Night deepened over the heart of the Uchiha compound.
Inside the study of the clan leader’s manor, candlelight flickered softly.
Fugaku Uchiha sat behind a broad desk, his expression grave as he reviewed a scroll.
It was Ryuha Uchiha’s complete dossier—every single record from his birth to the present day, his chakra test evaluations, and even the comments written by his teachers at the Ninja Academy.
“Both parents deceased in battle, meager chakra reserves, excellent theoretical marks, consistently at the bottom of practical combat…”
Fugaku’s finger lingered on the line reading *Chakra Reserve Rating: D-minus*, his brow furrowing slightly.
“With such aptitude, how could he possibly execute a jutsu that utterly broke Setsuna and even pressured Yashiro?”
The candlelight cast Fugaku’s shadow against the wall, distorting and twisting with the dancing flames.
A soft knock came at the study door.
“Enter.”
The door slid open.
Ryuha Uchiha stepped inside with measured strides, still dressed in his dark, high-collared clan attire with plain glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
His bearing was calm and composed, as though he were not arriving for an interrogation by the clan leader, but rather attending an ordinary gathering.
“Clan Leader.” Ryuha offered a slight bow, his etiquette impeccable.
Fugaku looked up, his deep, well-like eyes fixing upon Ryuha.
His Three-Tomoe Sharingan soundlessly activated, the crimson pupils gleaming with a chilly luster beneath the candlelight.
It was a test, as well as an exertion of pressure.
Yet Ryuha merely met his gaze with equanimity.
The eyes behind his lenses were as clear as still water, showing neither avoidance nor the slightest sign of falling under a Genjutsu.
“Sit.” Fugaku rolled up the scroll and gestured toward the chair opposite the desk.
Ryuha complied, sitting with a straight back and resting his hands naturally on his knees.
“Tea, or water?” Fugaku lifted a teapot.
“Water will do nicely.
Thank you, Clan Leader,” Ryuha replied with a faint smile.
Fugaku poured two cups of water and slid one toward Ryuha.
This subtle gesture caused Ryuha’s thoughts to stir slightly—the clan leader was signaling goodwill, or perhaps setting the tone for the conversation ahead.
“Your performance in today’s assessment was splendid.” Fugaku lifted his cup without drinking, merely tracing its rim with a fingertip.
“Setsuna is a talented boy, but his temperament is lacking.
It was good that you taught him a lesson.”
“You flatter me, Clan Leader.” Ryuha adjusted his glasses.
“Setsuna-kun is very strong.
I merely got lucky.”
“Lucky?” Fugaku raised his eyelids.
“No hand seals, no eye contact to cast an ocular jutsu, not even a distinct surge of chakra.
Yet you drove an Uchiha prodigy with an active Sharingan into absolute frenzy, forcing him to unleash his entire arsenal against empty air—and you call that luck?”
The air in the study suddenly froze.
The candle flame flickered more violently.
Ryuha remained silent for two seconds before letting out a soft sigh.
“As expected, nothing escapes your notice, Clan Leader.”
He picked up the cup and took a light sip, seemingly gathering his thoughts.
“Now then, Ryuha.” Fugaku leaned forward slightly, his Three-Tomoe Sharingan seeming intent on peering straight through Ryuha’s soul.
“I want the truth.
What did you use today?
Is it some kind of Kekkei Genkai…
or a Ninjutsu of your own creation?”
This question was critical.
If it was a Kekkei Genkai, it meant a new potential had manifested within the Uchiha bloodline, warranting the clan’s full investment.
If it was an original Ninjutsu, it meant the boy possessed talent and resolve vastly exceeding what he showed on the surface, which simultaneously marked him as an uncontrollable variable.
Ryuha set down his cup, interlacing his fingers over his knees.
“It is a Kekkei Genkai,” he said calmly.
“A mutated, specialized bloodline limit that acts upon the mind.
I call it…
the ‘Mind’s Eye.'”
“The Mind’s Eye…” Fugaku murmured, a thoughtful look flashing across his eyes.
“Elaborate.”
“You are well aware, Clan Leader, that the Sharingan is a visual Kekkei Genkai.
It channels ocular power through the eyes to influence the opponent’s vision and mental state.”
Ryuha began weaving his falsehoods—or rather, wrapping the true abilities of Kyoka Suigetsu in terminology that a shinobi could comprehend.
“The ‘Mind’s Eye’ operates differently.
It is not channeled through sight; rather, it directly acts upon an enemy’s ‘perception of the five senses.'”
“Perception of the five senses?” Fugaku’s brow knitted even tighter.
“Indeed,” Ryuha nodded.
“Sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch.
Humans perceive the world through these five senses, constructing their concept of reality based on that perception.
The ability of the ‘Mind’s Eye’ is to ‘dominate the five senses.'”
He paused, observing Fugaku’s increasingly grave expression before continuing his explanation:
“I can make an enemy see things that do not exist, hear sounds that are not there, smell non-existent scents…
and even cause them to misjudge physical sensations across their own body.
Today, the reason Setsuna-kun unleashed his Ninjutsu on thin air was that he ‘saw’ me transform into a black dragon, ‘heard’ me mocking him, and ‘felt’ the dragon’s talons about to tear him apart.”
Fugaku’s breath hitched slightly.
As the leader of the Uchiha, he understood all too well the terrifying implications of such an ability.
It resembled the Kekkei Genkai of the Kurama Clan, yet it seemed significantly more potent.
While the Sharingan’s Genjutsu was formidable, it possessed two fatal weaknesses: first, it required eye contact; second, it could be disrupted by a superior surge of chakra or ocular power.
Yet if what Ryuha said was true…
“It requires no eye contact?” Fugaku pressed.
“None,” Ryuha shook his head.
“It only requires the enemy to ‘perceive’ my chakra—or rather, my ‘mental field.’ Once that perception is established, the hypnosis is already complete.
In a sense, the moment I stand before an opponent, the battle is already over.”
This, of course, was a lie.
The true activation of Kyoka Suigetsu required the target to witness the release of the Zanpakuto’s Shikai, but Ryuha had no intention of revealing that truth.
“How can it be broken?”
“There are two methods.” Ryuha held up two fingers.
“First, by severing all of one’s senses before making contact with me, fighting completely blind and deaf—though in battle, that is tantamount to suicide.
Second, by possessing mental strength that vastly eclipses my own, forcefully shattering the hypnosis.
However, based on my current tests, the mental fortitude of an ordinary Jonin is insufficient to resist it.”
Fugaku fell silent.
He lifted his cup and drained the water in a single gulp.
The cold liquid slid down his throat, yet it could not quell the shock surging in his chest.
If Ryuha was not exaggerating, then the strategic value of this bloodline limit named the “Mind’s Eye” might even surpass that of the Mangekyo Sharingan!
Requiring no eye contact meant bypassing the greatest constraint of visual jutsu.
Dominating all five senses meant the enemy could not even grasp what was “real.”
And most terrifying of all—such a bloodline limit likely could neither be copied nor unraveled by the Sharingan!
“What is the cost?” Fugaku suddenly asked.
“Every great power demands a price.
The Sharingan consumes chakra and ocular power, while the Mangekyo damages eyesight and can lead to blindness.
What of your ‘Mind’s Eye’?”
Internally, Ryuha marveled at Fugaku’s shrewdness.
“Thus far, I have discovered two drawbacks,” he answered truthfully—or rather, with a carefully curated version of the truth.
“First, it expends ‘spiritual energy,’ or Yin-attribute chakra.
My overall chakra reserves remain meager, but my spiritual energy is unusually vast.
Every time I use the ‘Mind’s Eye,’ it draws upon this reserve.”
“Second…” Ryuha removed his glasses and wiped them gently.
“Overuse leads to sensory confusion.
I briefly lose the ability to distinguish illusion from reality, and I may even perceive things…
that ought not to be seen.”
This half-true narrative perfectly explained why he routinely wore glasses.
It was not a disguise, but a means to “stabilize his perception.”
Of course, the reality was simply that Ryuha felt glasses elevated his aura of effortless composure.
As a devoted fan of Aizen, he had lost count of how many times he had watched his scenes in *Bleach*.
Fugaku studied Ryuha closely for a long time before finally giving a slow nod.
“I see.”
He leaned back against his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the tabletop with a steady clatter.
“You have hidden yourself very deeply,” Fugaku ultimately remarked, his tone intricate.
“It was not hiding, but self-preservation.” Ryuha looked up, meeting the clan leader’s gaze squarely.
“You must understand well, Clan Leader, what fate awaits an orphan of a branch family with meager chakra reserves if he displays extraordinary talent too early in the Uchiha Clan.”
He did not elaborate further, but Fugaku understood completely.
Ostracization, suppression, or even an “untimely demise.”
The clan’s internal factional struggles were far fiercer than outsiders could imagine.
The radical faction would never allow an uncontrollable, aberrant prodigy to rise—especially one of humble birth.
“You are very clear-headed,” Fugaku observed, his voice devoid of emotion.
“I merely wish to survive, Clan Leader,” Ryuha said softly, his words carrying a distinct weight.
“And to live with a measure of dignity.”
The original host had long since taken his own life out of despair.
With no close friends around, Ryuha could fabricate his backstory however he pleased.
After all, with his current strength, he had no chance of victory against Kage-level powerhouses.
Playing the part was his only viable option.
Another silence descended.
Fugaku’s fingers continued their steady tapping—a habitual gesture whenever he weighed monumental decisions.
“Your attitude toward Yashiro today was overly unyielding,” he said, shifting the topic.
“If I had yielded, that blade would already be sitting in the Military Police Force’s vault,” Ryuha replied calmly.
“And my fate would likely be confinement for study, or becoming an instrument in the hands of some prominent figure.”
Fugaku did not dispute him.
Because Ryuha was entirely correct.
“Do you harbor resentment toward the clan?” Fugaku asked, staring at him.
“No resentment, only regret,” Ryuha said, shaking his head slightly.
“My parents died in battle for the clan, yet thirty percent of their condolence payout was withheld.
Because of my lack of talent, the monthly resources allocated to me were only a third of what main-branch members received.
When I was mocked within the clan as the ‘disgrace of the Uchiha,’ not a single person spoke up for me.”
He paused, his voice remaining level: “Yet I understand.
This is the clan’s law of survival—resources tilt toward the strong.
Thus, I hold no grudge.
I only wish to prove that I am worthy of more.”
A strange light flickered in Fugaku’s eyes.
This youth was far too lucid—lucid to a degree that seemed unnatural for a ten-year-old child.
There was no hot-headed hatred, nor was there any groveling servility; there was only cold, calculated self-interest and a precise understanding of his own position.
And such individuals were often the most useful—as well as the most difficult to control.