[Uchiha Clan District, Konohagakure]
The streets of the Uchiha compound were lively that morning. Villagers passed one another with pleasant nods and casual conversation, their faces settled into expressions of practiced calm. Children chased each other between the houses, their carefree laughter ringing through the air—a picture of clan prosperity and peace.
How utterly disgusting.
The thought surfaced, bitter and unbidden, in the mind of a dark-haired boy watching from a window. His eyes, dark and clear as polished obsidian, held a weariness that clashed violently with his youthful face. He watched the playing children, a faint, lonely shadow dimming his gaze.
His name was Uchiha Mikami. In terms of birth, he was among the most privileged in Konoha: the only son and heir of Uchiha Fugaku, the clan patriarch. In this village, perhaps only the Hokage's own children held comparable standing.
Once…
For the first five years of his life, Mikami had been doted upon, his future bright with promise. Everything changed at age five, the age when children of the clan began to awaken their chakra. While others succeeded, Mikami… failed. Completely. His body refused to mold the spiritual and physical energies together.
In the mighty Uchiha clan—a clan famed for its ninja—an heir who could not become a ninja was not just a disappointment; he was an insult. The title "The Clan Heir Who Cannot Use Chakra" spread like a stain. Overnight, admiration turned to pity, and pity to scorn.
His father, Fugaku, cold and prideful, saw him as a living blow to the clan's—and his own—prestige. Directly disposing of his own son was a step too far, even for him, but exile within the household was simple enough. Mikami was moved to a small, distant courtyard on the clan grounds, out of sight and, his father hoped, out of mind.
Hah…
Mikami let out a soft, controlled breath. At ten years old, he understood the fickleness of the world with a clarity that went beyond his years. It was because the soul within him was not that of a child, but of a man from another world, reborn into this brutal, ninja-ruled reality.
"Damn it all," he whispered, his knuckles white where they gripped the windowsill. "What's the point? To be reborn into this world just to be a joke? To be crushed under the wheels of fate while my so-called brothers soar?" He thought of Itachi, the prodigy, and the yet-unborn Sasuke who would one day be hailed as a genius. Born of the same mother, yet worlds apart in destiny.
Frustration boiled over, a rare loss of control. "Was it just to let others laugh at me?!" he muttered to the empty room, closing his eyes in despair.
"Child, is it reluctance you feel?"
The voice that echoed in the silence of his mind was serene, crystalline, and utterly emotionless. Clearly female.
Mikami's eyes snapped open, his body tensing. "Who's there? Show yourself!" he demanded, his voice sharp. "This is the Uchiha compound. Intruders are not welcome."
"There is no intruder. I exist within your consciousness. Only you can hear me."
The voice held no threat, only a detached calm. Mikami's brow furrowed. He felt no foreign chakra, no sense of another presence in the room. The voice seemed to resonate from the very depths of his own being.
"…Who are you?" he asked, his hostility giving way to wary confusion. "I should have no connection to anyone in this world."
"My identity is irrelevant. What matters is that I can grant you power."
The voice paused, as if letting the words settle.
"Do you desire it?"
---
Two Weeks Later
The small, secluded courtyard had become Mikami's entire world. Uchiha Fugaku had been more than happy to leave his "failure" of a son to rot there, forgotten.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
A torrent of flame erupted from Mikami's lips, coalescing into a roaring sphere of fire that soared across the training ground. It struck a wooden target dead center, engulfing it in a violent conflagration that left behind only splinters and ash.
Mikami stared at the remnants, his expression focused but not satisfied. He let out a slow breath. The progress was real, yet it felt agonizingly slow.
"To go from being unable to mold chakra to mastering a C-rank ninjutsu in half a month is no small feat. You are too harsh on yourself, Mikami."
The voice in his mind had returned, its usual coldness now softened by a thread of what might have been approval.
A faint, determined smile touched Mikami's lips. "You're right. Time is my ally now. Even if my starting point was zero… even if my 'brothers' are called geniuses, I will simply work ten times, a hundred times harder."
The frustration from weeks before had been forged into resolve. He remembered every slight, every scornful glance from the past ten years. In this world, strength was the only truth, the only currency that commanded respect and ensured survival. Without it, even the title of "Clan Heir" was worthless.
The Uchiha were descendants of the Sage of Six Paths. Their potential chakra reserves were vast, one of the reasons they stood alongside the Senju as founders of Konoha. It was this latent heritage that Mikami now ruthlessly tapped into.
He fell into his stance again, hands flying through a sequence of seals with practiced speed—far faster than any novice should have been capable of.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
Another fireball roared forth.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
And another.
His daily routine was brutal: twenty hours of relentless training, broken only by the absolute minimum of sleep and sustenance. The decade of helplessness had carved a simple, unshakable belief into his soul: Power was everything. And he would seize it, no matter the cost.
As the last echoes of the fireball faded, Mikami stood amidst the scorched earth, his dark eyes reflecting the dying embers. The path ahead was long, but for the first time, it was his to walk.
---