Ever since the events that transpired at the Three-Colored Pills shop that day, Itachi Uchiha seemed to have become even more taciturn.
To say “even more” wasn’t entirely accurate.
Itachi was never a talkative person to begin with.
However, back in the classroom, when Linbei occasionally spoke to him, he would at least offer a few words in response—even if that response rarely exceeded five syllables.
Now, things were different.
Now, when Linbei walked into the classroom in the morning and saw Itachi sitting by the window, the moment their eyes met, Itachi would give a slight nod.
It was the kind of nod that said “I see you,” with a movement so small it was almost imperceptible.
And that was it.
No greetings, no conversation, not even a lingering glance.
Linbei didn’t particularly mind.
To be honest, he felt this was for the best.
Keeping his distance from Itachi was a form of insurance for his future safety.
He had no desire to become the catalyst for Itachi awakening his Mangekyo Sharingan—wasn’t that exactly what happened to Shisui?
To facilitate Itachi’s “growth,” Shisui had sacrificed both his eyes and his life.
“Anyone capable of awakening the Mangekyo Sharingan is not a normal person,” Linbei lamented silently more than once.
Obito, Itachi, Shisui, Madara—which one of them wasn’t a fanatic, obsessive to their very core?
The further he stayed from them, the longer he would live.
However, Itachi’s attitude toward Izumi remained unchanged.
Whenever they met in the hallway, Itachi would still stop, give a slight nod, and say, “Izumi.” She would always respond with a smile, calling him “Itachi-kun.” That was the extent of it.
But Linbei noticed a detail—whenever Itachi greeted Izumi, his gaze would occasionally sweep over Linbei.
It was only for a split second.
So fast it seemed unintentional.
But Linbei caught it.
“What on earth is this guy thinking?” The thought occasionally crossed Linbei’s mind, but he quickly extinguished it.
Whatever Itachi was thinking had nothing to do with him.
He had more important things to do right now.
That evening, Linbei sat cross-legged on a stone slab in his yard, hands resting on his knees, eyes closed.
The Chakra within his body flowed slowly under his guidance.
After a month of practice, he was already able to mobilize Chakra from his Dantian and send it through his meridians to various parts of his body.
Although his control wasn’t fine-tuned yet, he had improved significantly since the start of the term.
He guided a portion of his Chakra toward his eyes.
That warm sensation appeared again.
It felt as if an invisible pair of hands were covering his eyes, with heat spreading outward from deep within his eyeballs.
But that was all.
No change.
No sign of the Sharingan awakening.
None of that feeling like “something was burning in the depths of the pupils.”
Linbei opened his eyes and blinked.
“Still not working.” He sighed, tilting his head back to look at the night sky.
Awakening the Sharingan required intense emotional stimulation—anger, sorrow, fear; the kind of massive emotional upheaval that could shake the soul.
Only after experiencing extreme emotional trauma would the brains of the Uchiha Clan secrete a special type of Chakra that stimulated the optic nerve to undergo a mutation, thus awakening the Sharingan.
Before his reincarnation, Linbei had read countless analysis posts on forums about the conditions for awakening the Sharingan, and he knew these theories by heart.
But theory was one thing; practical application was another.
He couldn’t exactly go out and manufacture a tragedy just to stimulate himself, could he?
Besides, he was only six years old.
What kind of “intense emotional stimulation” could a six-year-old possibly experience to trigger the awakening?
“Maybe I just need more Chakra stimulation,” Linbei muttered to himself.
According to the original setting, awakening the Sharingan required not only emotional triggers but also a sufficient amount of Chakra as a foundation.
Someone whose Chakra levels didn’t even reach the rank of Genin couldn’t possibly awaken the Sharingan.
He currently possessed Genin-level Chakra, but that was clearly not enough.
“Tom,” Linbei turned to look toward the house.
“Did you cultivate today?”
“Meow.”
Tom poked his head out from the kitchen doorway, a rag held in his mouth, currently wiping down the stove.
Hearing Linbei’s question, the cat nodded and then pointed a paw at his stomach, making a “very large” gesture.
It meant: He had cultivated, and his Chakra had grown significantly.
Linbei could feel it.
That warm sensation was constantly surging out from his Dantian; the more diligently Tom cultivated, the more Chakra feedback Linbei received.
At this rate, in another month or two, his Chakra volume would reach the threshold of a Chunin.
“Keep cultivating,” Linbei said.
“Meow.” Tom raised a paw in a salute and went back to wiping the stove.
Linbei closed his eyes, attempting to use his Chakra to stimulate his eyes once more.
The warmth came again.
It was stronger than before.
But still not enough.
“One step at a time,” Linbei told himself.
“You can’t rush these things.”
Time passed quickly.
In July of Konoha Year 49, only three months after the Ninja Academy had opened for the new term, a piece of news set the students of Class 1-C buzzing.
Itachi Uchiha had applied for early graduation.
“Did you hear?
Itachi is taking the graduation exam!”
“He’s graduating after only four months?
Isn’t that too fast?”
He was refining Chakra at four years old.
How can you even compare?”
“When is the exam?”
“Next week, apparently.”
The news spread like wildfire, but Itachi himself acted as if nothing had happened.
He attended class as usual, sat by the window reading as usual, and remained indifferent to everyone except Izumi as usual.
Linbei was not surprised by this news.
In the original story, Itachi had indeed spent less than a year at the Ninja Academy before graduating.
Graduating at seven, awakening the Sharingan at eight, promoted to Chunin at ten, and joining the Anbu at eleven—this was Itachi Uchiha’s growth trajectory, fast enough to seem like he was using a cheat code.
“The gears of fate have begun to turn,” Linbei thought silently.
Once Itachi graduated, he would officially become a Genin and be assigned to a squad to begin missions.
He would witness the cruelty of war and temper his strength and mind in one life-and-death struggle after another.
Then, in the near future, he would awaken his Sharingan, join the Anbu, make contact with Obito, and one night—
He would slaughter his entire clan.
Linbei shook his head, casting the thought aside.
It was too early to worry about that.
He still had time.
Itachi still had time.
He needed to seize every moment to cultivate.
A week later, the Ninja Academy graduation exam was held at the dueling arena in the center of the village.
This was a Konoha tradition—the exams for each graduating class were open to the public, allowing villagers and other students to watch.
It served to test the strength of the graduates and to demonstrate the power of Konoha’s new generation to the outside world.
Linbei and Izumi arrived half an hour early.
The dueling arena was a circular open-air field surrounded by stone stands that could hold several hundred people.
The center of the field was a patch of leveled sandy soil with white boundary lines drawn upon it.
At the very top of the stands sat several people wearing Jonin flak jackets.
And in the guest of honor seats at the very center of the arena sat three of the most prominent figures.
The Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi.
He wore his iconic Hokage robes and hat, a pipe in his hand.
His expression was obscured behind the swirling smoke.
Fugaku Uchiha.
The Head of the Uchiha Clan, Captain of the Police Force, and Itachi’s father.
He wore a dark kimono, the Uchiha clan crest on his back looking particularly striking in the sunlight.
His expression was stern, his gaze fixed on the arena, his lips pressed into a thin line.
There was one more person standing by Fugaku’s side.
Shisui Uchiha…