I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

The war on the western front has finally come to an end.

The retreat of the Sand Village, the signing of the alliance treaty, the opening of trade, and the exchange of prisoners—everything is proceeding in an orderly manner.

The lights in the Hokage Building no longer burned all night, and the Third Hokage was finally able to put down his pipe and close the mountain of battle reports before midnight.

The tents at the western camp began to be dismantled, and the wounded were sent back to Konoha in batches. Those ninjas who had endured more than a year on the front lines could finally go home.

But peace is only on the surface.

The Misty Cavern on the eastern front is still there.

Since the outbreak of the war, Kirigakure has suffered the least losses among the four major powers.

Minato single-handedly routed a thousand-strong army in Iwagakure, and the Third Tsuchikage, Onoki, even issued the order that "if you encounter the Yellow Flash, you can abandon the mission." Countless elite Jonin were lost, and the village was severely weakened.

With the death of the Third Raikage of Kumogakure, the newly appointed Fourth Raikage was busy stabilizing the internal situation and dealing with the retaliation from Iwagakure, leaving him unable to attend to both.

Sunagakure signed a ceasefire and became allies.

Only the Hidden Mist remained on the eastern front from beginning to end, probing, harassing, and engaging in small-scale skirmishes, never launching a large-scale offensive or retreating.

Like a crocodile lying on the shore, eyes closed, waiting for its prey to walk into the water.

Konoha's forces are secretly gathering on the eastern front.

The orders from the Anbu were delivered at night, and ninjas of Chunin rank and above received new mission notices one after another—not to return to the village for rest, but to move to the eastern front.

Supplies were transported directly from the western front warehouses to the east, eliminating the need for transshipment.

The Third Hokage's attitude was clear: Iwagakure crippled them, Kumogakure hurt them badly, and Sunagakure subdued them.

Now, it's Mist's turn.

The villagers were still basking in the joy of the ceasefire.

There were more pedestrians on the streets, the grocery stores removed their purchase restriction signs, and the black market grain prices fell back to pre-war levels.

Some people laid flowers at the memorial, some got drunk in taverns, and some wept in the sunset while embracing their long-lost family members.

No one knew that a tough battle awaited them on the eastern front.

A brief period of calm.

The calm before the storm.

……

……

……

Deep within the forest of the Uchiha clan, there is a clearing.

Far from the center of the tribe's territory, it was so quiet that only birdsong and the sound of the wind could be heard.

Sakumo Hatake stood in the center of the open space, his sword at his waist, with two students standing before him—Kakashi and Sakugo. One had just come from the battlefield, and so had the other.

A pair of white teeth, an old knife.

"Knives are not for show."

Sakumo's voice was flat, as flat as if he were saying the weather was nice today. "On the battlefield, no one cares how good your posture is, they only care if you can stay upright before he falls."

He drew his knife.

The white blade glinted in the sunlight, like a shimmering spot on the water's surface.

He swung his sword—not a slash, but a chop. From the upper left to the lower right, the angle and the amplitude were very small, and the speed was so fast that Kakashi's pupils hadn't even contracted before the sword was already back in its sheath.

"Did you see clearly?"

Kakashi shook his head. Sakugo nodded.

Sakumo glanced at Sakugo. "What did you see?"

"The knife entered from the left side of the Adam's apple and exited between the third and fourth cervical vertebrae," Shuoge said calmly. "The wound will be no more than two fingers wide, with minimal bleeding; one cut is enough to kill."

He turned around and faced a scarecrow—a wooden stake with straw tied to it, and human groin points drawn on the straw. "Come here."

Kakashi goes first.

He drew his sword, charged at the scarecrow, and slashed horizontally.

The blade sliced ​​across the scarecrow's neck, scattering the straw and leaving an uneven cut.

Sakumo stared at the cut and remained silent for a moment.

"You're cutting grass, not people. A person's neck isn't that thick, and their bones aren't that soft. Your knife went astray before it even met any resistance."

He walked over to the scarecrow and pointed to the cut with his finger.

"Enter from here, walk sideways, and exit from here. Don't use brute force, use the weight of the knife."

Kakashi gripped the hilt of his sword and swung it again.

This time the cut was neater, but not deep enough.

Shuo Mao didn't say anything more.

He turned to Shuoge.

Shuoge drew his sword, walked up to the scarecrow, and stood still.

He didn't immediately swing his knife, but instead looked at the scarecrow for three seconds.

Then he moved—the knife slid out of its sheath, slashed upwards, and the blade precisely cut into the scarecrow's left neck, exiting from the right.

There were no unnecessary movements, no sound.

The scarecrow's head flew off, the cut as smooth as a mirror.

Sakumo stared at the cut, remaining silent for a long time. "You've practiced this."

"I've practiced." Shuoge sheathed his sword. "Ten thousand times."

"More than that," Sakumo said. "This one strike has been practiced at least fifty thousand times."

Sakugo remained silent. Kakashi stood beside him, looking at the cut, then at the sword in his hand. He gripped the hilt tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Shuo Mao turned around to face the two students.

"The essence of swordsmanship is not speed, but accuracy. There is no limit to speed; you may be fast today, but someone will be faster tomorrow. But accuracy has a standard—the blade must land where it is meant to. An inch off, and you won't kill. A second off, and you'll be killed. There are no second chances on the battlefield. Every strike you make must be your last."

He drew his knife from his waist, the white blade gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

"Watch closely."

He swung his knife.

It's not about cutting down scarecrows, it's about cutting down the wind.

The blade sliced ​​through the air, producing a low hum, like the fluttering of a bee's wings or the flicking of a snake's tongue.

The sound of the air being cut was only faint and brief when the sword was sheathed.

Kakashi's eyes widened.

Sakugo's three-tomoe Sharingan caught it—that strike wasn't just fast, it was clean. There were no unnecessary movements, not a single wasted effort. From the moment the sword was drawn to the moment it was sheathed, it did only one thing: kill.

"This is the Hatake-ryu style." Sakumo hung his sword at his waist. "We only kill, we don't perform."

He walked to a tree and sat down against the trunk.

"Practice. Practice until the knife becomes a part of your body. Practice until you don't need to think, and your body will move on its own. Practice until every strike lands where it should."

Kakashi turned around, faced the scarecrow, drew his sword, and swung it.

One cut, two cuts, three cuts.

Shuoge stood beside him, without moving.

He watched Kakashi wield his sword, watching the cuts change from jagged to neat, and from neat to precise.

Then he started swinging his knife.

It's not about cutting down scarecrows, it's about cutting down the wind.

The blade sliced ​​through the air, producing a low hum, exactly like the one Sakumo had just used.

Shuo Mao leaned against the tree trunk, watching the two children. One was cutting down a scarecrow, and the other was cutting down the wind.

His lips twitched slightly, briefly, not in the form of a smile, but something fainter.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, falling on the three people. The only sound in the forest was the sharp crack of a blade cutting through the air, again and again.

……

……

……

After news of the ceasefire on the western front reached Konoha, the atmosphere at the Uchiha camp changed.

It wasn't the kind of celebration that comes after a victory; it was something quieter—the tribespeople walked the streets with their backs straighter than before.

The Third Hokage publicly praised the Uchiha clan's contributions on the western front at the Hokage Building. News of the information brought back by Kaze, the support team led by Yan, and the feat of Sakugo holding off hundreds of puppeteers all spread throughout the village.

Even the guards on duty now look at the villagers differently – no longer with fear, but with curiosity and a touch of awe.

The source of all this is a child who is not even ten years old.

The clan meeting was held one evening.

The Uchiha clan's main hall was packed with people, including elders who rarely showed up.

The candlelight illuminated the entire room, and the family crest on the round fan hanging on the wall glowed with a dark red light in the firelight.

Fugaku sat in the main seat, with a commendation order personally signed by the Third Hokage spread out in front of him, the paper stamped with the Hokage's vermilion seal.

"Uchiha Sakugo, for his meritorious service in the western front, has been promoted to Chunin."

Fugaku's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

—The promotion of ninjas during wartime is different from that during peacetime.

A low murmur arose in the hall.

Chunin, not even ten years old.

There are precedents, but every precedent has become a legend.

The tribesmen's eyes fell on Shuoge. The child sat in the corner, his knife leaning against the chair, his face expressionless, as if this matter had nothing to do with him.

"In addition, the Third Hokage allocated a special fund as a reward for the Uchiha clan's support of the western front," Fugaku continued, his voice calm and unreadable.

"Everyone has a share, including the wind, proverbs, and the tribespeople who participated in the war."

The discussion grew louder.

Some people were laughing, some were whispering, and some were calculating how much they could buy with that money.

The war was over, the tribesmen returned alive, and there was even an extra reward—there couldn't have been a better outcome.

Fugaku raised his hand, and the hall fell silent.

"Shuoge." He looked at the child in the corner. "Do you have anything to say?"

All eyes turned to Shuoge again.

He looked up at Fugaku.

The young chieftain's face was expressionless, but there was something in his eyes—not gratitude, not appreciation, but something more complex and indescribable.

Shuoge knew what it was.

The power is high.

He earned such a great deal of face for the Uchiha clan; Fugaku, as the clan head, couldn't bear to lose face.

It's not jealousy, it's pressure.

Unfortunately, Uchiha Sakugo's vision never lingered on the Uchiha clan, nor was it ever confined to Konoha Village. From the very beginning, his perspective and that of Uchiha Fugaku were on completely different levels.

Shuoge stood up, his knife hanging on his back, and walked to the center of the hall.

"Let's think about the security detail."

The hall fell silent for a moment.

Some people frowned, some whispered to each other, and some lowered their heads and remained silent.

The security force is the foundation of the Uchiha clan in Konoha, and it is the power that the Second Hokage personally handed over to the Uchiha clan.

Giving up the security force is tantamount to giving up the Uchiha clan's status in the village. If the clan head said this, the clan members would seriously consider it. But if a child said it, it would be a joke.

Fugaku looked at him and remained silent for a long time.

"We'll discuss the security detail later." His voice was flat, but his tone left no room for negotiation. "Meeting adjourned."

The clansmen stood up and walked out of the hall in twos and threes.

Some people were discussing the reward money, some were talking about the war on the western front, and some glanced at Shuoge as they walked past him, their eyes filled with curiosity, incomprehension, and a bit of sympathy.

Shuoge stood still, motionless. Feng walked over, stood beside him, and looked down at him.

"You shouldn't have said that at the clan meeting," Feng said in a low voice.

Shuoge didn't speak. He turned and walked towards the entrance of the hall.

He took a few steps, then stopped without looking back.

"It won't happen again." His voice was flat, as if he were saying something very ordinary. "People who are courting death can't be saved."

Uchiha Sakugo is gone.

The wind stood still, watching that figure walk out of the hall and into the twilight.

The knife was behind his back, his hands were at his sides, and his steps were neither fast nor slow.

Same as before, yet different from before.

-

After the clan meeting ended, Fugaku sat alone in the empty hall, with the commendation order spread out in front of him.

The candlelight flickered, and his face was illuminated and dimmed in the light and shadow.

Security Forces

I have to admit that Uchiha Shoko was right, the security force is a pit of fire.

But what is left of the Uchiha clan if they abandon the security force?

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

With Jing dead, the voices within the clan grew increasingly mixed, while Shuoge's prestige rose ever higher.

How much longer could he remain clan leader? He didn't know. But he knew one thing—the security force couldn't be released. If they were, the Uchiha would truly have nothing left.

He opened his eyes, picked up the commendation certificate, folded it, and stuffed it into his pocket.

Stand up and blow out the candle.

The hall was plunged into darkness.

……

……

……

Shuoge didn't take the clan meeting to heart.

Whether he was rewarded or ignored, those people's gaze was never within his sight.

When he returned to the Uchiha compound, the moon had already risen, and its silvery light shone on the stone path, casting long shadows.

He pushed open the courtyard gate, leaned the knife against the wall, changed into clean clothes, picked up the knife, and went out.

In the clearing in the forest, the moonlight was much brighter than the candlelight in the clan hall.

Sakumo Hatake has arrived.

He leaned against the old tree, a knife across his knees, his eyes closed, as if he were dozing.

Kakashi stood in the center of the open space, holding a wooden sword and swinging it.

One, one, another.

Hearing footsteps, he stopped what he was doing, turned around, and watched as Shuoge emerged from the woods.

"You're late." Kakashi's voice was flat.

Shuoge offered no explanation, walked to the other side of the open space, and drew his wooden sword.

Two wooden swords, two boys, and a ray of moonlight.

"Let's have a match." Kakashi held his wooden sword horizontally in front of him.

Shuoge looked at him and nodded.

Kakashi made the first move.

He was fast, his wooden sword slashing from the upper left to the lower right at a tricky angle with precise force—the Hatake-ryu throat-slicing sword.

Sakugo did not retreat. He swung his wooden sword upwards, the back of the blade striking Kakashi's sword and deflecting it.

Kakashi didn't stop; with a flick of his wrist, the wooden sword swept across Sakugo's ribs from the side.

Sakugo stepped to the side, his wooden sword brushing against Kakashi's clothes as he passed by; his blade was already at Kakashi's neck.

"Too slow," Shuoge said calmly. "Your shoulder moved before you drew your sword."

Kakashi looked down at the wooden sword held to his neck and remained silent for a moment.

He sheathed his knife and took a step back.

"Again."

The second time, Kakashi didn't use the throat-cutting blade; he used a stab instead.

The wooden sword pierced straight into Shuoge's chest, moving so fast that the air itself seemed to be torn apart.

Sakugo held his sword horizontally in front of him, using the blade to block the thrust. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the blade slid down Kakashi's sword, slicing straight down his fingers.

Kakashi let go, the wooden sword fell to the ground, and Sakugo's sword stopped an inch above the back of his hand.

"You raised your wrist too high when you sheathed your sword." Sakugo sheathed his sword. "In the Hatake-ryu school of swordsmanship, the drawing and sheathing of the sword must be at the same horizontal line. Raising it even an inch creates an opening."

Kakashi crouched down and picked up the wooden sword.

He gripped the knife hilt, his knuckles turning white, and stared at Shuoge's expressionless face.

He remembered what his father had said—Shuoge's sword had been practiced more than 50,000 times.

Fifty thousand times.

He thought he was a genius. When he was in the ninja academy, and when he was on the battlefield, everyone said he was a genius.

But standing in front of Shuoge, he suddenly understood—genius was just the threshold to meeting this person.

Once you cross that threshold, you'll find yourself in another world.

Shuoge's world.

Sakumo Hatake leaned against the tree, watching the two children.

He didn't speak, but his lips twitched slightly—not in a smile, but something fainter.

Under the moonlight, two boys stood in an open space, one holding a wooden sword, the other already sheathing his. The wind blew from the woods, swirling fallen leaves around their feet.

"Continue." Shuoge raised the wooden sword again.

Kakashi looked at him and gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

The sound of blades clashing echoed through the forest, one after another.