After returning to the Whirlpool Capital, Uchiha Gen arranged for Yuichi and Mori to stay at the Uchiha clan's local business base.
There, they were given hot meals and a safe place to sleep which is a luxury after their ordeal.
The next morning, the two departed with a caravan heading toward Konoha.
Their recovery came quickly. Though the food during captivity had been plain, they were never starved, and their bodies had held up well enough.
Gen, meanwhile, returned to the Fujita family villa, the four-person residence that had become his temporary base, and slipped back into his rhythm of cultivating souls and harvesting lifespans.
Time passed quietly.
In the blink of an eye, nearly four months were gone.
September 30th of Konoha Year 51 arrived, only ten days before the Nine-Tails' attack, the disaster Obito would bring upon the village.
That night, Gen struck.
Fujita Saiyo, his thugs, and the last batch of prey fell into his hands. With his soul power at its peak, Gen booked a top-tier suite in the Whirlpool City's World Hotel.
After layering it with barriers, he sat cross-legged to attempt the evolution of his Sharingan.
The resonance began.
His soul's striatum and his brain's striatum pulsed in tandem, reality and illusion vibrating together.
The massive reservoir of soul energy burned away rapidly, transforming into a stream of special chakra that poured into his eyes.
The tomoe spun.
The three magatama strained under the flow, edges thinning and tugging toward one another.
The change had begun — but progress was agonizingly slow, far slower than the conventional leap into the Mangekyō.
The normal evolution of a Mangekyō was brutal but simple; either it succeeded in an instant, or it failed entirely.
This in-between path Gen had chosen was neither.
Half a minute passed. Most of his accumulated soul power was gone. Yet his vision remained locked in three tomoe, though now each hook-shaped mark was slimmer, almost brushing against its neighbors.
Gen stopped, breathing hard. Rising, he moved into the bathroom.
The mirror reflected back his eyes; still the crimson of the Sharingan, still bearing three tomoe. But those tomoe had grown fine and elongated, nearly linked into a continuous curve.
He judged the state calmly. What remained of his soul reserves might complete the linking of the tomoe, but it would not be enough to take the final step into an entirely new Mangekyō pattern.
At least, for now, it still looked close enough to a normal Sharingan. Only the faintly elongated tomoe set it apart — not something most would notice unless they stared carefully.
Strange, though. By his calculations, the power he had consumed should have been more than enough. He had even overestimated the cost. Yet here he was, stalled short of the finish line.
So what was the cause?
Was it simply that his unconventional method demanded more chakra than the orthodox path? Or was it that his eye's latent technique, his destined Mangekyō power, was monstrously strong, demanding a far higher price to awaken?
Gen hoped for the latter. If the reward was an ability on par with Kamui, a bug-like skill that bent the rules of the world, then the years of effort would be worth it.
After all survival was the ultimate trump card. Only the living could seize victory.
Satisfied with the progress, he dismissed the Sharingan and returned to bed.
His eyes weren't Mangekyō yet, but they had stepped beyond the level of ordinary three-tomoe.
Not perfection, but better than nothing.
The next morning, he checked out of the hotel, ate breakfast, and left the Land of Whirlpools. With only ten days until the Nine-Tails' rampage, there was no point lingering.
Half a day's flight on Shuryu later, Konoha's familiar forests came into view. He dismissed the summon into cover and returned home quietly.
Back in his own house, he resumed his usual routine; dropping a message for Orochimaru, canceling his leave, tidying the house, then sprawling comfortably across his futon.
A golden nest or a silver one, neither matched the comfort of home. The Fujita family's courtyards were spacious, the World Hotel's suites were luxurious, but nothing was as secure as his own four walls.
That evening, he cooked in the kitchen. Just as the smell of broth filled the air, the doorbell rang.
Opening the door, Gen found Yuichi and Mori again, this time with their families. Their arms were full of gifts, food, sake, and tokens of thanks.
Though he felt undeserving, Gen kept his expression neutral and welcomed them in warmly.
He knew the truth; capturing their clansmen had been a crime no matter the justification. Sparing the two was not mercy enough to absolve it.
But still… he was not so far gone as to twist right and wrong.
If anything, he had simply learned to live with double standards; harsher on others, more forgiving to himself.
The gathering was lively, cheerful, filled with the sounds of relief and gratitude.
When they finally left, Gen stood on the second-floor balcony, watching as the families walked away together, their laughter drifting back to him.
A smile touched his lips.
Sometimes, he thought, it was better not to push things to extremes. His careful maneuvering had not only preserved his cover but had kept two families whole.
Worth it.
Humming softly, he returned to his half-finished dinner.
After weeks of heavy meat and fish in the Whirlpool Capital, tonight called for something lighter.
Later, book in hand, he settled into his sofa while Shuryu and Shizukamaru played noisily nearby.
Alone he might be, but never lonely.
In his last life, he had long grown accustomed to solitude.
The doorbell rang again. The summons froze instantly, Shuryu retracting his claws, Shizukamaru sheathing his blade.
At the door stood Shisui and Itachi.
Gen greeted them with a smile, ushering them inside, handing each a chilled bottle of juice. The table was already crowded with snacks, fruit, and dried goods.
Shisui chuckled at the sight. "Gen, you really know how to live. Meanwhile, I'm drowning in missions…" His tone, though, was light, almost teasing, without a trace of complaint.
Gen grinned. "Want to switch lives?"
As expected, Shisui immediately waved his hands. "No, no. Idleness isn't for me. I prefer being useful."
A model soldier, Gen thought dryly. Konoha's higher-ups would love him.
Turning to Itachi, he gestured at the table. "Help yourself. Don't be shy."
"Thank you, Brother Gen."
Itachi's politeness carried warmth. There was no hint of jealousy, no fear of being overshadowed by the younger brother who had just been born into his family.
"Mikoto's child was born recently, wasn't he?" Gen asked casually.
"July 23rd," Itachi replied. "Father named him Sasuke."
A thoughtful choice, Gen mused.
Uchiha Fugaku had long admired the legendary Sarutobi Sasuke. Even now, with ties already built to Namikaze Minato, he chose that name for his second son.
In this timeline, Fugaku's gesture wasn't political appeasement. It was pure respect.
Sarutobi Sasuke, a master of all five chakra natures, a peerless warrior of the Warring States.
A fitting namesake for the boy who would one day carry the Uchiha's future.