Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

The moment Renjiro forced his body to shut the gates, the overwhelming surge of power that had filled his every cell vanished—leaving behind only the brutal aftermath of its withdrawal.

His legs buckled beneath him. A sharp, searing pain rippled through his muscles as if every fibre of his being had been stretched to its absolute limit and then suddenly snapped back. His breath hitched. His chest heaved, and before he could do anything to stop it, his body collapsed onto the cold, battle-worn ground.

"Thud!"

The impact sent a dull ache through his limbs, but in truth, it was nothing compared to the sheer exhaustion that had settled into his bones. His breathing was ragged, his body drenched in sweat, the heat of the battle still lingering on his skin.

Across from him, Duy wasn't faring much better.

Though he had only opened the Sixth Gate for the briefest moment, the backlash was still immense. His muscles trembled, veins still slightly swollen from the flood of chakra that had coursed through him. With a slow, measured breath, he, too, allowed himself to collapse onto the ground, staring up at the sky above with half-lidded eyes.

For a long moment, the only sound between them was the harsh, uneven rhythm of their labored breaths. The air was cool, a stark contrast to the lingering heat left by their battle. The ground beneath them was warm, still holding onto the energy they had unleashed.

The silence stretched.

"Renjiro," Duy's voice broke the silence, a low, stern rumble that was so unlike the man Renjiro had come to know. There was no cheerful exuberance, no passionate declaration about youth—just weight. His breath was still heavy, strained from the aftereffects of the gates, but his tone remained firm. Unwavering.

"You need to slow down."

Renjiro, lying flat on his back, barely turned his head to acknowledge the words. His body still thrummed with the echoes of power, the heat of battle lingering beneath his skin. He could feel the ache settling into his muscles now, his limbs screaming for rest.

Still, his eyes—his crimson Sharingan eyes, which had begun to fade back to their normal hue—remained sharp.

He let out a long, slow breath.

"I know you won't listen to me," Duy continued, shifting his gaze upwards toward the vast, darkened sky. "But I'll keep telling you this anyway. Again and again. Because someone has to."

Renjiro's fingers twitched slightly as they dug into the dirt beneath him, feeling the cool, uneven texture press against his skin.

'Slow down?'

That wasn't an option.

He swallowed, staring at the sky as the cool breeze whispered past them, carrying the distant rustle of leaves and the faint chirping of insects. His mind whirled, not with exhaustion, but with certainty.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.

"I can't."

Duy turned his head slightly toward him, his expression unreadable in the dim moonlight. His brows furrowed, eyes searching.

"Why?"

Renjiro didn't answer immediately.

For a brief moment, he debated whether or not to say it.

He had always kept his thoughts close to his chest, guarded like a shinobi guarding a vital secret. But Duy—despite his eccentricities, despite his odd mannerisms—was strong. Not just physically, but in his convictions. In his ability to remain true to his ideals even when the world tried to break him.

And so, Renjiro exhaled and finally said it.

"War is coming."

The words hung in the air like a curse.

Duy froze.

His breath hitched—just slightly, almost imperceptibly—but Renjiro caught it. His fingers twitched ever so slightly, his usually cheerful mask wavering, cracking at the edges.

War.

The word itself carried weight.

For a shinobi, war was inescapable. It loomed like a storm on the horizon, inevitable and merciless.

But for a genin…

It was a death sentence.

Genin weren't soldiers. They weren't hardened warriors who had honed their craft over decades. Most of them were children, barely trained, barely prepared, yet still sent to the front lines in droves. Expendable. Pawns in a game where the stakes were too high for them to grasp.

Duy knew this.

Renjiro saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his normally kind eyes darkened with something deeply buried.

His first thought wasn't of himself.

It was of his son.

'Might Guy…'

Duy sucked in a breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Might Guy was a chunin now. That meant he had a better chance. He wouldn't be thrown into the grinder like the countless others who would be forced to fight and die.

But still…

War was never merciful.

Never kind.

And for the first time since they had met, Renjiro saw the cracks in Duy's unwavering spirit.

It was subtle. The way his hands clenched against his knees, the way his usual confident grin had been replaced by something thinner, more fragile.

But it was there.

Renjiro looked away.

He didn't regret telling him.

But he hated that he had to.

The silence between them stretched once more, thicker than before.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Duy exhaled.

Slowly, with effort, he pushed himself upright, wincing as his muscles protested against the movement.

Renjiro followed, albeit slower, his limbs still aching, his vision swimming slightly from the lingering exhaustion.

Duy turned to look at him and blinked in surprise. "You're already standing?"

Renjiro rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly at the stiffness. "Not comfortably."

Duy let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "That's the power of youth for you!" He grinned, but this time, it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Truly, an unbreakable spirit!"

Renjiro huffed a quiet laugh, though there was no real humour behind it.

Then, without another word, he slid his hand into his pouch and retrieved a small pill. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it toward Duy.

Duy caught it midair, blinking in confusion.

"What's this?"

"A soldier pill," Renjiro said simply. "It'll help with the strain."

Duy turned the pill over in his palm, his expression momentarily unreadable.

This… was a luxury.

For him, someone who had been stuck in the ranks of genin for years, missions were often low-paying. Most of what he earned went to supporting Might Guy's training.

Things like Soldier Pills were an expense he simply couldn't afford.

Instead, he had always relied on the Gate of Healing to recover, pushing his body to the limit time and time again. But the cost of that method was steep. His stamina suffered, and it left him vulnerable after particularly brutal missions.

But having something like this…

Something so simple, yet valuable…

Duy exhaled, closing his fingers around the pill as warmth filled his chest.

He was grateful.

Deeply so.

He smiled, this time more genuine, and tucked the pill into his pouch. "You have my thanks, Renjiro."

Renjiro merely nodded.

Then, after a pause, he turned toward the path leading home.

"It's late," he murmured. "I should get going."

Duy nodded in agreement, stretching his arms above his head with an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, yes! A good night's rest is important for youthful recovery!"

Renjiro shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "Right."

With that, he started walking.

The night air was crisp, cool against his overheated skin. His mind buzzed—not with exhaustion, but with clarity.

Everything felt clearer now.

His instincts had been right—he needed to get stronger.

War was coming, whether Konoha was ready for it or not. He couldn't afford to waste time.

And so, the moment he stepped foot into his home, he didn't allow himself to collapse onto the bed, despite how much his body begged for rest.

Instead, he reached for an empty sealing paper from his desk.

He unrolled it carefully, his fingers steady despite the dull ache in his muscles.

Then—

"Fwoosh!"

His Mangekyo ignited, six-star pupils casting jagged shadows. The room sharpened—dust motes frozen mid-air, the scroll's fibers laid bare. Pain lanced through his optic nerves, but he leaned into it.

'Focus.'

He selected a paper, unfurling it with a flick. Renjiro then pressed a palm to the centre, chakra flaring. The paper hummed, absorbing his chakra.

When he removed his palm a marker glowed briefly before dimming, inert.

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