Shinji looked back, a cold, dangerous smile curling his lips. "Mother, have you forgotten? I'm no longer the child who needs to shelter under your wings and Father's. I'm a Konoha Chunin now, a ninja tempered by blood and fire on the Kirigakure front. Some people won't learn respect until you make them hurt."
He said no more, turned, and strode out of the house.
Sunlight shone on his dark blue Chunin vest, but it could not dispel the bitter chill radiating from him.
Shinji did not search aimlessly.
He headed straight for the notorious training grounds and entertainment venues within the clan compound where the spoiled young troublemakers gathered.
Although his Sharingan was not active, his keen perception and the analytical skills he had brought from his previous life made it easy to pick up clues from the evasive glances and whispers of his fellow clansmen.
Soon, he found his targets in the courtyard outside a clan-run teahouse where young ninja went to unwind.
Three boys around fifteen or sixteen, dressed in Uchiha clan attire, sat together, laughing and chatting in flippant tones.
One of them wore a short blade at his waist that Shinji recognized immediately-a spare his father had used in his younger years. Though it was hardly a top-quality ninja blade, it meant a great deal to his mother.
Shinji knew them. They were all sons or nephews of the clan's middle-ranking administrators, idle good-for-nothings who used their elders' influence to throw their weight around.
He walked toward them without expression, his footsteps clearly audible on the gravel.
The three boys noticed him. They froze briefly, then recognized Shinji, their faces filling with a mixture of surprise, contempt, and mockery.
"Well, look who it is! Isn't this Yamakaze's brat? I heard you went to the front.