When they returned to the defensive perimeter overseen by the Uchiha clan, the clansmen were already clearing the battlefield. Scattered around were broken kunai, charred shuriken, and the remnants of Fire Release jutsu scorching the earth. The surrounding terrain was pockmarked with craters from explosive tags and the violent clash of chakra-infused techniques.
Surveying the devastation, the once-thriving forest near Mount Platycodon was almost completely destroyed, its mighty trees reduced to charred stumps. It resembled the aftermath of Itachi Uchiha's Amaterasu, with blackened remnants smoldering, sending thin wisps of smoke into the sky. The dense sea of trees in the distance bore deep scars, as if a monstrous Susanoo had rampaged through, leaving behind gaping holes. Fires still flickered in various spots, their embers glowing ominously against the backdrop of dusk.
Beyond the mountain, Platycodon City suffered extensive damage. Its streets, once bustling with civilians, were now littered with the debris of collapsed houses. Many structures stood half-destroyed, their rooftops caved in, reminiscent of the devastation wrought by Pain's Shinra Tensei in Konoha. Hardly a single building remained unscathed.
Although the battle at Mount Platycodon lasted only a little over half a day, its intensity rivaled the Third Great Ninja War's fiercest clashes.
Konoha's losses were substantial, and just restoring Platycodon City would drain a significant portion of the village's resources.
None of the Uchiha ninjas displayed joy despite their victory. They walked in silence, their crimson Sharingan eyes dull with exhaustion and grief. Their pride was evident in their posture, but beneath it lay the heavy burden of war.
Affected by the somber atmosphere, Uchiha Genya kept a stoic expression. Even though he had returned unharmed, celebrating in such a moment would be inappropriate.
"Captain, I'm back."
Uchiha Yashiro, sitting on the grass with his injured arm in a sling, barely stirred at first. But upon recognizing Genya—the young prodigy he had high hopes for—he lifted his gaze. Though relieved to see him safe, Yashiro maintained the trademark Uchiha composure, his face impassive as he replied in a measured tone.
"Well, let's finish the work."
"Yes."
Genya bowed slightly before stepping away.
The Uchiha clan's pride was infamous. They were not only formidable but also notoriously aloof, their arrogance evident in their interactions with others. Among their own, this attitude softened somewhat, but outsiders often found them difficult. Their strong sense of superiority alienated them from the rest of Konoha, much like Madara Uchiha before he left the village.
During battles, their emotions ran high, but in times of peace, they maintained a cold, sharp demeanor, rarely showing vulnerability.
Despite their elite reputation, the ordinary civilians within the Uchiha district led relatively normal lives, untouched by the burdens of the clan's Kekkei Genkai.
As efficiency was a core principle of shinobi operations, the battlefield cleanup did not take long.
Since the Uchiha clan was also responsible for Konoha's Police Force, they were the first to leave the battlefield and return to the village—not for rest, but for duty. While others recuperated, Uchiha ninjas had to escort civilians from the underground shelters back to their homes. By the time this task was completed, night had fallen.
Fatigued, the Uchiha warriors finally returned to their compound. Some, particularly those with higher ranks, had no time to rest, immediately resuming patrol duty until their shift changed the next morning.
Gen Uchiha, not yet part of the Police Force, belonged to the frontline combat division. As a recognized genius, he was granted the rare privilege of immediate rest.
Upon returning home, Gen removed his bloodstained shinobi gear—flak jacket, arm guards, and boots—changing into comfortable home clothes before heading to the kitchen.
Having fought continuously since the previous night, surviving on nothing but soldier pills and water, his body demanded sustenance.
Too exhausted to prepare anything elaborate, he settled for a simple meal: a steaming pot of rice, stir-fried shredded potatoes with pork, and a plate of pickled vegetables.
Despite his young age, Genya never compromised on his meals. Unlike many shinobi who ate out of necessity, he valued quality food. It was a personal principle—if he had time, he would eat well.
Though not wealthy, the inheritance from his deceased parents, coupled with mission rewards and the stipend from awakening his Sharingan, placed him in a comfortable financial position. By modern standards, he would be considered middle class within Konoha.
As he ate in the quiet glow of his dining room lanterns, distant cries echoed through the night. Through the open window, he turned toward the Uchiha district.
The grieving had begun.
It wasn't just the Uchiha. Tonight, the entire village would be mourning.
Though the exact casualty numbers were unknown, the sheer brutality of the battle suggested Konoha had suffered heavily.
Gen sighed but continued eating.
A ninja's strength came from discipline. Hunger was an enemy, and exhaustion was a weakness. Pitying the dead would not bring them back, nor would dwelling on what was beyond his control.
After finishing his meal, he left the dishes soaking in the sink, opting to wash them in the morning. Instead, he went straight to bed, knowing that rest was just as crucial as training.
Some matters were beyond his reach. He was not yet in a position to change anything.
---
The next morning, Gen awoke fully refreshed. After a simple breakfast, he cleaned his dishes and stepped outside.
The clan compound was still quiet at such an early hour, except for the weary members of the Police Force returning from their night shift.
"Gen, out so early?"
"I'm heading to the forest for training."
"You're truly diligent—worthy of the Uchiha name."
"Thank you. You should rest now—you've had a long night."
"Yeah. See you later."
After exchanging farewells, Gen left the Uchiha district, heading toward the secluded forests bordering Konoha.
Upon reaching the dense woods, he focused his chakra, forming a quick sequence of hand seals.
Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu! (Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!)
A massive fireball erupted from his mouth, rolling forward like a miniature sun, its intense heat distorting the air.
Katon: Hōsenka no Jutsu! (Fire Release: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique!)
Fūton: Daitoppa! (Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!)
The added wind chakra intensified the flames, turning the forest into an inferno. The wildfire burned clean, minimizing smoke—just as he had planned.
Satisfied, he ceased his jutsu and surveyed the raging fire. However, he wasn't done yet.
"Be born, my creation!"
Genya plunged his right hand into his own chest, extracting a portion of his soul and a significant part of his lifespan. A sphere of radiant white energy pulsed in his palm. With a swift motion, he cast it into the flames.
For a moment, the blaze froze.
Then, a monstrous face emerged from the inferno, its laughter wild and unhinged.
The fire rapidly condensed, shrinking into a single streak of light that soared into Gen's outstretched hand.
A crimson dragon, its body a perfect fusion of chakra and natural flame, curled around his palm. It had the antlers of a stag, the head of a camel, eyes like a rabbit, scales like a fish, and the claws of an eagle. Despite its miniature size, it radiated immense power.
"Master."
The dragon's voice was deep and mature, its gaze sharp.
"Well, do you want a name?" Gen asked with a smirk.
"Yes."
"Then from today onward, you are Zhu Rong."
Zhu Rong—named after the ancient god of fire. A being worthy of standing alongside the Uchiha's legendary flames.