Cursed Uchiha - Chapter 6
Chapter 6: Training and Turmoil
The 4 AM chill was a constant, but Dom’s internal Cursed Energy, now a familiar companion, offered a subtle warmth against it. He settled into his meditation, the world outside the Uchiha shelter still cloaked in darkness and silence. The mental exercise of focusing, of drawing in the ambient energies (if that’s how the system points worked – it was still maddeningly vague on specifics), was becoming more second nature, though the effort remained significant.
Three hours later, as the first hints of dawn painted the sky in shades of grey and pale rose, he concluded his session.
[Points: 180]
‘System, all points to CE Control.’ He felt the familiar, yet ever-fainter, click of refinement.
—
CE Control: 61%
—
A mere 2% increase for the same hefty point investment. Dom sighed internally. ‘The law of diminishing returns is hitting hard with CE Control. It’s like trying to squeeze water from a rock that’s already mostly dry. Still, every percentage point counts. Sixty-one percent is a universe away from five. Can’t complain too much.’ He knew precision was key, especially if he ever hoped to master something as complex as the Reverse Curse technique beyond patching up papercuts.
Breakfast that morning was a stark contrast to the grim, watery porridge of just yesterday. The cramped alcove now boasted a small, portable stove (a luxury Hiroshi had managed to procure), and the aroma of actual grilled fish and properly cooked rice filled their small space. Hana was even humming a quiet tune as she arranged the food on new, albeit simple, ceramic plates.
Hiroshi sat with a noticeably lighter air, the deep furrows of stress on his brow somewhat softened. He watched Dom with an expression of quiet pride and lingering awe.
“The first print run of Hari Potā is scheduled for next week, Dom,” Hiroshi announced, his voice carrying a cheerful note Dom hadn’t heard often. “Tanaka-san is already planning a second, larger run. He says the initial orders from booksellers are… enthusiastic.”
Dom smiled. “That’s good news, Dad.”
“It is,” Hiroshi agreed, then his eyes twinkled. He gestured to a collection of items neatly stacked in a corner. “And thanks to your… vivid imagination, we can afford a few necessities. And a few… investments.”
Dom’s eyes widened. There was a neat stack of high-quality paper, several bottles of good ink, and a set of fine brushes and pens – a writer’s dream compared to his previous charcoal and damaged ledger. Beside it were new sets of clothes for all of them, warm blankets, and even a few sealed jars of preserved fruits and better-quality tea.
But what truly caught Dom’s attention was another, smaller pile: a set of lightweight, child-sized training kunai and shuriken, made of blunted metal perfect for practice, a sturdy wooden bokken, and even a few small, weighted bands for wrists and ankles.
Hiroshi followed his gaze. “A sharp mind is a great weapon, Dom,” he said, his tone becoming more serious, the Uchiha shinobi speaking now. “But in this world, physical strength, true skill, is paramount. Your story has given us a great gift, a respite. But we must not forget the realities of being a shinobi, of being an Uchiha in Konoha. You have a good head on your shoulders; it’s time you started honing your body to match.”
Dom felt a surge of gratitude. His father didn’t know about the JJK system, about Cursed Energy, or the full extent of Dom’s desperate training. But he understood the fundamental truth of their world. Strength was survival.
“Thank you, Dad,” Dom said, genuinely touched. He picked up a training kunai, the cool metal surprisingly comfortable in his small hand. He could already imagine coating it with his Reinforcement skill, practicing his aim, his throws.
He was tempted, so tempted, to tell them about his Sharingan. To show them the single tomoe that now graced his eyes when he willed it. It was a mark of his Uchiha heritage, a sign of his growing power. But a deeper, more cautious instinct prevailed.
‘Showing off your strength before you’re truly ready, before you’re untouchable, is just painting a target on your back,’ he thought, his mind flashing to tales from his old world and the grim history of this one. ‘Look at Nawaki Senju, Tsunade’s little brother. So much talent, so much promise, dead before he even hit his prime. Or Sakumo Hatake, the White Fang, hounded to his death despite his incredible power. No. My true abilities stay hidden, my little secrets, until I’m strong enough that no one can touch me, or my family.’
He would let them see his dedication to normal shinobi training. His Cursed Energy and JJK skills would be his trump cards, developed in the shadows.
The next few days passed in a state of relative peace and quiet industry. The advance from Hari Potā had indeed eased their burdens significantly. They were able to secure a slightly larger, cleaner alcove in a less crowded section of the Uchiha temporary housing. The quality of their food improved, and the constant, gnawing anxiety about their finances lessened, allowing his parents to breathe a little easier.
Dom diligently used his new writing supplies, starting on the early chapters of Hari Potā to Himitsu no Heya (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets), the words flowing more easily now with proper tools. But his primary focus remained his training. The morning meditation for CE Control was non-negotiable. The afternoon and evening sessions, equally long and intense, were dedicated to boosting his Cursed Energy levels. His small body was adapting to the strain, and his Cursed Energy reserves grew steadily, pushing him further up the levels.
He incorporated the new training equipment into his routine. He’d find secluded spots to practice his throws with the blunted kunai and shuriken, subtly channeling his Reinforcement skill into his arms, trying to improve his accuracy and power. His 61% CE Control made a noticeable difference; the energy flowed more smoothly, the augmentation less erratic. He practiced basic stances with the bokken, his movements still clumsy and childish, but infused with a nascent strength that surprised him. He even started wearing the small weighted bands during his physical exercises, pushing his five-year-old body to its limits. His Perception skill was always active when he was out and about, a faint mental map of chakra signatures giving him a constant, low-level awareness of his surroundings.
It was a fragile peace, a small bubble of normalcy in a world teetering on the edge of upheaval. And inevitably, the bubble burst.
The news didn’t come as a formal proclamation at first, but as a series of ugly, insidious rumors that slithered through the Uchiha district like venomous snakes. Whispers of “relocation,” of the clan being moved to the outskirts of the village. Then, the rumors solidified into a horrifying certainty. An official decree was issued by the Hokage and the Konoha Council.
The Uchiha Clan was to be moved, en masse, to a new, specifically designated compound at the very edge of Konoha, far from the village center, walled off and easily monitored.
The decree was couched in careful, diplomatic language – “for the clan’s own security and to ease village tensions,” “to provide a dedicated space for the Uchiha to maintain their traditions and police duties effectively.” But no one was fooled.
It was a punishment. A clear, unequivocal statement of distrust.
The Uchiha, who had lost homes, family members, and their sense of security in the Kyuubi attack, who had served Konoha faithfully for generations as its police force, felt this blow like a physical assault. They were being ostracized, isolated, branded as dangerous despite their innocence.
The atmosphere in the Uchiha district, which had been slowly recovering, plunged into a maelstrom of anger, disbelief, and bitter resentment. Arguments erupted. Fists were clenched. The air crackled with suppressed fury.
“A punishment? For what crime?” an Uchiha elder raged in the communal hall, his voice trembling with indignation. “For surviving? For being who we are?”
“They spit on our loyalty!” another shouted. “The Hyuuga, with their cursed seals and their secrets, they remain in the heart of the village! But us, the Uchiha, we are to be herded like cattle to the fringes!”
Dom watched it all, his child’s face impassive, but his mind working furiously. This was it. The event that, in canon, further fueled the Uchiha’s descent into bitterness, paving the way for Fugaku’s coup attempt and Itachi’s tragic solution. It was happening sooner than he’d thought, or perhaps his memory of the timeline was fuzzy.
His father, Hiroshi, looked grim, his earlier cheerfulness completely extinguished, replaced by a stony resignation and a flicker of that same Uchiha fury in his eyes. Hana was pale, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, trying to soothe a crying child from a neighboring family.
Uchiha Fugaku, the clan head, stood before his agitated people, his expression like a mask carved from obsidian. His voice, when he spoke, was low and resonant, cutting through the angry shouts. “Brothers! Sisters! I understand your anger. I share your outrage.” His gaze swept over them, stern and commanding. “This is an injustice. A grave insult to our honor and our unwavering loyalty to Konoha.”
A roar of agreement went up.
“But,” Fugaku continued, raising a hand for silence, “this is an order from the Hokage. It is not a suggestion. It is, for now, a done deal. To openly defy it would be to play directly into the hands of those who wish us ill, to give them the very excuse they seek to brand us as traitors.” His eyes narrowed. “We will comply. We will move. But we will not forget this slight. We will hold our heads high, and we will show Konoha the strength and dignity of the Uchiha clan, even in the face of such… misunderstanding.”
His words did little to truly calm the simmering rage, but they imposed a reluctant, resentful order. The Uchiha would move, but their hearts would be filled with bitterness.
It was during one of Fugaku’s attempts to address the clan leaders and elders, a tense meeting that Dom observed from a discreet distance, that he finally understood the full extent of his family connection to the clan head.
He’d always known Itachi was his cousin, a fact the original Dom’s memories supplied. But the precise nature of the link had been vague. Now, listening to hushed, angry whispers among some of the older Uchiha women discussing Fugaku’s “coldness” and “family duty,” the pieces clicked into place.
His mother, Hana, was Uchiha Fugaku’s younger sister.
Aunt Mikoto, Itachi and Sasuke’s mother, was his aunt by marriage to his uncle. That made Itachi and Sasuke his first cousins on his mother’s side.
The realization was like a missing puzzle piece sliding into place, clarifying so much. The faint, almost nonexistent memories the original Dom had of interacting with Fugaku’s family, the subtle coolness he’d sometimes felt from the main household… it all made sense now.
He sought out his mother later, when she was quietly packing their few belongings in preparation for the forced move.
“Mom,” he began softly, “Fugaku-ojisama… he is your older brother, isn’t he?”
Hana paused, her hands stilling over a folded blanket. She looked at Dom, her eyes filled with a familiar sadness. She sighed. “Yes, Dom. He is.”
“Then… why don’t we see him much? Or Itachi-niisan and Sasuke-kun?” Dom pressed gently. The original Dom’s memories were hazy on this, like a deliberately blurred photograph.
Hana sat down on a futon, her shoulders slumping a little. “It’s… complicated, dear. When I chose to marry your father…” She looked towards where Hiroshi was helping another family secure their belongings, a fond, sad smile on her face. “Your father, Hiroshi, is a good man, a brave shinobi, and I love him dearly. But he was… not from one of the main family branches. He was considered a commoner within the clan, though his Uchiha blood is as true as any.”
She continued, her voice low. “My brother, Fugaku… he is the clan head. He has always been very conscious of duty, of status, of politically advantageous matches. He… did not approve of my choice. He felt I was marrying beneath my station, that it was a slight to our family’s standing.”
“So he broke off connections with you?” Dom asked, already guessing the answer.
Hana nodded, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. “For many years, yes. It was… painful. We are family, but the rift was deep. After you were born, and then Itachi, Mikoto-san tried to bridge the gap a little. We would see them occasionally at large clan gatherings, but it was never… warm. Never like it should be between an uncle and his nephew, or between sisters-in-law.” She wiped her tear away. “Fugaku is a proud man, Dom. And stubborn. Like many Uchiha.”
Dom absorbed this new information. So, his family was on the periphery of the clan’s core leadership, not because of a lack of Uchiha blood, but because of love and politics. It added another layer to their already complex situation. His father, despite being a capable police officer, was viewed as a lesser Uchiha by the clan head, his own brother-in-law.
It also meant that when the massacre came, their particular branch of the family would be just as vulnerable, perhaps even more so, lacking the close protection or influence of the main house. The thought sent a familiar chill down Dom’s spine.
The Uchiha relocation began a few days later. It was a somber, bitter procession, as families packed their meager belongings and were escorted by impassive, non-Uchiha ANBU to their new, isolated compound. Dom walked beside his parents, his small hand clutching his father’s, his face a carefully neutral mask. But inside, his mind was a whirlwind. The game board was shifting, the pieces moving towards their tragic destiny.
And Uchiha Dom, the boy writer, the fledgling JJK sorcerer, knew he had to get stronger, faster. The clock was ticking louder than ever.