Player Uchiha - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Small Celebrations

The walk back from the training ground felt longer than usual, Yami’s muscles pleasantly sore from the day’s exertions. The sun had begun its descent, painting the Uchiha compound in shades of orange and gold that reminded him uncomfortably of the Kyuubi’s chakra. He shook off the association and focused on the more immediate concern: dinner.

His small apartment greeted him with familiar emptiness. In his previous life, coming home to an empty apartment had been normal, even comfortable—a sanctuary from demanding coworkers and social obligations. But inhabiting a five-year-old body made the solitude feel different. More pronounced. Sometimes borderline lonely, though he’d never admit it aloud.

Yami went through the motions of preparing a simple meal. Rice in the cooker, miso soup from instant paste, some pickled vegetables from the jar Hanako had given him last week. The mechanical nature of cooking was soothing, gave his hands something to do while his mind processed the day’s discoveries.

Level 20. Passive regeneration. The beginning of chakra control training. All significant milestones, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still so woefully unprepared for what was coming. Eight years until the massacre. Eight years to become strong enough to… what? Stop it? Change it? Survive it?

The questions spiraled uselessly, so he forced his attention back to the rice cooker’s timer.

A soft knock interrupted his dinner preparations.

“Yami-kun?” Hanako’s voice, quiet and conspiratorial. “Are you home?”

He opened the door to find her standing in the hallway, looking around as if checking for eavesdroppers. When she was satisfied they were alone, she leaned in closer.

“I need to tell you something, but you have to promise not to say anything to Yui.”

“Okay,” Yami agreed cautiously.

Hanako’s expression softened into something warm despite the stress lines that had become permanent fixtures around her eyes over the past week. “Tomorrow is Yui’s birthday. With everything that’s been happening—the relocation, all the tension—I think she’s completely forgotten. I want to throw her a small surprise party. Just a few of her friends from the Academy, some cake, maybe a few simple decorations.”

She paused, studying Yami’s face. “You’re invited, of course. You’ve been such a good friend to her these past weeks. I think having you there would mean a lot.”

Something warm bloomed in Yami’s chest at the inclusion. “What time should I come?”

“Around six in the evening. I’ll take her out for a walk beforehand, give everyone time to gather.” Hanako smiled, and for a moment, she looked years younger, less burdened. “Thank you for being there for her, Yami-kun. I know you’re dealing with your own grief, but the friendship you two have built… it’s helped her more than you probably realize.”

After she left, Yami returned to his dinner with a strange mix of emotions. A birthday party. Such a normal, innocent thing. In a world of ninja and demons and death, someone was planning a children’s birthday party.

It felt surreal. But also… nice. A reminder that life continued even in the midst of chaos.

He finished eating and cleaned up mechanically, but his mind was already moving to the next item on his agenda: training. The urge to immediately practice wall-walking with his chakra control was strong—he’d made such rapid progress with the tree-walking exercise, and the temptation to push further was almost overwhelming.

But he forced himself to pause. To think strategically rather than reactively.

He’d built a training routine that worked: Basic Training Quest twice daily, Sharingan practice in the evenings. That routine had carried him to level 20, had granted him passive regeneration, had established the foundation he needed. Abandoning it now for the shiny new skill would be shortsighted.

Besides, there was a way to combine both goals.

Yami activated his Sharingan, feeling the familiar shift as the world sharpened into crystal clarity. The single tomoe spun slowly in his reflection in the darkened window, and he checked his chakra reserves.

[Chakra: 100/100]
[Sharingan Active – Consuming 1 CP per minute]

One hundred units of chakra. Ninety-five minutes of continuous Sharingan use before he’d need to stop or risk damaging himself. Nearly an hour and a half—a vast improvement from the five minutes he’d started with.

And if he practiced chakra control exercises while the Sharingan was active…

He moved to the wall of his small apartment, focusing chakra to his feet the way Yui had taught him. The Sharingan’s enhanced perception let him see the chakra flow with unusual clarity—not literally visible, but sensed with a precision that made fine-tuning almost intuitive.

Mold. Direct. Maintain. Adjust.

His foot stuck to the wall. He took a step upward, then another. Three steps. Five steps. His body parallel to the floor, defying gravity through nothing but chakra adhesion.

[Chakra Control: +16 EXP]

Yami nearly lost his concentration in surprise. Sixteen experience per minute? That was double the rate from tree-walking without the Sharingan!

Of course. The Sharingan enhanced his Perception stat by 200%, which apparently also affected how efficiently he could learn and refine chakra control. The legendary eye technique wasn’t just for combat—it was a training multiplier, letting him develop skills at an accelerated rate.

No wonder Uchiha clan members were known for their vast jutsu libraries despite not necessarily having larger chakra reserves than other clans. They could learn techniques faster, copy them more easily, refine their execution with enhanced precision.

But that same advantage created a trap.

Yami thought about the examples from the anime. Kakashi supposedly knew over a thousand jutsu, but in actual combat, he relied almost exclusively on Chidori and maybe a handful of others. Naruto had a relatively small arsenal—Rasengan, Shadow Clones, and variations thereof. Minato was famous for the Flying Thunder God and Rasengan, not for using hundreds of different techniques. Even Itachi, despite his genius, primarily used Fire Release techniques and genjutsu.

Having a thousand jutsu in your repertoire meant nothing if you couldn’t use them effectively. Better to master a few techniques completely, develop a personal fighting style, become truly exceptional at your chosen specialties.

Quantity versus quality. And in the ninja world, quality won every time.

He continued his wall-walking practice, maintaining the Sharingan, letting the experience accumulate. The mental strain was significant—using the bloodline ability while simultaneously controlling chakra flow to his feet required intense focus. But his enhanced stamina from 100 Vitality made it manageable.

26 minutes passed.

[Chakra Control: +420 EXP]
[SKILL LEVEL UP!]
[Chakra Control: Lv1 → Lv2]

The shift was immediate and profound. Wall-walking went from requiring careful concentration to feeling almost natural. His chakra flow smoothed out, became consistent without conscious effort. Chunin-class chakra control, achieved in under an hour of focused training.

[Chakra Control Lv2]
[Experience Required for Next Level: 1000 EXP]
[Note: Level 3 represents Jonin-class chakra control]

A thousand experience for the next level. At sixteen EXP per minute with Sharingan-enhanced training, that would take just over an hour. Achievable, but his chakra reserves were already depleting.

[Chakra: 74/100]

26 minutes of Sharingan use. He had maybe seventy minutes remaining before he’d need to deactivate.

An idea struck him suddenly. Water-walking—the next step in chakra control exercises, traditionally considered much harder than tree-walking or wall-walking. The bathtub in his small bathroom wasn’t large, but it would be enough to test the principle.

Yami hurried to the bathroom, running water into the tub until it was perhaps six inches deep. Then, maintaining his Sharingan, he focused chakra to his feet and carefully placed one foot on the water’s surface.

The physics felt wrong. Water was liquid, unstable, constantly shifting. Tree bark and walls were solid, provided consistent resistance. This required constant micro-adjustments, instantaneous responses to the changing surface tension.

His foot sank through immediately.

He tried again. And again. On the seventh attempt, his foot held for perhaps two seconds before breaking through.

[Chakra Control: +16 EXP]

The same rate as wall-walking. The Sharingan’s enhancement applied equally regardless of difficulty.

Yami kept practicing, making tiny adjustments to his chakra flow, using the Sharingan’s enhanced perception to identify exactly where his control was failing. The water rippled and splashed as he repeatedly attempted and failed to maintain surface cohesion.

But slowly, incrementally, his performance improved. Two seconds became five. Five became ten. Ten became fifteen.

[Chakra: 10/100]

The warning threshold. Any further and he’d be risking life-force consumption and vision deterioration.

Reluctantly, Yami deactivated the Sharingan and stepped out of the tub. His reflection in the bathroom mirror showed a child with damp feet and tired eyes, but also with a satisfied smile.

Ninety minutes of Sharingan training. Chakra Control raised to level 2. Water-walking practice initiated. His Sharingan mastery had increased to 66.2%—getting close to the 100% needed to unlock the second tomoe.

Solid progress across multiple fronts.

He dried off and returned to his bedroom, checking his status one more time before sleep.

[Level: 20]
[Health: 300/300]
[Chakra: 10/100]
[Sharingan Lv1: 66.2%]
[Chakra Control Lv2]

Tomorrow he’d need to be careful not to display his improved chakra control in front of Yui. The gap between them was already causing her distress, and showing that he’d jumped from struggling with tree-walking to competent water-walking in a single evening would probably shatter her confidence completely.

Better to keep training separately on the chakra control front while maintaining their shared routine for physical conditioning.

Sometimes kindness meant hiding your progress, not flaunting it.

—

The next morning dawned clear and bright—the kind of perfect weather that felt almost mocking given the general atmosphere of tension throughout the compound. Yami met Yui at their usual spot, and they walked to the training ground together in companionable silence.

“You seem tired,” Yui observed as they walked. “Rough night?”

“Stayed up a bit late reading,” Yami lied smoothly. He’d gotten fairly good at constructing plausible excuses. “Lost track of time.”

“Reading what?”

“Just some old scrolls about Uchiha history I found in the clan library.” That part was actually true—he’d spent some time earlier in the week researching the clan’s background, trying to understand the context of their current situation better.

Yui nodded absently, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. “Have you heard anything more about the relocation? Mother keeps saying we’ll know more details soon, but ‘soon’ never seems to come.”

“I think the clan leadership is still negotiating with the Hokage,” Yami offered. “Trying to get better terms or maybe delay the timeline.”

“Fat lot of good that will do,” Yui muttered darkly. Then she seemed to catch herself, glancing at Yami apologetically. “Sorry. I know I’m being negative. It’s just… everything feels so uncertain right now.”

“You’re allowed to be negative,” Yami said quietly. “The situation is negative. Pretending otherwise doesn’t help.”

They reached the training ground—still less populated than it should have been, though more Uchiha were starting to return to their routines as the initial shock of the relocation announcement faded into grim acceptance.

Yami went through his Basic Training Quest with mechanical efficiency, having completed the exercises so many times now that his body moved almost on autopilot. Pushups, situps, squats, pullups, running. The familiar burn of exertion, the steady accumulation of fatigue percentage, the satisfying completion notification.

[Basic Training Quest – COMPLETE]
[Reward: 100 EXP]

He didn’t level up—still needed 115 more experience to reach level 21—but that was fine. Twice-daily completions meant he’d hit it tomorrow.

Yui worked on her own training nearby, though Yami noticed she seemed distracted, her usual focus scattered. She kept glancing at the sky, checking the sun’s position, as if waiting for something.

Had she remembered her birthday? Was she expecting something?

He couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to accidentally ruin Hanako’s surprise by asking leading questions.

The day passed slowly. They broke for lunch, ate in comfortable silence, resumed training. Yami completed his second Basic Training Quest in the afternoon, banking another 100 EXP. The sun tracked across the sky with deliberate patience, and finally began its descent toward the horizon.

“We should head back,” Yui said as the light started to turn golden. “It’s getting late.”

They gathered their equipment and began the walk home, Yui chattering about a technique she’d been trying to master, Yami offering occasional comments while his mind wandered to what awaited them.

As they approached their building, Yami noticed several children he recognized from seeing around the compound loitering near the entrance with poorly concealed excitement. Hanako must have already taken Yui out and brought her back.

No—wait. Hanako was just emerging from the building, linking arms with Yui.

“Oh, you’re back already!” Hanako said with theatrical surprise. “Perfect timing! I was just about to go look for you. Come on, both of you—I need help carrying something upstairs.”

The performance was terrible, overly broad and obvious. But Yui seemed oblivious, following her mother with a puzzled expression.

They climbed the stairs to the second floor. Hanako’s apartment door was slightly ajar, and Yami could see movement inside—people trying to stay quiet and failing.

Hanako pushed the door open.

“SURPRISE!”

At least a dozen children burst from hiding spots around the small apartment, voices raised in cheerful chaos. Streamers hung from the ceiling in bright colors. A small cake sat on the table, candles already lit and flickering.

Yui froze in the doorway, her mouth falling open in shock. “What… what is this?”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Hanako said softly, pulling her daughter into a hug.

For a moment, Yui just stood there, stunned. Then understanding seemed to dawn, and her expression crumbled into something between laughter and tears.

“I forgot,” she whispered. “I completely forgot it was my birthday.”

“I know,” Hanako murmured. “There’s been a lot going on. But you still deserve to celebrate.”

The other children crowded forward with birthday wishes and small wrapped gifts. Yui accepted them with trembling hands, clearly overwhelmed by the gesture. Someone—Yami didn’t catch who—started singing the birthday song, and others joined in with varying degrees of enthusiasm and pitch accuracy.

Yui was guided to the cake, everyone gathering around as she stood before the flickering candles. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and when she closed them to make a wish, one tear escaped and tracked down her cheek.

“Make a wish!” one of the other children called out.

Yui’s lips moved silently—the wish unspoken but heartfelt. Then she leaned forward and blew out the candles in one breath.

Applause and cheers filled the small apartment. But as Hanako began cutting the cake, Yui’s composure finally broke completely. She pressed her hands to her face, shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Father should be here,” she choked out between tears. “He always… he always made such a big deal about my birthday. He’d wake me up with breakfast in bed and terrible jokes and…” She couldn’t continue, crying too hard to speak.

The room fell into awkward silence. The other children shifted uncomfortably, uncertain how to respond to such raw grief. Even Hanako seemed at a loss, though she moved to comfort her daughter.

Yami stepped forward, drawing on memories from both his lives—the adult who’d learned to deflect uncomfortable emotions with humor, and the child who’d loved his father’s silly antics.

“You know,” he said loudly, cutting through the somber atmosphere, “I bet your father is watching right now, probably horrified that no one’s told any terrible jokes in his absence.”

Yui looked up through her tears, confusion mixing with her grief.

“So I’ll have to fill in,” Yami continued, adopting an exaggeratedly serious expression. “Why don’t ninja ever get cold?”

Silence. Then Yui, despite herself: “Why?”

“Because they always have their warming jutsu!” He paused. “Get it? Warming? Like ‘warming up’ before training, but also—”

“That’s awful,” one of the other children groaned.

“Terrible,” another agreed.

“The worst joke I’ve ever heard,” a third chimed in.

But Yui was laughing through her tears, a sound that was half-sob, half-genuine amusement. “Father would have loved how bad that was.”

“I have more,” Yami warned. “What’s a ninja’s favorite type of shoes?”

“Oh no,” Yui said, but she was smiling now.

“Sneakers! Because they have to be sneaky!”

The groans were louder this time, but the atmosphere had shifted. The heavy grief had lightened into something more manageable. Other children began offering their own terrible jokes, each one worse than the last, competing to see who could make Yui groan the loudest.

The party resumed its cheerful chaos. Cake was distributed, games were played, and Yui’s tears gradually dried as she was pulled into the celebration.

Later, as things were winding down and some of the guests were beginning to leave, Yami pulled out the small wrapped package he’d prepared.

“This is for you,” he said, offering it to Yui. “Sorry if it’s not great—I’m not really good at picking presents.”

Yui unwrapped it carefully to reveal a dress he’d purchased from one of the compound’s clothing shops. It was simple but well-made, dark blue with subtle embroidery along the hem in a pattern that reminded him of flowing water.

He’d agonized over the choice, having absolutely no idea what passed for fashionable in the ninja world, especially for eight-year-old girls. In the end, he’d just chosen something that looked nice to his admittedly limited aesthetic sense.

“It’s beautiful,” Yui breathed, holding it up to examine the embroidery more closely. “Yami, this is… thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, feeling oddly self-conscious. “I thought maybe having something new, something that isn’t connected to all the bad stuff happening, might be nice.”

Yui hugged him suddenly, the dress crushed between them. “You’re a really good friend,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I say that enough. But you are.”

Something warm settled in Yami’s chest—different from the satisfaction of leveling up or mastering a skill, but no less valuable. Friendship. Connection. The kind of bonds that made life worth living beyond mere survival.

“You too,” he said, returning the hug. “You’re a really good friend too.”

As the last guests departed and Yami made his way back to his own apartment, he found himself thinking about how strange this world was. Ninja and demons and death lurked around every corner, but there were also birthday parties and terrible jokes and children who cried and laughed and gave each other presents.

The darkness was real. But so was this.

And maybe, just maybe, that was worth fighting for.