Cursed Uchiha - Chapter 3
Chapter 3: Konoha’s Mood, Uchiha’s Woes, and Dad’s Beat
The first rays of dawn, pale and hesitant, filtered through a grimy windowpane in the communal shelter, painting dusty stripes across the makeshift room. Dom blinked awake, the familiar chorus of coughs, murmurs, and the occasional snore already heralding the start of a new day. He felt… different. Not dramatically so, but there was a subtle thrum of energy beneath his skin, a cool, buzzing awareness that hadn’t been there before he’d dumped those precious points into his Cursed Energy. It was like having a tiny, well-behaved beehive humming quietly inside him.
He sat up, careful not to disturb his still-sleeping parents on the futon beside him. The system panel obligingly flickered into existence with a thought.
—
Cursed Energy (Yin Chakra): Lv6 (0/28)
Status: Grade 4 Sorcerer (Ninja Academy Student)
CE Control: 5%
Skill: None
Innate Technique: Sharingan (Lv0 – Dormant)
—
[Points: 5]
—
“Right,” he whispered to himself, the childish voice still a novelty. “More juice, same leaky faucet.”
He slipped out of their little alcove, driven by a newfound purpose. In a relatively secluded corner of the shelter’s common area, amidst piles of yet-to-be-sorted clan belongings, he found a small, smooth pebble. Crouching down, he focused intently on the stone, then on the cool buzzing within him. He tried to will the energy from his core, down his arm, into his fingertips, and then push the pebble.
He squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, his small face contorting. Nothing. He tried again, harder this time, imagining a tiny tendril of his Cursed Energy reaching out and nudging the stone.
A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through the pebble. And a sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his temples.
“Ouch!” He clutched his head, hissing. “Okay. Note to self: CE control is not just a suggestion on the packaging. It’s the whole damn instruction manual.” The cool energy felt wild, untamed, like trying to direct a fire hose with one hand. Trying to manipulate it externally with only 5% control was clearly asking for a migraine.
There was only one solution. More meditation, more points, more control.
He found a semi-quiet spot near a boarded-up window, settled into a cross-legged position, and closed his eyes. This time, the initial struggle to quiet his mind was less pronounced. The promise of tangible improvement, of making that abysmal 5% slightly less abysmal, was a powerful motivator. He focused on his breathing, on the cool hum of his Cursed Energy, and waited for the familiar ding.
It came, eventually. And then again. And again. For three solid hours, Dom sat as still as a five-year-old could, chasing the mental quietude that brought points. The shelter slowly came to life around him – the clatter of pots, hushed conversations, the cries of younger children – but he did his best to tune it all out.
When he finally opened his eyes, feeling a little stiff but mentally sharp, his system panel glowed with a satisfying update.
[Points: 180]
“Alright, leaky faucet,” he addressed his internal Cursed Energy system, “let’s see if we can upgrade you to a slightly less leaky garden hose.” He mentally directed all 180 new points into ‘CE Control.’
The panel shimmered:
—
Cursed Energy (Yin Chakra): Lv6 (5/28)
Status: Grade 4 Sorcerer (Ninja Academy Student)
CE Control: 19%
Skill: None
Innate Technique: Sharingan (Lv0 – Dormant)
—
[Points: 5]
—
Nineteen percent! It wasn’t exactly Gojo Satoru’s Six Eyes precision, but it was a significant jump from five. He could feel the difference immediately. The cool buzzing within him felt less chaotic, more… contained. Like the bees in his internal beehive had received some basic formation training.
He glanced around, spotted a fallen leaf near a wilting potted plant someone had managed to salvage. Perfect. He remembered Iruka-sensei teaching the leaf-sticking exercise in the anime – a basic chakra control drill. Could he do it with Cursed Energy?
He picked up the dry, brittle leaf, placed it on his forehead, and focused. This time, he tried to gently coax a thin, steady stream of his Cursed Energy to the surface of his skin, making it adhesive. Instead of a wild surge, he visualized a calm, controlled flow.
The leaf wobbled. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought it would fall. But then, it stuck. It actually stuck!
A wide, triumphant grin split Dom’s face. He tilted his head slowly. The leaf remained firmly in place. He even took a few tentative steps. Still stuck!
‘YES! Progress!’ he cheered internally. ‘I am Uchiha Dom, Master of Sticking Dead Foliage to My Face! Fear my… uh… leafy adhesion!’ It wasn’t walking on trees, not yet, but it was a concrete sign that his efforts were paying off. This system, as bizarre as it was, worked.
—
Breakfast was a meager affair: a small bowl of thin rice gruel and some pickled vegetables, shared between the three of them in their cramped alcove. The atmosphere in the shelter was subdued, heavy with unspoken anxieties.
Hiroshi, sipping his gruel, looked tired. “The patrols are doubled,” he said quietly to Hana, though Dom was clearly listening. “There’s… tension. Some of the other clans are looking at us sideways. More than usual.”
Hana sighed, her brow furrowed with worry. “And the market… prices for everything are going up. Rice, vegetables, even basic necessities. Our savings won’t last forever, Hiroshi, especially with the house gone.” Her gaze flickered towards Dom, a familiar maternal concern in her eyes. “And Dom will be starting the Academy soon. He’ll need supplies, kunai, shuriken…”
Dom, who had been contemplating whether Cursed Energy could make rice gruel taste less like despair, chimed in, trying to inject some levity. “So, people think we Uchihas are the type to unleash a giant fox demon for kicks and giggles? Do they even know our clan meetings are mostly arguments about who has the best dango recipe, or whose great-uncle had the most impressive Sharingan back in the day?”
Hiroshi managed a wry, tired smile. “Something like that, son. Politics. Fear is a powerful weapon, and some are always eager to wield it, or to find a convenient scapegoat.” He looked at Dom, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Just… be careful what you say outside the clan, alright? Not everyone appreciates… Uchiha humor.”
“My lips are sealed, Dad,” Dom said, making a zipping motion across his mouth. “Unless it’s for dango, of course. Then all bets are off.”
—
Later that morning, Dom accompanied Hana to the market. The central Konoha marketplace, usually a vibrant explosion of color, sound, and smells, was a shadow of its former self. Many stalls were closed or damaged. Those that were open had meager offerings and long, anxious queues. The prices chalked up on wooden boards were indeed noticeably higher than Dom’s fragmented memories – or his anime knowledge – suggested they should be. The financial strain on the village was palpable.
As they navigated the thinned crowds, Dom was acutely aware of the stares. When people noticed the Uchiha crest on Hana’s outer robe, their expressions often shifted. Some were subtle – a quick, averted gaze, a slight tightening of the lips. Others were more overt – narrowed eyes, suspicious frowns, mothers pulling their children a little closer.
He overheard snippets of hushed, fearful conversations:
“…the Uchiha, you know. Their eyes… always said they were trouble…”
“…the Kyuubi appearing so close to their compound… too much of a coincidence, if you ask me…”
“…Police Force or not, can you really trust them after this?”
Hana tried to shield him, her hand protectively on his shoulder, her pace quickening as they passed particularly hostile glares. But Dom, with his adult mind, saw it all clearly. He didn’t cower. Instead, a strange mix of anger and a detached, analytical curiosity welled up within him. He simply raised an eyebrow at one particularly venomous glare from a burly merchant, an expression that seemed to say, ‘Really? That’s the best you’ve got?’ The merchant looked momentarily taken aback by the five-year-old’s unnervingly calm scrutiny.
They met a few other Uchiha families at the market, recognizable by their shared crest and the similar air of beleaguered dignity they carried. There was a brief exchange of polite, worried greetings. A quiet solidarity in shared adversity.
“Hana-san, Dom-chan,” an older Uchiha woman, her face etched with lines of worry, greeted them. “Are you managing alright in the shelters?”
“As well as can be expected, Sumiko-basan,” Hana replied with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And you?”
“The council… they offer platitudes, but no real support,” Sumiko-basan muttered, her voice low and bitter. “And the looks we get… as if we summoned that beast.”
Further on, near a stall selling overpriced vegetables, they encountered an elderly Uchiha man, leaning heavily on a cane. He was grumbling loudly enough for them to hear. “The Sandaime… he means well, perhaps, but he’s too soft! Letting the elders whisper their poison in his ear. If Fugaku-sama were Hokage…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
Dom, ever the opportunist for a bit of gallows humor, decided to chip in. He looked up at the grumbling elder with wide, innocent eyes. “Ojii-san,” he began, using the respectful term for an old man, “if we’re so untrustworthy and scary, why are we the Konoha Military Police Force? Isn’t that like giving a known pyromaniac a flamethrower and hoping for the best for neighborhood fire safety?”
The old man blinked, startled. Then, a dry, crackling chuckle escaped him. Even Sumiko-basan and a few other nearby Uchiha who’d overheard it cracked faint, reluctant smiles. It was a bitter sort of humor, born from the absurdity of their situation, but it momentarily pierced the gloom.
“Out of the mouths of babes, eh?” the old man said, a ghost of a smile lingering. “The boy has a point, a sharp one at that.”
Hana quickly ushered Dom away, murmuring, “Dom, sometimes it’s better to keep such… astute observations to yourself, especially in public.” But Dom could see a tiny smile playing on her own lips.
—
Hiroshi returned to the shelter late that evening, smelling of sweat, dust, and the faint, metallic tang of blood – though Dom suspected it wasn’t his own. He looked utterly drained, slumping onto his futon with a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire Uchiha clan’s troubles.
“Long day, Dad?” Dom asked, offering him a cup of lukewarm tea Hana had managed to procure.
Hiroshi accepted it with a grateful nod. “The longest,” he admitted, rubbing his temples. “Trying to maintain order when half the village looks at you like you’re about to sprout nine tails yourself… it’s… challenging.” He took a long sip of tea. “There was a dispute down by the south gate. Some merchants accusing Uchiha vendors of hoarding. It nearly turned ugly. We managed to de-escalate, but the resentment is thick enough to cut with a kunai.”
“So, basically, you’re a highly trained peacekeeper who also has to be a part-time public relations manager for an entire clan that’s being collectively blamed for a natural disaster of demonic proportions?” Dom summarized.
Hiroshi gave him a tired look. “You have a remarkably… succinct way of putting things, Dom.”
“It’s a gift,” Dom said cheerfully. Then, a mischievous glint entered his eyes. “Dad, be honest. With all this stress, do you ever just want to flash your Sharingan at someone who cuts in line at the grocery store? You know, just a little ‘I see your future, and it involves you going to the back of the line’ kind of vibe?”
Hiroshi actually chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. He reached out and ruffled Dom’s already messy hair. “Tempting, son. Very tempting. Especially when they’re after the last good cut of meat. But it’s generally considered bad for community relations. And an abuse of power. Mostly the community relations part.” He winked, a rare flash of levity.
These small moments, these flashes of warmth and humor amidst the encroaching darkness, were what Dom clung to. They made this strange new life, these new parents, feel undeniably real, and worth protecting.
—
Driven by the Uchiha’s increasingly precarious situation and his own desperate need for self-preservation, Dom threw himself into his “training” with renewed vigor. He followed his new plan: meditation for CE control in the morning, and more meditation for raw CE power in the afternoon and evening.
The afternoon session, another three hours squeezed in before Hiroshi returned, yielded another 180 points. The evening session, after his parents were asleep, stretched for another three hours. He felt his focus deepening, the mental dings coming a little easier, a little steadier. When he finally ‘cashed out’ for the night from his evening meditation, the system surprised him slightly.
[Points: 390] (He’d started with the 5 leftover from his morning control upgrade, and earned 210 from the evening meditation, suggesting a slight, almost imperceptible increase in his point-earning efficiency, or perhaps a bonus for consistency. The prompt had said 390 for afternoon and night, and he’d made 180 in the afternoon. So, 210 for the evening made sense to reach that).
He’d earned a total of 390 points from his afternoon and evening sessions.
“Alright, system, let’s beef up the Cursed Energy levels,” he mentally commanded, dumping all 390 points into his CE. He felt that now-familiar coolness swell within him, becoming a much more significant reservoir of power.
The panel updated:
—
Cursed Energy (Yin Chakra): Lv13 (25/105)
Status: Grade 4 Sorcerer (Ninja Academy Student)
CE Control: 19%
Skill: None
Innate Technique: Sharingan (Lv0 – Dormant)
—
[Points: 0]
—
Level 13. A significant jump from level 6. He could definitely feel the difference. The internal “beehive” now felt more like a well-stocked apiary. But his Sorcerer Grade stubbornly remained at ‘Grade 4.’
“Still Grade 4, huh?” he mused, a frown creasing his brow. “So, raw Cursed Energy level isn’t the sole determinant for ranking up. Is it tied to actual academy progression? Do I need to graduate to become Grade 3? Or is there a hidden experience bar for ‘sorcerer deeds’ I haven’t discovered yet? Like, ‘Successfully avoid tripping over own feet: +10 EXP’?”
The system, as usual, offered no clarification.
Dom sighed. “One thing at a time.” His strategy seemed sound for now. “Morning meditation points go into CE Control, because having a nuke’s worth of energy is useless if I can only set off ladyfingers. Afternoon and evening meditation points go into Cursed Energy levels, because even with perfect control, a squirt gun isn’t going to stop Itachi.”
Both were crucial. Control to wield what he had. And a deep well of energy to draw from, because he had a sinking feeling he was going to need a very, very deep well. He closed his eyes, the cool thrum of his Cursed Energy a comforting presence in the dark, cramped shelter. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to get stronger, another day closer to a future he was desperate to rewrite.