusual in sight, yet he was certain.
The newcomer had impressive concealment skills.
But when it came to footwork, Arata wasn't helpless either.
Two Shuriken slipped silently into his left hand. The Wakizashi and Katana he carried were among the ninja tools Uncle Yashiro had provided, all custom-made to suit Arata.
He didn't attack right away. This was the Uchiha Clan Compound, after all, and few people could sneak past the guards and stroll in openly.
Perhaps a clan member was just trying to play a joke on him.
But was there anyone in the clan who could hide their entire body from him?
No!
Wait.
There was!
Uchiha Obito!
Had he come? Had Itachi let him in?
Arata's nerves snapped taut, and his One-Tomoe Sharingan appeared.
After all, he had just asked Uncle Yashiro yesterday to help arrange a match against that guy!
Against Itachi as he was now, Arata might still have a chance of winning—or even killing him. But if Obito had come, he wouldn't stand a chance.
The Mangekyō was a gulf in power that was nearly impossible to cross!
Most importantly, the training ground was usually empty in the early morning. He was often the only one there!
"Ahem."
Just as Arata was frantically trying to figure out how to escape, a faint cough broke the training ground's silence.
Then came a weak, breathless question: "Are you Arata?"
Ripples stirred in the space where the voice had come from. More precisely, the disturbance came from the way light and shadow shifted. A thin figure emerged before his eyes.
The newcomer wore the dark green flak jacket of an elite shinobi and a ninja hat. His long brown hair was tucked beneath it, and a Forehead Protector bearing Konoha's symbol was tied around his brow.
But what drew the most attention was his face. He looked young, yet his skin was paper-white, and dark circles hung beneath his eyes. He looked terribly frail.
"Gekko Hayate."
Arata immediately recognized him.
A Special Jōnin of Konoha and a member of Anbu, he was especially skilled in Konoha-Style Kenjutsu.
The concealment technique he had just used was probably his signature ability, Transparent Escape. The Sharingan hadn't been able to copy it. Arata didn't know whether his ocular power was insufficient or whether the technique was also a Kekkei Genkai.
"Yes."
Arata answered calmly. His taut nerves relaxed slightly, and the Shuriken in his left hand disappeared from view. Only his Sharingan remained active.
He was probably the teacher Uncle Yashiro had found for him. Arata just hadn't expected him to arrive so soon.
"You still can't learn my swordsmanship."
"Give up. Ahem."
Gekko Hayate had arrived some time ago and had watched Arata from a distance.
Coming to the training ground before dawn was proof enough of the boy's diligence.
But diligence alone wasn't enough. People had to learn what was suited to their age. If they wanted to punch above their weight, they needed a solid foundation.
As for Arata seeing through his concealment, Hayate assumed it was thanks to the Sharingan. Besides, he hadn't been trying to hide himself seriously.
This time, Arata didn't answer.
If Hayate's swordsmanship was tied to Transparent Escape, then Arata really might not be able to learn it.
But wasn't Uzuki Yugao also able to use the Konoha Style's Dance of the Crescent Moon?
"Shadow Clone is a prerequisite. It's worlds apart from the Clone Technique you used in your graduation exam."
Seeing the boy remain silent, Gekko Hayate spoke again.
Shadow Clone was a B-rank jutsu. A shinobi had to be at least Chunin level to master it.
A rookie who had just graduated was doing well if he knew one or two C-rank jutsu.
"Shadow Clone?"
"Not Transparent Escape?"
Arata relaxed.
Just as Hayate was about to turn and leave, Arata moved. He crossed his index and middle fingers and softly uttered a single word: "Ren."
"Poof, poof."
As clouds of smoke rose, two identical figures appeared at Arata's sides.
Gekko Hayate was right. Shadow Clone and the Clone Technique were worlds apart. The former was B-rank, while the latter was merely an entry-level E-rank jutsu.
During his graduation exam, Arata had been able to create dozens of clones at will. But he could sustain only two Shadow Clones.
After all, not everyone had Uzumaki blood, and there was only one Nine-Tails around to help pay the rent.
"Are two enough?"
Arata looked up and asked.
Gekko Hayate fell silent.
His half-turned body froze in place.
When had he learned Shadow Clone?
He couldn't remember.
But even mastering Shadow Clone didn't mean that the boy before him could learn his swordsmanship.
The Konoha Style's Dance of the Crescent Moon, Moon Shadow, and other techniques were so demanding that even in Anbu, few could match his mastery. They required talent.
But when Gekko Hayate met those crimson eyes, he fell silent again.
The Copy Wheel Eye!
A third of the jutsu Konoha had collected, one could say, had been copied by the Uchiha Clan on the battlefield!
"Let's begin."
A hint of bitterness crept into Gekko Hayate's voice.
Before you continue