Three days passed in a flash. Uchiha Yang stayed home every day, either lying on his bed or sitting atop the great oak in their courtyard, reflecting on recent experiences and contemplating his future path—both in training and in life as a shinobi.
Each day was uneventful, except for when his father, Uchiha Hideki, returned at noon on the second day. He stormed into the kitchen, exchanged hurried words with his mother, and then—like a scene straight from the Tale of the Gallant Jiraiya—his usually gentle mother gave Yang a firsthand demonstration of why the Uchiha clan commanded such fear and respect in the ninja world.
Even armed with nothing but a frying pan, her Sharingan gleamed with the ominous red of the Sangōu Sharingan, parrying attacks from an elite Jōnin with terrifying precision. And yet, the Jōnin barely managed to escape, vanishing in a flicker of Shunshin no Jutsu. It was no wonder the world often whispered: "One-on-one, no one can stand against an Uchiha."
The next day, Yang gathered with his three closest friends—Uchiha Rei, Uchiha Retsu, and Uchiha Yan—at the clan's old training grounds. He handed each of them a short wooden staff, laid out the month's training plan, and set out for their first patrol mission through the bustling streets of Konoha.
But wait—where was the targeted training? Where was the tailor-made, scientifically structured regimen?!
Judging by their darkened expressions, his teammates were thinking the same thing. The traumatic memory of their last field training—where they barely survived an ambush—still haunted them, making them too afraid to question the instructor's methods.
And so, the newly formed Urban Patrol Squad embarked on its first mission, starting with none other than Konoha's most vibrant Food Street.
"From here to the street's end, this will be your training session for today."
The three stared, black lines forming on their foreheads. Nani? This had to be a joke…
"Of course, wandering Food Street isn't training. By nightfall, I expect a full report: which shops have the most customers, which ones attract the most shinobi, details on each shop owner, estimated daily revenue, and most importantly—identify all foreign merchants, their home nations, and any potential spies. Locate the ANBU presence, identify hidden surveillance posts, and assess our clan's security measures."
Their lazy postures vanished, replaced by sharp, calculating expressions.
This was intelligence-gathering training. A difficult task for beginners, but the three immediately split up and got to work.
"This street may be short," a nearby Uchiha guard murmured, watching their efforts, "but its foot traffic ranks among Konoha's top three. The information they're gathering isn't simple."
"Of course they'll fail." Yang leaned against the railing, arms crossed. "They're spoiled. Last time, they treated ninja life like a family competition—until they nearly died. This time, they'll learn the basics. In the ninja world, even our pride means nothing. If they want to be real shinobi, they start by patrolling the streets."
Satisfied, he strolled into the sushi shop next door.
"Hah! He's going to suffer," the older Uchiha laughed.
As night fell, the trio gathered their findings, but their shoulders slumped. They had no choice but to submit their reports to Uchiha Mei, their mentor.
Mei scanned the documents, then scoffed.
"This? What the hell is this? The pride of the Uchiha Clan hands me a pile of garbage? What am I supposed to do with this—fertilize crops?!"
Their faces burned with shame. Deep down, they knew she was right. They had nothing but half-baked intel. If humiliation had a scent, it would be all over them.
"At least you know embarrassment. Good. Dismissed for today. We start over tomorrow."
With that, she vanished—just a shadow clone?!
Only then did they realize… the real Mei hadn't even bothered to supervise them in person.
Resigned, the three decided to regroup over dinner. They found a clan member to inform their families before stepping into Ichiraku Ramen.
. . .
Between mouthfuls of noodles, they reviewed their failures, slowly piecing together a better approach. They walked Food Street repeatedly, refining their plan.
This time, they prioritized identifying ANBU observation points—there were only a few vantage spots that covered the entire street. Then, they would verify shop owners' identities, record income estimates, and track foreign merchants. Lastly, they would monitor individuals exhibiting suspicious behavior or frequenting specific locations too often.
By the next day, they moved with newfound purpose. House to house, shop to shop, methodical and relentless. At last, their training looked like training.
Three Months Later
The scent of eel rice wafted through the shop.
A burly, bearded merchant sighed as he took a seat.
"Business has been booming. Thanks to the war's end, trade routes have reopened. Without the right connections, though, I wouldn't dare risk it."
Across the street, Uchiha Yan subtly gestured to the others.
"Something's off about this guy," he murmured. "He's come to the same shop, same seat, at the same time for three days straight—always muttering the same words: 'recovery, war, trade route, someone helped.'"
At night, he relocated to the izakaya across the street, where he ordered the same meal: one cup of sake, one plate of saury. He rarely spoke, but his gaze often drifted toward the fishball stall diagonally across.
Before leaving, he always bought three skewers from the third row on the left. He ate two, then placed the last skewer in a paper cup, discreetly leaving it at the street corner.
"This is getting interesting," Retsu muttered. "He's waiting for something. Maybe it's time we set the bait."
Yang's Sharingan spun slightly as he processed the details.
**"The shop's owner, Tanaka Kuni, was once a merchant from the Land of Fire. He's been in Konoha for ten years. He also owns the izakaya across the street, but his specialty saury comes from the Land of Lightning.
Meanwhile, the fishball vendor, Huang Yuan, has only been here for two years. His third-row skewers are hollow. The ingredients inside? Unknown.
Yan, you keep an eye on the merchant. Retsu, track the fishball seller. I'll follow the bearded man."**
"Got it." Retsu nodded. "I'll also check where the fishballs are sourced from."
. . .
Two days later, Yang reconvened with his team.
**"They got what they needed. The bearded man vanished yesterday. The fishball seller swapped his third-row skewers for cuttlefish balls. When questioned, he brushed it off as 'just a small change.'
But the most suspicious piece? The supplier. The woman delivering the fish is an orphan. No family, no resources, and yet, she's transporting a full cartload of fish—too much for her to handle alone. And every single day, the fishball vendor personally helps her unload and feeds her a hollow fishball."**
Retsu's grin widened.
"That confirms it. This isn't just a coincidence—this is a covert dead drop. This entire setup is a hidden intelligence network."
Yang's eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"Looks like we're about to catch ourselves a big fish."