Cursed Uchiha - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Become a Writer (2)

The familiar pre-dawn ritual unfolded. 4 AM, the chill in the air, the quiet focus of meditation. Dom diligently guided his Cursed Energy, his mind a calm pool despite the undercurrent of anticipation for the day ahead. Today, his literary gamble would be put to the test. Three hours later, the system chimed with his earnings.

[Points: 180]

‘System, all 180 points into CE Control.’ He felt the now-familiar refining sensation, a subtle tightening of his command over the cool river of energy within him.

—

CE Control: 59%

—

A 3% increase. The gains were becoming smaller for the same point investment, a clear indicator that mastery was a steepening curve. Still, progress was progress. Over 50% control was a world away from the initial, pathetic 5%. He could feel the difference in the way his Cursed Energy responded to his will – more like a trained hound than a wild pony now.

Breakfast in the Uchiha shelter was the same as always: a subdued affair, the clinking of chopsticks against simple bowls the loudest sound. The weight of their collective predicament – displacement, financial uncertainty, the village’s simmering distrust – was a constant, unspoken presence. Dom watched his father, Hiroshi, staring blankly into his meager bowl of rice porridge, the lines of stress etched deeply around his eyes. Hana, his mother, picked at her food, her gaze distant.

This was it. Time to deploy Operation: Boy Wizard Bailout.

Dom cleared his throat, a small, childish sound that nevertheless drew his parents’ attention. “Dad,” he began, his voice steady despite the butterflies doing aerial acrobatics in his stomach, “do you… do you know any publication houses in Konoha? Places that print books?”

Hiroshi blinked, startled out of his reverie. He looked at Dom, a mixture of surprise and confusion on his face. “Publication houses, Dom? Why would you ask that?” Then, a flicker of understanding. “Ah, for your letter practice? Looking for more interesting reading material than old police reports, are you?” He managed a weak smile. “As a matter of fact, yes, I know a few. Part of the Police Force’s duty is to be aware of all businesses operating within the village, even the ones that just deal in words.”

Dom returned the smile, a little nervously. “Something like that, Dad.” He reached under his futon and carefully pulled out the thick stack of charcoal-covered pages, neatly bound with a piece of string Hana had given him. The manuscript of Hari Potā to Kenja no Ishi.

He held it out to his father. “This,” he announced, with a gravity that seemed almost comical coming from a five-year-old, “is a novel. I wrote it.”

Silence. Hiroshi stared at the stack of paper, then at Dom, then back at the paper. Hana, who had been listening with mild curiosity, paused with her chopsticks halfway to her mouth.

Hiroshi slowly reached out and took the manuscript. It was surprisingly hefty. He flipped through a few pages, his expression unreadable as he saw the dense, childish-yet-remarkably-neat script. “You… wrote this, Dom?” he asked, his voice laced with a gentle skepticism he clearly tried to hide. “This is… a lot of writing for a five-year-old.”

“I had a lot of free time,” Dom said with a shrug that he hoped looked nonchalant. “And I want you to take it to one of those publication houses, Dad. And publish it. Under your name.”

That got an even stronger reaction. Hiroshi’s eyebrows shot up. “Under my name? Dom, why would I do that? If you wrote it, you should get the credit.”

Dom had anticipated this. “Think about it, Dad,” he explained patiently, channeling his most logical inner adult. “If a publisher hears that a five-year-old kid wrote a novel this long, what will they think? They’ll probably pat me on the head, say ‘that’s nice, dear,’ and toss it in the bin without reading a page. They won’t take it seriously.”

He leaned forward conspiratorially. “But… if they hear that a seasoned Uchiha Police officer, a man from a clan currently at the center of so much… controversy… has penned a unique story? That might pique their interest. Curiosity, Dad. It’s a powerful motivator. They’ll wonder what kind of tale an Uchiha cop in these troubled times would spin.”

Hiroshi stared at his son, a complex mix of emotions swirling in his dark eyes: amusement, pride, a touch of bewilderment, and a dawning understanding of Dom’s underlying motive. He knew, without Dom needing to say it, that this was the boy’s attempt to help with their dire financial situation. The thought that his five-year-old son was shouldering such worries, and trying to solve them in such an extraordinary way, was both heartbreaking and deeply moving. He didn’t want to discourage this earnest, if somewhat outlandish, effort.

“You’ve certainly thought this through, haven’t you?” Hiroshi said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He hefted the manuscript. “Alright, Dom. I can’t make any promises, but… I’ll read it. I’ll read your story.” He tapped the cover page, where Dom had painstakingly drawn a stylized lightning bolt. “Hari Potā… a strange name.”

Dom simply smiled. “It’s a strange story, Dad.”

Later that morning, while Hana was busy with communal chores and Dom was ostensibly practicing his ‘letters’ (which actually involved him trying to subtly use his 59% CE control to make his charcoal stick write smoother lines), Hiroshi found a quiet corner. He was deeply skeptical. What kind of story could a five-year-old, even his bright and unusually articulate son, truly write? He expected a simple tale, perhaps about brave ninja kittens or friendly talking animals. Something imaginative, yes, but ultimately childish.

He opened the ledger to the first page, the charcoal script dense but surprisingly legible.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

Hiroshi blinked. Privet Drive? Dursleys? These were not names he recognized from any land, let alone Konoha. He read on, a slight frown of confusion on his face. The writing style was simple, yet it flowed with an unexpected confidence. He read about the Dursleys’ fear of anything strange or mysterious, their utter normalcy, and their secret – the Potters.

Then came the arrival of wizards, cloaked figures appearing out of nowhere, talking owls, and a giant of a man named Hagrid on a flying motorcycle. Hiroshi’s frown deepened, but it was no longer one of just confusion. A spark of intrigue had been lit. Magic? Wands? A hidden world of wizards existing alongside the ‘normal’ one?

The more he read, the more his skepticism dissolved, replaced by a growing sense of astonishment, and then, outright shock. This wasn’t a child’s rambling fantasy. This was… something else entirely. The story unfolded with intricate detail, introducing a world so vivid, so utterly different from their own, yet so compelling. There were mentions of ‘cars’ – horseless carriages that moved with incredible speed. ‘Trains’ that thundered along metal tracks. A ‘government’ for wizards called the Ministry of Magic. Schools that taught spellcasting.

He read about the orphaned Hari Potā, living a miserable life with his awful relatives, completely unaware of his magical heritage or the incredible destiny that awaited him. He read about letters arriving by owl, a giant breaking down a door, and the revelation of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hiroshi found himself utterly captivated. His training as a police officer, his ingrained Uchiha pragmatism, the grim realities of his current life – all of it faded into the background as he was pulled deeper into this enchanting, impossible world. The concepts were alien, yet Dom’s writing (or rather, the story Dom was transcribing) made them feel real, tangible. He could almost see the bustling Diagon Alley, the towering castle of Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat that sang.

He read for what felt like hours, losing all track of time. The noise of the shelter, the worries about their future, even the dull ache of his own fatigue, all receded. He was in a world of magic, of wonder, of good versus an unimaginable evil in the form of a dark lord who couldn’t even be named.

Eventually, the insistent pangs of hunger and the realization that he had duties to attend to forced him to pause. He reluctantly lowered the manuscript, his mind still reeling. He’d only gotten through a fraction of the thick stack of pages, to the point where Harry was about to board the Hogwarts Express.

He looked over at Dom, who was diligently practicing his writing, occasionally glancing up with an unreadable expression. This… this was beyond genius. This wasn’t just a story; it was an entire, meticulously crafted universe. How could his five-year-old son, a child who had just survived a traumatic demon attack, have conceived of something so complex, so original, so… magical?

A wave of awe, so profound it was almost dizzying, washed over Hiroshi. He walked over to Dom, his movements slow, as if in a daze. He placed a hand on Dom’s small head, his voice thick with emotion.

“Dom… this story…” He struggled for words. “It’s… it’s incredible. Truly incredible. The world you’ve built, the characters… it’s like nothing I’ve ever read or even imagined.” He knelt, looking his son directly in the eyes. “You are a remarkable boy, Dom. Truly remarkable.”

Dom simply smiled, a small, knowing smile that held a depth beyond his years. “I’m glad you like it, Dad.”

Hiroshi stood up abruptly, his eyes shining with a newfound excitement, a spark Dom hadn’t seen since before the Kyuubi attack. “I… I need to show this to someone. Immediately.” He grabbed the manuscript carefully. “Hana! I’m going out!”

He didn’t even wait for breakfast, which was unheard of. He practically sprinted out of the shelter, the precious manuscript clutched in his hand like a sacred artifact.

Hana stared after him, completely bewildered. She turned to Dom, her expression a mixture of shock and confusion. “Dom-chan? What on earth did you write in that book to make your father forget his morning tea and run off like the Kyuubi itself was chasing him?”

Dom just offered her his most mysterious smile. “It’s a story about magic, Mom. And a boy with a lightning-bolt scar.”

The day passed with an undercurrent of anticipation. Dom went about his usual routine – afternoon and evening meditation sessions, funneling the precious points into his Cursed Energy levels. He practiced his Reinforcement, feeling his small punches carry a tiny bit more weight, his skin tingle with the protective layer of CE. He experimented with his Perception skill, trying to differentiate the chakra signatures of the various Uchiha around him, marveling at the faint map that formed in his mind. But through it all, a part of his mind was with his father, wondering, hoping.

It was well past nightfall when Hiroshi finally returned. Dom and Hana were sharing a meager dinner of roasted sweet potatoes when the flap of their alcove was thrown open.

Hiroshi stood there, his face flushed, his eyes bright with an almost manic glee. He was practically vibrating with excitement. In his hand, he wasn’t holding the manuscript, but a small, official-looking scroll and a rather thick envelope.

“Hana! Dom!” he exclaimed, his voice jubilant. He strode in and dramatically presented the envelope to Hana. “Look! Look at this!”

Hana cautiously opened it. Her eyes widened, and she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Inside was a stack of Ryo notes, and a check. A very, very large check.

“Hiroshi… what is this? This is… this is one million Ryo!” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Hiroshi beamed, puffing out his chest. “That, my dear Hana, is the advance! And this,” he brandished the scroll, “is the contract! Your son’s book – no, our book – is going to be published! My old friend, Tanaka-san, the manager at Konoha Press, he… he was blown away!”

He sank onto a futon, his energy finally flagging, but his excitement still bubbling. “I went straight to Tanaka’s office. He was surprised to see me, of course, especially barging in like that. I told him I had something incredible, a story that needed to be read. He was skeptical, naturally. ‘A police officer, Hiroshi? Writing novels now, are we? What is it, a gritty detective story about rogue ninja and stolen recipes?’”

Hiroshi chuckled. “I just handed him the manuscript and told him to read the first chapter. He grumbled a bit, said he was busy, but he started reading… and then, Hana, Dom, it was just like with me. His eyes got wider. He stopped grumbling. He leaned closer to the pages. He waved away his assistant who came in with tea. He read, and he read, and he read.”

Dom listened, a quiet sense of satisfaction blooming in his chest.

“After about an hour,” Hiroshi continued, his voice full of awe, “Tanaka looked up at me, his face pale. He said, ‘Hiroshi… where did you get this?’ I just told him it was a story I’d been working on, something that came to me in these… difficult times.” He gave Dom a quick, meaningful glance. “He didn’t question it further. He just kept saying, ‘This is gold, Hiroshi! Pure gold! A world like this, magic, a school for wizards, a dark lord… it’s completely fresh, completely new! People will devour this!’”

Hiroshi took a deep breath, still marveling. “He said it was the most original thing he’d seen in years. He immediately offered an advance – a very generous one, as you can see – and a contract. Sixty percent royalties for us, Dom!” He clapped Dom on the shoulder, his eyes shining with pride and something akin to loving disbelief. “Sixty percent! Tanaka believes it could be the biggest book Konoha has seen in a decade! It will take a few weeks to typeset and print the first run, but… it’s happening!”

Hana was crying now, tears of relief and joy streaming down her face as she clutched the check. One million Ryo. It wouldn’t solve all their problems overnight, but it was a lifeline. It was enough to secure better temporary housing, perhaps even start saving for the eventual rebuilding of their home. It was breathing room. It was hope.

“Oh, Dom,” she sobbed, pulling him into a tight hug. “You… you amazing, strange, wonderful boy.”

Hiroshi looked at Dom, the earlier excitement softening into a look of profound wonder. “He kept asking me about the world, Dom. About the ‘Quidditch’ game, about the different magic spells. He said the details were astonishing. How did you even imagine such things, son?”

There it was, the unvoiced question, the loving suspicion. Not a distrustful one, but one born of sheer awe at the prodigious, almost inexplicable nature of his son’s creation.

Dom just smiled. “I have a very active imagination, Dad,” he said softly. He knew he couldn’t explain the truth, not yet, maybe never. For now, he would let them believe he was just a very, very imaginative Uchiha child.

That night, for the first time in a long while, the small Uchiha family in their cramped alcove felt a genuine, unburdened lightness. The shadow of financial ruin had lifted, replaced by the bright promise of a magical boy named Hari Potā. And as Dom drifted off to sleep, the thrum of his Cursed Energy a comforting presence, he knew this was just the first step. The writer had made his debut, but the sorcerer’s journey was only just beginning.