To Kyohaku Uchiha, his days at the Ninja Academy were like a carefully choreographed pantomime. He perfectly played the role of a quiet, withdrawn child made introverted—even somewhat isolated—by physical disability and family tragedy. In academic classes, he showed moderate diligence and fairly good comprehension. Neither outstanding nor behind, he remained solidly in the middle of the class, utterly inconspicuous. During theory lectures, he always kept his head lowered as if listening attentively, when in fact he was constantly reviewing and deepening the knowledge he had gained from his father's notes and the library.
The real challenge came from practical classes.
On the training ground, the other children underwent the most basic physical exercises: running, jumping, and formation drills. Kyohaku, meanwhile, could only lean on his crutch and perform extremely limited adaptive exercises assigned by the teacher. The discomfort from his right foot was evident with every movement. He always chose the farthest corner, trying to minimize his presence.
Yet the Uchiha crest was far too conspicuous, like a lamp drawing moths in the darkness. Even though he deliberately kept a low profile, the "pride" and "specialness" born of his bloodline still made the other children of his clan unable to overlook his "abnormality."
At first, there were only whispers and strange looks. Gradually, certain voices became clearer and more grating.
One afternoon, they practiced basic Shuriken throwing. The children took turns hurling wooden practice Shuriken at targets not far away. Kyohaku was required to participate as well. Leaning on his crutch, he struggled to balance on one foot, then awkwardly threw a Shuriken with his left hand—his dominant hand. It lacked force and flew crookedly, striking the edge of the wooden target limply before bouncing onto the ground.
A few suppressed snickers rose from the line.
One voice was especially loud, filled with undisguised contempt. "Hey, cripple, why are you even practicing Shuriken throwing? My grandmother can throw farther than that!"
Kyohaku looked up and saw that the speaker was a black-haired boy who was considerably sturdier than most children his age. He had spiky hair, thick eyebrows, and the arrogant expression common among Uchiha children, a mixture of talent and family-bred superiority. Kyohaku remembered his name: Tetsuzan Uchiha, the son of some minor clan leader.
A taller, thinner boy beside him, with the same critical look in his eyes, chimed in. He was Daiichi Uchiha, and his family seemed quite close to Tetsuzan's. "Exactly. Wouldn't it be better for you to stay home obediently? Why come to the academy just to disgrace us Uchiha? My dad said that someone like you shouldn't be a ninja at all. Just settle down and be an ordinary person!"
Those words hit him with the precision of cold stones. Children from the surrounding classes looked over curiously, their gazes holding curiosity, sympathy, and detached indifference. Most of the non-Uchiha children remained silent. It was an internal Uchiha matter; they neither could nor wanted to interfere.
Teacher Mizuno immediately spoke up to stop them. "Tetsuzan, Daiichi! You are not allowed to speak to a classmate like that! Everyone has their own pace, and Kyohaku is working hard to adapt!"
Tetsuzan curled his lip, clearly unconvinced, but he did not raise his voice again. He merely muttered to Daiichi, "Was I wrong? What can a cripple do? Just looking at him is an eyesore..."
Daiichi chuckled in agreement, the mockery in his eyes wholly undiminished.
Kyohaku silently lowered his head, picked up the fallen Shuriken, and leaned on his crutch as he slowly made his way back to the end of the line. His face showed no expression—neither an angry retort nor tears of grievance. There was only silent indifference, as if those hurtful words were nothing more than wind passing by his ears.
Yet deep within his lowered eyes, the cold flame belonging to another soul burned quietly.
Uchiha Tetsuzan. Reckless personality, strong desire to show off, deeply influenced by family values. A typical bearer of Uchiha arrogance. His strength should rank above average among his peers. His provocations may escalate and require attention.
Uchiha Daiichi. A follower type, takes Tetsuzan's lead. Also lacks empathy and enjoys gaining a sense of superiority by belittling others.
Most of the other students remain silent and observe. A few show traces of sympathy in their eyes, but none speak up to stop it. This confirms the Uchiha clan's general indifference toward the weak.
His mind was like a precision instrument, calmly recording and analyzing it all, transforming that moment of humiliation into material for intelligence processing. Anger? Grievance? Those emotions belonged to a real five-year-old child, not to him. He only found it amusing. A group of brats blinded by clan glory and immersed in a false sense of superiority had no idea what kind of soul, one that had experienced a truly brutal world, lay hidden within the person they mocked.
To him, this level of verbal attack did not even qualify as harassment. It was merely noise. If anything, it provided an excellent sample for observing the mindset of the Uchiha's next generation and the atmosphere within the clan.
Over the following days, similar scenes occurred from time to time. During physical training and group exercises, Tetsuzan and Daiichi always found opportunities to mock him with childish yet hurtful remarks: "holding everyone back," "disgracing the Uchiha," and "better off lying at home."
Kyohaku always responded with silence. Occasionally, whenever a teacher's gaze swept his way, he would appropriately reveal a trace of embarrassment and timidity fitting for his age, perfectly playing the role of a pitiful child being bullied. That submissive appearance seemed to bore Tetsuzan and Daiichi, and the frequency of their mockery gradually declined. But the undisguised contempt in their eyes never vanished.
Kyohaku Uchiha, the lame orphan they considered "unworthy of becoming a ninja," continued his academy life amid silent mockery and isolation. Like a silent reef, he remained immovable no matter how the tides of discrimination crashed against him. All his attention was focused on absorbing knowledge, observing his surroundings, and... taking advantage of every gap to carry out the more secretive training known only to himself.
To him, those taunts were merely background noise. They even became the best cover for his perfect disguise. No one would remain wary of a universally acknowledged "useless person."
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