Within the Uchiha clan library, Tatsumi selected a scroll detailing Sharingan usage and experience, a small consolation prize for his involuntary conscription into the clan's schemes. Never do anything for free, he thought wryly. And I certainly don't need ninjutsu lessons from them.
He couldn't help but internally curse Uchiha Gaku and his ilk. They've really done it this time! he fumed. I'm no humble pushover. Why would a second-year Academy student who had been angling for some modest benefits suddenly warrant such high level? I was perfectly content biding my time as being a reasonably talented background character.
Tatsumi had preferred to live by the principle of gradual accumulation, a wisdom gleaned from observing the world around him. But now, his carefully constructed vision had been shattered. The Clan Head had essentially declared him the future Hokage, a proclamation so outlandish it bordered on the absurd, throwing him into the shark infested waters of succession.
As Tatsumi walked back to his modest dwelling, a sense of unease settled upon him as he walked in the quiet darkness. He felt eyes on him, unseen observers lurking in shadows. The Uchiha compound, usually a place of quiet familiarity, now felt like a beautiful tomb, his cosy home a weathered headstone. I'll have to get out of here eventually, he mused. But that's a problem for another day.
He was now a pawn in a larger game, and to survive, he needed to play his part convincingly. To overturn the board, or even become a player himself, required power, influence. And right now, he had neither.
The circumstances surrounding his father's death, Uchiha Kagami, remained a nagging question mark. He believed the clan's official version of events about as much as he believed Lord Third's. Whether the Uchiha were directly involved, he couldn't say. But I will find out the truth, he vowed silently. Every single person involved will pay for what they've done.
For now, he was weak, vulnerable. His only option was to navigate the treacherous currents of clan and village politics, playing the role of a loyal Uchiha while secretly pursuing his own agenda.
The first rays of dawn crept through the gaps in the lush foliage outside Tatsumi's window, painting his face with dappled sunlight. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. Gently, he formed a single hand seal – a Wind Style technique. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, a refreshing caress against his skin.
Chakra control is getting better, he thought, a small smile playing on his lips. All those hours of practice are paying off. He'd discovered this particular training method by accident, a rather explosive accident.
He remembered the day vividly. He'd been sitting in class, bored with the droning lecture, when a sudden impulse took hold. He'd unleashed a small Wind Style jutsu, just to see what would happen. The result was… chaotic. Desks flew across the room, papers swirled in miniature tornadoes, and the entire class erupted in shouts and screams. His punishment a week's worth of labour courtesy of his class instructor.
But the experience had taught him a valuable lesson. Incorporating ninjutsu into everyday life, even in small ways, was an effective way to refine chakra control. Chakra isn't just for fighting, he mused. It's a tool, a force that can be shaped and moulded.
Despite being awake, Tatsumi had no intention of getting up just yet. He snuggled deeper under the covers, pulling the blanket tighter around him. A moment later, a rhythmic knocking echoed through his small house. Tap. Tap. Tap. Three sharp raps, followed by silence. Then, the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock.
Mikoto? Tatsumi wondered. She occasionally came by early to wake him up, and she had a spare key.
Thanks to Mikoto's influence, Tatsumi was rarely late for the Academy these days. He emerged from his bedroom, pulling on his standard-issue Uchiha shirt. The aroma of breakfast wafted from the kitchen, where he found Mikoto bustling about, a scarf wrapped around her neck. It's like a scene from a family drama, Tatsumi thought, a stark contrast to the usual cutthroat world of shinobi.
"Mikoto, you're up early," he greeted.
"I wasn't particularly sleepy this morning," she replied, smiling. "Don't you want to sleep a little longer, Tatsumi? It's still quite early."
"No, it's alright," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "I sometimes get up early too." His eyes drifted to a particularly 'artistic' batch of cookies on the table.
"Actually…" Mikoto hesitated. "I tried baking cookies last night, but they were a disaster…"
Tatsumi chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Whatever you make is delicious."
After a quick breakfast, Tatsumi and Mikoto set off for the Academy, walking through the bustling Konoha streets. It was unusually early for them. Along the way, they encountered Nawaki, heading in from the Senju compound.
"Yo, Tatsumi, Mikoto! Good morning!" Nawaki called out cheerfully.
"Good morning, Nawaki," Mikoto responded.
"It's rare to see you up this early, Tatsumi," Nawaki commented.
"I'm full of surprises, little Senju," Tatsumi retorted, a playful glint in his eyes.
"You? The one who was late on the very first day of class? Don't even start," Nawaki scoffed.
"I was delayed helping an old lady cross the street," Tatsumi said with mock indignation. "As a future Hokage, you should understand the importance of civic duty."
"Hmph. You should focus on preparing for sister's training," Nawaki snorted.
Mikoto watched the exchange with amusement. Tatsumi, however, was studying Nawaki intently, his gaze sharp and observant.
"Something wrong, Tatsumi?" Nawaki asked, a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Why are you staring at my handsome face like that?"
"No… it's just… Nawaki, you seem different this morning," Tatsumi remarked.
"Different? I'm the same as always!" Nawaki's voice was a little too high-pitched, his eyes darting away from Tatsumi's scrutiny. Has he already figured it out? he thought nervously. I have to keep this secret. Especially from a lecher like Tatsumi.
"I didn't say you weren't the same," Tatsumi clarified. "I just said you seem… happier than usual. And you're being awfully defensive."
Nawaki's heart pounded in his chest. He's too perceptive! Tatsumi was right. He was happier. He'd just learned from his grandmother, Mito Uzumaki, that his younger cousin, basically his sister, was coming to Konoha from another village.
"Can't a guy be happy?" Nawaki mumbled, trying to appear nonchalant.
"Of course," Tatsumi said smoothly. "But sharing information is a ninja's duty, isn't it? We could trade secrets."
"Secrets?" Nawaki's interest was piqued. Maybe Tatsumi knows something I don't.
"For example," Tatsumi began, his voice dropping conspiratorially, "Mikoto and I passed a shop earlier with… some very attractive women in short skirts…"
"What?!" Nawaki's eyes widened. "Tatsumi, we have to investigate! It could be enemy spies! For the safety of the village!" He grabbed Tatsumi's arm, pulling him towards the direction of the shop. "We must conduct a thorough, low-level investigation!"
Kids play, Tatsumi smirked. Got him Hook, line, and sinker.