Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

The crescent moon hung high in the obsidian sky, casting pale light over the desolate training grounds. The wind whispered through the empty space, rustling the leaves of a nearby tree and stirring the sand on the dirt floor where Renjiro sat cross-legged, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. The faint metallic scent of his own blood lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the night. Every fibre of muscle screamed. His chakra pathways felt dull & scorched, and despite his fast healing abilities, the aftereffects hadn't subsided.

Renjiro's dark eyes, still rimmed red from overexertion, stared blankly at the faint outline of the clearing. His thoughts raced, tangled in the memory of what had transpired only an hour earlier. The feeling of helplessness, the suffocating weight of Daichi's Mangekyo Sharingan, and the sheer terror of losing control—it was as if his mind was replaying the scene over and over, refusing to let him move past it.

"Damn it," Renjiro muttered under his breath, his voice laced with frustration. He ran a trembling hand through his raven-black hair, slick with sweat. "That bastard..."

The memory of Daichi's eyes burned in his mind like a cursed brand. The swirling Mangekyo pattern—those jagged, concentric rings that seemed to spin endlessly—had been unlike anything he had ever seen or expected. Its presence had felt overwhelming as if the air itself had bent to Daichi's will. Renjiro's own Sharingan, even in its Mangekyo form, had felt insignificant in comparison. It seemed that there were levels to this type of power.

"His ability," Renjiro whispered, his voice shaking with equal parts awe and rage. "What the hell was that?"

He shivered as he remembered the sensation of being trapped in his own body, of hearing his voice betray him, spilling his secrets without his consent. His mind had been shackled, his will suppressed by an unseen force that rendered him completely powerless. He tried to analyze it, piecing together what he knew.

'It couldn't have been a Genjutsu'—Renjiro was confident in his immunity to illusions, thanks to his chakra seinou ability and extensive training. Whatever Daichi had done had bypassed every defence Renjiro had, striking directly at the core of his consciousness.

He compared it to the Mangekyo abilities he knew from the story: Shisui's Kotoamatsukami, which could rewrite memories, or Itachi's Tsukuyomi, which could manipulate time within a Genjutsu.

hisui's ability was subtle, surgical—a scalpel in the dark. Daichi's was a sledgehammer. No finesse, just absolute dominion.

Renjiro clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into the dirt beneath him. "Losing control like that..." He swallowed hard, the words bitter in his mouth. "It's worse than death."

He envisioned the potential applications of such an ability in battle. If Daichi could render someone powerless with a mere glance, it would be nearly impossible to counter. The thought sent a chill down Renjiro's spine. Even now, Daichi hadn't seemed to exert much effort—his demeanour had been calm, his tone measured. It terrified Renjiro to think of what Daichi could do if he were truly serious.

"He wasn't even trying," Renjiro muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips curled into a bitter smile. "And he still crushed me."

The question that had lingered in the back of his mind now resurfaced: If Daichi was so powerful, why hadn't he used his abilities to elevate the Uchiha clan's standing in Konoha? Renjiro had always assumed that Daichi, as the clan head, harboured ambitions for the Uchiha's dominance or elevation in the village. Yet, Daichi's actions suggested otherwise. Renjiro considered the possibilities.

The last wielder of a Mangekyo Sharingan to make his power known to the village had left scars, some type of trauma, that Konoha had yet to forget.

"Madara..."

Renjiro's voice was tinged with disgust as he said the name. Perhaps Daichi understood that openly wielding such power would only deepen the rift between the Uchiha and the village. Perhaps his plan was to elevate the clan through subtler, more diplomatic means.

But even as Renjiro reasoned through Daichi's motives, he couldn't shake the memory of how Daichi and Fugaku had reacted when he revealed one of his chakra seinou abilities to them. Their scepticism, their mild hostility, had been palpable. "They gave me a cold shoulder," Renjiro thought bitterly. It was foolish to hope that Daichi, or anyone else in the clan, would treat his special abilities any differently.

A surge of anger coursed through him, hot and unrelenting. He wasn't just angry at Daichi for what he had done—he was furious at himself. Furious for being weak, for allowing Daichi to walk all over him.

The realization hit him like a blow to the chest: Daichi hadn't even asked about his Mangekyo abilities. He hadn't cared. The message was clear: Daichi didn't see him as a threat.

Renjiro's fingers curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. "I was complacent," he admitted bitterly, the words tasting like ash. Unlocking his Mangekyo had made him arrogant, lulled him into a false sense of security and accomplishment. He had thought himself near-untouchable, yet Daichi had shattered that illusion effortlessly.

But it wasn't just frustration that churned in Renjiro's chest—it was determination. Daichi's display of power had been a wake-up call, and Renjiro was going to answer it. He would no longer allow himself to be dictated by the whims of others, whether it was Daichi, Hiruzen, or even Madara himself.

"My fate is mine to control," Renjiro said aloud, his voice firm, cutting through the stillness of the night. "And no one else's."

He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. The image of Daichi's Mangekyo burned in his mind, a symbol of the challenge he now faced. Renjiro swore to himself that he would surpass the clan head—not just to prove his strength, but to ensure that no one could ever make him feel so helpless again.

And then, as his anger crystallized into resolve, a darker thought crept into his mind. Daichi was strong, but he wasn't invincible. The coming war would test even the greatest shinobi, and Renjiro was certain that Daichi's path would lead him to an early grave. Otherwise he would have know of his existence before he transmigrated

"When that day comes..." Renjiro's lips curled into a cold smile. "I'll take your eyes as a trophy."

The thought didn't bring him satisfaction—it brought clarity. Daichi wasn't just an obstacle; he was the first name on a growing list of people Renjiro needed to surpass, to deal with, in order to secure his place in the world.

As he pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling slightly from exhaustion, Renjiro's mind turned to his own Mangekyo abilities. He had only delved deeper into one so far, but the second remained a mystery. If he was to stand a chance against Daichi—or anyone else on his list—he would need to master every ounce of power his eyes could offer.

"It's high time I figure out my second Mangekyo ability," Renjiro muttered to himself, his voice low but resolute.

The night air was cool against his skin as he began the long walk home. The shadows of the training ground stretched out behind him, but Renjiro didn't look back. His path was clear, and for the first time in a long while, his resolve felt unshakable.

This was just the beginning.

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