Player Uchiha - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Weight of Heritage

The evening air was cool against Yami’s skin as he stepped out of the hospital, still dressed in the simple clothes someone had left for him—a plain dark blue shirt and black pants that were standard fare for Uchiha children. The fabric felt strange against his body, too loose in some places, too tight in others, a constant reminder that this flesh he inhabited wasn’t truly his own.

Or was it? The question nagged at him as he stood on the hospital steps, uncertain and alone.

The streets of Konoha were a study in contrasts. In some areas, life continued almost normally—shopkeepers sweeping their storefronts, civilians going about their business with determined normalcy. But the damage from the Kyuubi attack was impossible to ignore. Entire blocks reduced to rubble. Scorch marks on buildings that had survived. And everywhere, the construction crews and repair teams working tirelessly to restore what had been lost.

He’d barely had time to take it all in when a figure appeared before him.

The man seemed to materialize out of thin air—one moment the street was empty, the next he was there, crouched at eye level with Yami. It was such a casual display of the Body Flicker Technique that it took Yami’s breath away. In his old world, he’d watched ninja perform such feats hundreds of times on screen. Seeing it in person, feeling the slight displacement of air, was entirely different.

The ninja was young, perhaps in his early twenties, with the distinctive features of the Uchiha clan—dark hair that fell to his shoulders, sharp dark eyes that seemed to see everything, and the high-collared shirt bearing the Uchiha fan symbol on the back. His face was kind, though lines of exhaustion were evident around his eyes.

“Uchiha Yami?” the man asked, his voice gentle despite the formality of the situation.

Yami nodded, not trusting his voice quite yet.

“My name is Uchiha Tekka,” the man said, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach his tired eyes. “I’ve been sent by the clan to escort you home.” He paused, seeming to choose his next words carefully. “I’m sorry it took us this long to come for you. Things have been… chaotic.”

“It’s okay,” Yami managed to say, his child’s voice sounding small even to his own ears.

Tekka stood, his movements fluid and precise in the way only a trained shinobi’s could be. “Come. We’ll walk—I think you could use the fresh air more than speed right now.”

They set off through the streets at a measured pace, Tekka adjusting his stride to match Yami’s much shorter legs. The ninja didn’t try to fill the silence with empty platitudes, for which Yami was grateful. Instead, he kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, occasionally nodding to other ninja they passed.

Yami found himself studying everything with an intensity that surprised him. Every detail seemed important—the way shinobi moved through the crowds with unconscious grace, the wary glances some civilians cast toward ninja wearing the Uchiha symbol, the mixture of determination and grief on the faces of those working to rebuild.

This was real. All of it was terrifyingly, impossibly real.

The Uchiha compound, when they reached it, was larger than Yami had expected. The anime had shown it, of course, but seeing it in person was different. The walls were high and well-maintained, the gates bearing the proud fan symbol of the clan. Despite the late hour, the compound was bustling with activity—clan members coming and going, voices calling out greetings or instructions, the sounds of daily life continuing despite the tragedy that had struck the village.

Tekka led him through the gates and into the compound proper. The architecture was traditional, elegant in its simplicity, with buildings arranged in a logical pattern that spoke of generations of careful planning. Yami could see training grounds in the distance, their presence a reminder of the clan’s martial heritage.

They stopped at a building near the center of the compound—a two-story structure that was clearly administrative in nature. Inside, the atmosphere was more subdued, almost somber. Tekka guided him to a small office where an older man sat behind a desk covered in papers.

The man looked up as they entered, his face weathered and serious. He was perhaps in his fifties, with gray threading through his dark hair and the same sharp Uchiha features. But his eyes, when they settled on Yami, softened with sympathy.

“Uchiha Yami,” he said, not as a question but as a statement. He gestured to a chair across from his desk. “Please, sit.”

Yami climbed into the chair, his feet dangling above the floor. Tekka remained standing beside him, a quiet presence of support.

The older man—Yami noticed the nameplate on his desk read ‘Uchiha Setsuna’—pulled out a folder and opened it with careful deliberation. When he spoke, his voice was formal but not unkind.

“I need to confirm some details for our records. Can you tell me your full name and your parents’ names?”

“Uchiha Yami,” he responded, his voice steadier than he felt. “My father was Uchiha Ryota. My mother was Uchiha Kasumi.”

Setsuna made a note in the folder, his brush moving across the paper with practiced efficiency. Then he looked up, his expression grave.

“I’m sorry to inform you officially, though I’m sure you already know—your parents did not survive the Nine-Tails attack.” His voice carried genuine sorrow. “They were found near the eastern district, their bodies… protecting you. They died as Uchiha, defending what they loved most.”

The words hit harder than Yami expected. He felt his throat tighten, his eyes beginning to sting with tears he didn’t want to shed. Not here. Not in front of strangers.

Setsuna continued, his tone becoming more gentle. “They have been laid to rest in the Uchiha memorial gardens. Grave numbers 12351 and 12352, side by side.” He wrote the numbers on a small slip of paper and slid it across the desk. “You may visit whenever you wish.”

Yami took the paper with trembling fingers, staring at the numbers as if they could somehow make sense of the grief threatening to overwhelm him.

“Your family home was unfortunately destroyed in the attack,” Setsuna went on. “However, recovery teams are still searching the rubble for any personal effects that may have survived. Whatever we find will be delivered to you.”

He pulled out a key from a drawer and placed it on the desk between them.

“The clan has allocated apartment unit 247-B for your residence. It’s a one-bedroom unit in the eastern residential block—modest but well-maintained. As per clan policy for orphaned minors, your rent will be waived until you reach twelve years of age or graduate from the Academy, whichever comes first.”

Tekka leaned forward slightly, his voice kind. “It’s a good location, Yami. Quiet, but not isolated. There are other families nearby.”

Setsuna nodded. “Additionally, you will receive a monthly pension of 10,000 Ryu from the clan’s welfare fund, paid on the first of each month. This will continue under the same conditions as the housing—until you turn twelve or graduate and become a genin.”

10,000 Ryu. Yami’s mind raced, trying to calculate what that meant in practical terms. From the original Yami’s memories, he knew it was enough to live on—frugally, but enough. Food, basic supplies, perhaps a few luxuries if he was careful.

“Do you have any questions?” Setsuna asked, his expression patient.

Yami shook his head mutely. What could he ask? How to process the death of parents who weren’t his but somehow were? How to live alone at five years old in a world that considered such a thing normal?

Tekka placed a gentle hand on Yami’s shoulder. “Come on. Let me show you to your new home.”

They left the administrative building as the last light of day faded from the sky. Lanterns were being lit throughout the compound, casting warm pools of light that pushed back the gathering darkness. The eastern residential block was a short walk away—a series of apartment buildings arranged around a small courtyard where Yami could see a few children playing despite the late hour.

Building 247 was three stories tall, well-maintained like everything else in the compound. Tekka led him up to the second floor and stopped at a door marked with a simple ‘B’.

“This is you,” Tekka said, handing over the key. “Let me show you inside.”

The apartment was small but functional. The door opened directly into a combined living and kitchen area—a single room perhaps fifteen feet square. A small kitchen area occupied one corner, equipped with a basic stove, a sink, and minimal counter space. The rest of the room held a low table, a few cushions, and not much else.

A door on the far wall led to the bedroom, which was barely large enough for the futon that lay rolled in the corner and a small closet. Another door revealed a tiny bathroom with a toilet, sink, and a bathing area that was just large enough to serve its purpose.

It was, as Setsuna had said, modest. In his previous life, Yami would have called it cramped, barely adequate. But the original Yami’s memories whispered that it was actually quite nice for a single occupant, especially one so young. And compared to the uncertainty of the hospital, it felt like a sanctuary.

“It’s not much,” Tekka admitted, looking around with a critical eye, “but it’s yours. Safe. Secure.” He moved to the kitchen area, opening cabinets to show they’d been stocked with basic supplies—rice, tea, some canned goods. “The clan made sure you had essentials to start with. And remember, your pension starts the first of next month.”

Yami nodded, still taking it all in. His apartment. His space. The reality of his new life crystallizing with every detail.

Tekka crouched down again, meeting Yami’s eyes. “Listen to me carefully, Yami. I know this is overwhelming. I know you’re scared and hurt and probably angry at the world. That’s okay. That’s normal.” His expression was earnest, sincere. “But you’re not alone. You’re Uchiha. That means something. The clan takes care of its own. If you need anything—food, help, someone to talk to—you come find me or any clan member. We don’t abandon family. Understood?”

The kindness in his voice, the genuine concern in his eyes—it was so different from what Yami had expected. The Uchiha in the anime had been portrayed as proud to the point of arrogance, isolated, cold. But Tekka was none of those things. Neither had Setsuna been, really. They were just… people. People trying to help a traumatized child.

“Thank you,” Yami whispered, and meant it.

Tekka smiled, ruffling Yami’s hair gently. “That’s what family does. Now, do you know how to cook? Even basic things?”

Yami searched through the original Yami’s memories and nodded. “A little. Rice. Simple things.”

“Good enough for now. There are ready-made meals in the cabinet too, for when you’re too tired to cook. And Yami?” Tekka stood, heading toward the door. “The other children in the compound—don’t be afraid to talk to them. Make friends. You’re all going through this together.”

With a final nod, Tekka left, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

And then Yami was alone.

The silence of the apartment pressed in around him, broken only by the distant sounds of the compound outside—voices, footsteps, the ordinary sounds of life continuing. He stood in the middle of the living area, this strange child’s body feeling more alien than ever, and felt the weight of everything crash down on him at once.

His legs gave out.

He made it to the futon in the bedroom before the sobs started, clutching the thin mattress as tears streamed down his face. The grief came in waves, overwhelming and all-consuming. He cried for parents he’d never known but somehow remembered with perfect clarity. He cried for a life lost, for the impossibility of his situation, for the loneliness that threatened to swallow him whole.

The memories played behind his closed eyes unbidden—his mother’s smile, his father’s laugh, the warmth of their home, the feeling of being loved and safe. They weren’t his memories, he knew that logically. They belonged to the original Yami, the child whose body he now inhabited, whose soul had either been destroyed or…

Or merged with his own.

The thought stopped his tears mid-stream. Was that possible? He’d assumed the original Yami’s soul had simply died, unable to cope with the trauma of losing his parents so violently. But what if it hadn’t died? What if, instead, it had merged with his own transmigrated soul?

It would explain why the memories felt so real, so personal. Why the grief wasn’t just intellectual understanding but visceral, gut-wrenching pain. Why he could remember being loved by people he’d never met with his original life’s eyes.

Two souls, two lives, somehow combined into one consciousness.

The idea should have been terrifying. In a way, it was. But it was also oddly comforting. It meant the original Yami hadn’t been destroyed, hadn’t been erased. He was still here, his experiences and emotions and essence merged with the adult soul from another world.

They were one person now. Uchiha Yami, with all the complexity that entailed.

Eventually, the tears slowed, then stopped. Yami lay on the futon, staring up at the ceiling, feeling hollowed out and exhausted. But beneath the grief, beneath the fear, he felt something else stirring. Determination, perhaps. Or maybe just the stubborn refusal to let himself break completely.

He couldn’t change what had happened. He couldn’t bring back the parents whose memories he now carried. He couldn’t return to his old life, couldn’t escape the contract that bound his soul.

But he could survive. He could honor the sacrifice of parents who’d died protecting their child. He could live.

With movements that felt mechanical, Yami got up and made his way to the kitchen. His stomach reminded him that this body hadn’t eaten in far too long, and grief or no grief, survival meant taking care of basic needs.

The kitchen was functional if limited. He found rice in a jar, remembered how to use the stove from the original Yami’s memories, and managed to prepare a simple meal. Rice and a can of preserved fish, eaten at the low table while night deepened outside the window.

The food was bland, barely tasted, but it filled the empty space in his stomach. That was enough.

After cleaning up—old habits from his previous life asserting themselves—Yami found himself drawn to the small mirror that hung in the bathroom. He stared at his reflection, really looking at himself for the first time since waking in the hospital.

The face that looked back was young, softer than he remembered, with the distinctive Uchiha features he’d seen in Tekka and Setsuna. Dark hair that fell messily around his face, dark eyes that currently held far too much awareness for a five-year-old, a small nose and mouth that would grow into sharp features as he aged.

He was, objectively, a cute kid. The kind of child people would naturally want to protect.

Except this world didn’t protect children. It trained them to kill.

“Sharingan,” he whispered to his reflection, focusing on his eyes, trying to activate the legendary bloodline ability.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then he felt it—a strange sensation behind his eyes, like something shifting, awakening. The world seemed to sharpen, colors becoming more vivid, details more pronounced.

His reflection’s eyes had changed. The irises, once solid black, now bore a single tomoe—a comma-shaped mark that seemed to spin slowly against the red background.

The Sharingan. The Copy Wheel Eye. One of the most powerful abilities in this entire world, and he’d activated it with barely any effort.

A notification appeared in his vision, the system panel materializing with its now-familiar glow.

[Sharingan Activated]

Current Level: 1 (Single Tomoe)
Chakra Consumption: 1 unit per minute
Current Chakra Reserves: 5 units
WARNING: Exceeding chakra reserves will result in life-force consumption and vision deterioration.

[Skill: Accelerated Perception – Active]
Effect: Perception stat increased by 100% while Sharingan is active
Chakra Consumption: Increases based on usage intensity

[Training Progress]
Sharingan EXP Gain: 1% per 5 minute of active use

Yami absorbed the information, his analytical mind—the part that came from his previous life—processing the implications.

Five units is his chakra, with the Sharingan consuming one per minute. That meant he could maintain it for five minutes before he’d start damaging himself. Not much time at all.

But the Accelerated Perception skill was interesting. His current PER stat was only 1, but with the Sharingan active, it would effectively become 2. That would allow him to see things more clearly, react faster, perhaps even begin to predict movements the way the Sharingan was famous for.

And the EXP gain was the real revelation. If he could train his Sharingan for 500 cumulative minutes, it would advance to Level 2—the double tomoe. That was roughly eight hours of total use. Spread out over time, being careful not to drain himself dry, that was achievable.

Painful, probably. Dangerous, certainly. But achievable.

He deactivated the Sharingan, feeling the strain immediately ease. His chakra reserves were depleted by one unit now, leaving him with only four. He’d need to be more careful, train smarter rather than harder until his reserves improved.

The system was both a blessing and a curse. It gave him a path to power, a way to quantify and optimize his growth. But it also made clear just how weak he currently was, how far he had to go.

Level 1. A single tomoe Sharingan. Stats that barely qualified as functional.

And somehow, he had to reach Level 500. Had to surpass the Sage of Six Paths himself.

The enormity of it threatened to overwhelm him again, but Yami pushed the fear down. One step at a time. That was all he could do. Focus on the immediate, on the achievable goals, and trust that each small step would eventually lead to the impossible destination.

He left the bathroom, the apartment feeling slightly less foreign now that he’d spent some time in it. Tomorrow, he decided, he would need to establish a routine. Figure out how to navigate this world, this life. Start on the Basic Training Quest, even if the requirements seemed absurd for his current body.

But tonight, there was one more thing he needed to do.

The Uchiha memorial gardens weren’t far from the residential area. Yami made his way there slowly, following the original Yami’s memories of the compound’s layout. The night was quiet now, most clan members having retired to their homes, and the lanterns cast long shadows across the pathways.

The gardens were beautiful in a solemn way, with carefully tended plants and stone markers arranged in neat rows. Yami found the section for recent burials easily enough—the earth was still fresh, the markers newly placed.

12351. 12352.

Two simple stones, side by side, bearing names he knew by heart. Uchiha Ryota. Uchiha Kasumi.

He knelt before them, his small hands resting on his knees, and felt the grief rise again—gentler this time, but no less real.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he said softly, speaking to the stones, to the memory of people he’d never truly met but somehow knew intimately. “I don’t know if you’d even recognize me as your son anymore. Part of me isn’t… wasn’t…”

He trailed off, unsure how to explain the inexplicable.

“But I remember you,” he finally said, his voice thick with emotion. “I remember how much you loved him. Me. How much you sacrificed. And I promise…” His small hands clenched into fists. “I promise I won’t let that sacrifice be meaningless. I’ll survive. I’ll become strong. Strong enough that no one can ever hurt me the way you were hurt.”

The words felt like a vow, binding in a way that had nothing to do with the system or the contract with Indra. This was personal, a promise made to the memory of parents who’d died protecting their child.

He stayed there for a long time, kneeling in the quiet garden, letting himself feel the full weight of his loss and his strange new existence. When he finally stood to leave, his legs stiff from kneeling, he felt different somehow. Not healed—the grief would take much longer to process—but more settled. More certain of who he was and what he had to do.

Uchiha Yami. A child bearing the weight of two lives, two sets of memories, and an impossible destiny.

As he walked back to his apartment under the stars, he found himself thinking about the Uchiha clan he’d seen today. Tekka’s kindness. Setsuna’s sympathy. The way clan members had nodded to him respectfully despite his age. The care they’d taken to ensure he had a home, an income, a future.

These weren’t the cold, arrogant Uchiha he’d seen in the anime. These were people—flawed, certainly, but caring for their own. A family in more than just name.

The massacre would come. He knew that intellectually. In a few years, Itachi would be forced into an impossible choice, and nearly the entire clan would be wiped out in a single night.

But that was the future. Right now, in this moment, the Uchiha clan was alive and whole. And for the first time since waking in this strange new life, Yami felt a spark of something beyond mere survival instinct.

He felt the stirrings of belonging.