Itachi Uchiha's son Shinra Uchiha

Boruto's blade trailed in a slow arc under the waning moonlight. Chakrashift training polished the weapon's flow, but tension still clung to his movements. Shinra watched from the edge of the clearing, cloak hovering like a shadow.

"Your flow is stronger," Shinra said quietly. "But you still hesitate."

Boruto paused. "Hesitation means control. Precisely what I try to learn from you."

Shinra nodded. "Control isn't hesitation, Boruto. It's conviction despite fear. Step through that hesitation."

Boruto clenched his jaw and resumed. Mist-like chakra condensed, traced, and dissolved around Sasuke's sword.

Shinra closed his eyes. His voice dropped:

 "When I first felt it—too much power—it tore me. In the woods, alone. I lost control, and I nearly killed the forest."

Boruto flicked aromatic chakra to the ground. "Because it was too much for one body?"

Shinra's palms flexed at his side. "The flow demands unity. Not force."

Boruto recognized the tremor in Shinra's voice—a wound older than either of them.

 Flashback — The Dead Woods

 Shinra, younger, bloodied and panting, surrounded by shattered trees. Chakra oozed from his palms in wild tendrils, scorching leaves, freezing branches in twisted arcs. He buried his face into his arms, tears dripping onto unbreakable wood.

Thunder rumbled—even Boruto flinched at the memory.

Shinra opened his eyes. "I did better than break it. I nearly destroyed myself."

Shinra stepped forward.

Boruto stilled.

Shinra's chakra glowed at his chest—multiple layers, whispering of hidden depth. Not fire. Not wood. Just chroma, something almost alien.

He swept his hand through air; roots responded—small, single strands that responded to each finger's motion. Not to block. To map. One by one, they traced Boruto's chakra signature and dispersed.

Boruto exhaled. "So you can turn it off."

Shinra's lips twitched. "Precision is knowing what to hold and what to let go."

Boruto matched it. Attempted a technique of his own. He unleashed a rapid mist arc, pulled it back, faded.

Shinra nodded once. "Your edge burned me last night. Tonight—your control speaks."

Boruto sheathed his sword. "Your flow is your truth. You can stop—but only for now."

Shinra listened.

Boruto continued, voice raw, "We're the same, you and I. Overflowing with power we didn't choose. But when I let Karma rise… I lose me. My control disappears."

Silence.

Shinra's whispered reply cut through: "Your choice is your power. Mine… was never mine."

Boruto watched him. He heard it—grief, but not for himself. Something icy.

Then an echo of a voice:

 "Itachi lived in the silence between our thoughts."

Boruto tensed, heart stuttering—realization blooming in ice-cold dread.

Shinra stiffened.

 Flashback — A memory of Shiroyama Shrine

 A young Shinra studies a stone altar under moonlight. A faint Uchiha crest etched into worn granite. A man in shadows—no face—teaches him chakra flow there, then vanishes. Leaves flutter with grief.

Boruto's voice trembled: "Who… taught you?"

Shinra held the silence.

Boruto pressed: "You never said your instructor's name."

Shinra's hand squeezed his arm. "Names are legacy. I walk the path—no title yet."

Before Boruto could respond, a scream cut through the night. From the trees—someone burst into the open, eyes wild.

Boruto drew his sword in a single fluid move.

A stranger—cloaked and armored in enemy clan gear snarled: "There! Tag him! He's dangerous because of the Omnipotence!"

He lunged.

Boruto exchanged a glance with Shinra.

Shinra nodded once. "Protect what's burning. Not what's frozen."

Boruto faced his attacker. The enemy jutted lithe—fluid, deadly. Blade flashed.

Boruto deflected the strike. Root-shield coalesced by Shinra's planted Chakra mapping.

A moment's pause—this was a test.

They fought in tandem: Boruto sliding in precision, Shinra covering angles the enemy couldn't read.

Blades clashed. Sparks flared. Mist spiraled.

Boruto's blade found an opening. Sang true—light, near-whisper. Enemy staggered.

Clank.

The stranger hissed—rushed back, wounded.

Shinra closed the distance silently, placing a hand on the enemy temple.

Chakra roiled—it didn't erupt. It pulled subtle strings into the attacker's system. He collapsed unconscious, sword dropping.

Boruto's breath rattled.

Shinra's voice cut low: "He attacked your flow. It ends tonight."

Boruto nodded, swallow thick in throat.

The woods fell silent except for their breathing. Boruto sheathed his blade.

Shinra knelt by the attacker's ear. Whisp:

 "Poison. Slipped through cortex. He'll live."

He stood. The enemy stirred, unconscious—but alive.

Boruto glanced at him. "How…"

Shinra's gaze flicked to Boruto's blade. "Flow first. Precision second. Mercy is the proof of a true shinobi."

Boruto's chest tightened.

Shinra turned away from the forest. The moon glinted behind his hood.

 "I showed you how not to lose yourself. I will not promise you never fail."

He walked toward Boruto.

 "Follow me—and your burden lightens. But know: your heart must choose."

Boruto matched his pace, planted step by step.

They left the clearing—two silhouettes, power simmering, tension tight as steel wire.