Itachi Uchiha's son Shinra Uchiha

The clearing was narrow, nestled between two sheer cliffs and partially hidden under the drape of long, wild vines. The air was thick with tension—not the kind that crackles in anticipation of a battle, but the kind that coils inside a moment of silence too long held.

Boruto stood at the edge of the field, breath visible in the crisp air. His fingers gripped the hilt of Sasuke's sword tightly, its weight oddly comforting after the morning's quiet storm of conversation.

Shinra stood a few paces away, back straight, arms crossed. His cloak rustled lightly in the breeze.

"Again," he said.

Boruto lunged forward, sweeping the blade low, then twisting it upward in a rising arc. His footwork was clean, if a little forceful. He followed with a feint step, pivoted, and brought the blade down in a diagonal cut.

"Stop."

Boruto froze, halfway through the arc.

Shinra walked over, slowly. "Too wide on the pivot. You're telegraphing. If I can read your feet, your blade means nothing."

Boruto grunted, frustrated. "That's what you said last time."

"And it was still true this time."

Boruto sighed and reset his stance. He watched Shinra's posture—weight balanced evenly, spine straight, arms relaxed. His every movement had the stillness of a predator, but none of the showmanship. It was what unnerved Boruto the most. Shinra never seemed like he was ready to attack—yet somehow always was.

They trained in short bursts. Blade angles. Movement drills. More corrections. No sparring. Shinra didn't allow it.

"Learn to walk before you run with a sword," he had said. "Otherwise, you die exhausted instead of experienced."

Boruto wiped sweat from his brow and took a sip from his canteen.

That was when it happened.

A rustle in the underbrush—not animal. Too steady.

Both of them turned at the same time.

The presence was sudden. Focused. Killing intent—not directed at Shinra.

At Boruto.

A blur of chakra flickered at the far edge of the field. A shinobi, masked and cloaked in red-grey gear, burst from the trees, kunai in hand, lightning crackling around his fingers.

"Get down!" Shinra snapped—not shouting, but absolute.

Boruto barely dropped before the attacker closed the distance. The blade passed over his head, slicing a chunk of hair clean off.

The rogue didn't hesitate. He pivoted and launched a second strike, aiming straight for Boruto's back—

But Shinra was already there

No hand seals. No shout.

Just a shift.

The attacker's body stopped mid-motion. His legs locked. His arms trembled.

Boruto rolled and scrambled to his feet—just in time to see Shinra press two fingers to the attacker's chest.

A pulse. A sound like a vacuumed heartbeat.

The attacker collapsed silently. No scream. No blood. Just a lifeless thud on the moss.

Boruto stood frozen.

The rogue's eyes were still open, wide and unseeing. No signs of trauma. No chakra flare. Nothing.

"What… what did you do to him?" Boruto whispered.

Shinra knelt, checked the body, then stood.

"Neural silence. It's… permanent."

Boruto's eyes widened. "You killed him without moving your blade. Without a single jutsu seal."

Shinra turned to him, calm as ever. "Not every kill needs to be loud."

Boruto looked down at the body. The shinobi's gear had a symbol—one Boruto didn't recognize immediately. But the color and shape reminded him of something—minor nations. One of the outer border states.

He looked back at Shinra. "Who sent him?"

"Someone afraid," Shinra replied. "Someone who thinks your existence threatens the balance."

Boruto stared, stunned. "Because of Omnipotence?

Shinra gave a slight nod. "The world has rewritten itself. Those without answers look for someone to blame."

Boruto's grip on his sword tightened. "They think I'm the reason everything changed."

"They don't care if it's true," Shinra said flatly. "They just need someone to eliminate."

Boruto stepped forward, his voice rising. "But I haven't even—"

"Doesn't matter." Shinra's tone didn't change. "To them, you're a prophecy with a sword."

Boruto looked back at the rogue's body. "He wasn't even given a chance."

"No one gets a chance when fear writes the mission."

A long silence fell. Shinra turned away and began walking back toward their supplies.

Boruto stayed put.

"You didn't hesitate," he said quietly.

Shinra paused. "Should I have?"

Boruto frowned. "You didn't even ask who he was. What if he had answers?"

Shinra turned back. "Dead men don't tell lies. And the truth he held wasn't worth your life."

Boruto stared at him. There was no cruelty in Shinra's voice. No triumph. Just fact. Clean, cold, final.

He didn't know what disturbed him more—the kill itself… or how routine it seemed.

Shinra sat near the campfire. "You've seen what power can do when it's emotional. This is what it looks like when it isn't."

Boruto sat slowly across from him. "That's why you're like this. Because you've had to live this way."

"I've had to survive this way," Shinra corrected. "Living is something I'm still figuring out."

Boruto looked into the fire. "How many have you killed?"

Shinra's eyes didn't move. "More than I remember. Fewer than I regret."

Boruto looked up sharply. That wasn't the answer he expected.

Shinra added softly, "Regret is a luxury. I don't get to keep many of those."

The fire cracked.

Boruto sighed, the weight of it all settling in. "I don't want to be like that."

"Then learn to be strong enough that you never have to."

They sat in silence.

Above them, the sky darkened. The forest held its breath. And somewhere far beyond the mist and trees, another hunter readied his blade, not knowing what walked the forests now wasn't prey, but the ghost of a clan long feared.

A ghost with red eyes.