Card Ninja From Uchiha - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Among the Mourners

The morning light filtered through Yami’s curtains with unusual softness, as if even the sun understood that today was a day of grief. He had fallen asleep the previous night with a plan firmly in mind: earn six experience points today, enough to finally feel what it was like to level up his Ninja card. The progress yesterday had been encouraging—three points gained through careful, measured training. Doubling that seemed achievable if he pushed himself just a little harder.

But as Yami went through his morning routine—washing his face, getting dressed, preparing a simple breakfast of rice and miso soup—he felt the weight of what leveling up really meant. Each point of experience represented hours of physical effort, of pushing his five-year-old body to its limits. Six points would require twice the work, twice the pain.

Still, he was committed. The sooner he could increase his chakra reserves and physical capabilities, the sooner he could—

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.

Yami set down his chopsticks and went to answer it, expecting perhaps Hana checking in on him or a clan member with some administrative matter. Instead, he found Akari standing in the hallway, dressed entirely in black. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though whether from recent tears or simply lack of sleep, he couldn’t tell.

“Yami-kun,” she said quietly, her voice carrying the careful politeness of someone trying very hard to maintain composure. “Did you hear about the announcement?”

He shook his head, gesturing for her to continue.

“The Third Hokage is organizing a memorial service,” Akari explained. “Tomorrow. For the Fourth Hokage and all the people who died during the Nine-Tails attack. It’s at the main cemetery, starting in the late morning.”

Her eyes searched his face, looking for some reaction. “Are you going to attend?”

Yami’s mind raced even as he kept his expression appropriately somber. A memorial service. For the Fourth Hokage and all the fallen. That meant essentially every important person in Konoha would be there—clan heads, jonin, chunin, ANBU, the Hokage himself. All gathered in one place to pay their respects.

It was, from a card extraction perspective, an opportunity he might never get again.

“Yes,” he said, perhaps a bit too quickly. He adjusted his tone, making it softer, more grief-stricken. “I’d like to pay my respects to everyone who died protecting us. Including my parents.”

Akari nodded, seeming relieved. “Mother and I are going too. I can come get you tomorrow morning, if you’d like? So we can all go together?”

“I’d appreciate that,” Yami replied, and meant it. Having company would make his presence less conspicuous, and it would be easier to move through the crowd if he appeared to be part of a small family group.

“I’ll knock on your door when we’re ready to leave,” Akari said. She hesitated, then added, “Try to get some rest tonight, okay? Tomorrow is going to be hard.”

After she left, Yami stood in his doorway for a long moment, thinking through the implications. A memorial service meant crowds of people, all packed relatively close together. It meant the opportunity to get within range of ninja he’d normally never be able to approach. It meant access to cards he desperately needed.

But it also meant he needed to be careful. Very careful.

His passive extraction ability—the one that didn’t require activating his Sharingan—had a range of only one meter. Useful for casual encounters, for neighbors and people who sat near him in restaurants. But in a crowded memorial service, where maintaining close proximity to a specific target might be difficult, he would need his full ten-meter range.

Which meant he needed to activate his Mangekyō Sharingan.

Which meant people might see his eyes.

The solution came to him immediately: sunglasses. Dark enough to conceal his eye pattern, but not so unusual that they’d draw excessive attention. People wore sunglasses. Especially people who were grieving and didn’t want others to see them cry.

It was perfect.

Yami finished his breakfast quickly, then headed out to find a shop that sold eyewear. The Uchiha compound had several general stores, and one of them had a small selection of sunglasses displayed near the front. He chose a pair with dark lenses and a simple black frame—nothing flashy, nothing that would make him stand out.

The elderly shopkeeper gave him a sympathetic look as he made the purchase. “For the memorial tomorrow?” she guessed.

Yami nodded.

“That’s thoughtful of you, dear,” she said softly. “Sometimes it’s easier to grieve when people can’t see your eyes. Nothing wrong with that.”

If only she knew the real reason.

With the sunglasses secured, Yami returned to his apartment and immediately began his training. Today’s goal was ambitious—six experience points—but he was determined to achieve it. And more than that, he wanted to experience what it felt like to level up, to feel his chakra increase in a tangible way.

He started with push-ups, performing them in sets of ten with short rests in between. His form was better today, his muscles adapting to the stress. Twenty-five push-ups earned him one experience point, so he did fifty total, pushing through the burn in his arms and shoulders.

Two experience points gained.

Next came squats. His legs were stronger than his arms, but fifty squats still left him breathing hard and feeling the familiar ache in his thighs.

Two more experience points. Four total.

Sit-ups were brutal as always, his core muscles protesting with every repetition. But he pushed through, completing fifty despite the cramps that tried to stop him.

Six experience points total.

And then, as he lay on his floor catching his breath, he felt it.

A notification appeared in his mind, clear as if written in light:

[Ninja Card: Level Up! Lv3 → Lv4]

The change was immediate and profound. Warmth spread through his entire body, starting from his core and radiating outward to his limbs. It felt like his cells were suddenly more alive, more energized. His breathing, which had been labored from the exercise, steadied and deepened. The ache in his muscles didn’t disappear, but it lessened noticeably, as if his body was rapidly repairing the minor damage from training.

Yami quickly entered his Card Dimension to check his status panel.

—

Health: 40/40

Chakra: 20/20

…

Ninja: Lv4 (0/15)

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 health had increased from 30 to 40—a ten-point jump. More importantly, his chakra had increased from 15 to 20. Five additional points might not sound like much, but it represented a thirty-three percent increase in his total reserves. And best of all, the leveling process had healed all his lingering injuries from the Nine-Tails attack and his early brutal training sessions.

He felt good. Better than he had since arriving in this world.

But then he noticed the experience requirement for the next level: fifteen points instead of ten. The difficulty was scaling up, just as he’d feared. Getting from Level 4 to Level 5 would take significantly longer than getting from Level 3 to Level 4.

Still, progress was progress. And tomorrow’s memorial service might provide the missing piece he desperately needed—a higher-level Yang affinity card.

—

The next morning, Akari knocked on his door exactly when she said she would. Yami was already dressed in black clothing appropriate for a funeral, the sunglasses perched on top of his head for now. He would put them on once they got closer to the cemetery.

Hana stood in the hallway behind her daughter, also dressed in black, her expression carefully neutral. “Ready, Yami-kun?”

He nodded and stepped out, locking his door behind him.

They walked through the Uchiha compound together, joining a growing stream of clan members all heading in the same direction. The mood was somber, conversations muted. Even small children seemed to understand the gravity of the occasion, staying close to their parents and speaking in whispers.

As they left the compound and entered the main village, the crowd grew larger. Members of other clans merged into the procession—Hyuga with their distinctive pale eyes, Akimichi with their substantial builds, Nara with their lazy gaits, Yamanaka with their pale hair. Civilians walked alongside shinobi, all united in grief.

Yami slipped the sunglasses down over his eyes and activated his Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan.

The world sharpened immediately. His already-excellent vision became perfect, every detail crisp and clear despite the dark lenses. And more importantly, he could see the cards now—hundreds of them, thousands, floating above the heads of everyone in the crowd.

Information flooded into his awareness. He had to focus, had to tune out the overwhelming cascade of data and concentrate on finding specific targets.

And then he noticed something interesting about his Sharingan card. Even just having his Mangekyō active—not using any abilities, just maintaining the enhanced perception—was generating experience. The counter was ticking up steadily: 16 experience points per minute.

Sixteen per minute meant 960 per hour. At that rate, he’d need… Yami did the math and felt his hope deflate. He needed ten million experience to reach Sharingan Level 6. At 960 per hour, that would take over 10,000 hours. Over a year of continuous use.

Still, it was passive experience. He could earn it just by keeping his Sharingan active during daily activities. It was better than nothing.

The reason for the sixteen-per-minute rate was clear: his Yin affinity was Level 5. If he had the same level Yang affinity, doing the same physical exercise would earn him sixteen times more experience than his current Level 1 Yang affinity allowed. The difference between his progress yesterday and his potential progress with better affinity was staggering.

He needed to find a high-level Yang affinity card. Today. At this memorial.

The procession reached the cemetery—a vast field of stone markers, some old and weathered, others freshly carved. A raised platform had been erected near the center, presumably where the Third Hokage would speak. Clan groups began separating, each gravitating toward their designated areas.

And that’s when Yami saw him.

Silver hair that seemed to defy gravity, standing in distinctive spikes. A face mask covering the lower half of his features. Dark eyes that looked tired and sad in a way that went deeper than simple grief. And even at this distance, unmistakable.

Kakashi Hatake.

Fourteen or fifteen years old, recently promoted to jonin despite his youth. The student of the Fourth Hokage, now dead. The wielder of the Sharingan gifted to him by Obito Uchiha. A genius who would eventually become known as the Copy Ninja.

And currently walking in a trajectory that would bring him relatively close to where Yami stood.

Yami’s eyes focused on the cards above Kakashi’s head, and he had to suppress a gasp. There were so many. Hundreds of techniques, skills, and abilities, all represented as floating cards visible only to his Mangekyō vision.

He scanned through them quickly, looking for the most valuable options.

Yang affinity: Level 0. Actually zero, not even Level 1. Kakashi’s physical energy was essentially nonexistent, his body frail compared to his remarkable spiritual strength. No wonder he was always exhausted after using a few high-level techniques.

But Yin affinity: Level 5. The same as Itachi and Shisui. That explained how Kakashi could learn and memorize over a thousand jutsu by age twenty-eight. His mental energy and learning capacity were exceptional.

Lightning affinity: Level 5. His primary elemental nature, developed to perfection.

And then Yami saw the techniques that made his heart race.

Chidori (Lv1). Kakashi’s signature lightning technique, the one that would later evolve into Lightning Blade. A high-speed assassination technique that concentrated lightning chakra into the user’s hand.

Kamui (Left Eye) (Lv1). The Mangekyō Sharingan ability of Obito Uchiha, currently residing in Kakashi’s transplanted left eye. The power to create a dimensional warp, to send parts of one’s body or external objects to the Kamui dimension.

These were incredible abilities. The Lightning affinity would boost his learning speed for all lightning techniques. Chidori was a powerful attack. And Kamui… Kamui was one of the most versatile and powerful abilities in the entire series.

Yami adjusted his path slightly, falling into step about eight meters behind Kakashi. The young jonin was walking alone, his posture suggesting someone lost in grief and dark thoughts. His master had died. The Fourth Hokage, the man who had taken him in and trained him, was gone.

Kakashi wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. He was too deep in his own despair to notice a small child in sunglasses maintaining a specific distance.

Yami began extracting. First the Chidori card. Sixty seconds of staying within range. He kept walking, kept the distance steady. Knowledge began flowing into his mind—hand seals, chakra manipulation patterns, the feeling of lightning chakra concentrating in one’s palm.

One minute. Extraction complete.

Next, the Lightning affinity card. Another sixty seconds. The crowd was getting denser as they approached the main cemetery grounds, which actually made it easier to stay close to Kakashi without being obvious.

Extraction complete. His Fire affinity was already Level 3, so he didn’t bother with Kakashi’s other elemental affinities.

Finally, Kamui. This was the real prize. Yami focused on the card, beginning the extraction process. His heart pounded as the seconds ticked by. Forty seconds. Fifty. Kakashi paused to let a group of civilians cross his path. Yami paused too, maintaining distance.

Sixty seconds. Extraction complete.

The knowledge of Kamui flooded into his consciousness—how to create the dimensional warp, how to phase objects through space, how to store things in the Kamui dimension. It was similar to his own CARD ability in some ways, but vastly more complex and powerful.

By the time they reached the cemetery proper, Yami had successfully extracted all three cards. He allowed himself to fall back, letting Kakashi disappear into the crowd as different clans began organizing into their designated sections.

Yami walked toward where the Uchiha clan was gathering, his mind still processing the new abilities he’d acquired. And that’s when he saw him.

Uchiha Fugaku.

The current head of the Uchiha clan, father of Sasuke and Itachi, respected jonin and leader of the police force. He stood near the front of the Uchiha section, his bearing proud despite the somber occasion. His wife Mikoto stood beside him, and a small child—Itachi, probably five or six years old—held her hand.

Above Fugaku’s head, among the many cards representing his skills and abilities, Yami spotted it.

Mangekyō Sharingan (Fugaku).

The card’s details were visible to his enhanced sight, and what he saw made his breath catch.

Future Sight. Fugaku’s Mangekyō ability allowed him to see three potential future timelines, all branching from the present moment in different directions. Every decision, every action, could change which future became reality. The ability’s range depended on available chakra, and using it with a non-eternal Mangekyō meant risking blindness with excessive use.

It was a remarkable ability, potentially game-changing for someone who knew how to use it properly. But extracting it would require maintaining visual contact with Fugaku for sixty seconds, and the clan head wasn’t exactly someone a five-year-old could stare at without attracting attention.

Yami filed that information away for potential future use and focused on finding a position in the Uchiha section.

As he did, he felt eyes on him. He glanced up and found Fugaku looking directly at him.

The clan head’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—calculation, perhaps, or recognition of some kind. It lasted only a moment before Fugaku looked away, but it was enough to make Yami’s heart skip.

What Yami didn’t know—couldn’t know—was what Fugaku had seen.

In the aftermath of the Nine-Tails attack, Fugaku had used his Future Sight ability, trying to determine the best path forward for the clan. The futures he had witnessed were troubling, chaotic, branching in wildly different directions.

In one future, the small boy named Uchiha Yami grew to surpass even Fugaku himself in strength, becoming one of the clan’s most powerful members.

In another, the boy died young, never reaching his potential.

In others, the clan rebelled against Konoha and was destroyed. Or Itachi massacred the entire clan in a single night of horror.

Too many variables. Too many potential outcomes.

But one detail had appeared across multiple timelines: in several futures, this child wielded Susanoo. The ultimate Mangekyō technique, accessible only to those who had awakened Mangekyō Sharingan in both eyes.

Which meant Yami had potential. Significant potential. Enough to awaken the Mangekyō at some point in his life.

The question Fugaku grappled with was whether to intervene. Should he take the boy under his wing, train him, guide him? Or would that very intervention alter the timeline in ways that led to darker outcomes?

The future was malleable, influenced by every choice. And Fugaku had learned through bitter experience that trying to force a specific future often led to unexpected consequences.

So for now, he would watch. He would wait. And he would see which path the boy named Yami chose to walk.

Neither of them knew that their brief eye contact had marked the beginning of something significant.

Yami, because he was focused on his card collection and survival.

Fugaku, because he was trying to navigate an impossible maze of potential futures.

But the seeds had been planted. And in a world where the future was always in motion, even small moments could have profound consequences.