Cursed Uchiha - Chapter 16

Chapter 16: The Mountain and the Grindstone

The fishing trip, with its unexpectedly candid interaction with Itachi and Izumi’s subsequent melancholy, had left Dom with a lingering sense of unease. It was a stark reminder of the complex, tragic web into which he’d been thrust. While his literary endeavors were providing his family with a comfortable life and even a measure of social standing, Dom knew that Ryo and reputation would be useless against the cold steel of a kunai or the terrifying power of a Mangekyo Sharingan. His primary objective, the one that hummed beneath every joke and every feigned act of childish incompetence, remained unchanged: get stronger. Strong enough to defy fate.

His Cursed Energy reserves were already monstrous for his age, his control perfect, his Sharingan evolving. But his active combat skills, like Reinforcement, needed dedicated, intensive work. The small garden of their duplex, while a significant upgrade from the communal shelter, was hardly a suitable arena for unleashing Cursed Energy-augmented blows that could potentially shatter paving stones or send the neighbors’ prize-winning bonsai into orbit. He couldn’t exactly practice punching holes in their new, rather pleasant, garden wall.

‘Need a place where I can hit things, hard, without an audience or a property damage bill,’ Dom mused one afternoon, idly flicking pebbles while supposedly contemplating the vital importance of the Fire Daimyo’s favorite tea blend for an academy report. ‘A place where a six-year-old Uchiha making small explosions wouldn’t raise too many Uchiha eyebrows, which are, by nature, already quite prone to skeptical elevation.’

And so, the search began. During weekends, or in the late afternoons when the academy released its charges and before his evening meditation block, Dom would feign an interest in “nature exploration.” He’d tell his parents he was looking for rare medicinal herbs for a (completely fictional) academy project, or cataloging unusual insect species for his “personal research into alternative protein sources for lean shinobi.” His excuses were usually bizarre enough that Hana would just sigh and pack him an extra rice ball, while Hiroshi would chuckle and remind him not to wander too far.

Armed with his Perception Lv2 skill, Dom would venture out, pushing beyond the familiar boundaries of the Uchiha compound. He meticulously scanned his surroundings, his mind painting a vivid map of chakra signatures, searching for pockets of true isolation. The forested hills and rocky terrain that formed the natural border of their walled-off district were his target. He avoided known Uchiha training grounds and patrol routes, seeking the untrodden paths, the forgotten corners.

After several such excursions, each one pushing him a little further into the rugged landscape, he found it. Nestled deep within a series of craggy foothills, concealed by a dense thicket of resilient mountain pines and a tumble of moss-covered boulders, was a small, hidden clearing. It wasn’t a valley, more like a natural amphitheater carved into the mountainside. A tiny, clear stream trickled nearby, its gentle murmur the only sound apart from the rustling leaves and distant bird calls. And dominating one side of the clearing was a sheer, imposing wall of dark, igneous rock, at least thirty feet high, its surface weathered and ancient, yet undeniably solid. It felt like a place untouched by human hands for centuries.

Dom surveyed the scene with a profound sense of satisfaction. It was perfect. Secluded, silent, and that magnificent rock face… it was practically begging to be punched.

‘Behold!’ his internal narrator announced with a dramatic flourish. ‘Punching Mountain! My new personal gym, membership fee: copious amounts of sweat, a few strained ligaments, and the occasional existential crisis about why I’m spending my second childhood beating up inanimate geology!’

His first session at Punching Mountain was one of experimentation. He activated his Reinforcement skill – still Lv1, with its proficiency hovering at a somewhat embarrassing 43% from his previous, more tentative practice sessions. The familiar cool thrum of Cursed Energy coated his limbs, his small six-year-old body feeling suddenly denser, more compact, imbued with a surprising solidity. The world seemed to sharpen slightly as his physical senses were augmented by the CE.

He approached the rock face, his shadow a tiny speck against its immensity. He started with a few light, testing jabs, feeling the way the Cursed Energy flowed, how it responded to impact. Then, taking a deep breath, he began to unleash more serious blows. He focused, channeling his CE, visualizing it hardening his fists, augmenting the force of his strikes.

Thud. Thwack. CRACK.

The sounds echoed slightly in the quiet clearing. Small chips of rock and puffs of dust flew from the impact points. His adult mind understood the physics of force and resistance, but his child’s body, even boosted by Reinforcement Lv1 to roughly twice its normal capability, was still just that – a child’s body. The jarring impact shuddered up his arms, and a dull ache quickly began to settle in his knuckles.

He ignored it, focusing on his system panel, watching the Reinforcement proficiency percentage. After a flurry of what he considered to be fairly powerful, CE-augmented punches, the number hadn’t budged. 43%. Still.

‘Hmm,’ Dom frowned, rubbing his already reddening fist. ‘Not enough oomph? Or maybe the system is just being a stingy bastard with the EXP.’ He tried a different approach – a series of rapid, less powerful strikes. Still nothing. A few kicks, a palm strike. The percentage remained stubbornly fixed.

He paused, thinking. The system had rewarded him for creating the Rasengan based on “exceptional understanding of energy manipulation and perfect control.” Perhaps skill proficiency wasn’t just about random application; it needed focused intent, significant exertion, and a sufficiently resistant target. The mountain was definitely resistant.

He decided on a new strategy: focused, full-power blows, delivered with clear intent to maximize impact. He took a deep breath, centered himself, and visualized all his Cursed Energy flowing into his right fist, reinforcing it, hardening it. Then, with a sharp kiai, he slammed it into the rock face.

THOOM!

A deeper, more resonant sound this time. A larger cloud of dust. A sharper pain lanced up his arm. He gritted his teeth and checked the panel.

Reinforcement Lv1 (44%).

One percent! His eyes widened. ‘Finally! Okay, system, you magnificent, inscrutable taskmaster, what was the exact trigger for that delightful little tick upwards?’

He carefully replayed his actions, his focus. He repeated the process, channeling his Cursed Energy, pouring as much of his six-year-old, 2x-boosted strength as he could muster into each blow. He counted meticulously. One. Two. Three… The impacts were jarring, the feedback from the unyielding stone brutal. His knuckles were screaming in protest. Nine. Ten.

He paused, panting slightly, and checked the panel again. Reinforcement Lv1 (45%).

Ten. Ten full-power, Cursed Energy-imbued punches against the unforgiving rock face had resulted in a single, precious percentage point of proficiency.

A grim smile touched Dom’s lips. “Right then,” he muttered to his silent, stone training partner. “Ten for one. To get from 45% to 100%… that’s 55 percent more. Five hundred and fifty punches. Manageable. Barely.” He flexed his aching hand. “But what about Level 2? And beyond? This is going to be a long, painful grind.”

And so, the grueling regimen began. Every day he could slip away from the Uchiha compound undetected, Dom made the trek to his hidden clearing. The path became familiar, his small feet learning the dips and rises, the best way to navigate the tangled roots and loose scree. Punching Mountain became his silent confidant, his unyielding adversary, his grindstone.

The sessions were brutal. His small figure, a study in fierce determination, would stand before the massive rock face, and the solitary thoom, thoom, thoom of his Cursed Energy-coated fists would echo through the clearing. Dust would fly. His knuckles, despite the Reinforcement skill’s defensive properties, were quickly scraped raw, then bruised, then split open. Blood sometimes mingled with the stone dust on his hands.

After each session, he would sit by the small stream, his small body trembling with exhaustion, and use his rudimentary Reverse Curse Lv1 skill. The cool, positive energy he painstakingly generated would knit together the torn skin, ease some of the swelling, but it couldn’t erase the deep, resonant ache in his bones, the fatigue that settled into his very marrow. His Cursed Energy reserves, while vast for his age, were not infinite, and the Reverse Curse technique, even at its most basic, was a drain. He couldn’t afford to constantly heal himself during the punishing regimen.

His internal monologue during these sessions was a strange cocktail of self-deprecating humor, cold calculation, and an almost terrifying resolve.

‘Punch number seventy-three,’ he’d grunt internally, slamming his fist into the rock. ‘This mountain is clearly a masochist. Keeps coming back for more. Or maybe I’m the masochist. This is definitely a new low in terms of hobbies, even for me.’

‘Itachi… massacre… seven years… maybe less now…’ The thought would often accompany a particularly vicious blow, fueling his ferocity. ‘Every percentage point is another fraction of a chance. For me. For Mom. For Dad.’

He counted each punch, each set of ten, his gaze flicking to the system panel with obsessive frequency, watching that proficiency percentage slowly, painstakingly, agonizingly, climb. 45% became 50%. 50% crept towards 60%. He developed little rituals: a certain breathing pattern before each set of ten, a specific spot on the rock face he’d aim for when his focus wavered. He wasn’t just hitting a mountain; he was forging his will against an immovable object, tempering his spirit in a crucible of pain and repetition. This wasn’t the flashy, elegant training of a typical anime protagonist. This was ugly, repetitive, and brutal, a testament to his adult mind’s grim understanding of the price of true power when one started so far behind the curve, system or no system.

Weeks blurred into a month, then nearly two. The skin on his knuckles became tougher, calloused. His small arms, though still childish in appearance, gained a wiry, unexpected strength. The proficiency bar for Reinforcement Lv1 slowly, inexorably, crawled towards its peak. Ninety-eight percent. Ninety-nine.

And then, one late afternoon, as the sun began to dip below the jagged peaks surrounding his hidden clearing, he delivered his final ten punches for Level 1. His body screamed in protest, every muscle fiber aching, his Cursed Energy reserves running low. He was covered in sweat, dust, and a smear of his own dried blood. But as he leaned against the rock face, gasping for breath, the system chimed with a deeply satisfying notification.

[System Notification: Skill: Reinforcement Lv1 has reached maximum proficiency (100%). Evolving to Reinforcement Lv2!]

A wave of cool, potent Cursed Energy washed through him, different from his usual CE. It was the skill itself, leveling up, integrating more deeply with his system and his physical form.

[Skill Updated: Reinforcement Lv2 (0%)]

Description: Advanced application of Cursed Energy throughout the body or parts thereof to augment its capabilities. Defensive and offensive applications are significantly enhanced, allowing for greater force absorption and output.

Current Effect (Lv2): Physical strength, speed, and durability augmented by approximately 4x base capability.

Dom let out a ragged whoop of triumph that echoed off the silent stones, quickly followed by a fit of coughing from the exertion. Four times! A fourfold increase to his base physical abilities. For his Six-year-old body, this was a colossal leap in raw physical power. He pushed himself off the rock face, feeling a new, deeper thrum of energy when he focused on the Reinforcement skill. It was denser, more potent, the Cursed Energy coating his limbs feeling like a second skin of resilient, powerful energy.

Eager to test it, despite his exhaustion, he turned back to Punching Mountain. He took a stance, channeled his Cursed Energy through the new Lv2 Reinforcement, and threw a punch.

THOOOM!

The impact was significantly more powerful. A much larger cloud of rock dust erupted, and a deeper, more satisfying crater appeared on the stone. He could feel the difference, the sheer augmented force thrumming through his arm.

A wide, almost feral grin stretched his lips. This was power. Real, tangible power.

He immediately set about testing the new grind. He delivered his first ten full-power, Lv2-Reinforced punches. His fists felt like miniature wrecking balls. He checked the system panel, expecting to see that satisfying 1% tick for Reinforcement Lv2.

The proficiency bar remained stubbornly at: [Reinforcement Lv2 (0%)].

Dom frowned. “Huh?” He delivered another ten, pouring even more focus and CE into each blow. Checked again. Still 0%.

A growing sense of unease began to prickle at the edges of his elation. He continued, meticulously counting, his earlier triumph giving way to a dawning, horrified suspicion. Twenty punches. Thirty. Fifty. Seventy. Ninety.

One hundred. One hundred full-power, Cursed Energy-augmented punches, each one jarring his small frame, each one demanding significant effort and CE expenditure. He was panting heavily, his newly upgraded power already feeling the strain of this sustained assault.

He checked the system.

Finally, the bar flickered. [Reinforcement Lv2 (1%)].

Dom stared at the notification, then at his throbbing, bleeding knuckles, then back at the impassive face of Punching Mountain. One hundred punches. For a single percentage point.

‘You have got to be kidding me, system,’ he thought, a wave of utter disbelief washing over him. The elation from his level-up evaporated, replaced by the daunting, almost crushing realization of the new scale of his grind. To reach 100% proficiency for Reinforcement Lv2 would require not hundreds, but ten thousand full-power punches.

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest. The path to power, it seemed, was paved with increasingly ridiculous levels of masochism and Sisyphean effort. He looked at the mountain, his silent, unyielding training partner, its stony face seeming to mock him with its indifference.

A grim smile touched Dom’s lips. The grindstone awaited, sharper and more demanding than ever. But Uchiha Dom was nothing if not stubbornly, absurdly, determined.