Eyes in the Temporary Shelter

Uchiha Che stepped out of the temporary shelter to find seven or eight children already standing in the corridor.

The oldest looked no more than seven or eight, while the youngest was being led by the hand, with dust still smeared across his face. They were all wrapped in bandages, their clothes blackened by smoke. One girl clutched a scorched cloth doll missing an ear as though it were something precious, her knuckles white from the force of her grip.

Uchiha Nao stood at the end of the corridor, holding a rolled-up list.

"Is everyone here?"

No one answered.

The children looked at one another like little animals driven from their nests by fire. Before last night, they had probably each had their own rooms, parents, dinners, and plans for tomorrow. By morning, many things had become a single line on a list.

Nao rolled up the list, softening her voice.

"Starting today, you'll be staying temporarily in the rooms on the north side. The clan will provide food, clothing, and basic care. Those who are injured should go to the medical station for another examination. Those who aren't injured shouldn't wander around either. The south side is still being cleared, and some places are unsafe."

A boy suddenly asked, "Can I go find my brother?"

Nao paused.

"Which unit is your brother in?"

"The Military Police Force." The boy looked up, his eyes terribly red. "They said he hasn't come back, but he will. He always came back before, even when he was late from patrol."

No one spoke in the corridor.

Nao crouched down, as if to pat his head, but her hand stopped halfway.

"When the cleanup teams have news, I'll tell you."

The boy gritted his teeth and did not cry.

Standing at the back of the group, Uchiha Che watched the boy's back and suddenly understood a little why Nao said even useless things could still be done. Some words could not change the outcome, but someone still had to say them, to give the living something to hold on to.

He did not make a joke.

Making one now would only make him seem like he deserved a beating.

The children were led to the courtyard on the north side. It was not large, surrounded by wooden houses that had remained relatively intact. In the middle stood a locust tree, one half of it blackened by smoke. Several wooden buckets filled with clean water sat beneath it, with coarse cloth towels beside them. Several Uchiha women were handing out rice balls and hot soup.

The hot soup was miso soup, with only a few slices of vegetables in it. It was barely salty, yet many children lowered their heads and drank as soon as they received their bowls. Holding his own bowl, Uchiha Che first caught the bean fragrance in the steam, then felt the bowl's side burn his fingers.

He had barely eaten anything last night.

At last, his stomach began protesting, growling with absolutely no regard for his dignity.

Kiyo heard it and looked up at him.

Without changing expression, Uchiha Che said, "My stomach is confirming that Konoha hasn't been destroyed yet."

Kiyo froze for a moment, then asked softly while holding his bowl, "A stomach can confirm that too?"

"It can. If it can still growl, it means the person's alive."

Kiyo lowered his head to look at his bowl, as though seriously considering that explanation. After a while, he took a small sip of soup and said in a muffled voice, "Then I'm still alive too."

Uchiha Che's hand paused around his bowl.

"Yeah," he said. "That's pretty important."

Kiyo said nothing more, only hugged the bowl a little tighter.

Footsteps sounded beyond the courtyard gate.

The adults who had been quietly working stopped. Several Uchiha shinobi instinctively straightened up. Following their gazes, Uchiha Che saw a tall man walk into the courtyard.

Uchiha Fugaku.

He felt heavier than the image Che had seen through a screen in his memories. Dark clothes, a stern face, fatigue from last night beneath his eyes, yet his steps remained steady. Several clan shinobi followed behind him. One child stood slightly farther back, with black hair and a calm expression. He was still young, and in his arms was an infant wrapped in cloth.

Uchiha Che's gaze brushed past the child's face.

Uchiha Itachi.

And that infant was probably Sasuke.

As the thought surfaced, Che did not stare. He lowered his head and pretended to focus on his soup.

The current Itachi was not yet the person who would one day smother the Uchiha name beneath a night of blood. He was only a child who had stepped too early beside death and responsibility. But Che knew very well what kind of path this child would walk.

He could not judge the person before him using a conclusion from the future.

At least, not yet.

Fugaku stopped in the courtyard, his gaze sweeping over the children. It was not gentle, but neither was it dismissive. When he saw the bandages, dust, and hands clutching keepsakes, the lines of his face hardened further.

"The clan will be responsible for settling you," Fugaku said. "You will be given an explanation about your parents. For now, rest, recover from your injuries, and follow the arrangements."

A girl suddenly looked up. "Clan Head, my father said he was going to help the village last night. But why are people saying the Uchiha never went near the Nine-Tails?"

The air in the courtyard tightened.

Several adults' expressions changed. Nao frowned as though she wanted to stop her, but it was already too late.

Fugaku looked at the girl.

The girl probably realized she had said something wrong. The hand holding her doll trembled, but she still did not lower her head.

Holding his bowl, Uchiha Che felt his heart sink slightly.

This was the crack.

It was not something that had suddenly appeared years later. It was already in the ashes of the ruins, in the fragments of conversation the children had overheard, and in the expressions adults had failed to hide in time.

Fugaku was silent for two breaths.

"The Uchiha carried out the village's orders last night," he said. "And protected those who needed protecting."

The girl pressed on. "But will they believe us?"

This time, Fugaku did not answer at once.

Uchiha Che heard the wind pass outside the courtyard. The scorched leaves on the locust tree lightly scraped together, making a faint sound.

"What must be done will not be left undone simply because others may not believe it," Fugaku finally said.

It sounded very much like something a clan head would say, and very much like the words of someone who already knew he lacked the power to explain.

Che lowered his eyes.

It sounded good, but it would not keep anyone alive.

He buried that judgment deep inside, not allowing it to show on his face. Uchiha Fugaku was not a fool, and the Uchiha clan was not without loyalty or honor. But honor could not resolve suspicion, and loyalty did not always earn trust.

That was the problem.

Itachi stood behind Fugaku without saying a word. The infant in his arms moved, a tiny hand slipping from the cloth before quickly withdrawing again. Itachi lowered his head and adjusted the corner of the wrapping, his movements gentle.

At that moment, he seemed to sense something and raised his eyes toward Che.

Their gazes met briefly across the courtyard.

Uchiha Che did not look away too quickly.

Looking away too fast would seem guilty.

He merely froze for a moment like any ordinary child, then lowered his head and drank his soup.

Itachi's gaze lingered for a moment before moving away.

Uchiha Che sighed inwardly.

One more troublesome person added to the list.

If the Anbu's gaze was like something sweeping over him from behind a mask, then Itachi's was more like a short blade still sheathed. It carried no killing intent yet, but it was already sharp enough. Che did not want someone like that remembering him too soon.

After Fugaku left, the courtyard's atmosphere did not immediately recover. The children kept drinking soup, and the adults kept handing out rice balls, but that question remained at everyone's feet like a stone no one had picked up.

After Uchiha Che finished eating, Nao took him to the medical station for another examination.

The medical station had been set up in a cleared-out large house. Straw mats covered the floor, and the injured were separated according to the severity of their wounds. Pale green chakra light flickered from time to time, while the bitter smell of medicine hung thickly in the air. A middle-aged medical shinobi removed the bandage around Che's shoulder and frowned as he inspected it.

"The burn isn't serious, and the scrapes haven't injured your muscles or bones. Don't move around too much. No throwing practice for three days."

Uchiha Che blinked. "Can I practice walking?"

The medical shinobi looked up at him.

Nao coughed beside him.

Che immediately added, "I'm seriously asking. I fell pretty embarrassingly yesterday. I want to improve."

The medical shinobi seemed about to scold him, but in the end merely reapplied medicine.

"If you can still talk back, your spirits are fine. Raise your arm."

Che obeyed.

When the green chakra approached the wound, coolness seeped into his skin first, followed by a fine, dense numbness. Che resisted the urge to stare too obviously and instead focused his senses around his shoulder.

This time, he sensed it more clearly than he had that morning.

The medical shinobi's chakra did not burrow deep into his chakra pathways. Instead, it remained on the wound's outer layer, like a membrane constantly adjusting its thickness. Whenever the ointment irritated the wound, the chakra strengthened slightly, suppressing the sting. The output was remarkably stable, with almost no unnecessary fluctuations.

Che tried to simulate it in his mind.

Steady.

Weaken.

Close in.

Guide.

A vague structure formed in his mind, but quickly scattered.

The medical shinobi suddenly stopped. "Are you circulating chakra?"

Uchiha Che's heart skipped a beat.

Nao looked at him as well.

Che raised his face, looking faintly bewildered at being caught. "It just felt cool. I wanted to see whether I could make my shoulder feel cool too."

The medical shinobi stared at him for a while.

"Don't try things at random. If medical chakra is not controlled properly, it can make the wound worse."

"Oh."

Che nodded obediently, but inwardly memorized that danger.

Not every observation was safe.

His analysis ability made him unconsciously follow the flow of ninjutsu. If his body tried to cooperate as well, someone knowledgeable might notice something unusual. In the future, whenever he watched someone perform a technique, he had to keep his chakra suppressed.

How considerate.

Right at the start, he had been given an ability that could easily expose him.

Looking down at the freshly wrapped bandage, he silently added another mark against this so-called system.

After leaving the medical station, Nao brought him to a small clearing behind the courtyard.

"The clan has decided that several of us will take turns looking after you these next few days. Once the funerals and house clearing are finished, long-term housing will be arranged," she said. "Keep the things your parents left behind safe for now. Don't take them out where others can see."

Uchiha Che glanced at her.

Nao's tone was casual, but that did not sound like an offhand reminder.

"Will someone try to steal them?"

"Not necessarily steal." Nao looked toward the burned rooftops in the distance. "Some things make people ask questions once they see them. The more they ask, the more trouble follows."

Che nodded lightly.

"Understood."

Nao looked at him, then suddenly asked, "Did you really just happen to knock Kiyo away last night?"

Uchiha Che's heart stirred.

Here it came.

He looked up, embarrassment appearing on his face.

"I saw the wood falling, and my legs moved faster than my brain. I regretted it right after I hit him. It hurt quite a bit."

The answer was half true and half false.

He really had seen where it would fall, and he really had regretted it for an instant because of the pain.

Nao did not expose him immediately. She only watched him. Her eyes were not as sharp as Itachi's, but they carried an adult's weariness and patience. That kind of gaze was harder to fool, because it was not searching for a flaw. She genuinely wanted to know whether he was all right.

Che lowered his head and kicked at a small stone on the ground.

"Aunt Nao, my father used to say my fingers were pretty nimble." His voice lowered. "Maybe my reactions are just a little quick. I don't know about anything else."

Nao was silent for a moment.

"Quick reactions are a good thing. But for the next few days, don't let too many people know."

Uchiha Che looked up.

Nao did not explain. She only stuffed a rice ball into his hand.

"Children just need to be obedient."

"Do I look especially obedient?"

"No," Nao said. "That's why I'm reminding you."

Che took the rice ball and finally smiled.

Aunt Nao was sharper than he had expected.

And more like someone he could trust a little, for now.

But the words "for now" and "a little" had to remain in his heart. They could not be spoken aloud.

That afternoon, the Uchiha compound began holding a simple temporary memorial.

The formal funeral would have to wait for the village's unified arrangements, but the clan first laid out rows of white cloth in the open space on the north side. The names of confirmed dead were written on wooden tablets and placed by family. For those whose bodies had not been found, only their names and whatever keepsakes could be recovered were placed there.

Uchiha Che stood at the back of the crowd, holding his father's forehead protector clasp.

He found the two wooden tablets.

Uchiha Cheng.

Uchiha Yehyue.

The tablets were new, and the ink had not fully dried. When the wind passed through, the white cloth stirred gently, as though someone were breathing soundlessly.

Nao did not stand beside him.

She gave him some space.

Uchiha Che looked at those two names. He wanted to say something, but found that the thoughts surfacing in his head were still inappropriate ones. Things like, Your son has a lot of post-sale pressure now, or, This world really isn't very friendly at the start.

In the end, he said nothing.

Some mischievous words were meant for the living, not for wooden tablets.

He simply placed the forehead protector clasp before his father's name, then gently set the small wooden tube containing his mother's chakra needles beside the other.

Afterward, he took half a step back and bowed.

It was neither a modern bow nor the standard salute taught at the ninja academy. It was simply the best farewell this body could offer to the parents he had never truly had the chance to know.

When he stood up, the corners of his eyes felt hot.

He did not raise a hand to wipe them.

The wind would explain for him.

After the mourning ended, the sky darkened further. Smoke still rose from Konoha, but the village had begun to regain a certain bustle. Shinobi carried timber, repaired roads, and patrol squads passed through the streets. Anbu occasionally appeared along the edges of rooftops before quickly vanishing.

Uchiha Che returned to his small room and shut the door.

He did not go to sleep right away.

He took out the family records his father had left behind from a wooden box, then laid three shuriken on the floor. The medical ninja had said not to practice throwing for three days, so he would not practice throwing. He could practice his grip, stance, breathing, and holding chakra in place.

That did not count as disobeying medical advice.

Probably not.

He stood in the middle of the room, feet apart, adjusting his center of gravity according to the stance his father had recorded. His shoulder hurt whenever he moved it, so he only practiced holding one in his left hand. The shuriken was cold against his palm, its edges reminding him that this was no toy.

Che closed his eyes.

Inhale.

Suppress the scattered chakra in his abdomen.

Do not chase after the Great Fireball. Do not think about Flying Raijin. Do not imitate medical ninjutsu.

Just make the chakra stay still.

One breath.

It dispersed.

Again.

Half a breath.

It dispersed again.

Sweat slid down from his temple, and his shoulder began to ache. Che did not force himself for long. When he stopped, he sat on the edge of the bed and lowered his head to look at his hand.

Too weak.

Weak in an honest way.

Yet that honesty steadied him a little.

He knew he was still far from those real monsters. The Nine-Tails, the Fourth Hokage, the future Itachi, Obito, Madara, the Ōtsutsuki—those names loomed over the future like mountains. But no matter how high a mountain was, he would never cross it by standing still and staring up at it.

He had to walk.

One step at a time.

The muffled sound of a child crying came from outside the door. He did not know who had finally been unable to hold it in. Soon, another child softly comforted him, speaking in fits and starts, and it was impossible to tell whether he was comforting someone else or himself.

Uchiha Che leaned against the wall and slowly closed his eyes.

He had not learned much today.

Medical chakra could not be copied carelessly.

Anbu watched orphans.

Aunt Nao was very sharp.

Itachi was already dangerous enough.

What Fugaku said sounded good, but it might not save the Uchiha.

And his father and mother were not "background rules." They had names, handwriting, belongings, and lives that had been left unfinished.

Che opened his eyes and looked out at the gray sky beyond the window.

"Remember first," he whispered. "Don't rush to become a hero."

It seemed like something he was saying to himself, but also to the lingering grief within this body.

The window paper rustled softly in the night wind.

Uchiha Che put away the shuriken and lay down on the bed.

He did not fall asleep quickly.

But this time, after closing his eyes, he no longer saw only fire.

He saw two wooden memorial tablets, three shuriken, a pitifully brief wisp of chakra resting in his palm, and those eyes on a distant rooftop that had briefly looked his way.

Konoha's morning had already passed.

Uchiha Che's troubles had only just lined up.