“If I had to name one, there’s only one clan it could be.” “The Senju Clan.” Senju?
Deep in thought, Itachi slipped off his shoes and left the paper bag containing his new indigo combat uniform in the shadows of the entryway.
As he walked down the corridor, the sliding door to a tatami room opened soundlessly by a narrow crack.
Warm yellow light spilled through, revealing Uchiha Fugaku inside.
“You’re back?” Fugaku’s voice carried through the quiet residence.
Compared with his usual sternness as clan head, there was a rare softness in it—the calmer tone of a father speaking to his son.
“Yes, Father.” Itachi stopped.
Fugaku’s gaze fell on the paper bag.
“Did you buy something?” “A gift from my senpai.” Itachi picked up the bag and handed it over.
Fugaku accepted it, pinching the fabric through the paper before weighing the package in his hand.
“Oh?
This must have cost quite a bit.” He looked up at Itachi.
“Did he only buy one for you?” “Anko-senpai received one as well.” “I see.” Fugaku handed the bag back with his usual composure.
“Since it’s a gift from your captain, accept it properly.” After a brief pause, he added, “I’ll arrange an appropriate return gift later.” “Father.” There was a questioning note in Itachi’s voice.
“Hm?” “The Senju Clan.” Itachi looked directly at his father.
“The Senju once stood alongside the Uchiha as equals.
Where did they go?
There is no Senju clan compound anywhere in the village plans.” The last trace of gentleness vanished from Fugaku’s face, replaced by deep gravity.
He remained silent for a moment before answering slowly.
“The Senju…
are the Senju precisely because they exist beyond the compounds of all the shinobi clans.” Itachi’s pupils contracted.
Fugaku continued, “The clan publicly dissolved during Lord Hashirama’s era.
Naturally, there is no ‘Senju Clan Compound’ marked on Konoha’s maps.” His gaze deepened.
“But any exceptional shinobi you meet who does not come from one of the great clans could potentially carry Senju blood.” He paused, his voice growing heavier.
“Even Lord Tobirama’s former students—the current advisers, Koharu Utatane and Homura Mitokado…
there’s no telling.” “Are you saying the Senju Clan never truly dissolved?” Itachi asked quietly.
Fugaku slowly shook his head.
“No.
The dissolution was real.
Lord Hashirama and Lord Tobirama personally oversaw it, and every shinobi clan in the village witnessed it.
That was decades ago.” Then his tone shifted.
“But after Lord Tobirama’s death, there was still one person among the former Senju who possessed tremendous prestige.
Because of that, those people continued to maintain…
connections.” His eyes narrowed slightly.
“An invisible connection, but an extraordinarily resilient one.” “Lady Tsunade?” Itachi asked.
“No.” Fugaku rejected the guess.
“Princess Tsunade has been away from the village for many years.” He drew a slow breath, his gaze turning profound.
“I’m talking about the woman who once served as an aide to both of those Senju lords—Senju Momoka.” Momoka…
The name sent ripples through Itachi’s thoughts.
He immediately remembered the seemingly casual question his father had asked when receiving Shuji-senpai.
“I heard you have always lived in an old residence on the western outskirts of the village…
and that Lady Momoka personally raised and taught you?” Suddenly, the scattered pieces fell into place.
“Senpai, then…” Itachi murmured, seeking confirmation.
“Unless something unexpected has happened,” Fugaku said, his gaze settling heavily on Itachi, “the person capable of continuing to hold those people together after Lady Momoka—the one capable of preserving that connection and influence…” He paused, enunciating every word.
“…should be that captain of yours.” The air inside the tatami room seemed to freeze.
The lamp wick crackled faintly in the silence.
Fugaku leaned forward slightly, his voice low and powerful.
“Itachi, this is an opportunity for the Uchiha Clan.” Early morning light filtered through the thin mist hanging over Training Ground Three, painting the sandy field in pale gold.
After several consecutive days of tactical drills, the place was beginning to bear the unmistakable marks of Team Shuji.
“Left flank!
Itachi, disrupt him!
Don’t let him form seals!” Anko’s voice carried a sharpness that had been absent for far too long.
She shot across the sand, leaving an afterimage behind her.
The hood of her brand-new dark-purple combat coat whipped in the wind, making her look like a streak of violet lightning.
Her fingers flashed through hand seals.
“Hidden Shadow Snake Hands!” Three thick gray-brown snakes burst from her sleeves.
Rather than striking directly at the wooden post serving as their target, they attacked from tricky angles, sealing off its escape routes to both sides.
Almost the instant Anko moved, Itachi appeared like a ghost in the target’s rear blind spot.
His two-tomoe Sharingan activated silently.
The moment their eyes met, no words were necessary.
A brief genjutsu stabbed directly into the shadow clone stationed beside the post to simulate an enemy shinobi.
The clone’s movements abruptly froze.
“Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!” Shuji’s calm voice rang out, but he had already moved from his original command position to the optimal angle of attack.
A massive, blazing fireball roared across the training ground and slammed precisely into the shadow clone, whose mind had been disrupted by genjutsu while the snakes cut off its retreat.
BOOM!
Flames exploded outward, the intense heat distorting the air.
The shadow clone vanished in a burst of white smoke.
The entire tactical sequence had flowed seamlessly from one step to the next.
“Stop.” Shuji raised a hand.
Anko halted, breathing hard as she wiped the sweat from her forehead.
The listlessness that had clung to her when the team first formed was gone.
Her eyes once again carried the bright, fierce spirit of a shinobi.
Itachi deactivated his Sharingan.
His breathing remained steady as he walked to the edge of the field, opened the leather notebook he carried with him, and quickly recorded the details of their coordination along with their chakra expenditure.
“Your snakes can attack from even more troublesome angles,” Shuji told Anko as he walked over.
“Compress the enemy’s space for forming hand seals.
And if that hood obstructs your vision while you’re moving at high speed, secure it or take it off.
Practicality comes first in real combat.” His gaze shifted to Itachi’s notebook.
“Your records are thorough.
Your timing with the genjutsu was good, and your chakra consumption is more stable than yesterday.” Anko tugged at the hood of her coat.
“Got it.
I’ll pay attention next time,” she muttered, though there was no longer any resistance in her tone.
Itachi quietly answered, “Mm,” and continued refining his notes.
Several days of working together had been like an invisible file, gradually grinding away the awkwardness and distance between them.
“Fifteen-minute break.” Shuji walked beneath the shade of a tree and sat cross-legged.
Anko immediately hurried over to her water bottle, gulped down several mouthfuls, then grabbed a biscuit and started chewing.
Itachi sat quietly nearby, drinking water while repeatedly studying several tactical points in his notebook.
Shuji closed his eyes and turned his awareness inward.
Although he had spent his days training the team, his own cultivation at night had never stopped.
His attempts to have wood clones absorb natural energy still suffered an extremely high failure rate.
Seven or eight attempts out of ten ended with the clone’s internal structure losing balance.
Its body would begin turning rigid and wooden before the violent natural energy backlashed, ultimately petrifying it.
Yet every failure brought him a little closer to sensing that omnipresent but elusive power of heaven and earth.
Natural energy…
Unlike chakra, it did not originate from the spiritual and physical energies of living beings.
It felt more like a far more ancient and immense foundation underlying the world itself.
Wild and violent—yet filled with an indescribable vitality.
Maybe my direction isn’t wrong.
Perhaps I’m simply still missing something necessary to complete the training…
The Senju bloodline and Hashirama’s cells had given Shuji a foundation far beyond that of an ordinary person.
Even so, something was still lacking when it came to containing and transforming natural energy…
“Senpai.” Itachi’s clear voice interrupted his thoughts.
“About the combination we just used—if the enemy were a sensory-type shinobi and avoided the genjutsu beforehand, would we need to adjust the suppression point for the Fire Release that follows?” Shuji opened his eyes and accepted the notebook Itachi offered him.
Simple formation diagrams and analyses had been drawn clearly across the pages.
“Good question.
We need to add another contingency…” Training continued through repeated analysis of tactical details and practical simulations.
The sun gradually climbed higher, shortening their shadows across the sand.
Anko’s snake techniques linked more and more smoothly with Itachi’s Sharingan genjutsu, while Shuji’s elemental ninjutsu support consistently arrived at the most critical moments.
A rough but effective tactical system—built on their growing understanding of one another’s abilities and an emerging sense of trust—was slowly taking shape.
By the time the midday sunlight became harsh and glaring, a figure appeared silently beneath the shade of the trees at the edge of the training ground, almost as though he had merged with the light itself.
The newcomer wore an animal mask and the standard uniform of Konoha’s ANBU.
His presence was suppressed so thoroughly that it was nearly nonexistent.
“Jōnin Shuji.” The flat voice came through the mask.
It was not loud, yet it carried clearly over the sounds of training.
Shuji stopped correcting Anko’s taijutsu posture and turned toward the newcomer.
Itachi and Anko immediately halted as well, their attention sharpening warily.
“Lord Hokage has summoned you.
Report to the Hokage’s Office immediately.”