Itachi Uchiha's son Shinra Uchiha

The midday sun scorched the clearing, but the mist remained—trapped beneath the dense canopy above. Boruto's breath came in quick bursts as he traced chakra channels, shaping the "water flow" jutsu he'd first barely summoned. Shinra observed quietly, arms folded and wings of Insight hidden in calm posture.

Boruto's movement was more confident this time—his blade drawn, chakra guided without hesitation. Mist spiraled in his palm. He struck the air: leaves parted, dew flew like sparks.

Shinra's expression flickered with approval—as the current shaped into a sharpened arc of green-red essence. Boruto drew back, chest heaving, but eyes alight with triumph.

"That was control," Shinra acknowledged softly. "Without me showing you." He circled Boruto slowly, scanning this moment of quiet victory. "Now watch me."

Shinra closed his eyes. Chakra swelled beneath his cloak—tightened and dense. Boruto felt a taut hum in the air. First came crimson flare—the telltale swirl of Uchiha; then woody green beneath his flesh; lastly, a faint amber glow that pulsed warmly in his chest.

Boruto's breath caught. He'd never watched one person hold three chakra types simultaneously.

Shinra shifted forward, palms open.

First, Uchiha flame—sharp coils of red mist in the shape of crows, distant cries echoing.

Second, Wood release—roots whipping skyward, lacing through trees, vines grappling stone, all alive yet beautiful.

Third, Uzumaki reserves—the ground around them trembling, chakra pressure like a storm contained.

Shinra sealed his palms in a shred of chakra storm, then shook his cloak free. "This is Convergence. Not strength from one—power from roots in many." He gripped the air, locking his fingers.

A whirlwind sparked up around him—wood vines curling lightning-like, blood-red eyes glowing atop tree trunks, chakra pulse echoing off roots that sprouted and vanished in seconds.

Boruto staggered backward—power pressed on his chest.

Shinra exhaled slowly, arms drifting downward. The roots retreated, flames dissipated, amber aura faded. The clearing settled. Silence fell—thick and broken.

Boruto stared—wide-eyed and shaken. "That… was more than what I've read about Hashirama or Madara. That's… unheard of."

Shinra touched his chest. His breaths were shallow, powerful muscles pulsing fast. "I can sustain it—for a short while. Two hours, at most." He flexed his hands. "Then every chakra line unbalances. I become… unstable."

Boruto approached carefully. "What happens?"

Shinra's eyes flickered with pain. "Burnout—or breakdown. Chakra streams sever, energy overflows… You lose more than strength." He breathed deep, regaining control.

Silence followed. Then Boruto said, "Teach me that control. Even a taste."

Shinra nodded. He guided Boruto through chakra sets: float, shift, absorb—and merge. The training turned into a delicate dance: breathe in Uchiha, weave in Wood, anchor in Uzumaki. Boruto found flow—smooth but still bubbling at the seams.

A sweat bead traced Shinra's temple. Blood raced beneath his skin in tremors of amber and green.

Boruto completed the sequence. Mist shimmered across his chest—a minor but present swirl of power.

Shinra stepped toward him.

"You did it faster than I expected."

Boruto exhaled with relief. "I… felt it build up. But I stopped myself."

Shinra nodded. "That pause—the self-control—matters more than the display. You're converging inside, not forcing."

Boruto's shoulders relaxed. He looked at Shinra.

Shinra swallowed.

"I'll show you what it costs."

Shinra inhaled deeply. He stepped forward, chakra surging again—Wood, Uchiha, Uzumaki. The clearing trembled. Splinters rose from the earth. Leaves caught fire. Air crackled.

Boruto stared—a dance of life and menace in one body.

And then Shinra… smiled. Not cruel—but like someone greeting the edge of a blade.

He advanced, cutting a root-sword that hummed with lightning. He drew red mist tendrils, then anchored amber force underfoot.

He attacked Boruto.

But this time, no illusions.

Boruto blocked the root-slash with his blade—fine wood-blood chakra spiraling on wood-streaked steel. Shinra changed movement, redirecting lightning flame in a hand-sign chase.

Boruto pivoted—flowing in convergence. Wood coil shields. Crimson crow strike redirected. A third chakra counter—a pulse blast.

Their blades and chakra collided, line for line.

Boruto realized quickly: this was a mental fight—speed mattered, but seeing the merge mattered more.

He slowed—no chakra. He read Shinra's shift, vine to crow, crow to amber tremor.

He leaned into the flow—intent like current, not fist.

Their blades touched—metal clashed. A heavy chord.

Shinra froze.

Boruto cut gently—but surely—the root-shield crumpled like paper, crow-charm spiraled off, amber tremor absorbed into kinetic parry.

A hush snapped.

Boruto stood firm.

Shinra's eyes softened—Uchiha red glow clear now, gold-blue chakra shimmered beneath.

He smiled.

"You held it," he whispered.

Shinra took a slow step back. The chakra meld crackled and peeled away—roots retracted, flames cooled, auric pulse faded.

He blinked, staring at his palm.

Boruto stared too.

Shinra cleared his throat. "Two hours is my cap. But sustaining convergence needs more than chakra. It needs purpose."

Boruto nodded. "To not falter at the edge."

Shinra gazed upward. "Still, every time I use it, I bleed energy. In two hours more… I'll lose my fight-or-flight. I won't feel pain. I won't feel limits. I'll burn myself out—or worse: turn on instinct."

Boruto felt the gravity. He knelt, scooping dirt and dust into his hand.

"Teach me," he said quietly. "Teach me how not to lose purpose."

Shinra looked at him. Slowly, he nodded.

"It starts with knowing why you carry this." He leaned closer. "Tomorrow, I show you the final stage. But if I use it again… I'll break it open."

Boruto swallowed. He stood again.

Shinra placed a hand gently on Boruto's shoulder.

 "You're not just learning a jutsu. You're learning a burden. Not every shinobi can carry it."

Boruto closed his eyes.

 I will.