Naruto: Starting as the Third Hokage with Tears in His Eyes

A few days later.

Uchiha clan territory, training ground.

The morning light poured down from the direction of the towering wooden building, spreading a pale golden carpet over the wooden stakes and sand of the training ground.

In the distance, the jingling of tram bells drifted over, mingling with the distinctive, fragrant aroma of grilled meat wafting from the Akimichi yakiniku morning market as it opened.

The training ground was already bustling with activity.

Several young Uchiha clan members were practicing shuriken throwing. The targets were standardized steel rotating targets newly replaced by Danzo's Construction Department—supposedly improved from blueprints captured from the Kumogakure battlefield, capable of producing different tones of sound depending on the location of the hit.

"Take it—"

Each shot that hits the bullseye produces a crisp sound.

In the adjacent taijutsu area, a Chunin from the Inuzuka clan was training with two Genin from the Uchiha clan, accompanied by his ninja dog.

The ninja dog, carrying a training cork knife, whimpered as it weaved between the three.

The Chunin from Inuzuka grumbled, "Where's your Uchiha reaction speed? My Maru the Second is faster than both of you!"

The two Uchiha genin glared back defiantly, their Sharingan almost popping out.

This kind of cross-family mixed training was unimaginable in the past.

But in Konoha now, it's as common as breathing.

In the western corner of the training ground, Uchiha Fugaku squatted on one knee, holding a small wooden ball in his hand.

"Hey."

He chuckled and gently tossed the ball out.

The ball traced a low arc in the air.

Not far away, a toddler who had just learned to walk wobbled after him with his short legs.

The child's soft black hair shimmered with a faint blue hue in the morning light.

Its big, dark eyes were fixed intently on the small ball, its face was tense, and its lips were slightly pursed, as if it were carrying out an extremely serious task.

Uchiha Itachi.

"Heave-ho!"

He stretched out his chubby little hand.

He caught the ball before it even hit the ground.

Five short fingers gripped the wooden ball tightly, with the knuckles exerting slight force.

Then he turned around, mimicking his father's actions, pointed his toes in the direction, twisted his little waist, and tossed the ball back.

The ball flew off crookedly, bounced twice after landing, and rolled to Fugaku's feet.

But the direction is right.

A toddler who had just learned to walk memorized the basic path of force after observing his father's throwing motion once.

Most children of this age are still biting their fingers.

Fugaku Uchiha picked up the ball and dusted it off.

He didn't say anything like "Wow, Itachi is amazing."

She just squatted there, looking at her son, the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling into a small knot because of her smile.

This man witnessed the Hokage sink a ship with a single blow during the Battle of Whirlpools, and he took thirty pages of notes during the Second Hokage's lecture.

This man was respectfully called "the strictest captain since Lord Tetsuka" by everyone in the security force.

He was squatting on the sandy ground of the training field, his knees covered in dust, his mouth stretched from ear to ear in a wide grin.

"Again!"

Itachi Uchiha didn't quite understand, but he seemed to grasp his father's meaning.

He stretched out his little hands, tilted his head, and waited.

Fugaku threw it again.

This time the ball was tossed a little too high.

Itachi tiptoed to reach it, but couldn't, so he took a step forward and fell to the ground with a thud.

The ball landed near his legs.

He looked down at the ball, then looked up at his father.

She didn't cry.

He sat down on the ground, reached out again, and picked up the ball.

"This child."

A gentle female voice came from behind me.

Mikoto walked over carrying a tray with two cups of tea and a small dish of sliced ​​apples on it.

She half-squatted down and used her sleeve to wipe away the thin layer of sweat seeping from Fugaku's forehead.

"You've been playing with him all morning, and you haven't even had a sip of water."

"Um"

Fugaku Uchiha responded, took the teacup, and kept his eyes on Itachi Uchiha.

Mikoto followed his gaze and saw him holding the wooden ball, examining it seriously, as if he were studying why the ball was flying in that direction.

The corners of her mouth curved into a smile.

"I cut an apple for him; remember to feed him."

"understood."

Mikoto Uchiha stood up and patted the sand off her skirt.

Her gaze inadvertently swept across the other side of the training field and landed on the boy sitting on the bench by the field.

peak.

He had just finished a round of combat training, and there was a shallow bloodstain on his arm, but he didn't seem to care at all. He just sat on the bench and quietly watched this side.

Mikoto sighed softly.

This child is always like this.

Whenever he saw other parents with their children, he would sit at a distance and watch, his eyes filled with a quiet, cautious envy.

It's like looking at a painting.

It was as if they were afraid of getting too close and dirtying the painting.

Mikoto picked up the extra cup of tea from the tray and walked towards Uchiha Mine.

"peak."

She stopped in front of him, bent down slightly, and handed him the tea.

"You've been training all morning, have some water. Have you treated the injury on your arm?"

The boy looked up.

His expression was standard—flattered, then restrained gratitude, then embarrassment.

"Mi-Mikoto-sama... thank you."

He took the teacup with both hands, lowered his head, and sipped it slowly, his ear tips turning slightly red.

Mikoto Uchiha glanced at the bloodstains on his arm and frowned. "Go find the medical team to treat it later. Don't take it lightly."

"Hmm...I understand."

His voice was soft, as if he was afraid of disturbing someone.

Mikoto nodded, turned around, and walked back.

The boy watched her retreating figure, a simple, even somewhat clumsy smile on his lips.

He glanced down at the wound on his arm; the bloodstain had stopped bleeding.

If someone were to observe his hands closely at that moment, they would notice something amiss.

His hand holding the teacup was unusually steady.

A person who has just been hit in the arm by a sparring partner and has just completed a round of high-intensity combat training should have slight tremors in their fingers.

Muscle fatigue doesn't lie.

But none of his ten fingers were trembling.

Not a single one.

The noise from the training field continued.

The clanging of shuriken hitting a spinning target, the barking of Inuzuka ninja dogs, the distant sound of a tram bell, and Itachi Uchiha's giggling as his father lifted him above his head.

The boy sat on the bench, holding the cup of warm tea.

His gaze shifted from Mikoto's back to the west side of the training field.

Fugaku Uchiha was holding Itachi in mid-air.

Itachi spread his arms and mumbled something, which was hard to hear clearly, but judging from the tone of his voice, he was probably imitating the name of some ninja's technique.

Mikoto reached out to protect him, muttering, "Don't hold it up so high."

Fugaku smiled and said it was nothing.

The sun is shining brightly.

The wind was gentle too.

Uchiha Mine lowered his head and took another sip of tea.

Then he began peeling off the scabs that had already formed on his arm.

Slowly, tear it apart piece by piece.

The movements could be described as gentle.

It's like doing a meticulous, patient handicraft.

His gaze was lowered, resting on his arm.

I didn't look at the training field again.

But what if a ninja from a mountain clan happens to pass by and their sensory range happens to cover this bench—

He will sense something that confuses him.

The boy's heart rate, from the moment he was struck in the arm until now, until he sat down, until he took the teacup, until he looked at the Fugaku family with an envious smile—

It is consistently 62 beats per minute.

It has never changed.

"Wuhu—"

In the distance, Uchiha Itachi was put back on the ground. He staggered as he chased after the wooden ball.

He stopped running.

He turned his head away.

With a pair of clean, unblemished black eyes, he looked toward the bench.

The boy met that gaze.

He smiled.

He stood up from the bench, bent slightly, and waved to Weasel.

Hello~

The movements were natural and warm.

Like a shy, unsociable older brother greeting a cute little kid.

The little weasel tilted its head, then raised its little hand and waved it at him.

"Hee-ho~"

Uchiha Mine straightened up, a smile still on his face.

He bent down, picked up the wooden shuriken used for training from under the bench, and turned to walk back to the training ground.

After taking three steps, he looked down at his right hand.

The shuriken was held firmly between the fingers.

The grip should be standard.

The angle is precise.

He adjusted his grip to make it look more clumsy and awkward.

Then continue walking forward.

Behind them, on the training field, Fugaku Uchiha was teaching Itachi how to clap.

Once, twice, three times.

Every time Itachi made a correct shot, Fugaku would laugh.

The autumn sun shone on the eaves of the Uchiha clan's house, on the sandy training ground, and on the father and son.

everything is fine.

Everything is safe.

Everything is in the way Hiruzen Sarutobi personally created this new Konoha over several decades.

And that boy who emerged clean and pure from the desert of the Land of Wind has already blended into this sunlight.

Just like everyone else, there was no difference between them.