Player Uchiha - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Shared Burdens

Dinner at Hanako’s apartment was a quiet, almost solemn affair.

The space was nearly identical to Yami’s—the same basic layout, the same simple furnishings—but it felt warmer somehow. Small touches made the difference: a vase with wildflowers on the table, cushions embroidered with delicate patterns, a few framed photographs on the shelf showing happier times. A family that had been whole.

Yami sat cross-legged at the low table while Hanako served the meal she’d prepared. It was simple but carefully made—grilled fish, rice, miso soup, pickled vegetables. The kind of home cooking that spoke of care and routine, of a mother trying to maintain normalcy for her daughter’s sake.

Yui sat across from him, pushing rice around her bowl with her chopsticks but barely eating. Her eyes were downcast, her shoulders hunched inward as if trying to make herself smaller, less visible. The silence that hung around her felt heavy, oppressive.

Hanako kept up a light stream of conversation, asking Yami about his day, commenting on the weather, mentioning clan news she’d heard. Her voice was bright, determinedly cheerful, but Yami could see the exhaustion in the lines around her eyes, the way her smile never quite reached them.

They were both performing, he realized. Hanako was performing strength for Yui’s benefit. Yui was performing presence, sitting at the table even though she clearly wanted to disappear into her room. And he was performing normalcy, pretending to be just a regular five-year-old boy rather than a reincarnated adult with an impossible destiny.

The food was delicious, and Yami made sure to express his genuine appreciation. Hanako’s smile became a touch more real at his compliments, and she served him an extra portion of fish that he accepted gratefully.

After the meal, as Yami helped clear the dishes—old habits from his previous life asserting themselves—Hanako caught his arm gently.

“Yami-kun,” she said softly, glancing toward where Yui had retreated to sit by the window, staring out at the compound with blank eyes. “Could I ask you a favor?”

“Of course, Hanako-san,” Yami replied, setting down the plates he’d been carrying.

Hanako’s fingers twisted together, a nervous gesture that betrayed her carefully maintained composure. “It’s about Yui. She… she hasn’t left the apartment since we moved in. Hasn’t played with the other children, hasn’t done anything but sit in her room or stare out windows.” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “She’s hurting so much from her father’s death, and I don’t know how to help her.”

Yami felt his chest tighten with sympathy. He understood grief—carried two sets of it now, merged and complex. But he didn’t know how to fix it, especially not in someone else.

“When you go out tomorrow—to train or play or whatever you do—would you take her with you?” Hanako’s eyes were pleading. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and you have your own pain to deal with. But maybe… maybe if she sees another child who lost even more but is still trying to live, it might help. Maybe she just needs someone who understands.”

Yami hesitated. His training was intensive, focused, driven by the desperate need to grow stronger fast enough to survive. Having Yui tagging along would slow him down, distract him, force him to adjust his schedule around a grieving eight-year-old’s needs and moods.

But then he looked at Hanako’s face—at the hope warring with resignation there, at the exhaustion of a mother trying so hard to hold her broken family together—and found he couldn’t refuse.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll take her with me tomorrow.”

The relief that washed over Hanako’s features was profound. She pulled Yami into a sudden hug, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Yami-kun.”

When Yami returned to his own apartment a short while later, the weight of the promise sat heavy on his small shoulders. He’d committed to helping Yui, which meant his training would be more complicated tomorrow. But perhaps that was okay. Perhaps it would be good to remember that he wasn’t the only one suffering, wasn’t the only one trying to piece together a shattered life.

He settled onto his futon and pulled up the system panel, deciding to explore it more thoroughly. There had to be more information available, more details about how this strange game-like existence actually worked.

When he focused on his level indicator, a new sub-menu appeared:

[Ninja Level Classifications]

Lv 1-20: Ninja Academy Student
Lv 21-40: Genin
Lv 41-60: Chunin
Lv 61-80: Jonin
Lv 81-100: Kage
Lv 101-120: Super Kage / Zero-Tails Jinchuriki
Lv 121-140: One-Tail Jinchuriki
Lv 141-160: Two-Tails Jinchuriki
…

The list continued upward, each bracket representing another level of Tailed Beast power, until it reached astronomical levels he could barely comprehend.

Lv 280-300: Nine-Tails Jinchuriki (Perfect)
Lv 300-500: 10 Tails
Lv 500+: Sage of Six Paths Level

Yami stared at the numbers, feeling a familiar sense of overwhelming impossibility wash over him. He was level 7. Level ‘seven’. He couldn’t even be considered a proper Academy student yet—he was below even that threshold. And he needed to reach level 500 to fulfill his contract.

It wasn’t just climbing a mountain. It was climbing a mountain that reached past the clouds, past the atmosphere, into space itself.

But dwelling on the final goal would only paralyze him. Instead, he focused on the immediate: reaching level 21 would make him Genin-equivalent. That meant real chakra reserves, enough to actually learn and perform jutsu. That was a achievable milestone, something concrete to work toward.

Fourteen more levels. At his current rate, completing one quest for 100 EXP each, factoring in the increasing experience requirements per level… maybe a week or two of dedicated training?

It was something. A start.

He activated his Sharingan, feeling the familiar shift behind his eyes as the world sharpened into crystal clarity. The single tomoe spun slowly in his vision, and he could see the grain of the wooden ceiling, the slight movement of dust particles in the air, details that would have been invisible to his normal sight.

[Chakra: 35/35]
[Sharingan Active – Consuming 1 CP per minute]

For the next thirty minutes, Yami simply sat there, maintaining the Sharingan, letting it drain his chakra reserves while he focused on the sensation. He wanted to understand how it felt, how the energy moved through his body, how the eye technique functioned at a fundamental level.

His chakra depleted steadily: 34… 33… 32…

The room seemed to grow brighter as his Perception stat was enhanced by the Accelerated Perception skill.

By the time his chakra reached 5 units remaining, he’d maintained the Sharingan for thirty minutes.

[Sharingan Lv1: 3.7%]

1.2% progress for thirty minutes of use. The math was simple—if he could maintain it for longer periods, the leveling would accelerate. More chakra meant more training time, which meant faster growth. Everything was interconnected, each stat feeding into the others in a complex web of optimization.

But with only 5 chakra remaining, exhaustion hit him like a physical force. His vision swam, his head felt heavy, and the room started to tilt in a way that had nothing to do with actual movement.

Yami barely managed to deactivate the Sharingan before he collapsed onto the futon. The last thought that flickered through his mind before consciousness faded was that he needed to be more careful about chakra depletion—passing out alone in his apartment wasn’t safe.

Then darkness claimed him.

—

Morning light found him completely refreshed, the system’s overnight recovery apparently sufficient to restore him to full health and chakra. Yami went through his morning routine quickly, preparing a simple breakfast and getting dressed in his training clothes.

Then, with a deep breath to prepare himself, he headed next door.

Hanako answered his knock with a grateful smile. “Yami-kun! Thank you for coming. Yui!” she called into the apartment. “Yami-kun is here!”

There was no response.

Hanako’s smile became strained. “Yui, please. Come out here.”

More silence, then finally, grudging footsteps. Yui emerged from her room, her expression stormy. She was already dressed—Hanako had clearly been preparing her for this—but everything about her body language screamed resistance.

“I don’t want to go,” Yui said flatly.

“Yui—” Hanako started.

“I don’t want to!” Yui’s voice rose. “Why should I have to go outside? Why can’t I just stay here?”

“Because staying in your room all day isn’t healthy,” Hanako said, her voice gentle but firm. “You need fresh air. You need to move around. And Yami-kun has kindly agreed to include you in his activities today.”

“I didn’t ask him to!”

The words hung in the air, sharp and hurtful. Yami felt a flicker of irritation—he was doing this as a favor, after all—but he pushed it down. Yui wasn’t really angry at him. She was angry at the world, at fate, at the circumstances that had stolen her father. He was just a convenient target.

“Yui.” Hanako’s voice carried a note of steel now. “You will go with Yami-kun. You will be polite. You will give this a chance. Do you understand?”

For a moment, it looked like Yui might refuse outright. Then something in her mother’s expression—perhaps the exhaustion, perhaps the desperation—made her shoulders slump in defeat.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Whatever.”

Hanako’s smile returned, though it looked more like a grimace. “Thank you, sweetheart. Have a good time, both of you.”

The walk to the training ground was silent and awkward. Yui trailed several steps behind Yami, radiating resentment with every dragging footstep. Yami didn’t try to force conversation—what would he even say?

The training ground he’d chosen was a small one near the edge of the compound, used mostly by Academy students and younger children. At this hour, it was empty, which suited his purposes perfectly. An open field for running, some sturdy tree branches for pullups, and enough space to move without bothering anyone.

As soon as they arrived, Yui immediately walked over to a large tree at the edge of the field and sat down against its trunk, pulling her knees up to her chest. She looked like she planned to stay there for however long this took, doing absolutely nothing.

Yami didn’t comment. He just moved to the center of the field and dropped into position for pushups.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

[Fatigue: 1%]

He paused, noting the difference immediately. Yesterday, five pushups had given him one percent fatigue. Today, it had taken thirty-five pushups to reach that same point. The increased Vitality stat was already showing its effects—he could train harder, longer, with less accumulated exhaustion.

This was going to make everything so much more efficient.

He continued the pushups, finding a rhythm. 100. Rest for a minute. 100 more. Rest. His small body moved with increasing confidence, the movements becoming smoother as muscle memory developed.

From her spot under the tree, Yui watched with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Confusion, maybe? Or curiosity? Whatever it was, at least she wasn’t actively complaining.

After completing the pushup requirement, Yami moved on to situps. These went faster—his core strength benefiting from the training, his increased stamina allowing for longer sets before fatigue forced a rest.

Then squats, feeling his legs burn pleasantly with the exertion. Then the dreaded pullups, hanging from a low tree branch and forcing his small body upward again and again.

“I’m hungry,” Yui called out when he was about halfway through the pullup portion. “Can we go home now?”

“Not yet,” Yami replied between reps. “I need to finish.”

“How much longer?”

“However long it takes.”

She subsided into sullen silence, but didn’t leave. Yami had expected her to simply walk back to the apartment on her own, but apparently, she’d decided that would be admitting defeat or something.

Finally, blessedly, came the running portion. Ten kilometers broken into manageable laps around the training ground. Yui remained under her tree, watching him circle past again and again, her expression gradually shifting from boredom to something else.

“Let’s go home!” she called out when he passed her for what must have been the twentieth time. “I’m ‘really’ hungry now!”

“Then go,” Yami panted, not breaking stride. “I’ll come back when I’m done.”

“I’m not going alone!”

“Then wait!”

She made a sound of frustration but stayed put, arms crossed, glaring at his back as he ran past.

The whole process took six hours. Six hours of continuous training with brief rest periods, pushing his enhanced body to its limits. When the final notification appeared, Yami felt a surge of triumph.

[Basic Training Quest – COMPLETE]

Reward: 100 EXP

[LEVEL UP!]
[LEVEL UP!]

Level 7 → Level 9

He’d only gained two levels this time—the experience requirements were increasing with each level, just as he’d suspected. But two levels meant ten more stat points, which he immediately allocated to Vitality.

[Health: 130/130]
[Chakra: 45/45]
[Fatigue: 0%]
[VIT: 35 → 45]

The now-familiar sensation of complete restoration washed over him. Six hours of grueling training, and in an instant, he felt fresh as if he’d just woken from a full night’s sleep. His muscles didn’t ache. His breathing was steady. The fatigue that had been building throughout the day simply… vanished.

It was, he reflected, utterly broken from a game balance perspective. But he wasn’t complaining.

He turned toward Yui, gesturing that it was time to go. “Okay, I’m done. Let’s head back.”

Yui stood up, her face set in an expression that was equal parts angry and something else he couldn’t quite identify. They walked in silence for a few minutes, heading back toward the residential area.

Then, suddenly, Yui spoke.

“Why do you train so hard?” Her voice was sharp, almost accusatory. “Don’t you feel sad? You lost both your parents. You’re all alone now. How can you just… exercise and act like everything’s fine?”

Yami considered the question carefully. The truth—about reincarnation, about soul contracts, about impossible quests—was obviously off the table. But maybe a version of the truth would work.

He smiled, though it held more sadness than joy. “I ‘was’ sad. I am sad. Probably will be for a long time.” He paused, choosing his words. “But I figured out that if I train hard enough, push my body hard enough, the physical pain drowns out the sad feelings. At least for a while.”

Yui’s expression flickered with something—understanding, maybe?

“And more than that,” Yami continued, his voice softening, “I don’t want to feel this kind of sadness again. Ever. I want to become strong enough that if something dangerous happens again, I won’t be just a weak, helpless kid watching people I care about die while I can’t do anything to stop it.” He looked directly at her. “I want to be strong enough to protect the people I love.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning.

Yui stopped walking abruptly, her eyes wide with shock. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out. Then, slowly, her expression began to crumble.

“I…” she started, her voice trembling. “I’ve been so focused on how much I miss Father that I forgot…” Tears began streaming down her face. “Mother is still here. Mother is still alive. And if something happened again, could I protect her?”

She looked down at her hands—small, weak, hands with no training, no strength.

“No,” she whispered. “I couldn’t. I’d be useless. Just like…” The words broke off into a sob.

Before Yami could respond, Yui wiped her eyes roughly with her sleeve, her jaw setting with sudden determination.

“Father died protecting us,” she said, her voice stronger now despite the tears still falling. “He died protecting Mother and me. And I’ve been so busy feeling sorry for myself that I forgot—he’s gone now. So it’s my responsibility. My duty. I have to be the one to protect Mother now.”

She looked at Yami with new eyes, seeing him differently than before.

“Will you…” she hesitated. “Will you train with me?”

Yami felt something shift in his chest. He’d expected today to be a chore, babysitting a grieving child while trying to complete his training. He hadn’t expected to actually connect with Yui, to help her find her own reason to move forward.

“I can’t really teach,” he admitted. “I’m only five, and I just started training myself. But…” He offered her a small smile. “We can train together. Help each other. Would that work?”

Yui nodded vigorously, a tentative smile breaking through the tears on her face. “Yes. Yes, that would work.”

As they continued walking back to their apartments, the silence between them had transformed. It was no longer awkward or hostile, but companionable. Two children who’d lost too much, finding solidarity in shared purpose.

When they reached Hanako’s door, Yui paused before going inside.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For today. For… for helping me understand.”

“You’re welcome,” Yami replied. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Yui confirmed with a nod, and for the first time since he’d met her, she looked almost happy.

Back in his own apartment, Yami reviewed his status one more time before bed.

—
User: Uchiha Yami
Level: 9 (19/55)
Bloodline: Uchiha
Ability: Sharingan Lv1 (3.7%)
Affinity: Fire Lv3, Yin Lv4

Health: 130/130
Chakra: 45/45
Fatigue: 0%

STR: 1
AGI: 1
VIT: 45
INT: 3
PER: 1

Skills: Accelerated Perception

[Quest] x1
—

Forty-five points in Vitality now. Only fifty-five more until he reached the threshold for passive regeneration. The path forward was becoming clearer, more defined with each passing day.

But more than the numbers, more than the progress toward his impossible goal, Yami found himself thinking about Yui’s transformation. How finding purpose had pulled her from the depths of grief. How a reason to become stronger had given her something to focus on beyond her loss.