3RD POV
The sun bathed Training Ground 9 in a golden hue, casting long shadows over the clearing where three young genin stood. Ryuichi leaned casually against a tree, though his shoulders betrayed the tension he tried to hide. His mind churned with worries as Haru tapped his foot impatiently, the rhythmic sound breaking the quiet.
A sudden red blur darted into the clearing, and before the genin could react, Kushina Uzumaki stood among them, her hands on her hips and a cheerful grin on her face.
"Ah, I see you guys made it," Kushina said, her fiery red hair catching the sunlight.
"You're late, Sensei," Haru said, narrowing his eyes slightly.
"Well, there were... complications in the Hokage's office," Kushina replied, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. "But that's not what's important right now."
Her tone shifted, becoming more serious. "Now, I want all of you to listen closely."
The three genin straightened, their curiosity piqued as Kushina's usually bright demeanor gave way to something more somber.
"Do you remember how I told you about the Chunin Exams?" Kushina asked.
The genin nodded in unison. They had been preparing for months, each anticipating the trials that would mark their progression as shinobi.
"Well…" Kushina paused, folding her arms as her expression darkened. "There have been some changes to the prerequisites for entry into the exams."
"What is it, Sensei?" Fuyumi asked, her calm voice tinged with a hint of concern.
Kushina exhaled deeply. "Long story short, you'll need to serve on the frontlines for a month."
The words hung in the air, heavy and final.
The three genin stood in silence, processing what they had just heard. It wasn't unexpected—word of the war's escalation had reached even the youngest shinobi—but hearing it confirmed still sent a chill through them.
The real surprise wasn't that they were being called to the frontlines but that they had gone so long without being sent. For seven months, they had trained relentlessly without taking on missions. Now, the inevitability of war loomed before them.
For Ryuichi, the announcement hit harder than he let on. He clenched his fists, the phantom pain of past wounds tingling along his skin. The memory of their mission against Kushimaru lingered like a shadow in the back of his mind. That mission had been labeled "mundane"—a straightforward objective with minimal risk. Yet, it had nearly cost him and his team their lives.
He remembered the suffocating fear as Kushimaru's threads had torn through the air, his lethal weaponry cutting into his skin that Ryuichi could still feel the sting on his left hand. Fuyumi had been pinned down and Haru and Ryuichi were outmatched in a way that made the gap between genin and elite shinobi starkly clear. The only reason they had survived was Ryuichi's sheer luck—unlocking his Sharingan in the heat of battle and catching Kushimaru off guard
But luck wasn't a strategy, and it certainly wasn't something he could rely on when the stakes were even higher. If they'd barely survived a "simple" mission, what chance did they stand against the chaos of the frontlines, where foes stronger than Kushimaru awaited?
"When do we leave, Sensei?" Ryuichi asked, his voice steady but tinged with sadness.
"Tomorrow afternoon" Kushina said firmly.
Ryuichi nodded without hesitation. Turning on his heel, he left the training ground, his mind racing as he headed home.
The Uchiha household was quiet as Ryuichi pushed open the front door, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing in the entryway. He walked into the living room, where his mother, Mikoto, sat on the couch. Her rounded belly was a testament to the new life growing within her, and the sight tugged at Ryuichi's heart.
Without a word, he rushed to her, wrapping his arms around her swollen belly.
"Ryuichi?" Mikoto asked, startled by the sudden gesture. She rested a hand on his head, stroking his dark hair gently. "Is everything okay?"
"I just… wanted to spend some time with you and little brother," Ryuichi said, his voice muffled against her.
Mikoto smiled, though concern flickered in her eyes. "Come on now," she teased, "it could just as easily be a sister. Now, tell me what's wrong, Ryuichi."
For a moment, he didn't answer. Instead, he tightened his embrace, as if holding onto her might anchor him amidst the storm raging in his mind. Finally, he pulled back slightly and looked up at her.
"Mom?" he asked hesitantly.
"Yes, sweetie?"
"Have you thought of a name for the baby yet?"
Mikoto tilted her head, surprised by the question. "Not yet…"
"Can we name him Itachi?" Ryuichi interrupted, his tone earnest.
Mikoto's eyes widened. "Itachi?" she repeated softly.
Ryuichi nodded, the weight of his request evident in his expression. Shinobi often left something meaningful behind when they went to the frontlines—letters, keepsakes, or mementos for their loved ones to remember them by. But Ryuichi wanted to leave something more profound, something that would remind his family of his love and existence even if he didn't return.
"It's a beautiful name," Mikoto said, her voice steady despite the unease growing in her chest. "But what if it's a girl?"
"It's not," Ryuichi said firmly, though his voice cracked slightly at the end.
Mikoto felt a dampness where Ryuichi had pressed his face against her belly. She looked down, alarmed to see his shoulders trembling.
"Ryuichi," she said gently, lifting his chin so she could look into his eyes. "What's wrong? Tell me."
Ryuichi hesitated, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. His thoughts swirled, a chaotic mix of fear, determination, and sorrow. He wanted to tell her everything—the assignment, the frontlines, his worries about leaving them behind—but the words felt too heavy.
"I'll explain everything once Dad gets home," he said finally.
Mikoto studied him for a moment, her motherly instincts warning her that something was deeply troubling her son. But she didn't press further, instead pulling him into another embrace.
"All right," she said softly. "But whatever it is, remember that we're here for you, Ryuichi."
He nodded against her shoulder, his throat tight. As he held onto her, the memory of Kushimaru's cruel laughter and the glint of his blade surfaced once more. Ryuichi vowed silently that no matter what awaited him on the frontlines, he wouldn't let his fear paralyze him again. He would fight—not just for himself but for the family he couldn't bear to lose.
-{0}-
The Hokage's office was tense, the air heavy with the weight of war and its many compromises. Inside, the village council—a mix of clan heads, advisors, and key military personnel—had gathered to discuss critical updates. Among them sat Tsunade, her arms crossed and her golden eyes filled with a storm of emotions, and Fugaku Uchiha, the ever-composed patriarch of the Uchiha clan. The atmosphere felt brittle, like a single word could shatter the tenuous calm.
Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, stood at the head of the room, his old but sharp eyes scanning the room. "As you all know," he began, his voice grave, "the war has stretched our resources thin. Our forces have managed to hold the lines, but reinforcements are needed. Effective immediately, all genin wishing to participate in the upcoming Chunin Exams will be required to serve a minimum of one month on the frontlines. This directive will ensure that they understand the realities of being a shinobi and earn the promotion they seek."
The declaration sent ripples of murmurs through the room, but none were louder than Tsunade's scoff. She leaned forward, her fists slamming onto the table, rattling the documents laid upon it. "You can't be serious," she said, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "You're sending children to the frontlines? Have you lost your mind?"
Hiruzen's gaze shifted to her, calm but resolute. "These children are shinobi. They have been trained for this. It is not an easy decision, Tsunade, but it is necessary."
"Necessary?" Tsunade's voice rose. "Do you hear yourself? These are genin. Half of them don't even understand what true combat is! And you're sending them to fight seasoned enemy shinobi?"
"This is the reality of war," Hiruzen replied firmly. "Every generation has faced it. They will be supervised by experienced jonin, but they must learn."
Tsunade's chest heaved with anger as she pointed a finger at Hiruzen. "Do you know who's on that list? Ryuichi! My student! The same boy who just came back from a mission that nearly killed him! And now you're asking him to go to the frontlines?"
Hiruzen's gaze didn't waver. "Ryuichi is an exceptional shinobi. He has trained hard, and he is capable. Giving him special treatment would harm not just him but the entire village. Favoritism breeds resentment and weakens trust in leadership."
"I don't care about favoritism!" Tsunade shouted, her voice trembling. "This village has already taken everything from me. My grandfather, my granduncle, my younger brother, and my love—all of them sacrificed for this village! And now you want to take Ryuichi too?" Her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "If you think I'll let you, you're mistaken. If this village dares to take him from me, I swear on the Senju name that I will burn it to the ground with my own hands."
The room fell silent, her declaration hanging in the air like a storm cloud. Hiruzen's expression softened, but his resolve didn't falter. "Tsunade," he said gently but firmly, "you are speaking from a place of pain. I understand your fears, but the village's needs must come first. Ryuichi is a shinobi. He understands the risks."
"Don't patronize me!" Tsunade snapped, her voice cracking. "He's still a boy! Just because he's strong doesn't mean he should be sent to die!"
Across the table, Fugaku's face remained stoic, but inside, his emotions churned violently. The words of the Hokage pierced through his composure, bringing a sickening weight to his chest. Ryuichi was his son, his eldest, and he had promised himself that the boy would never be a casualty of this war. Yet here he sat, powerless, bound by his duties as the Uchiha clan's leader.
I'm supposed to protect my family, he thought bitterly. And yet I sit here, pretending to agree with this insanity, while my son is being sent into hell.
He remembered vividly the mission that had nearly cost Ryuichi his life. The image of his son's battered body being carried back to the village was seared into his mind. The memory of kneeling beside Ryuichi's bed, silently swearing to shield him from further harm, felt like a cruel mockery now. What good were his promises if they could be undone by a single order from the Hokage?
Tsunade's words brought his thoughts back to the present. She had turned to him, her fiery gaze locking onto his. "And you," she said bitterly, pointing an accusatory finger. "You're just going to sit there and let this happen? Your own son is being sent to the frontlines, and you're not going to say a damn thing?"
Fugaku's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. Outwardly, he maintained his calm, collected demeanor, but inside, he was crumbling under the weight of his own helplessness. What do you want me to do, Tsunade? he thought bitterly. Throw away my clan's trust? Challenge the Hokage and risk everything for my family?
"You're pathetic," Tsunade spat, her voice dripping with frustration and disappointment. "I expected better from you, Fugaku. I thought you cared more about your son than your damned politics."
She didn't wait for his reply. Turning sharply, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard that the walls seemed to shake.
The council room remained silent for a moment, the tension almost unbearable. Hiruzen sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "Tsunade's outburst is understandable," he said quietly, "but this decision stands. Dismissed."
The council members began to file out, their expressions ranging from somber to indifferent. Fugaku lingered, his gaze fixed on the table before him. Finally, he stood and left the room, his steps slow and heavy.
Tsunade's anger didn't subside as she walked through the village. Her mind raced, filled with memories of all she had lost. Her grandfather, Hashirama Senju, had built this village with the dream of peace, yet all it seemed to do was demand more and more sacrifices. Her younger brother, Nawaki, had been just as bright and hopeful as Ryuichi, and the war had swallowed him whole. And now Ryuichi, her student, her anchor in a village that she had long grown to resent, was being thrown into the same abyss.
Reaching the training ground where she and Ryuichi had spent countless hours together, Tsunade stopped and let out a scream of frustration, punching a tree with such force that it splintered under her fist. She sank to her knees, her shoulders shaking as tears streamed down her face.
"I can't lose you too," she whispered, her voice breaking.
-{0}-
Ryuichi rose early that morning, the golden rays of dawn filtering through his window, illuminating his small, orderly room. He sat at the edge of his bed for a moment, staring blankly at the floor as the weight of the day pressed down on him. Today marked the beginning of his month-long assignment on the frontlines. The thought of leaving his family behind tugged at his chest, especially given the uncertain dangers ahead. But there was no room for hesitation—he was a shinobi, and duty came first, no matter the cost.
He dressed in silence, his movements deliberate and slow. Adjusting the straps of his gear, he glanced at the mirror one last time. His reflection stared back at him, a mixture of determination and unease etched on his youthful face. Despite his apprehension, he knew there was no room to falter now. "I am a shinobi," he reminded himself silently. "No matter how dangerous this mission is, I cannot allow fear to rule me."
Descending the stairs, Ryuichi was greeted by the faint smell of rice and miso soup, but the warm, familiar aroma did little to comfort him today. His mother, Mikoto, sat at the kitchen table, her hands tightly clutching the edge of a teacup. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and her face bore a sorrowful expression she was trying desperately to mask. Across from her, Fugaku sat with his arms crossed, his posture and expression rigid and stoic. To an outsider, Fugaku might have appeared indifferent, but Ryuichi knew better. His father was worried, deeply so, though his responsibilities as the Uchiha patriarch required him to maintain his composure.
Ryuichi's chest tightened at the sight of them. His mother's sorrowful gaze felt like a dagger, while his father's silence was no less painful. He approached his mother first, his footsteps soft but purposeful. As he reached her, Mikoto rose from her chair and embraced him tightly, her trembling hands running through his hair.
"Ryuichi," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "Please… please take care of yourself. Don't be reckless out there. Promise me you'll come back."
Ryuichi nodded against her shoulder, his own arms wrapping around her gently. "I promise, Mom. I'll come back safe. Don't worry about me."
Though his words were meant to comfort, they felt hollow to him. He couldn't shake the lingering fear in his chest—the fear of not being able to keep that promise.
Mikoto pulled back slightly, her hands framing his face as she studied him intently, as if trying to memorize every detail. Her lips trembled into a bittersweet smile before she pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Then, Ryuichi turned to his father. Fugaku rose from his seat, his commanding presence filling the room. Despite his calm demeanor, there was a glint of something unspoken in his eyes as he looked down at his son.
"I will be going now," Ryuichi said, his voice steady despite the lump in his throat.
Fugaku regarded him for a moment, his stern gaze softening ever so slightly. Without a word, he reached into his sleeve and produced a scroll, holding it out to Ryuichi.
"This contains the basics of using genjutsu with the Sharingan," Fugaku explained, his tone even and measured. "The journey to the frontlines will take at least two days. That should give you enough time to begin mastering it."
Ryuichi accepted the scroll with both hands, holding it tightly as though it were a lifeline. "Thank you, Father," he said, bowing his head.
Fugaku placed a firm hand on his son's head, an uncharacteristic gesture of affection that made Ryuichi's heart clench. "Remember this, Ryuichi: no mission, no honor, no obligation is more important than your life. Come back home safe, consequences be damned. Do you understand me?"
Ryuichi nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "I understand, Father. I will."
In an impulsive moment, Ryuichi stepped forward and hugged his father. Fugaku stiffened slightly in surprise before his hands rested on his son's back, patting him awkwardly but reassuringly.
The rest of the morning was a flurry of activity, with Mikoto fussing over Ryuichi's supplies. She went through his bag multiple times, double-checking that he had enough provisions, spare clothes, and medical kits. She rattled off countless reminders—what to eat, how to treat minor injuries, how to keep warm at night.
"And don't forget to write to us," Mikoto added, her voice cracking slightly as she tightened the straps on his bag.
"I won't forget," Ryuichi assured her, though he doubted he would have the luxury of time to write.
Finally, the moment came for him to leave. Standing at the threshold of their home, Ryuichi turned back one last time. His mother stood beside his father, her hands gripping Fugaku's arm for support. The sight of them together filled Ryuichi with a mixture of strength and sadness. He waved to them, his hand lingering in the air for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and walked away.
=Chapter End=