The Red-and-White Fan Woven by Interests

The third layer—"They protect you when you have value, and when your value is no longer enough..."

The skinny, tall man did not finish the sentence.

He left a meaningful pause.

Letting a twelve-year-old child imagine that terrifying ending for himself.

Standard PUA rhetoric.

First, give the illusion of security. Then tell you that security could vanish at any time. Finally, package yourself as the only lifeline.

The HR manager at his company in his previous life had used the same routine—"The company thinks highly of you, but your performance hasn't been great lately. I've been covering for you with management, you know, but you need to cooperate with me too..."

Exactly the same.

They had not even bothered changing the script across dimensions.

Yan lowered his head and clenched his fists—this was the body language of someone who was "hesitating but inwardly wavering," deliberately put on for them to see.

The bulky one had remained silent, but he shifted forward half a step.

Not closer to Yan.

He was blocking the escape route at the mouth of the alley.

Yan's Observation Haki caught that subtle movement, and the danger level in his mind rose another notch.

This was no longer pure coaxing.

It was coaxing plus mild pressure.

If he showed that he was "completely unmoved" today, would these two escalate their methods on the spot?

His experience as a corporate drone in his previous life told him—the stupidest response when being PUAed was to confront them head-on. They had come prepared, and pushing back would only confirm that he was "uncontrollable," prompting them to take more extreme measures.

The smartest response was—

To make them think they could win him over with one more push, then introduce a third-party variable before that push landed.

Yan raised his head, putting on the expression of someone who had hesitated for a long time before finally gathering his courage.

"Then... what exactly does that training plan involve?"

The skinny man's eyes lit up.

The fish was about to bite.

"The specifics can only be discussed at our training grounds. There are too many eyes and ears here—"

"Where is it?"

"Not far. It's right—"

"What are you saying to a child of my clan?"

A cold voice cut in from the end of the alley.

Like a blade splitting the air.

The skinny man's smile froze on his face.

The bulky man finally moved—not to attack, but to instantly turn toward the source of the voice, his right hand already resting on his waist.

At the end of the alley.

A man in a dark blue uniform strode toward them.

A short sword hung at his waist. The words "Konoha Police Force" were printed on the left sleeve of his uniform, while the red-and-white fan on his chest was especially eye-catching against the backlight of the setting sun.

Uchiha Yan.

His face was ashen.

Not with the righteous indignation of someone "protecting a clansman"—Yan's Observation Haki caught the emotions radiating from him. More precisely, it was the intense vigilance of professional instinct.

People from the police force had an exceptionally sharp nose for "abnormalities." Two unfamiliar people with movement techniques far beyond ordinary standards stopping a child near the clan grounds was, in his eyes, the equivalent of an intrusion alarm.

The skinny man and the burly man exchanged a glance.

A lightning-fast exchange of looks. Less than 0.2 seconds.

Then the skinny man turned back, and the smile on his face switched into that of an "innocent passerby," as smoothly as turning a page.

"Sorry, mistaken identity. We apologize for the disturbance."

The two vanished in a Body Flicker.

Uchiha Yan's brows knotted together.

Ordinary people did not possess that kind of movement technique.

Nor would ordinary Konoha ninja lurk around the Uchiha clan grounds and block the path of a twelve-year-old child.

He walked up to Yan and looked down at him.

His gaze was complicated.

This man's son, Yashiro, had been frightened into a trauma response by Yan and still did not dare come to school. Logically, Uchiha Yan should have hated him.

But he did not.

Not because he was magnanimous.

It was because he had personally examined the traces at the Nanga River. As a police force squad captain, he knew what the power capable of leaving such traces would mean in the future.

A child with that kind of power was an Uchiha asset.

Problems with an asset were the clan head's concern.

But the asset's safety was the police force's concern.

"If you run into people like that again, go straight to the clan head. Or come find me."

His tone was harsh. It was not concern, but an order.

"Yes." Yan lowered his head in response, his voice carrying just the right amount of docility.

Uchiha Yan turned and walked several steps toward the alley entrance.

Then he suddenly stopped.

"I know about Yashiro."

He paused for a second.

"—That brat had it coming."

Another second passed.

"But in the future, hold back a little."

Then he left.

Yan stood where he was.

The setting sun had already been sliced by the walls on either side of the alley into a narrow strip of light at his feet, like a golden line.

An indirect apology? Or a veiled threat?

Neither mattered.

What mattered was—the Uchiha protection net was indeed operating.

Because of benefits.

An orphan within the clan possessing "unknown power" had greater value than risk at this stage. That was why Fugaku had someone teach him Fire Release, and why Uchiha Yan had stepped in to drive away suspicious individuals.

Yan was all too familiar with this sort of protection.

Back when he worked at the company in his previous life, his department head had "protected" him too—not because he thought highly of him, but because Yan had a major client in hand that quarter. If Yan left, his boss's KPI would be ruined.

Once the client signed the contract, that protection immediately vanished.

Protection driven by interests lasted only as long as your value did.

But conversely—

He only needed to ensure that his value always remained higher than his risk.

That was far more reliable than hoping for kindness.

Kindness could fade, waver, and rot for all sorts of reasons.

Interests would not.

Interests were the most loyal dogs in the world.

That night.

Yan returned to the dilapidated little house at the edge of the clan grounds. The moment he pushed open the door, he noticed something unusual.

There was a wooden box by the entrance.

It was waist-high, made of brand-new pine, with a red seal bearing the Uchiha clan crest pasted over it.

He crouched down and swept it with Observation Haki first.

It was just an ordinary wooden box.

Yan reached out, tore off the seal, and lifted the lid.

The night breeze blew in, carrying the faint fragrance of fabric from inside the box—the distinctive scent of newly woven cloth.

A brand-new dark blue, high-collared ninja outfit.

The fabric was thick and soft, its stitches fine and even. Delicate flame patterns had been embroidered in subdued thread along the collar and cuffs.

In the center of the back.

A red-and-white fan.

The Uchiha clan crest.

Embroidered with meticulous care.

Yan picked up the outfit. The texture slid across his fingertips, more than ten times better than the faded old clothes he wore. It was not the roughness of cheap street-vendor goods, but the standard ninja uniform only official clan members were qualified to wear.

A note lay pressed beneath the box.

Folded into a neat square.

Yan picked it up and unfolded it.

Fugaku's handwriting. The strokes were firm and sharp, clearly written by someone who had held a blade for many years.

There was only one line.

"You are one of the Uchiha. Put it on."

Seven words.

No warm inquiries. No earnest advice.

Only a declaration. A stamp. A label.

From this day on, you were one of us.

Of course—the condition was that you had to possess enough value to be used.

Yan stood there holding the note for a long time.

He should have remained calm. He understood the logic behind this—people only fought over things they considered good. Danzo had reached out to recruit him, so Fugaku had hurried to attach the Uchiha label to him. Without Danzo, this outfit would not have appeared on his doorstep anytime soon.

The instant he brought the clothes to his nose and smelled the faint scent of new fabric—

Something stirred in his chest.

Very lightly.

So lightly that if Observation Haki had not made him exceptionally sensitive to his own physiological reactions, he might not even have noticed it.

His previous life.

Li Yan. Twenty-six years old. Corporate drone. Living alone.

His parents divorced during his junior year of college and each started new families. He followed neither of them, moving alone into a rented apartment. From then on, he never received anything from "home" again.

It was not that they had lost contact. They sent WeChat messages during holidays and transferred red envelopes.

But no one had ever mailed him a piece of clothing.

No one had ever told him—"You are one of us."

Even if it was for profit.

Even if it was only a label.

"...Pathetic."

Yan folded the note and tucked it beneath his pillow.

Then he shook out the clothes, carefully folded them, and placed them beside his pillow.

His movements were light and slow.

As though handling something fragile.

The system panel silently lit up.

[Host Status]

Magma-Magma Fruit Evolution: 20% (+2%)

Source: Emotional impact · resonance of belonging (weak but effective)

Observation Haki: Lv.1 (Perception Radius: 125 meters)

"...Even this counts as an emotional impact?"

Yan stared at that line of small text for three seconds.

Then he closed the panel.

He lay back down on the bed, turning onto his side with his back to the moonlight.

The folded dark blue ninja outfit lay beside his pillow. The red-and-white fan on its chest glimmered with a soft dark red beneath the moonlight.

Moonlight flowed like water outside the window.

Scattered lights dotted the clan grounds.

On the board shared by three sides, every piece was moving.

The Third Hokage was watching.

Danzo was pushing.

Fugaku was pulling.

And he—

A twelve-year-old chess piece, was learning to become a chess player. Surviving in the cracks, seeking time to grow.