Player Uchiha - Chapter 6
Chapter 6: Displacement
The week following the funeral passed in a blur of training and quiet routine. Each morning, Yami would wake before dawn, complete his basic preparations, and meet Yui outside their apartments. Together they would make their way to the training grounds—the same small field near the compound’s edge that had become their shared sanctuary.
Their training styles couldn’t have been more different.
Yami’s regimen remained brutally simple: the Basic Training Quest, repeated daily with mechanical precision. Pushups, situps, squats, pullups, running. The same exercises, the same goals, the same 100 EXP reward at the end. Day after day, his stamina deeper, his movements more confident.
The progress was measurable, quantifiable, satisfying in its steady accumulation.
Yui, meanwhile, trained in the traditional way expected of Uchiha clan children. She would find a quiet spot and work on chakra control exercises—leaf balancing on her forehead, tree walking when she felt ambitious, water walking when she felt frustrated with her lack of progress. Between these exercises, she practiced the basic Academy jutsu: Clone Technique, Transformation Technique, and the signature Uchiha ability, the Fireball Jutsu.
Her progress was slower, more erratic. Some days she could produce passable clones. Other days, they came out distorted and useless. The Fireball Jutsu remained beyond her—she could barely produce enough flame to light a candle, let alone create the massive conflagration that defined Uchiha prowess.
But she kept trying, and Yami respected that determination.
They didn’t interact much during training. Yui was focused on her own struggles, and Yami was locked into the repetitive cycle of his quest grinding. But there was a comfortable companionship in their parallel efforts—two children working toward strength for their own reasons, finding solace in shared purpose.
At night, after Yui had gone home and Hanako had sent over dinner, Yami would dedicate time to Sharingan training. He’d carefully activate the bloodline ability, maintaining it for as long as his chakra reserves allowed, pushing right up to the edge before deactivating to avoid the dangerous territory of life-force consumption.
As his chakra pool grew with each level, he could maintain the Sharingan longer. What started as thirty minutes had gradually expanded to forty-five, then an hour, then more. Each session added incremental progress to that percentage counter, slowly but surely advancing his mastery of the legendary eye technique.
The days fell into a rhythm: wake, train with Yui, complete the quest, recover, train Sharingan, sleep, repeat.
By the end of the week, Yami had completed nine full cycles of the Basic Training Quest. Nine hundred experience points earned through sweat and determination. Nine level-ups transforming his small body into something far beyond what any normal five-year-old should possess.
On the seventh evening, as the sun began its descent toward the horizon and Yami completed his final kilometer of running, the familiar notification appeared:
[Basic Training Quest – COMPLETE]
Reward: 100 EXP
[LEVEL UP!]
Level 16 → Level 17
The sensation of restoration washed over him—fatigue vanishing, minor aches dissolving, energy flooding back into his limbs. He’d grown accustomed to this feeling over the past week, but it never quite lost its wonder. The system’s reset function was absurdly powerful, allowing him to train at intensities that should have required days of recovery.
He pulled up his status panel, examining the week’s progress with satisfaction.
—
User: Uchiha Yami
Level: 17 (46/171)
Bloodline: Uchiha
Ability: Sharingan Lv1 (11.7%)
Affinity: Fire Lv3, Yin Lv4
Health: 250/250
Chakra: 85/85
Fatigue: 0%
STR: 1
AGI: 1
VIT: 85
INT: 3
PER: 1
Skills: Accelerated Perception
[Quest] x1
—
Level 17. Eight levels gained in just seven days. His Vitality stat had climbed to 85—just fifteen points away from the threshold that would grant him passive regeneration. His Health had more than tripled from where he’d started, now sitting at a robust 250 points. His Chakra reserves had grown to 85 units, nearly seventeen times what they’d been initially.
The Sharingan progress was slower but steady—11.7% mastery of the first level. At this rate, he’d reach the second tomoe in another month or two of consistent training.
The numbers told a story of rapid advancement, of a foundation being built brick by brick. Yami hadn’t attempted to learn a single jutsu during this week. Hadn’t worked on chakra control beyond the automatic improvements that came with his increasing stats. Hadn’t tried to master any ninja techniques or combat forms.
Just pure, relentless physical training. Building the base upon which everything else would rest.
It went against conventional ninja training wisdom—most Academy students started with chakra control and basic jutsu, building their physical capabilities more slowly over time. But Yami had advantages they didn’t: the system, the quest rewards, the guaranteed progression that made his unorthodox approach viable.
He would master the fundamentals later. Right now, he needed raw capability—the stamina to train harder, the chakra reserves to support techniques, the health pool to survive mistakes. Everything else could wait.
“Yami-kun!” Yui’s voice called from across the training field. She was packing up her practice equipment—training kunai, chakra paper, the small notebook where she recorded her progress. “Are you done? It’s getting late, and Mother will worry.”
“Just finished,” Yami replied, walking over to join her. “How did your training go today?”
Yui made a face, holding up a piece of singed chakra paper. “I managed to light this on fire. Barely. The Fireball Jutsu is still impossible.” She sighed, frustration evident in every line of her small body. “I don’t understand how the other kids make it look so easy.”
“You’re eight,” Yami pointed out reasonably. “Most people don’t master the Fireball Jutsu until they’re ten or eleven. You’re ahead of schedule just by trying.”
“I guess.” Yui didn’t sound convinced, but some of the tension left her shoulders. “At least my clones are getting better. Today I made three that looked almost real.”
They began the walk back toward the residential area, their conversation light and companionable. The training grounds were emptying as the day faded, other Uchiha children and adults finishing their own practice sessions. Lanterns were being lit throughout the compound, casting warm pools of light against the gathering dusk.
It was peaceful. Almost idyllic, if you didn’t know what was coming.
They were perhaps halfway home when Yami noticed the change in atmosphere. People were gathering in small clusters, speaking in low, urgent voices. The usual evening calm had been replaced by tension—sharp and crackling like static electricity before a storm.
“What’s going on?” Yui asked, her pace slowing as she looked around with growing concern.
Yami strained his ears, trying to catch fragments of conversation from the nearest group—three adult Uchiha standing by a courtyard entrance, their body language radiating anger and disbelief.
“—can’t be serious—”
“—after everything we’ve contributed to this village—”
“—Hokage’s orders, they said, backed by the Council—”
“—relocation, as if we’re criminals being quarantined—”
The words hit Yami like physical blows. Relocation. Of course. He’d known this was coming—it was a key part of the timeline, one of the major events that would drive the Uchiha toward rebellion. But knowing something intellectually and experiencing it firsthand were entirely different things.
The Uchiha clan was being ordered to relocate. To abandon the compound they’d occupied since Konoha’s founding, since the days when Madara and Hashirama had first dreamed of a village where clans could coexist in peace.
They were being moved to the outskirts. Isolated. Separated from the village center under the thin pretense of “security concerns” and “optimal positioning for the police force training.”
Everyone knew what it really was: quarantine. Suspicion given physical form.
“Relocation?” Yui’s voice was small, confused. “What does that mean?”
Before Yami could answer, a woman from the nearby group turned toward them, her face tight with anger but softening slightly when she saw the children.
“It means the village is forcing us to move,” she said, trying and failing to keep the bitterness from her tone. “They’re giving us new land on the far eastern edge of Konoha. Away from everything. Away from…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s not right. This compound has been our home for generations.”
Yui’s eyes went wide with shock and dawning horror. “Move? We have to leave? But… but this is our home. This is where…” Her voice cracked. “This is where Father’s memories are. The house where we lived together, the places he showed me, the—”
She couldn’t finish, tears already streaming down her face.
Yami felt a pang of sympathy, but his own emotions were more complicated. He’d expected this. The relocation was a historical fact in his mind, a plot point that had to happen for the larger story to unfold. It didn’t make it right, didn’t make it fair, but it made it… inevitable.
Looking around now, he could see what he’d been too focused on his own concerns to notice before: ANBU operatives positioned on rooftops throughout the compound. At least a dozen that he could spot, probably more hidden in shadows. They wore their distinctive masks and stood with relaxed alertness—not overtly threatening, but their presence spoke volumes.
This wasn’t a request. This was an order backed by the full might of Konoha’s military force.
The message was clear: the Uchiha would relocate, willingly or otherwise.
“Come on,” Yami said quietly, tugging gently on Yui’s sleeve. “Let’s get home. Your mother probably already knows, and she’ll want to see you.”
Yui nodded numbly, allowing herself to be led through the increasingly agitated crowds. More people were emerging from their homes now, gathering in groups to discuss the news, their voices rising in pitch and anger. Yami caught fragments as they passed:
“—saw the Sharingan in the Kyuubi’s eyes, everyone did—”
“—can’t prove it was one of us—”
“—doesn’t matter what we can prove, only what they believe—”
“—this is just the beginning, mark my words—”
“—Fugaku needs to do something, we can’t just accept this—”
That last comment made Yami’s stomach clench. Fugaku wouldn’t do something, not really. He’d negotiate, delay, try to find a peaceful solution. But ultimately, the Uchiha would relocate, and the resentment would fester, and the plans for a coup would begin forming in the minds of the clan’s more militant members.
All paths leading inexorably toward that terrible night eight years from now when Itachi would be forced to make an impossible choice.
They reached the residential building to find Hanako already waiting in the hallway, her face pale but composed. She pulled Yui into an immediate embrace, holding her daughter close.
“You heard,” she said simply. It wasn’t a question.
“Everyone’s talking about it,” Yami confirmed. “Is it… is it definite?”
Hanako nodded slowly. “The official announcement came this afternoon. The Hokage and the Council have ordered the Uchiha clan to relocate to a new compound on the eastern edge of the village. We have three months to prepare and move.” Her voice was carefully neutral, but Yami could hear the controlled anger underneath. “They’re calling it a strategic repositioning. Better facilities for the Police Force, more space for expansion, enhanced security infrastructure.”
“That’s all bullshit,” Yui said, her voice muffled against her mother’s shoulder. Then she jerked back, eyes wide. “Sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” Hanako said firmly. “You’re right. It is… it’s not fair. The Uchiha have been part of this village since the beginning. We’ve bled for Konoha, died for Konoha. And now…” She closed her eyes, gathering herself. “But it doesn’t matter what we think is fair. The decision has been made.”
“Can’t we refuse?” Yui asked desperately. “Can’t Fugaku-sama fight this? Make them see reason?”
Hanako’s expression turned sad. “Fight with what, sweetheart? We saw the funeral last week. We saw how the other clans looked at us. How the civilians whispered and stared. They all saw the Sharingan in the Nine-Tails’ eyes. They all think one of us controlled it, caused the attack.”
“But we didn’t!” Yui protested. “We lost people too! We fought and died defending the village!”
“I know.” Hanako’s voice was gentle but heavy with resignation. “And our clan leaders know. But proving our innocence isn’t the same as changing minds that are already made up. The village has decided we’re a threat, whether we are or not. And they have the power to enforce that decision.”
Yami thought about the ANBU operatives stationed throughout the compound. About the concentration of Kage-level ninja Konoha could field if necessary—the Third Hokage himself, Danzo and his ROOT forces, the various clan heads who would side with the village over the Uchiha if it came to open conflict.
Even if every adult Uchiha was combat-capable, even accounting for their Sharingan advantage, they’d be fighting the entire village. It would be a massacre, not a battle.
Fugaku knew this. The more level-headed clan members knew this. That’s why they would ultimately comply—because the alternative was extinction.
“We should start packing,” Hanako said finally, releasing Yui and straightening her shoulders. “Three months sounds like a long time, but it will pass quickly. And this…” She gestured around the small apartment. “This is just a place, sweetheart. Home is wherever we’re together.”
Yui nodded, though fresh tears were streaming down her face. “Can I… can I go to my room for a bit?”
“Of course.”
As Yui disappeared into the apartment, Hanako turned to Yami with an expression of profound weariness. “I’m sorry you’re caught up in this too, Yami-kun. I know you have your own burdens to carry.”
“It’s okay,” Yami said, and found he meant it. “We’re all in this together, right? That’s what clan means.”
Something flickered in Hanako’s eyes—gratitude, maybe, or recognition of wisdom beyond his apparent years. She squeezed his shoulder gently. “You’re a good boy. Your parents would be proud of who you’re becoming.”
After she went back inside her apartment, Yami stood in the hallway for a moment, processing everything. The compound around him was alive with agitation now—he could hear raised voices from multiple apartments, sense the collective anger and fear radiating from his clan.
They were being displaced. Pushed to the margins. Treated as potential threats rather than valued members of the village they’d helped build.
And the worst part was knowing it would only get worse from here. The relocation would breed resentment. Resentment would breed radicalization. Radicalization would breed plans for a coup. And those plans would ultimately lead to the massacre that would nearly wipe out the entire clan.
Unless something changed. Unless someone strong enough, clever enough, could find a way to alter the trajectory.
But that someone wasn’t Yami. Not yet. Not at level 17, still barely above Academy Student classification. He was growing stronger quickly, but not nearly fast enough to matter in the political machinations playing out around him.
He entered his own apartment, the small space suddenly feeling more temporary than before. In three months, he’d be somewhere else entirely. New walls, new neighbors—well, the same neighbors but in different proximity—new routines.
Change was coming whether he wanted it or not.
Yami began methodically organizing his few possessions—clothes, basic training equipment, the minimal furnishings the clan had provided. There wasn’t much to pack, really. His entire material existence in this world could fit in a few boxes.
As he worked, his mind churned through possibilities and problems. The relocation itself he couldn’t stop—that would require political influence or military might he simply didn’t possess. But maybe he could use the time productively. Three months of preparation before the move. Three months to continue grinding levels, building his foundation, preparing for the challenges ahead.
By the time they relocated, he could potentially reach level 21—Genin equivalent. Maybe even higher if he maintained his current pace. That would open new possibilities, new quests, new avenues for growth.
And more importantly, it would give him the chakra reserves and physical capabilities needed to finally start learning actual jutsu. He couldn’t remain just a physical specimen forever. Eventually, he’d need the techniques, the skills, the versatility that defined a true shinobi.
A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. When he opened it, he found Yui standing there, her eyes red from crying but her expression determined.
“Tomorrow,” she said without preamble. “When we train. Can you help me with the Fireball Jutsu? I need to master it. I need to be strong enough to… to…”
“To protect your mother,” Yami finished gently. “Yeah. I’ll help however I can.”
“Thank you.” Yui’s voice was small but sincere. “And Yami? I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I’m not going through this alone.”
After she left, Yami stood at his window, looking out over the Uchiha compound. From his vantage point, he could see the agitated clusters of clan members, the ANBU shadows on distant rooftops, the lantern-lit pathways that would soon be abandoned for new, unknown territory.
Change was inevitable. Suffering seemed equally so, at least in this world.
But maybe, just maybe, if he grew strong enough, fast enough, he could change how much suffering. Could alter the magnitude of the tragedies he knew were coming.
It wasn’t much of a plan. But it was something.
And right now, something was all he had.
He pulled up his status panel one more time, studying the numbers that represented his growth.
—
User: Uchiha Yami
Level: 17 (65/171)
Bloodline: Uchiha
Ability: Sharingan Lv1 (11.7%)
Affinity: Fire Lv3, Yin Lv4
Health: 250/250
Chakra: 85/85
Fatigue: 0%
Stats:
STR: 1
AGI: 1
VIT: 85
INT: 3
PER: 1
Skills: Accelerated Perception
[Quest] x1
—
Fifteen more points to passive regeneration. Fifty-four more experience to the next level. An entire world of conflict and tragedy stretching out before him.
But also: progress. Measurable, quantifiable progress toward strength that mattered.
The path forward was long and uncertain. But at least it was a path.
And Uchiha Yami intended to walk it, one grinding quest completion at a time.