Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

The narrow streets of the Uchiha compound were bathed in the golden hues of late afternoon, the warm sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees overhead. Renjiro strolled along the stone-paved paths, his sandals scuffing softly against the ground.

The world around him was tranquil, but his mind was far from at ease. His destination was clear: the outskirts of the Uchiha compound, where Miwa, his aunt and guardian, resided. She was the only person left who might have the answers he sought about the Mangekyō Sharingan.

Though Miwa had always been a source of wisdom and stability in his life, Renjiro knew there was no guarantee she'd divulge what he wanted to know.

Her loyalty to the clan and her own principles might outweigh her familial bond to him. Still, if there was anyone he could trust not to betray his curiosity to Daichi, the clan head, it was her. Miwa had always been independent, almost to a fault.

"She might not help me," Renjiro murmured under his breath, his tone tinged with resignation. "But at least she won't sell me out."

Renjiro's house, nestled in the heart of the compound, was a far cry from Miwa's secluded dwelling. His home was the same one he had been assigned to him when he became a squad leader in the Konoha Police Force.

It wasn't particularly luxurious, but it was strategically located—a reminder that his position within the clan was both a privilege and a burden. Living near the centre meant being under constant scrutiny, a fact Renjiro had grown accustomed to but never comfortable with.

Miwa's house, on the other hand, was a testament to her self-sufficiency. It sat at the edge of the clan compound, where the hustle and bustle of clan life gave way to quieter, more serene surroundings.

Though modest compared to the grander homes in the inner compound, it bore signs of her jōnin status: reinforced walls, well-maintained gardens, and subtle but effective security measures. It was a place that reflected her rank without flaunting it—a characteristic Renjiro had always admired about her.

As he walked, Renjiro's thoughts turned to his aunt. Miwa was something of an enigma within the clan. She had opted out of serving in the Konoha Police Force, choosing instead to take on missions that often kept her away from the political intrigues of the Uchiha. This distance, both literal and figurative, gave her a unique perspective—and a degree of freedom Renjiro envied.

By the time he reached her house, the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground. Renjiro stepped up to the door and knocked, the sound resonating in the quiet evening air. He waited, listening for any sign of movement inside. When none came, he knocked again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

"Is she out?" he muttered, stepping to the side to peer through a window. The interior of the house was dim, with no visible signs of activity.

Sighing, Renjiro stepped back and crossed his arms. "Maybe she's on a mission," he said to himself.

Just as he turned to leave, a familiar voice called out from behind him.

"On a mission? Isn't here for what?"

Renjiro spun around to see Miwa approaching, a bag of groceries slung over one arm. She looked as composed as ever, her dark eyes sharp and inquisitive. Her long black hair was tied neatly back, and her movements carried the effortless grace of a seasoned shinobi.

"Miwa," Renjiro greeted a hint of relief in his voice. "I wasn't sure if you were home."

"Well, I am now," Miwa replied, gesturing for him to follow her inside.

The door creaked open, and Renjiro stepped into the familiar space. The house smelled faintly of cedarwood, mixed with the earthy aroma of herbs drying in the corner. Miwa set the bag of groceries on the kitchen table with a soft thud, then turned to face him, her arms crossed.

"So," she began, her tone neutral but her gaze piercing. "What brings you here?"

Renjiro smirked, taking a seat in one of the chairs. "What? Can't I visit my favourite aunt?"

Miwa raised an eyebrow. "Don't play coy. I'm your only aunt. And you never visit me at this hour."

Renjiro furrowed his brows, feigning offence. "That's oddly specific."

"Don't dodge the question," Miwa said, her tone firm but not unkind. "What's this about?"

Realizing he wasn't going to outmanoeuvre her, Renjiro sighed and leaned forward. "I need to know what you know about the Mangekyō Sharingan."

For a moment, Miwa's composure faltered. Her eyes widened slightly, but she quickly masked her reaction.

"Where did you hear that term?" she asked, her voice carefully measured.

Renjiro shrugged, leaning back in his chair with an air of feigned nonchalance. "I was at the private library earlier. Someone was asking about it, and when I heard that Daichi has information about it locked up, I got curious."

'I hope she buys it,' Renjiro thought, keeping his expression neutral.

Miwa studied him for a long moment, her gaze unyielding. Finally, she shook her head. "That's not a good enough reason for me to tell you anything."

"Come on, Miwa," Renjiro said, his tone shifting to one of earnestness. "I need to know. Please."

Miwa sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she took a seat across from him. "You'll find out about this eventually, I suppose. But listen carefully, Renjiro. This isn't something to take lightly."

Renjiro straightened in his seat, his full attention on her.

"The Sharingan is a powerful tool, but it's also a curse," Miwa began. "Its power comes at a cost—a heavy one. The Mangekyō Sharingan is no different. It grants incredible abilities, but the price it demands in return is steep."

She paused, her gaze distant as if recalling something painful. "It's tied to profound emotional trauma—just like how you awakened your Sharingan when you saw your parents die."

Renjiro flinched at the memory, the image of the Real Renjiro's parents' lifeless bodies flashing in his mind. He clenched his fists, forcing the pain back down. "How do you get it?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

Miwa hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"I just want to know so I don't stumble into it accidentally," Renjiro added quickly, sensing her reluctance.

Miwa's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Renjiro thought she wouldn't answer. But then she spoke, her tone low and solemn. "To awaken the Mangekyō Sharingan, you have to experience a loss so profound it shatters your very soul. For most… that means killing the person you're closest to."

Miwa's breath hitched, but he quickly masked his reaction with a smirk. "Unfortunate for you, I don't think I could beat you in a fight."

'Who will tell her?' Renjiro thought, biting back a chuckle.

He then snorted, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "And who said you are the person I am closest to?"

Miwa let out an inaudible gasp, but before she could build her response, Renjiro shifted the topic. "What about the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan? How does that work?"

Miwa's expression darkened, and she averted her gaze. "I don't know much about it," she said curtly. "Madara was the only one to achieve it, as far as I know."

Renjiro frowned, sensing the lie but deciding not to press her. He could tell she was holding something back—not out of malice, but perhaps to protect him from truths he wasn't ready to face.

Their conversation drifted to other topics, with Miwa cautioning Renjiro about the dangers of ambition and the burden of power. Her words were laced with both wisdom and an undercurrent of worry, a reflection of her deep care for him.

As the conversation wound down, Renjiro leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on his aunt. "By the way, why were you in such a hurry earlier?"

Miwa glanced toward the door, her expression suddenly guarded. "I have a friend over."

Something about her tone felt off, and Renjiro tilted his head, studying her. Before he could respond, a sharp knock interrupted them.

Knock. Knock.

Renjiro, being closer to the door, stood and opened it without hesitation.

"Wait!" Miwa said, her voice laced with alarm.

Too late. The door swung open to reveal a tall man standing there, his features obscured by the shadow of the doorway.

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