The Secret of the Naka River

After the dismissal bell rang, the children of the Hidden Leaf Village Ninja Academy poured out of the school gates like birds released from a cage.

Uchiha Sakuya did not follow the crowd. He stuffed his textbooks into his bag, slipped out through the back gate alone, and headed down a small path toward the Naka River.

The May wind carried the fishy scent of river water. Beneath the setting sun, the Naka River glimmered a dark red, like a flowing scar.

Sakuya sat down on the embankment, his legs dangling and swinging in the air.

This body was seven years old. Its limbs were short, and its palms were only half as large as the ones he remembered. He looked down at his hands—his nails were neatly trimmed, his knuckles distinct, and pale blue veins showed beneath his skin.

These hands had never been stained with blood.

"Uchiha Sakuya."

He spoke the name aloud. His voice was that of a child, high-pitched and slightly hoarse.

What had his name been in his previous life?

He could not remember.

Only vague impressions remained—a student at some Chinese university, barely in his twenties, with Naruto manga and merchandise piled across his dormitory desk. Back then, he had thought the Uchiha Clan's story was a tragedy, a necessity of the plot, a sacrifice under Masashi Kishimoto's pen.

Now, he had become one of them.

Sakuya pulled a pebble from his pocket and hurled it into the river. It skipped twice across the water before sinking.

"The Uchiha Massacre."

As he spoke those words, the river wind scattered his voice.

No one heard.

That was why he had remained silent all this time—he knew too much. He knew that the Uchiha Clan would be slaughtered one night when he was nine. He knew that Itachi would personally kill his own parents. He knew that Sasuke would live for decades in hatred.

He knew everything.

Yet he only had the body of a seven-year-old.

Sakuya picked up a second pebble. This time, he did not throw it, merely clenched it in his hand. Its sharp edges pressed into his palm.

He had tried to think of countermeasures. In his previous life, he had read the manga, followed the anime, and browsed all kinds of analysis threads and guidebooks online. His understanding of the Naruto world ran far deeper than anyone else's.

But knowledge was not power.

The chakra he could currently muster was barely enough for three Substitution Jutsu. His taijutsu was at a passing first-year academy level. His shuriken could hit the bullseye from three meters away—but that was all.

He knew the Mangekyo Sharingan's abilities. His left eye, [Time Retrace], could rewind time by three seconds. His right eye, [Void Flame], was a black fire that burned chakra.

But the Mangekyo needed to awaken. It required an extreme emotional shock. It required—

Sakuya clenched the pebble tighter.

He did not want to awaken it.

At least, not in that way.

The river flowed with a steady sound. Sakuya stared at the water as his thoughts drifted far away.

What if he did nothing? If events followed the original plot, the Uchiha Massacre would happen, Itachi would join the Akatsuki, and Sasuke would embark upon the path of revenge... He knew every key moment, every turning point. He could act at crucial times, save a few people, and change a few fates.

But that was a coward's way of thinking.

"What exactly do you want?"

He asked the river.

There was no answer.

Sakuya tilted his head back and looked at the sky. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a dim orange glow. Several crows flew overhead, their cries harsh and piercing.

Uchiha crows.

He watched those black specks for several seconds before standing and brushing the grass clippings from his pants.

There was no use sitting here and thinking. He needed a plan. He needed to grow stronger. Before that disaster arrived, he needed power enough to change the outcome.

Or—before then, he needed to stop the disaster from happening.

Sakuya recalled the details from the manga. The conflict between the Uchiha Clan and the village had not built up in a day or two. After the Nine-Tails Incident, the Uchiha had been relocated to the outskirts of the village, where they were watched and suspected. As the clan head, Fugaku faced pressure from his clansmen on one side and the village's distrust on the other.

A coup—

Yes, a coup.

In the original plot, the Uchiha Clan planned a coup. They intended to use the Sharingan to control the Nine-Tails and attack the Hidden Leaf Village once again, seizing power in the chaos. Meanwhile, the village's upper ranks—the Third Hokage, the advisors, the ANBU—had long since obtained the intelligence and prepared for it.

Both sides were waiting for their moment.

And the final solution had been—the massacre of an entire clan.

Sakuya clenched his fists.

There was not much he could do now. A seven-year-old child had no say within the Uchiha Clan. His parents were both ordinary clansmen. His father, Takuma, was a Chunin in the police force, while his mother, Shizuka, was a housewife.

He had not even awakened his Sharingan yet.

Awakening the Sharingan required intense emotional stimulation. Fear, anger, grief—usually the loss of someone important.

Sakuya did not know under what circumstances his Sharingan would awaken. Perhaps soon, perhaps much later.

But he could not afford to wait.

"I need to find a way."

He spoke softly.

Not to the river, nor to himself. It was more like a promise.

The sky grew darker. Sakuya turned and walked back along the narrow path on the riverbank. As he passed a large tree, he stopped.

Something had been carved into the bark. He leaned closer to look—it was the Uchiha fan crest, crudely etched with a blade. He had no idea which child had carved it.

Sakuya traced the pattern once with his finger.

The Uchiha fan.

It symbolized "fanning the wind to blow flames toward one's enemies." The emblem of a clan, and the curse of a clan.

He withdrew his hand and continued home.

He ran into several classmates along the way. When they saw him, they whispered among themselves for a while before walking around him.

Uchiha children had never been particularly popular at the Ninja Academy. On top of that, Sakuya usually did not like to talk and always wore a cold expression, so the other children naturally categorized him as someone "hard to approach."

Sakuya did not care.

Or rather, he did not have the energy to care right now.

By the time he returned to the Uchiha compound, it was completely dark. The compound's streets were unnaturally quiet—every household had its doors shut, light spilling from the windows onto the empty stone roads.

That was the atmosphere of the Uchiha Clan. Closed-off, oppressive, and distant even among themselves.

Sakuya pushed open the door to his home.

"You're back?" Shizuka's voice came from the kitchen. "Wash your hands and eat."

"Mm."

Sakuya changed his shoes and entered the living room. It was not large, but it was kept very tidy. Three sets of bowls and chopsticks sat on the low table—his father, Takuma, had not returned yet.

"Where's Dad?"

"Work at the police force. He'll be back later." Shizuka emerged from the kitchen carrying soup, then looked at Sakuya's face. "What's wrong? You don't look too well."

"It's nothing. I might just be a little tired."

Shizuka did not press further. She never asked too many questions. It was a common flaw of the Uchiha Clan—everyone hid their emotions deeply, even from their own families.

Sakuya was quiet during dinner. Shizuka occasionally mentioned things like who she had run into while buying vegetables at the market, and Sakuya listened without saying a word.

He was thinking about the thoughts he had had by the Naka River.

A plan.

He needed a plan.

First, become stronger. Taijutsu, ninjutsu, shuriken techniques—all combat skills had to reach a level where he could protect himself. That would not be difficult. He had the knowledge from his previous life and knew how to train.

Second, the Sharingan. He needed to awaken it at the right time. Not too early—a seven-year-old Uchiha awakening his Sharingan would attract unnecessary attention. But not too late, either—he needed enough combat power before the night of the massacre arrived.

Third, intelligence. He needed to keep a close eye on the movements of the Uchiha Clan and the village's upper ranks. A coup would not happen overnight; countless signs would appear beforehand.

Fourth—

"Sakuya."

Shizuka's voice pulled him back.

"What's wrong? I called you twice."

"...It's nothing." Sakuya picked up his bowl and took a sip of soup. "I was thinking about school."

"The Ninja Academy?"

"Mm. The practical class assessment is coming up."

"Then do your best." Shizuka smiled. "Your father used to rank first in practical classes too."

Sakuya nodded without replying.

Takuma. His father.

In the original plot, this man would die at Itachi's hands on the night of the massacre.

The fingers gripping Sakuya's bowl turned faintly white.

He set down the bowl, said he was full, and returned to his room.

The room was small: a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. Several Ninja Academy textbooks sat on the desk, along with an illustrated guide to the Sharingan—his father had bought it for him.

Sakuya sat at the edge of his bed and looked out at the night sky.

The moon was bright.

The moon over the Hidden Leaf Village was just as bright as the one from his previous life.

He lay down and stared at the ceiling.

Seven years old.

Two years remained until the night of the massacre.

Would two years be enough?

Sakuya closed his eyes.

It had to be, even if it was not.

That night, Sakuya had a dream.

In the dream, he stood by the Naka River. The water was red. Not from the reflection of the setting sun, but from blood.

Someone stood on the opposite bank. He could not make out their face. All he could see was a pair of scarlet eyes.

Those eyes glowed in the darkness like two undying flames.

Sakuya wanted to shout, but no sound came out.

He woke up.

It was still the middle of the night outside. Cicadas were chirping.

He turned over and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Two years.

He would use those two years to do everything he could.

Even if he was only a seven-year-old child.