"Come sit."
The word cut cleanly through the night air like a kunai through parchment, measured, unhurried, yet laden with authority.
The crackling fire cast flickering shadows over the camp, bathing the clearing in wavering amber light. Uchiha Hero stepped forward and obeyed, lowering himself silently to the ground across elder. He sat cross-legged, his posture respectful but not rigid. Setsuna, silhouetted against the firelight, appeared more statue than man, an unmoving relic from a bygone era of clan wars and shattered treaties.
Without speaking further, the old shinobi reached into his pouch and, with a flick of the wrist, tossed a shuriken toward Hero.
Instinct kicked in.
Hero snatched it midair with ease. The moment his fingers closed around the weapon, he felt the difference, its perfect weight distribution, the unblemished sharpness of its edges. This wasn't the mass-produced gear he'd scavenged for missions.
It was a weapon forged for killing.
"…Elder?" Hero asked, his voice calm but tinged with uncertainty, turning the shuriken over in his hand.
"Who taught you shurikenjutsu?" Setsuna's tone was unreadable, his half-lidded eyes gazing into the flames, as if the question was no more significant than idle campfire talk.
Hero's heart s kipped a beat. He had only revealed fragments of his throwing technique during the earlier confrontation with Seijuro, and yet, this old war hawk had seen through him with pinpoint clarity. Setsuna had seen through the precision
Hero couldn't lie: that he had learned by watching him.
So he offered a half-lie wrapped in respectful modesty.
"I'm just a genin, Elder. I've only trained with what the clan provides. Nothing advanced."
Setsuna's eyes didn't flicker, but something shifted behind them, a faint glint of recognition… or perhaps warning.
"Tsk."
He said nothing more, only reached for another shuriken, this time moving with a deliberate elegance. One hand formed a slow Tiger seal. The other held the blade poised at his fingertips.
Then chakra surged.
The air shimmered, and flames danced to life, wreathing the spinning shuriken in crimson fire. The blaze didn't roar, it purred, controlled and refined, coiling around the metal like a living entity. Sparks crackled with each rotation, casting wild patterns across Setsuna's weathered face.
Hero inhaled, awe-struck. Even in his past life, knowing that it was merely fiction and fantasy—he had rarely imagined such control. This was honed to perfection.
"Phoenix Fire and its variant, Phoenix Sage Flower Nail Crimson," Setsuna spoke as if reading from a scroll. "Same seal. Same foundation. Different result."
He released the flaming shuriken, letting it drop. The fire extinguished the moment it touched the ground, leaving a faint trail of smoke curling into the night.
"Chakra infusion. Form alteration. Then throw."
No ceremony. No flair. Just raw, deadly technique distilled from decades of war.
Hero could barely hide his eagerness. He knelt forward, placing the shuriken between his palms. Formed the Tiger seal. Channeled chakra.
A spark flickered, then died. The shuriken clanged against the earth.
"…."
He gave a sheepish glance. Setsuna's expression remained unchanged.
"Remember this," the elder said. "Fire Release begins with form transformation. Master that first."
He didn't wait for a response. His hand blurred, another shuriken, this one trailed by nearly invisible wire, sailed through the air. As it landed against a nearby tree trunk, he performed four seals:
Serpent → Dragon → Rabbit → Tiger.
Then, he exhaled.
Flames shot from his lips like a cannon's breath, latching onto the wire and traveling down its length in a snaking, controlled blaze.
"Fire Release: Dragon Fire Jutsu."
The flames slammed into the embedded shuriken, detonating in a burst of focused heat. Not a single flicker wasted. Every drop of chakra did its job.
Hero's eyes widened.
The technique was not only dazzling, but also invasive.
"Practice that one," Setsuna said flatly. "Once you can do it mid-combat, move on to Phoenix Sage Flower Nail Crimson."
And then he did it again—this time, with just a single Tiger seal.
No multi-step hand sequence.
The flame surged out in perfect formation, controlled by instinct and refined mastery.
Hero's jaw slackened slightly. To cast with one seal… That's Transcendent (S Rank) mastery.
This wasn't just advanced ninjutsu.
This was Uchiha Setsuna, the relic of war, transmitting power the way his generation did: fast, brutal, and wordlessly.
Hero stared at the dying embers, his heart pounding.
And then, he understood.
A silent shift in chakra. A sudden clarity.
A notification blinked before his eyes.
[Ding!]
[Skill Unlocked: Fire Release – Dragon Fire Jutsu]
Rank: Proficient (C Rank)
[Skill Unlocked: Fire Release – Phoenix Sage Flower Nail Crimson]
Rank: Novice (D Rank)
Hero blinked. His mind itched with sudden overload—too much, too fast.
"Enough… please… stop teaching…" he muttered weakly, massaging his temple.
His head throbbed. He could feel his mental RAM crashing. If this kept up, he'd end up knowing every clan technique in the Uchiha arsenal before he ever saw a battlefield.
At that exact moment, Seijuro returned from the forest. His steps were brisk, expression grim.
"Elder," he reported, voice clipped. "A squad of Hidden Hot Water ninja is patrolling nearby. They seem to be sweeping the region."
Setsuna's eyes remained closed, but his attention shifted.
Hero, seated beside him, also perked up. He remembered what Obito had said—Minato-sensei's orders were clear: "avoid unnecessary conflict in unstable regions". The Land of Hot Water was fractured. Many shinobi operated outside any real chain of command. Wild cards.
But then Seijuro's eyes caught the scene, Hero seated beside the elder, still holding a shuriken wreathed in soot.
His expression darkened.
It all made sense.
Setsuna wasn't just tolerating this Genin.
He was mentoring him.
That meant only one thing.
This boy, this brat, was a hawk as well.
And he hadn't even seen it.
How dare he—!
Setsuna's eyes opened.
"What did you say?" the elder's voice cut in, sharp as drawn steel.
Seijuro stiffened.
"…A patrol," he said quickly. "We should avoid contact. It isn't our objective, and the ninja code advises discretion during unrelated missions."
Hero didn't speak. But he quietly agreed. Rogue shinobi in wartime were a different breed. They fought for coin, revenge, ego. Fighting them was never wise.
But sometimes… silence wasn't strategy. It was cowardice.
Setsuna stood.
His full frame straightened, the outline of his blade glinting under the fractured moonlight.
His Sharingan opened, three tomoe spinning with chilling precision.
Without a word, he kicked apart the campfire.
Ash and embers scattered like dying stars.
Then he drew his blade.
"Prepare for battle," he said, voice low.
"Seijuro…lead the way. We're eliminating the patrol first."
"Then… we cross the border into the Land of Hot Water. Tonight."