Kaen and Itachi stood seven feet apart, facing one another in the clearing.
In unison, they formed the Seal of Confrontation, a formal beginning to an informal test.
"Begin!" Fugaku's voice cut the silence.
Itachi moved first, a blur of controlled motion. He pressed forward with a series of precise, cutting strikes.
Kaen's style was rougher, more pragmatic: he evaded the most damaging blows, absorbed the lighter ones to sell a facade of vulnerability, and waited for an opening.
Itachi launched a sharp jab toward Kaen's face. Kaen weaved. A head kick followed instantly; Kaen weaved again.
Seizing the initiative, Kaen feinted a low kick. As Itachi jumped to avoid it, Kaen dropped low, planted his palms on the ground, and used the momentum to twist his body, driving both legs upward in a powerful kick that caught Itachi squarely in the gut.
Itachi maintained his composure, skipping backward to create distance. Kaen rotated cleanly back to his feet and charged.
Closing in, he planted his right leg forward. Itachi braced for a side kick—exactly as Kaen had intended.
Instead, Kaen used the planted foot as a pivot, lifting his right leg only to unleash a devastating high kick with his left.
The block reverberated up Itachi's arm, the sheer force startling him. What disturbed him more was the realization that Kaen was achieving this without activating the two-tomoe Sharingan Fugaku had mentioned on the way.
As Itachi settled back into his graceful stance, Kaen dropped into the Fire Fist posture he demonstrated earlier. Itachi prepared to counter—
but it was another feint. A moment before committing to the punch, Kaen dropped and shot in for a single-leg takedown, yanking Itachi's leg and dragging him to the ground.
Kaen's arsenal was basic, yet his unpredictable rhythm denied Itachi any clean opening to deploy his more advanced techniques. As Itachi fell, he used his palms to break his fall, then mirrored Kaen's earlier move, twisting his body while face-up to deliver a twin-footed kick that threw Kaen backward.
The impact jarred something loose in Kaen. A fierce grin split his features, and in that instant, his Sharingan ignited, painting the world in clearer, slower detail.
Itachi didn't hesitate. He pressed the assault with a distracting jab followed by a low sweep. But now, with the Sharingan's perception, Kaen read the sequence perfectly.
He leaped over the sweep, using a front flip to land directly in Itachi's blind spot. Before Itachi could reorient, Kaen had secured a rear naked choke. Itachi evaded the full lock, but Kaen used the momentum to drive him back to the ground, seamlessly transitioning into a loose but inescapable armbar.
The spar was over.
Fugaku clapped twice, sharp and final.
Kaen immediately released the hold and rose, offering a hand to his cousin.
Itachi, still processing the sudden reversal, stared at the offered hand for a moment before taking it and pulling himself to his feet.
Fugaku studied the boy, the morning sun now fully cresting the trees. "Kaen," he began, his tone a mix of curiosity and reprimand. "How long have you been out here on the training grounds?"
Kaen answered with practiced respect. "I got here around 5:30, Fugaku-san."
"But why?" Fugaku asked, a hint of exasperation creeping in. "I said 'early in the morning', not 'early morning''"
Kaen blinked twice, his expression one of genuine, innocent confusion. "Umm... Fugaku-san... aren't those essentially the same?"
Shaking his head in mild defeat, Fugaku gestured toward the path. "Anyways, go home. Your granny will have my head for keeping you hungry this long."
A mischievous grin spread across Kaen's face before he turned and dashed off, calling over his shoulder with a wave to Itachi. "See ya, cousin!"
After Kaen had departed, Itachi settled silently before his father.
"So," Fugaku began, his voice a low rumble. "What is your assessment?"
"His style is completely unorthodox," Itachi replied, his analytical mind already sorting through the encounter. "I am certain I landed solid strikes in our initial exchange. The impact felt... unnatural. It was like hitting seasoned timber. For a boy my age, his physical resilience is remarkable."
Fugaku's eyes glinted. This dialogue was as much a test for his son as the spar had been for Kaen. "Are you saying you failed to inflict significant damage?"
"Not exactly," Itachi clarified, his gaze steady. "The blows connected, but he possesses a startling capacity to absorb punishment and advance regardless.
He allows you to believe he is a blunt instrument that cannot evade, using that deception to close the distance. What follows is the true challenge. His technical arsenal is sparse—
I believe he only truly has the three strikes he demonstrated. Yet, he adapts and reconfigures them in real-time, making a limited toolkit dangerously unpredictable."
A rare, knowing smile touched Fugaku's lips.
"Uchiha Enji was my cousin, a year my senior. To the village, he was 'Hakaikaen'—the 'Destroyer Blaze.' But his twin and I, we called him 'Hakaibaka'—the 'Destructive Idiot.'"
A fondness colored the memory. "Yet, for all his... eccentricities, he was an Elite Jōnin, peer to myself and Homura.
And like any elite, he mastered multiple combat forms. The style Kaen used today was one of Enji's favorites. He called it Fuho Janken Kenpō—the 'Irregular Rock-Paper-Scissors Fist.'"
Itachi's eyes narrowed in comprehension. "I understand. In the children's game, you commit to a choice to counter your opponent's. But in this style, you change your choice at the last possible moment."
"Precisely," Fugaku affirmed. "If you throw scissors to cut his paper, he shifts to rock to crush your scissors an instant before the clash. Consider yourself fortunate that Kaen only had three 'choices' to switch between. When Enji employed this style, he wouldn't just alter a technique—he would shift his entire fighting philosophy mid-battle."
Kaen burst through the door of Granny's house, his playful shout echoing through the cozy space. "I'm staaaarving!"
Granny chuckled, greeting him with a loving cheek pinch. In these simple moments, the weight on his small shoulders seemed to vanish, and he was once again just a six-year-old boy.
Obito, who had just stumbled from his bed, stared at the energetic scene, muttering, "This kid…" He couldn't fathom why anyone would be so awake—and so loud—on a Sunday morning.
Granny presented them both with a warm breakfast of rice and miso soup. As Obito picked up his chopsticks for his fourth bite, he looked over to see Kaen's bowl was already almost empty.
"Seconds, please!" Kaen chirped.
Granny chuckled and obliged. And once again, before Obito could finish his first serving, Kaen was pushing his empty bowl forward. "Thirds?"
She laughed, a rich, warm sound. "Feeding you is like feeding your grandfather all over again. That man had a bottomless stomach, too."
She served him a third portion, and Obito realized with surprise that she had cooked extra that morning, as if she had known exactly how ravenous her grandson would be.
"Ba-san" Kaen asked around a mouthful of rice, his curiosity piqued. "Why does everyone say I'm like my grandfather?"
"Because you are, my dear. It's not just the face. Your posture, your spirit, your expressions… it's as if he was reborn in you."
"Ba-chan," Obito interjected, leaning forward. "What was our grandfather like? Was he a legendary shinobi, like the Third Hokage?"
A nostalgic smile graced Granny's lips. "Your grandfather and Lord Third were like this." She held her index and middle fingers tightly together. "They were inseparable, just like that, when they were your age."
Both boys' jaws dropped.
"Wait… so our grandpa was the Third's rival?" Obito's mind immediately conjured an image of himself and Kakashi standing in their places.
"No, it wasn't about rivalry," she corrected gently. "They were true brothers. When your grandfather's twin brother passed, Hiruzen-san filled that void.
They fought side-by-side in the First Great Shinobi War, always protecting each other's backs."
She wiped a stray tear from her eye, her gaze soft with memory. "And while Kaen carries his grandfather's image, Obi-kun, you look exactly like your father, Homura."
Obito's eyes widened at the mention.
"Though, your habits?" she added with a knowing chuckle. "Those, you get from your uncle Enji."
"WHAAAT?" Kaen shouted in disbelief, striking a comically dramatic pose. "No way, Granny! Please say it's a lie!"
Obito narrowed his eyes at his cousin.
"Ba-chan, what was Uncle Enji really like?" Obito asked, now deeply curious. Kaen leaned in, equally invested in this lore about his father.
Granny tapped a finger to her chin in thought. "Hmm… he was loud, aggressive, and always looking for a fight…"
Kaen burst into triumphant laughter. "Yeah, that sounds like Oto-san!" He grinned at Obito. "Bruh… Kyodai!" he teased.
Obito's face flushed with indignation.
"But," Granny continued, her voice softening, "he was also deeply kind, fiercely loving, and wonderfully competitive."
Obito's frown instantly transformed into a mischievously proud grin. "Heh. So, ototo," he preened, "what do you have to say now? Is that enough for you to finally call me Ni-san?"
"Shut up, Baka-nii!" Kaen retorted, though a smile tugged at his lips.
"Oh! Granny, you heard that! This baka almost said it!"
Their grandmother's laughter filled the room as she placed two tall, frosted glasses of chocolate milkshake on the table, much to Obito's delight.
"Ahem," Kaen flexed, puffing out his chest. "I-sama was the one who asked for milkshake this morning, you know."
"Yeah, yeah," Obito replied dryly, before chugging half his milkshake in one go.
Kaen grabbed his own mug and drank deeply, then expertly wiped his chocolate mustache away with his tongue.
The following two months saw Kaen training diligently under Fugaku's guidance, mastering the fundamentals required to test into the fifth grade. His days fell into a structured rhythm: mornings were a burst of energy in the training grounds, afternoons were productive with studies, and evenings were spent in quiet relaxation. But his nights… they were a haunting territory no six-year-old should ever have to endure.
On the night of September 3rd, Granny awoke for her routine, silent stroll to Kaen's room—
a ritual she had maintained since his arrival in Konoha.
She leaned against the doorframe, her eyes adjusting to the moonlight that painted his sleeping form. For a moment, his face was peaceful. Then she saw it:
a subtle tremor in his expression. A single tear traced a path down his temple. His body jerked, muscles tensing, and his arm shot upward as a strangled scream tore from his throat.
"KĀ-SAN!!!"
He stared, wide-eyed and unseeing, at the ceiling, his chest heaving.
The extended arm fell back to the bed as if the bones had been removed, and he pressed his palms hard against his eyes, his small frame shaking with silent, suffocating sobs.
He turned onto his side, curling toward the wall as if to hide from the memory.
Granny's heart ached, a familiar dread settling in her. These nightmares had become a cruel routine. She moved to his side, the floorboards silent beneath her feet, and sat on the edge of the bed. She placed a warm, steadying hand on his damp cheek.
Kaen flinched at the touch, turning immediately.
But upon seeing her, his last shred of composure shattered.
He sat up and threw his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder. The silent tears became a torrent—
great, heaving sobs that wracked his entire body as he wept like the child he was, mourning a loss too profound for his years.
He cried for so long that exhaustion finally claimed him, his breathing evening out into the deep rhythm of sleep while still clutched in her embrace.
She carefully laid him back down, then settled herself beside him, pulling the quilt over them both. It was the same on every other night—the nightmare, the comfort, and her silent vigil until dawn.
He woke in the early morning light, still wrapped in his granny's embrace. A need for fresh air tugged at him,
but the thought of disturbing her peaceful sleep kept him anchored.
So he remained perfectly still, his small body a statue, and simply stared at the ceiling until the sun grew brighter. Half an hour later, Granny finally stirred.
Her first waking glance was for his face; her second, for her glasses. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before rising. Freed from his self-imposed stillness, Kaen slipped out after her and headed for a walk.
His feet carried him to the pondside training ground. He stood at the water's edge, his gaze lost in the shimmering surface.
It reminded him of the lake near his old home, where his father, Enji, had first taught him the Great Fireball Jutsu—the pride of the Uchiha.
The memory was a physical pull. His hands moved through the seals with practiced precision.
Snake. Ram. Monkey. Boar. Horse. Tiger.
He took a deep, searing breath, puffing his chest, rounding his lips, and clenching his small fists.
What he exhaled was not a simple ball of flame, but a roaring, ferocious inferno. It was a dense, burning mass that expanded to a staggering fifty-foot radius—
a scale of power rare even among Uchiha adults, whose average was a mere twenty-three feet. This was not a jutsu that merely scorched; it was one that annihilated flesh and bone.
Yet, Kaen felt no pride.
In his heart, the only measure of success was a voice that would never come—his father's booming approval, a simple "Fine!" that was the highest praise. Without it, the feat felt hollow.
He sank to the ground, his energy spent, and simply stared at the pond. Some deep, childish part of him still hoped his father would burst from the water, laughing and shouting "Prank!"—just as he had once done, dunking himself and playing dead just to tease his terrified son.
He walked back home, the lingering chill of the pondside finally fading in the warmth of the kitchen. He ate the breakfast Granny had prepared for him with a quiet focus.
"Wow, Ba-san," he said between mouthfuls, his tone genuinely appreciative. "Breakfast feels richer every day."
Obito, shoveling his own food across the table, shot him a fleeting, incredulous look. Come on, it's the same old rice and fish, he thought. You cheesy brat.
But Granny simply smiled, her eyes soft with understanding. She heard what Kaen couldn't say aloud: Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for being here.
Obito headed out early, a spring in his step. With a field trip today, he had already meticulously planned to spend the entire day accompanying a certain girl from his class.
"Take good care of Rin-chan today, Obi-kun!" Granny called after him, her voice laced with playful knowing.
As the door slid shut, a low mutter came from the table.
"Meh... simp."
"Ba-san, I'm heading out too," Kaen announced, striking a comically exaggerated pose, flexing his arms and puffing out his chest like a miniature bodybuilder. "Today's the final day of bootcamp. Your mago is getting promoted to the sixth grade!"
Granny chuckled, ruffling his hair affectionately before seeing him off.
Kaen went straight to the Uchiha main house. Mikoto greeted him at the door with a warm smile. Itachi was already at the academy, sitting for his own fifth-grade exams. Unlike Kaen, who was being fast-tracked through a private bootcamp, a direct promotion for the clan heir would be seen as pure nepotism, inviting whispers that Itachi's career was built under his father's shadow.
Kaen entered Fugaku's austere study and sat obediently in the center of the room, back straight. Fugaku had his back turned, his brush moving meticulously across a formal document.
After a short, respectful silence, Fugaku turned and placed the paper on the low table before him, gesturing for Kaen to approach.
Kaen did so, his eyes falling on the document. It was his official recommendation file for the sixth-grade class.
"Arigatou gozaimasu," he said, bowing lightly, a grateful smile on his face.
Fugaku gave a single, acknowledging nod.
Kaen picked up the letter to read it properly. One detail made his left eye twitch. His name was written incorrectly.
"I am sorry, Fugaku-san," he said, his politeness unwavering, "but you wrote my surname wrong."
Fugaku raised a brow. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah... you wrote 'Uchiha Kaen.' I am actually... 'Uzumaki Kaen.'"
"What?"
Fugaku's voice was a low rumble of shock, his eyes widening enough to make the lines on his forehead deepen.
A heavy silence filled the room as Fugaku scrutinized the boy's earnest expression.
"Did Enji changed his name?" he finally asked, breaking the quiet.
"No, Fugaku-san. He always said he was Uchiha Enji of Konohagakure," Kaen answered.
"Then how is your surname Uzumaki?" Fugaku asked, his tone now layered with deep intrigue.
"I once asked my father the same thing..."
"Oto-san... how come the boys my age have their father's name, but I have my mother's?"
His father, Enji, smiled, a rare, soft expression. "You'll understand the day you get married."
Fugaku's mouth opened slightly in silent awe. "Wow."
So he loved her that much, he thought, the sentiment hitting him with unexpected force.
He picked up Kaen's official identity file, the one his aunt Enju had filled out upon his arrival. There it was, in clear script: Uzumaki Kaen. The boy was right.
"Very well, then," Fugaku said, his voice returning to its usual authoritative tone, now touched with a new respect. "Uzumaki Kaen... you have my approval."