The data on the test report was detailed and professional. If I hadn't studied under Orochimaru, I probably wouldn't be able to make sense of it at all, much less analyze it.
Even then, it was clear that a simple test report couldn't capture the true nature of the Sharingan's evolution.
The Sharingan wasn't just a product of flesh. It was tied to the spirit, to the soul itself. No ink on paper could fully describe that.
To unravel it, Gen had to merge cold research with something more elusive, direct perception.
The Spirit Transformation Technique allowed him to glimpse the soul's contours, to feel its rhythms. And with the subtle dominion granted by the Soul-Soul Fruit, he could trace even the faintest fluctuations within. Only by combining both could he hope to uncover the secret of the Sharingan's growth.
Lying on his bed, Gen ignored the bustle of the Uchiha compound outside.
He had already layered a basic sound barrier around his room to cut the distractions. The noise wasn't much, but when one needed perfect focus, even the smallest irritation grated.
Morning light crept into the village, swelling into the lively hum of noon before he finally stirred.
And then, suddenly, he understood.
Gen's eyes snapped open, a wild grin breaking across his face. He leapt from the bed, laughter echoing against the walls.
"Hah! So that's it...I get it now!"
The special chakra that drove the Sharingan's evolution wasn't random; it originated in the occipital lobe of the brain's striatum.
But it didn't awaken on its own. It needed a catalyst; an intense surge of emotion to rattle the soul and force the spirit's striatum into resonance with the flesh.
That resonance birthed the special chakra.
He had no better word than 'resonance,' though the state felt far more profound than that. The key was the wave—the unique vibration the soul emitted when that chakra was produced.
If he could copy that wave directly within his soul… then he wouldn't need despair, trauma, or tragedy to evolve his eyes.
The thought made his heart race.
Why crawl through hell when you could walk around it?
Others paid for their evolution with heartbreak.
Sasuke only unlocked the Mangekyō after grieving over Itachi.
Obito awakened his eyes not because he killed Rin, but because he lost her and the despair nearly crushed him.
The Sharingan wasn't an eye of mere reflection. It was an eye of pain. Every step forward required agony.
But Gen had a way to cheat the toll.
He steadied his breathing and let his soul drift from his body, four phantoms peeling through the floor before circling back to settle in his flesh.
The risk was too great otherwise... he needed every piece of himself intact.
Once anchored, he directed his will inward, pressing his soul against the striatum of his mind.
He tried again and again to recreate the wave he'd memorized. The first few attempts failed—his control slipped, his focus wavered—but on the seventh try, the rhythm finally aligned.
The wave pulsed.
His head grew hot. Soul energy bled away.
Then... ignition.
A surge of special chakra erupted from the back of his brain, racing along the optic nerves, flooding into his eyes. His two-tomoe Sharingan spun alive, tomoe rotating faster and faster, heat building until it seared.
And then the shift came.
The spinning froze, the tomoe locked and in the stillness, a third tomoe bloomed into existence in each eye.
Gen gasped, his vision sharpened and the world looked clearer, as though a veil had been lifted.
He sprang from the bed and rushed to the mirror. Three tomoe glowed back at him, black against red.
A sharp laugh escaped his throat. "Hahaha… success!"
The joy was too much to contain.
He vaulted across the room, flipped, twisted, landed, then bolted out onto the rooftop. His bare feet gripped the tiles as he launched himself up a wall, kicked off, spun midair, and landed with a flurry of punches and kicks that cracked the air.
Finally, breath ragged, he stopped.
He had done it. His own method. His own path. No grief. No despair. Just will.
If three tomoe were possible, then so too was the Mangekyō.
And if the Mangekyō could be forced, why not the Eternal Mangekyō?
The Rinnegan might be beyond this trick, but with both the Eternal Mangekyō and the Soul-Soul Fruit… even that distant summit didn't feel impossible.
Of course, the price was steep. Two-thirds of the soul energy he had stockpiled; thousands of souls, shinobi and commoners alike, were gone, consumed in the forging of this new eye.
His scalp prickled at the thought of how much more Mangekyō or Eternal Mangekyō might demand.
Still, he wasn't afraid. Souls could be harvested. He had no shortage of enemies, rogue shinobi, corrupt nobles, predators hiding behind wealth and titles.
He would take what he needed.
Resolved, Gen returned inside and sat cross-legged on his bed once more.
He steadied his breathing, carefully combing through the changes. His chakra had grown, flowing thicker and steadier than before—a natural gift of the bloodline's evolution.
He dressed sharply, adjusted his collar, and whistled. The two little soul fragments, Shuryu and Shizukamaru, floated playfully near the door, eager to follow.
With a satisfied smirk, Gen stepped out of his home and made his way toward Konoha's bustling commercial street.
The world was his stage, and today, he would walk it with new eyes.