Since Itachi’s graduation, Linbei’s days at the Academy had become much more relaxed.
“Relaxed” wasn’t quite the right word.
Rather, he could finally stop being so tightly wound.
Being Itachi’s desk-mate was a form of mental torture for anyone.
That person’s powers of observation and insight far exceeded those of his peers, and even most adult shinobi.
In front of him, any deliberate disguise would seem unnatural, and any redundant movement might be interpreted in ways it wasn’t intended.
During these past months sitting next to Itachi, Linbei had calculated every single breath.
Now that Itachi was gone, the person sitting next to him was an ordinary boy named Kenta.
Kenta’s father was an average Chunin of the Leaf, his mother was a housewife, they had a Shiba Inu at home, and his greatest dream was to become an “excellent ninja who can protect the village.”
Ordinary.
Normally ordinary.
Linbei could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
“Boar—Dog—Bird—Monkey—Ram.”
After school, Linbei sat in his courtyard, forming hand seals.
The five gestures were done in one smooth motion, nearly twice as fast as they had been a month ago.
He looked down at his hands.
Forming seals with his right hand, while his left hand hung at his side.
Then he tried it—using only his right hand.
One-handed seals.
This was a technique he had learned from an ancient text in the Academy library.
The book stated that the essence of forming seals was using specific finger movements to guide the flow of Chakra.
As long as one’s Chakra control was refined enough, it was theoretically possible to complete seals with just one hand.
Linbei had practiced for three weeks and finally mastered it.
“Look, Tom.” Linbei raised his right hand and rapidly cycled through several gestures.
Boar, Dog, Bird, Monkey, Ram.
Five gestures, completed in under two seconds.
“Meow.” Tom sat on a stone slab in the courtyard, letting out a lazy cry.
He didn’t even lift his head, continuing to lick his paws.
Linbei rolled his eyes.
“You damn cat, can’t you give me some kind of reaction?”
Tom looked up at him, then used a paw to make a “too slow” gesture.
Linbei: “…”
Fine, no use arguing with a gag character.
Linbei lowered his hand and leaned back against the base of the wall, looking up at the sky.
His Chakra volume was on the verge of breaking through to the Genin level, his seal speed was definitely number one in his class, and his Taijutsu had seen obvious improvement.
If he were to take the graduation exam now, he would most likely pass.
But he didn’t plan on graduating early.
Staying at the Academy was a better choice for him.
It offered a safe environment and plenty of time to cultivate.
Most importantly—here, he wouldn’t attract the attention of the Third Hokage or Danzo.
Those two scheming old foxes were already wary enough of geniuses like Shisui and Itachi.
If another Uchiha orphan suddenly graduated early and showed off his brilliance, the night of the massacre might just happen ahead of schedule.
“Don’t stand out,” Linbei told himself.
“At least not for now.”
But he also knew that some things were beyond his total control.
Like the Sharingan.
That night, Linbei had a dream.
In the dream, he stood on a vast, empty plain.
There was nothing around him, only endless darkness and a sliver of red light on the distant horizon.
The red light grew brighter, like a crimson sun rising.
And then he woke up.
The moment he opened his eyes, the world he saw was different from usual.
It wasn’t that the colors had changed or the brightness had shifted, but rather—it was clearer.
The grain of the wood on the ceiling was perfectly distinct, every line sharp.
The moonlight outside filtered through the paper windows, and he could see every speck of dust floating in the beams.
Every single strand of the spiderweb in the corner of the room was as thin as hair but clearly visible.
Linbei bolted upright. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
He ran to the small mirror in the corner of the room and leaned in close.
In the mirror was the face of a six-year-old boy.
Messy black hair, features still holding a hint of youthful spirit, and—
His eyes.
Around the black pupils, there was a faint ring of red.
Within the red irises, a single black tomoe floated quietly.
The one-tomoe Sharingan.
Linbei stared at his reflection, stunned.
He hadn’t done anything.
He hadn’t experienced any tragic emotional trauma, nor had he deliberately guided his Chakra to stimulate his eyes.
He had simply had a dream, and when he woke up, he had it.
“Is it…
just open like that?”
Linbei blinked, and the Sharingan deactivated, his pupils returning to their normal black.
He tried focusing Chakra into his eyes again—the red irises reappeared, and the black tomoe slowly rotated around his pupils.
On.
Off.
On.
Off.
It was as simple as a switch.
Linbei stood before the mirror, silent for a long time.
He remembered the process of awakening the Sharingan for the Uchiha Clan in the original series.
Obito awakened it during the Battle of Kannabi Bridge when he saw Kakashi get injured; Sasuke awakened it on the night of the massacre after witnessing his clan’s slaughter; Itachi awakened his after Shisui jumped off the cliff.
Every single one of them had experienced immense pain and sorrow.
And he had just had a dream.
“Maybe it’s because a transmigrator’s soul is strong enough?” Linbei guessed.
“Or maybe Tom’s Chakra feedback altered my constitution?”
He didn’t know the reason.
But he knew one thing—his strength had just jumped up another level.
“Tom!” Linbei turned and shouted.
“Look, I opened my eyes!”
Tom poked his head out from his bed—rather, the little nest Linbei had made for him.
He had been sleeping soundly and was woken up by Linbei’s shout, looking quite displeased.
“Meow.” Tom yawned and rubbed his eyes with a paw.
Then he looked at Linbei.
And then his eyes—changed.
Red irises appeared around the black pupils, and within the red, a single black tomoe rotated slowly.
The one-tomoe Sharingan.
Tom rubbed his eyes, then rubbed them again, and again.
He blinked repeatedly, looked down at his paws, then looked back up at Linbei.
“Meow?” Tom tilted his head, wearing an expression that said, “What happened to me?”
Linbei stood before the mirror, his mouth hanging open in an ‘O’ shape.
“Holy cow…” His voice sounded like it was squeezed through his teeth.
“You can even open the Sharingan?”
Tom tilted his head in thought, then made an expression like, “What’s so hard about that?” He pointed a paw at his own eyes, then at Linbei’s, then held up a single claw and wagged it back and forth.
The meaning was—if you can do it, so can I.
Linbei took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
He felt that all his hard work cultivating, pondering, and experimenting over the past few months had become insignificant in this moment.
Tom rubbed his eyes and opened a one-tomoe Sharingan.
And he had to have a dream.
Actually, Tom had it even easier—the guy didn’t even have to dream; he just rubbed his eyes and it was there.
“Fine.” Linbei knelt down, placed his hands on Tom’s shoulders, and looked seriously into his eyes.
“Tell me, are you joking with me?
Did you actually have the Sharingan all along?”
Tom shook his head.
He pointed a paw at his eyes, made a “spinning” gesture, pointed at Linbei, and finally gave a thumbs-up.
The meaning—I saw your eyes, so I learned it.
Then he stood up, walked into the courtyard, and looked up at the night sky.
The moonlight was bright, and the stars were few.
He took a deep breath and said to the sky: “God, do you think I didn’t kneel devoutly enough these past two years?”
There was no answer.
Only Tom ran out of the house and crouched by his feet, also looking up at the sky.
Then Tom mimicked him, took a deep breath, and let out a “Meow” toward the sky.
Linbei looked down at him.
Tom looked up at him.
Man and cat stared at each other for a second.
Then Tom jumped.
It wasn’t a normal jump.
Tom launched himself from the ground like a shell fired from a cannon, instantly shooting up onto the courtyard wall.
He crouched on the wall for a fraction of a second before launching again, jumping onto the roof.
Then he jumped from the roof to the crooked tree in the courtyard, and from the branch back down to the ground.
The whole process took less than two seconds.
The speed was so fast that Linbei’s naked eye couldn’t keep up.
But Linbei had the Sharingan now.
He activated his Sharingan, the black tomoe rotating slowly within the red irises.
And then he saw it clearly.
Tom’s speed was indeed fast—much faster than a normal cat.
But with the added insight of the Sharingan, Linbei could clearly see every movement: the muscle contraction when he pushed off the ground, the adjustment of his body posture mid-air, the cushioning of his paws upon landing.
Every detail was crystal clear.
Tom zipped around the courtyard, fast as a streak of blue lightning.
Yet wherever he passed, he hit nothing.
He zipped between the teacups on the low table, the distance between them just enough for him to pass perfectly.
He jumped between the shelves of the bookcase, and not a single book moved.
Watching this, a thought suddenly flashed through Linbei’s mind.
A cat’s reaction speed is seven times that of a human.
In a cat’s eyes, all human movements are slow motion.
Now Tom had the Sharingan—his insight had been vastly enhanced.
A cat with reaction speeds seven times that of a normal person, plus a Sharingan that could see every detail.
Linbei didn’t dare think further.
Tom finished his wild run and finally stopped.
He crouched on the stone slab in the center of the courtyard, his tongue out as he panted, his two red Sharingan shining brightly, looking incredibly excited.
“Meow!” Tom called out to Linbei, pointing a paw at his eyes and then at the whole courtyard.
The expression translated to—this world is so slow.
Linbei walked over, knelt down, and reached out to rub Tom’s head.
“Stop running like a maniac,” he said.
“Be careful not to hit anything.”
Tom raised a paw and wagged it.
Meaning—impossible.
Then he launched himself again, continuing his high-speed dash around the courtyard.
Linbei watched the blue lightning streak back and forth under the moonlight, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.
Itachi had the Sharingan.
Shisui had the Sharingan.
Fugaku had the Sharingan.
But his cat had the Sharingan too.
And his cat was more amazing than anyone else’s cat.
Because he was Tom.
“Meow—”
Tom’s cry echoed from the distance, carrying a sense of pure, unadulterated joy.
Linbei sat on the stone slab in the courtyard, hands braced behind him, looking up at the moon.
Under the moonlight, a blue cat was using the Sharingan to measure every corner of the world.
And his owner sat quietly in the moonlight, a smile playing on his lips.
The summer of Konoha Year 49 was almost over.