Card Ninja From Uchiha - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Art of Collection

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of Yami’s apartment, painting warm stripes across the futon where he lay. For a blissful moment between sleep and waking, his mind drifted in that liminal space where dreams and reality blurred together. He could almost convince himself he was back in his old apartment, that any second now his alarm would go off and he’d have to get ready for another day at the office.

Then he opened his eyes and saw the unfamiliar ceiling, felt the small size of his body, and the illusion shattered like glass.

Still here. Still in this world.

It was the same every morning. That moment of hope followed by the crash of reality. A week had passed since the Nine-Tails attack, since he had woken up in a hospital bed to find himself trapped in the body of a five-year-old Uchiha child. Seven days, and he still half-expected to wake up in his own world, to find that this had all been some elaborate, incredibly vivid dream.

But it never happened. Each morning brought the same disappointment, the same hollow feeling in his chest that made him want to curl back up under the covers and refuse to face the day.

Yami forced himself to sit up anyway. Lying in bed feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t change anything. He had to adapt, had to survive. Self-pity was a luxury he couldn’t afford in a world this dangerous.

The apartment was quiet around him, but not silent. If he listened carefully, he could hear the sounds of life from the neighboring units—footsteps, muffled voices, the normal sounds of people going about their morning routines. The Uchiha compound was slowly recovering from the shock of the attack, finding its rhythm again even as it mourned its losses.

He padded to the bathroom on small feet, still not entirely used to the way this body moved. Everything felt slightly off—his center of gravity was different, his reach was shorter, even the way his muscles responded to commands from his brain required constant adjustment. It was like learning to walk all over again, except he had the mind of an adult trapped in a child’s form, constantly fighting against his own instincts.

After washing his face and getting dressed, Yami went through the motions of preparing a simple breakfast. Rice left over from the night before, reheated. Some pickled vegetables. A cup of green tea that he probably should have diluted more for a child’s palate, but old habits died hard.

As he ate, his thoughts drifted to his neighbors—the woman and her daughter who lived in the apartment next to his.

He had met them three days ago, on one of his trips to the clan store. The woman, Uchiha Hana, was in her early thirties with tired eyes and a forced smile that never quite reached those eyes. She had been buying supplies with careful economy, counting her money twice before each purchase in a way that spoke of suddenly reduced circumstances.

Her daughter, Akari, was eight years old—three years older than Yami’s current body. She had her mother’s dark hair and eyes, but where Hana tried to maintain a brave face, Akari wore her grief more openly. Yami had seen her in the hallway once, thinking she was alone, and watched as she pressed her face against the wall and cried silently, her small shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping quiet.

They had lost their house in the attack, and Akari’s father—Hana’s husband—had died protecting them. The clan had given them the apartment next to Yami’s, and Hana was doing her best to provide for her daughter on a widow’s pension and whatever work she could find.

Yami had helped them carry groceries up the stairs once. It was a small gesture, the kind of thing neighbors did for each other, but Hana had looked at him with such gratitude that it made his chest ache. Two orphans helping each other in small ways—it created a strange sort of bond.

“You’re a good boy, Yami-kun,” Hana had told him, ruffling his hair in a way that reminded him painfully of his inherited memories of his mother. “If you ever need anything—food, someone to talk to, anything at all—you just knock on our door, okay?”

He had nodded, mumbled his thanks, and fled back to his apartment before the emotions could overwhelm him again.

Akari was enrolled in the Ninja Academy, but classes had been suspended for a month following the attack. Too many students had lost parents or family members. Too many instructors were dead or injured. The village needed time to recover, to rebuild, before it could focus on training the next generation.

Which meant Akari was home all day, and Yami could sometimes hear her through the thin walls—crying when she thought her mother couldn’t hear, or trying to be quiet and brave when she knew her mother was listening.

It was heartbreaking in a way that transcended his adult cynicism. These weren’t characters in a story anymore. They were real people, suffering real grief, trying to survive in the aftermath of tragedy.

Yami finished his breakfast and cleaned up, then sat cross-legged on his futon. It was time to do something he had been both eager and nervous to try.

He closed his eyes and focused inward, on the space he could feel existing somewhere beyond normal reality. The Card Dimension, as he had come to think of it. The repository created by his Mangekyō Sharingan ability where extracted cards were stored.

The transition was instantaneous and disorienting. One moment he was sitting in his apartment, the next his consciousness—or some projection of it—was floating in a vast, dark space. It wasn’t physical; he couldn’t actually enter this dimension the way Obito could phase into the Kamui dimension. This was purely mental, a way to interface with and manage his collected abilities.

The darkness was absolute, broken only by a soft, ethereal light that seemed to emanate from Yami himself—or rather, from his mental projection. And floating before him, like a screen in a video game, was a panel displaying information.

—

Health: 22/30

Chakra: 15/15

…

Ninja: Lv3 (0/10)

Bloodline: Sharingan Lv4 (0/10,00,000)

Ability: CARD (LvMax), Susanoo Lv1(0%), Insight Lv1(0%), Genjutsu Lv1(0%)

Affinity: Fire (Lv2), Yin (Lv4), Yang (Lv1)

Jutsu: Clone Lv1 (0%)

—

Yami studied the panel with fascination. This was his current status, quantified and organized in a way that made it easy to understand his strengths and weaknesses.

His health was still recovering from the injuries sustained during the Nine-Tails attack. Not critically low, but not at full capacity either. His chakra reserves were tiny—exactly what you’d expect from a five-year-old child who hadn’t even started Academy training yet. Fifteen points of chakra. That was barely enough to perform a handful of basic techniques before exhausting himself.

The Ninja Level card intrigued him. Unlike other cards that could be extracted from people, the Ninja Level was something intrinsic to each individual. He couldn’t copy someone else’s level or experience—that had to be earned through training and combat. Level 3 probably corresponded to his current physical and mental development as a young child with some basic awareness of chakra.

His Sharingan was at Level 4, which represented the three-tomoe form plus his Mangekyō abilities. The experience requirement to reach Level 5 was astronomical—10 million. That number alone was daunting, but he understood what it represented. Level 5 would likely be the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan, freed from the curse of blindness that plagued normal Mangekyō users.

The abilities section showed his current capabilities. CARD was maxed out, which made sense—it was his inherent Mangekyō power, fully developed from the moment he received it. The others—Susanoo, Insight, Genjutsu—were all at Level 1, representing basic competence but nothing special.

His affinities told an interesting story. Fire Release at Level 2 was typical for an Uchiha, he supposed. Yin at Level 4 was high, suggesting strong potential for genjutsu and techniques that relied on imagination and mental energy. Yang at Level 1 was low, meaning his physical energy and vitality weren’t particularly impressive.

After some experimentation over the past week, Yami had developed a theory about what these affinity levels meant.

Yin affinity determined learning speed and efficiency. High Yin affinity meant you could master techniques faster, understand complex jutsu more easily, and had greater talent for genjutsu. Geniuses like Itachi and Kakashi likely had Yin affinity at Level 5 or higher. Someone like Might Guy, who compensated for limited ninjutsu talent with incredible physical prowess, probably had low Yin affinity.

Yang affinity, conversely, determined how quickly you could increase your Ninja Level—your raw physical power, chakra capacity, stamina, and vitality. This was the energy of life itself, and high Yang affinity meant rapid physical development and growth.

The other elemental affinities worked similarly, determining natural talent and learning speed for techniques of that element.

The single jutsu card—Clone Technique Level 1—had been extracted from Akari. He had tested his extraction ability on her when they passed in the hallway, keeping his Mangekyō deactivated so she wouldn’t notice anything unusual. The card had appeared above her head, along with a few others, and he had successfully extracted it.

Learning the basic Clone jutsu from a card felt strange—knowledge simply downloading into his brain, his body instinctively understanding the hand seals and chakra manipulation required. But knowing how to do something and being proficient at it were different things. The Level 1 designation meant he understood the technique but lacked practice and refinement.

Yami opened his eyes, returning his consciousness to his physical body. The Card Dimension faded away, but he could still feel its presence, accessible whenever he needed it.

He stood up, stretching his small limbs. Sitting around in his apartment analyzing his abilities was useful, but ultimately limited. If he wanted to grow stronger, he needed to venture out, find worthy targets, and extract more cards.

And there was one place in particular he wanted to visit.

—

The food shop was small and unassuming, tucked into a corner of the Uchiha compound that saw steady traffic but never quite felt crowded. It wasn’t the famous Ichiraku Ramen stand from the main Konoha market—that was too far for Yami to venture alone, and frankly, he wasn’t ready to leave the relative safety of the Uchiha district yet.

This shop served simple fare—rice bowls, miso soup, grilled fish, the kind of comfort food that kept people fed without breaking their budgets. It was popular with clan members who lived nearby, particularly those who didn’t have time or inclination to cook for themselves.

Yami entered, his child’s height making it necessary to push the door harder than an adult would need to. The interior was warm and smelled of cooking oil and seasoned rice. A few tables were occupied, mostly by Uchiha clan members taking a late breakfast or early lunch.

He chose a seat near the window, ordered a simple rice bowl with grilled mackerel, and then did what he’d really come here to do.

He looked at the other patrons and activated his extraction sense without engaging his Sharingan.

Cards began to appear above people’s heads, floating like ethereal playing cards visible only to him. Each card represented an ability, a skill, a talent that he could potentially extract and make his own.

Most of what he saw was unimpressive.

The middle-aged man three tables over had cards for Fire Release affinity (Level 2), Yin affinity (Level 2), basic taijutsu (Level 2), and a few simple jutsu. All fairly standard for a chunin-level Uchiha.

The woman at the counter had similar cards, with slightly better chakra control but lower combat skills. Probably a civilian with some ninja training in her youth.

Yami had learned quickly that among the Uchiha clan, certain patterns were common. Almost everyone had Fire Release affinity—it was practically a clan trademark. And because the Sharingan was a Yin-based dojutsu, every clan member had at least some Yin affinity. Even those without activated Sharingan showed Yin affinity around Level 2.

But most of these affinities hovered around Level 2, maybe Level 3 for the more talented individuals. And while he could extract every card he saw, gradually building up a library of techniques and skills, that strategy felt wasteful.

Yes, he could become like Kakashi—the man who knew a thousand jutsu, able to adapt to any situation with the perfect technique. But even Kakashi, with all that knowledge, typically relied on just two or three techniques in actual combat. Lightning Blade, his lightning release jutsu, and the Sharingan’s copying ability. Everything else was situational or used for specific purposes.

The lesson was clear: depth mattered more than breadth. Better to find a few excellent cards and practice them to mastery than to collect hundreds of mediocre techniques he’d never use effectively.

Naruto had conquered most of his battles with Shadow Clone and Rasengan. Minato with Flying Thunder God and Rasengan. Hashirama with Wood Release. Sasuke with Chidori and Sharingan techniques.

Quality over quantity. Specialization over diversification.

So Yami ate his food and waited, hoping someone interesting would walk through that door.

And then, like an answer to a prayer he hadn’t quite voiced, someone did.

The moment the newcomer entered, Yami’s attention locked onto him with laser focus. Not because of his appearance—he looked like a fairly typical Uchiha teenager, maybe twelve years old, with dark hair and the standard chunin uniform. Not even because of his bearing, though there was a certain casual confidence in the way he moved.

No, what caught Yami’s attention was the sheer number of cards floating above the boy’s head.

More than a hundred. Possibly closer to two hundred. They crowded the space above him like a dense cloud, each one representing a skill or ability he had mastered. For someone so young to have accumulated so much…

Yami’s heart rate picked up. He knew who this had to be, even before his mind consciously processed the details. The age, the chunin vest, the absolutely staggering talent on display.

Uchiha Shisui.

Also known as Shisui of the Teleporter, feared by the Hidden Mist Village to such an extent that their ninja had standing orders to flee on sight. A prodigy whose talent rivaled even Itachi Uchiha, who would awaken the Mangekyō Sharingan at age twelve and whose death would be one of the pivotal moments leading to the Uchiha massacre.

And he had just sat down at a table less than a meter away from Yami.

Yami’s hands trembled slightly as he raised another bite of rice to his mouth, trying to appear casual while his mind raced. This was an incredible opportunity. The cards floating above Shisui’s head represented years of training, combat experience, and natural talent. And among those many cards, one in particular caught Yami’s attention.

Kotoamatsukami.

Shisui’s Mangekyō Sharingan ability, arguably one of the most powerful and dangerous techniques in the entire Naruto universe. The ultimate genjutsu, capable of subtly manipulating a target’s mind so perfectly that they believed their altered thoughts and actions were their own free will. Nearly undetectable, almost impossible to break, and so dangerous that even the Third Hokage had feared it.

The technique had a severe limitation—a ten-year cooldown period after use. With Hashirama’s cells, that could be reduced to once per day, but even then, using it more than that was impossible for most people. Yami suspected that even with Uchiha blood and optimal conditions, you couldn’t use it more than once a year without suffering serious consequences.

But having the ability at all? That was power. Real, terrifying power.

Yami didn’t hesitate. He focused on the Kotoamatsukami card and began the extraction process.

Time seemed to slow. Shisui was ordering food from the server, completely unaware that someone was in the process of copying one of his most precious abilities. The extraction would take one minute—just sixty seconds—but each second felt like an eternity to Yami. His heart pounded so hard he worried Shisui might hear it. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the comfortable temperature.

Don’t notice. Please don’t notice.

Thirty seconds. Shisui received his order and began eating, his attention on his food and his own thoughts.

Forty-five seconds. A clan member walked past their table, greeting Shisui casually. Shisui smiled and returned the greeting, his voice friendly and relaxed.

Fifty seconds. Almost there. Yami forced himself to take another bite of fish, to appear like nothing more than a small child enjoying his meal.

Sixty seconds.

A sensation washed over him, like warm water flowing through his consciousness. The extraction was complete. Yami felt the new card settle into his Card Dimension, felt his Mangekyō Sharingan… change somehow. Not physically—his eyes were still normal, not activated—but there was a fundamental shift in his dojutsu, as if it had evolved.

He wanted to immediately check his status panel, to confirm what he suspected had happened, but that would require closing his eyes and entering his Card Dimension mentally. Too suspicious if anyone was watching.

So instead, he looked at the other cards floating above Shisui’s head, searching for other valuable extractions.

There. Yin affinity—Level 5. One level higher than Yami’s own Level 4. That represented significantly faster learning speed and better talent for genjutsu. He began extracting it.

Another minute passed. The card merged with his existing Yin affinity card automatically, upgrading it from Level 4 to Level 5. Yami felt the change immediately—his mind felt sharper somehow, more receptive to complex concepts.

Fire affinity—Level 3. Higher than his Level 2. He extracted that as well, feeling the upgrade settle into place.

And then he saw something else that made him pause. Chakra Control—Level 3. That was jonin-level control, the ability to use chakra with minimal waste and maximum efficiency. For someone his age, it was incredible. For Yami, with his tiny chakra reserves, it would be invaluable. Every point of chakra needed to count.

He extracted that card too.

By the time Shisui finished his meal and stood to leave, Yami had successfully extracted four cards from one of Konoha’s greatest prodigies. Shisui walked out of the shop none the wiser, never knowing that a five-year-old child had just copied some of his most precious abilities.

The moment Shisui was gone, Yami quickly finished his own meal, paid, and hurried back to his apartment. His hands were still shaking—partially from nerves, partially from excitement.

Once safely inside with the door locked, he sat on his futon and immediately entered his Card Dimension.

The panel appeared before him, and his suspicions were confirmed.

—

Health: 22/30

Chakra: 15/15

…

Ninja: Lv3 (0/10)

Bloodline: Sharingan Lv5 (0/100,00,000)

Ability: CARD (LvMax), Kotoamatsukami Lv1(0%), Susanoo Lv1(0%), Insight Lv1(0%), Genjutsu Lv1(0%)

Affinity: Fire (Lv3), Yin (Lv5), Yang (Lv1)

Jutsu: Clone Lv1 (0%)

Skills: Chakra Control Lv3 (0%)

—

His Sharingan had leveled up from 4 to 5. His Mangekyō had evolved into Eternal Mangekyō—the blindness problem solved. It didn’t make the techniques more powerful, but it meant he could use them without fear of losing his sight. The trade-off was that maintaining both Mangekyō abilities would consume double the chakra.

Small price to pay for eliminating the most crippling weakness of the Mangekyō Sharingan.

And now he had Kotoamatsukami. He examined the card in detail, understanding flooding into him.

The technique had two modes—long-range and short-range.

Long-range could target multiple people simultaneously, with the distance determined by his available chakra. It couldn’t permanently alter someone’s will, but it could cast powerful genjutsu like Tsukuyomi, creating illusory experiences that felt completely real to the target. Perfect for crowd control or mass manipulation.

Short-range could only target one person at a time, but this was where the true power lay. He could choose to cast a normal genjutsu, or he could permanently alter someone’s free will, making them believe their new thoughts and motivations were entirely their own. It was subtle, perfect, and absolutely terrifying.

Of course, there were limitations. You couldn’t cast genjutsu on someone significantly stronger than yourself—a genin couldn’t successfully use it on a Kage, for instance. The target’s mental defenses and chakra levels mattered.

Which meant right now, with his pitiful chakra reserves and low ninja level, even having Kotoamatsukami wouldn’t let him control powerful opponents. He could maybe use it on civilians or low-level ninja, but anyone chunin-level or above would likely resist.

No wonder the Third Hokage had given Danzo permission to eliminate Shisui. An ability this powerful, in the wrong hands… it could subvert the entire village leadership. Make the Hokage himself dance like a puppet while believing every action was his own choice.

It was the ultimate espionage and manipulation tool. And now Yami possessed it.

His other upgrades were almost as valuable. Fire affinity at Level 3 would let him learn fire techniques faster and perform them more efficiently. Yin affinity at Level 5 put him on par with prodigies like Itachi in terms of raw learning speed. And Chakra Control at Level 3 meant that when he did have more chakra, he’d be able to use it with remarkable efficiency.

Yami sat in his Card Dimension, staring at his upgraded panel, and felt a surge of satisfaction.

In one encounter, one careful extraction session, he had solved his most critical problems. His Eternal Mangekyō eliminated the risk of blindness. His improved affinities would accelerate his training. His chakra control would help him maximize his limited reserves.

And Kotoamatsukami… that was insurance. A trump card to be saved for critical moments.

He exited the Card Dimension and opened his eyes, finding himself back in his apartment. The afternoon sun was shifting, casting long shadows across the floor.

There was still so much to do. He needed to increase his chakra reserves—that was the foundation everything else built on. He needed to train his body, improve his Ninja Level through hard work and exercise. He needed to practice the techniques he had acquired, taking them from Level 1 understanding to genuine mastery.

But for the first time since waking up in this world, Yami felt something other than fear and uncertainty.

He felt hope.

He had the tools. He had the knowledge. He had the abilities.

Now he just needed time and effort to transform potential into power.

And in a world as dangerous as this, power was the only true currency that mattered.