I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

When Shuoge woke up, it was two days later.

The first thing I saw was a white tent top, and the air smelled of ointment and disinfectant.

He lay on a narrow bed, covered with a thin blanket, his left shoulder and thigh wrapped in bandages. Any movement caused a dull pain to spread from the wounds, but it was not fatal.

He tried to sit up, bracing himself on the bed with his arms, but he trembled and couldn't hold on, so he lay back down.

The chakra is empty.

The feeling was strange, like a hole had been ripped out of my body, and the wind was blowing through it, chilly and unable to hold anything back.

He closed his eyes, trying to refine chakra—a little bit, then a little bit, very slowly, like a dried-up riverbed finally receiving its first rain.

"Don't move."

Xiazi's voice came from the side.

She sat on another bed, her face injured, her arm in a sling, but her eyes were alive. She looked at Shuoge, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but in the end she only said two words: "Alive."

Shuoge did not answer.

He turned his head and saw something on the wooden table by the bed—his knife.

Another scratch appeared on the scabbard, and the cloth strip on the hilt was soaked with blood and hadn't been replaced yet.

Beside the knife lay the shuriken, the one engraved with the character "mirror," wiped clean and gleaming in the sunlight. He reached out and grasped it in his hand; it was cool to the touch.

Xia Zi looked at him. "You've been unconscious for two days. Your chakra is depleted, and your body can't hold on. The medical team says you'll need to stay in bed for at least a week."

A week?

too long.

Shuoge tucked the shuriken behind his waist and sat up, supporting himself on the edge of the bed. This time he was steady; his hands weren't trembling. He turned to look at Xiazi. "Where's Zhonglin?"

Xia Zi didn't speak. She lowered her head and looked at her hands.

"Where's the motorcycle?"

"You know that," Xiazi said softly.

Shuoge did not ask any further questions.

Dead people, it's not like we haven't seen them before.

He thought he was used to it.

But in fact—

He wasn't used to it at all.

Uchiha Sakugo sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his hands. There were calluses on his palms, scars on his knuckles, and a fresh wound on the web of his hand, the stitches still in place.

These hands had killed many people. But they couldn't save Zhonglin, nor could they save Tiema. He clenched his fist, then relaxed it.

"The one who saved me was—" he asked.

Minato Namikaze?

"Our Yellow Flash of Konoha single-handedly broke through the Iwa ninja force that ambushed us, killing dozens of Jonin, and hundreds of Chunin and Genin."

Xia Zi paused.

"He left a long time ago. The front lines need him."

"He left with one sentence before he left—'That kid is strong, but not strong enough.' He said, 'You know what I mean.'"

Shuoge did not speak.

He understands.

Of course he understands.

That day in the canyon, he witnessed the battle at Watergate.

It's not about "seeing," it's about "feeling."

One person, one kunai, one ray of light.

Twelve Jonin, half a minute.

The entire elite Iwa ninja force!

Subsequent reinforcements included dozens of Jonin and hundreds of Chunin and Genin!

That speed, that precision, that overwhelming composure—he stood on the pile of rubble as naturally as if he were standing in his own backyard.

And what about Shuoge himself? Like a dog that had been chased for three blocks, he lay on the ground, unable to even hold his knife.

Not strong enough. Far from it.

-

From that day on, Shuoge began to re-examine himself.

He didn't rest during his recovery period.

Chakra is slowly recovering, a little more each day, a wisp more each day.

After he regained his mobility, he began practicing knife skills behind the medical tent.

His movements were much slower than before—not because of the injury, but because he was thinking. With each swing of his sword, he pondered the same question—if he had another chance in the canyon that day, could he have done better?

the answer is negative.

His swordsmanship has reached a bottleneck.

It's not that it's not fast enough, it's that it's too monotonous.

He sat on the open ground behind the medical tent, a knife across his lap, and for the first time stopped swinging it.

The sun shone on him, warm and cozy, but he felt cold.

He recalled Minato's battles—that man not only had speed, but also the Flying Thunder God Technique, the Rasengan, and various tactics to deal with different situations.

And what about him?

Knife skills.

Sharingan.

Fire Release.

Wind Release.

It sounds like a lot, but in practice it's all about one thing—charge in and chop.

If you encounter a Chunin from Iwagakure, charge in and slash them.

If you encounter a Jonin, charge in and slash them.

If you encounter a group of people, you should still charge in and attack.

When your swordsmanship is strong enough, this move is sufficient. But what if you encounter someone stronger? Someone faster than you? Someone stronger than you? Someone who can see through your swordplay?

In that battle in the canyon, his blade was seen through.

It wasn't just one person who saw through it, but a whole group of people.

They knew he only knew how to charge, only knew how to chop, only knew that one method. So they set nets, ropes, and traps.

Shuoge stuck the knife into the soil in front of him and stared at his reflection on the blade.

The face was small, about seven years old, with black eyes, but no Sharingan.

He recalled Jing's words: "Every strike you make is about speed, but you've never thought about what the purpose of speed is."

He didn't quite understand at the time.

—In the world of martial arts, speed is the only way to break through!

Fast is fast!

Now he understands.

Speed ​​is about delivering the knife to the right place at the right time, in the right way. But if speed is all you have, there's only one opportunity, one method, and one position.

If the enemy sees through you, you're dead.

He needs more.

It's not about more ninjutsu, it's about more fighting styles.

He needs to have a second or third skill, beyond swordsmanship, that makes him unpredictable. He needs to keep his enemies guessing what he'll do next.

He needs to transform from a knife into a deadly weapon.

The wind blew in from afar, carrying the smell of gunpowder and earth.

The fighting is still going on at the front, and people are still dying.

He sat there, the knife stuck in the ground, his mind racing. He remembered the words Minato had left before he left—"That kid is strong, but not strong enough."

He understood. He knew what to do next.

He drew his knife and stood up.

His legs were still shaking, and his wounds were still hurting, but he stood very straight.

He looked towards Konoha, where Shisui, the wind, and that empty house were. Then he looked down at the sword in his hand, its blade reflecting his eyes—black, but soon to turn red.

He is not Watergate.

He doesn't have the Flying Thunder God Technique, the Rasengan, or that innate fighting instinct.

But he has a sword, Sharingan, and Fire Release and Wind Release techniques.

He needs to combine these things together, to create something that no one else has ever seen before.

It's not about swordsmanship plus the Sharingan; it's about swordsmanship containing the Sharingan, the Sharingan containing ninjutsu, and ninjutsu containing swordsmanship.

Make it impossible for the enemy to stop, predict, or escape.

He turned around and walked back to the medical tent.

Xia Zi was still there; seeing him return, she breathed a sigh of relief. "You should lie down."

"I can't sleep."

Shuoge sat down, took out a pencil from his ninja tool bag, and started writing and drawing on the back of the bandage.

Xia Zi leaned over for a look, but couldn't understand it—it showed sword paths, the order of ninjutsu hand seals, and the timing for initiating Sharingan genjutsu.

It's a mess, like a child's doodle.

But Xiazi didn't laugh. She looked at the dense words and pictures on the bandage and suddenly felt her throat go dry.

The child wasn't daydreaming; he was thinking. Thinking about how to kill, how to survive, how to become stronger.

Seven years old. A seven-year-old child, lying in a hospital bed, thinking about these things.

Shuoge finished writing, put down his pencil, and looked at the crooked words and drawings on the bandage.

Not good enough.

I still need to think about it.

We still need to practice.

It needs to be even stronger.

He folded the bandage, tucked it into his pocket, and placed it together with Zhishui's letter.

Then he lay down and closed his eyes.

Chakra was slowly recovering, wisp by wisp. Like a parched riverbed finally receiving rain. Not a downpour, but a drizzle. But that was enough. Enough.

……

……

……

Broken bones for a hundred days.

Chakra depletion is more troublesome than breaking a bone.

If a bone is broken, it can be set.

Chakra is a mixture of physical and mental energy. Overdrawing it to the bottom is like draining a well dry, even bringing up the mud at the bottom.

To refill the well, we have to wait for the water to seep slowly through the well walls; we can't rush it.

The medical team diagnosed Shuoge with a diagnosis that he should remain in bed for at least a month.

After reading the report, the bespectacled military doctor frowned so deeply that it could trap a fly.

"A seven-year-old child, with chakra depleted to this extent, has also reached the limit of mental energy consumption. An ordinary person would not be able to get up for at least two or three months."

Shuoge did not listen.

On the third day, he got out of bed, stood up while holding onto the tent pole, his legs were shaking, but he stood.

On the fifth day, he started walking around the tent, one circle, two circles, three circles, like a cat locked in a cage.

On the seventh day, he picked up the knife, but the army doctor snatched it from his hand. The two stared at each other for three seconds.

The medic lost—not because of his momentum, but because of those eyes. Three-tomoe Sharingan, not yet awakened, but their overwhelming presence was suffocating.

"You really have a death wish." The medic handed the knife back to him and turned to leave.

—Are you out of your mind?

—No, it's precisely because I value my life that I fight so desperately!

On the tenth day, Shuoge stepped out of the medical tent.

The sunlight was so bright that he squinted. He stood outside the tent and took a deep breath.

The air smelled of earth and grass. In the distance, some people were cooking over a fire, some were organizing ninja tools, and some were bandaging their wounds.

Everything was the same as it had been ten days ago. But within his body, chakra was slowly circulating, like a dried-up riverbed finally receiving water.

Not much, but enough.

"That's an incredible recovery ability." Xia Zi stood behind him, her voice filled with surprise and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Are you even human?"

Shuoge did not answer.

He moved his shoulders; the wound on his left shoulder was still throbbing slightly, but it didn't affect his movements.

The wound on his thigh had scabbed over, and he could walk without limping. He looked down at his hands; the calluses on his palms were still there, and the stitches on the web of his hand had been removed, leaving a pink scar.

"I'm going to training," he said.

Xia Zi looked at him, wanting to say something, but swallowed it back.

—Don't push yourself so hard, you…

-

There was an open space behind the camp, which Shuoge had discovered earlier.

It was quiet, no one came. There were traces left by his knife on the ground—grooves cut into the soil by the blade, and dense knife marks on the tree trunks.

He stood in the center of the open space, knife held horizontally in front of him, eyes closed.

First, refine the chakra.

One thread after another, very slowly, but more steadily than before.

The sensation of chakra flowing through his meridians was very clear, as if he could count where it flowed to. He hadn't touched a knife for ten days, and his hands were itching terribly, but he didn't rush to swing it.

He was thinking about Minato.

It's not about how strong that person is, but about their fighting style.

Flying Thunder God Technique, Rasengan, Kunai Throwing Technique—each is independent, but each can be combined.

The kunai is not just a kunai, it's a coordinate. Speed ​​is not just speed, it's a tactic. He has no repetitive movements, no fixed routines; every move paves the way for the next.

Shuoge opened his eyes and looked at the knife in his hand.

His swordsmanship was developed by him by combining the swordsmanship of the Uchiha clan, with guidance from Kagami, Kaze, and others.

They take a fast, accurate, and ruthless approach.

Each cut is a single, decisive stroke; nothing is superfluous.

This knife technique is pure enough, but also too simplistic.

If you observe someone closely enough, they'll know exactly where your next strike will come from and where it will go. That's how it happened in the battle in the canyon. They figured him out, and that's why they won.

He is still alive because of the water gate.

What about next time?

Watergate won't come every time.

He needs to make the sword different. Not faster, but more. So many that the enemy can't see through it, can't guess it, and can't block it.

He stuck the knife into the ground, sat cross-legged, and began to think.

His chakra nature is wind and fire.

The wind cuts, penetrates, and is elusive.

Fire, burning, exploding, overwhelming everything.

How can these two attributes be used?

He had seen combinations of Wind Release and Fire Release—the wind fueled the fire, and the fire borrowed the wind's power, doubling its strength. But what he wanted wasn't power, but transformation. Transformation that the enemy couldn't defend against.

He stood up and picked up the knife.

Hold the knife in your right hand and form a hand seal with your left.

Wind Release: Vacuum Ball - Chakra condenses, compresses, and then releases at the fingertips of the left hand.

A wind blade flew out from his palm; it was fast, but not fast enough.

The trajectory is straight, and so is the knife.

It's too monotonous.

He tried a few times, and the trajectory of the wind blade began to change—from a straight line to an arc, and from an arc to a broken line.

His control over chakra was improving, and the mental strength advantage brought by the three-tomoe Sharingan was evident here. He could sense every fluctuation of chakra and control where it went, how it went, and how fast it went.

not enough.

He needs to coordinate the wind blade with the sword.

The blade is for close combat, while the wind blade is for mid-range combat.

If the enemy is out of reach of the blade, the wind blade can reach them first.

If the enemy is dodging the wind blade, the knife can be moved backward.

He tried it once—using a wind blade in his left hand and a knife in his right.

The wind blade flew out, drawing an arc, and circled around the side of the imaginary enemy from the left.

At the same time, his knife slashed from the front.

If you want to hide from an imaginary enemy, you have to hide from two directions at the same time.

You'll either be cut by wind blades or slashed by knives.

Choosing either one means certain death.

Shuoge sheathed his sword, stood on the open ground, and looked in the direction where the wind blades had disappeared.

feasible.

But not enough.

The wind blades are too slow and consume a lot of chakra.

He needs a more efficient way to use it.

What if you attach Wind Release techniques to a sword?

He knew that wind-attribute chakra could make a blade sharper and have a stronger cutting force.

But what if you "launch" the Wind Release technique?

It's not a wind blade, it's wind pressure.

With a single swing, the blade's energy, imbued with the cutting power of Wind Release, flew even further. He had seen this technique used in the scrolls of Uchiha clan ninjutsu; it was called "Wind Release: Vacuum Slash."

He hadn't studied it, but he could try it himself.

He gripped the sword tightly and channeled wind-attribute chakra into its blade.

The knife made a soft hum, like a piece of metal being moved by the wind.

He swung his sword—the blade's energy flew out, whistling through the air, and cut a gash in the tree trunk.

Not deep enough, not far enough.

Again. He channeled even more chakra into it, and changed the angle of his sword swing—not a straight slash, but a diagonal cut. This time, the sword energy flew even further, cutting a deeper gash in the tree trunk.

Come again.

Come again.

Come again.

The sun moves from the east to the zenith, and from the zenith to the west.

Shuo Ge did not stop.

His chakra was being depleted much faster than a normal sword swing, but he didn't care. He was testing. Testing the angle, testing the force, testing the amount of chakra he could channel.

Each cut is different, each cut is more precise than the last.

When Xiazi brought the food, she saw that the open space was in a terrible state.

The tree trunk was covered with deep knife marks, some straight, some slanted, and some curved.

There were also lines on the ground, like they had been plowed.

Shuoge stood in the middle, drenched in sweat, his clothes soaked and clinging to his body. His sword was imbued with wind-attribute chakra, its blade gleaming with a faint white light.

"Dinner's ready." Xiazi placed the lunchbox on a rock.

Shuoge did not move.

He stood there, looking at his knife, at the white light on the blade.

He suddenly swung his knife again—not forward, but upward.

The blade energy flew upwards, cutting a gash in a tree branch overhead. A branch as thick as an arm fell to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.