Deep beneath the 23rd Ward of Tokyo, where the sun's light never reached and the air carried the perpetual scent of damp stone and old blood, the Uchiha clan had thrived in secrecy for generations.
Their compound was a labyrinth of hand-carved tunnels, reinforced chambers, and hidden vaults stretching across forgotten subway lines and sewer systems abandoned decades ago. Torchlight and bioluminescent fungi provided the only illumination, casting long, flickering shadows across walls etched with ancient symbols: swirling patterns representing kakuhou, the predatory organ that defined every ghoul. To the Uchiha, those symbols were not mere decoration. They were declarations. Proof that they were superior. Predators born to rule a world that feared them.
Obito Uchiha, thirteen years old, knelt alone in the center of the Grand Ritual Chamber.
The circular hall was vast, its domed ceiling lost in darkness. Tiered stone seats rose in concentric rings around the central platform, each carved from the bedrock itself. Tonight, every seat was filled.
Elders in dark, high-collared robes sat at the highest tier, their faces half-hidden in shadow. Below them, the clan's warriors men and women scarred from battles against doves and rival ghouls watched with impassive eyes. Younger members, some barely into their teens but already sporting partially manifested kagune in training, filled the lower rows. Children too young for rituals clung to their parents, wide-eyed and silent.
All of them were waiting.
Waiting for Obito to prove he was worthy of the name he carried.
At the very top, on a throne-like seat carved with the most intricate kakuhou patterns, sat the clan head: Madara Uchiha.
Even seated, Madara commanded the room. Age had not dulled him. His long black hair, streaked with silver, was tied back severely. His face was a map of old battles scars crossing his cheeks, one slashing through his left eyebrow. But it was his eyes that held true power: deep crimson irises ringed with spinning black tomoe, the signature Uchiha trait that enhanced perception to inhuman levels. When active, those eyes could predict movements, read intent, pierce lies. They were the clan's pride. Proof of their bloodline's superiority.
Madara's gaze was fixed on Obito now, unblinking.
The boy felt it like a physical weight.
Obito's hands rested on his thighs, fingers curled tightly to hide their trembling. He wore the traditional black training garb of the clan loose pants, wrapped feet, sleeveless tunic that left his back exposed for the ritual. His black hair was messy, falling into his eyes. He was small for his age, thin from years of restricted rations. Without a manifested kagune, he burned fewer RC cells, but the clan fed strength, not weakness.
He could feel every stare.
His mother, Kagami, sat in the second tier. She had not looked at him since he entered the chamber.
His cousins Izuna chief among them sat in the row directly behind the warriors. Izuna was sixteen, tall and lean, with two fully formed rinkaku tendrils he could summon at will. He had passed his awakening ritual at age nine. A prodigy. The clan's golden child.
Obito swallowed.
The silence stretched.
Finally, Madara spoke.
"Begin."
His voice was low, but it carried effortlessly through the chamber, echoing off stone.
Obito closed his eyes.
He breathed in slowly.
Reached inward.
Every Uchiha child learned the process from the moment they could walk. Feel for the kakuhou sac at the base of the spine. Coax the RC cells to surge. Visualize the release tendrils erupting, blades forming, armor plating. Will it into existence.
He had done this hundreds of times in private.
Thousands, maybe.
Always with the same result.
Nothing.
But this was different. This was the fourth official ritual. The final one. The clan's laws were clear: by age fourteen, every Uchiha must manifest some form of kagune. Failure after four attempts meant only one outcome.
Obito pushed harder than ever before.
He pictured the power flowing through him.
Imagined crimson-black tendrils bursting from his back, fluid and deadly, phasing through stone like mist.
He imagined Madara's nod of approval.
His mother's proud smile.
Izuna's jealousy.
He pushed until his head throbbed.
Until sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his temples.
Until his breath came in short, desperate gasps.
A faint tingle.
Deep in his lower back.
His heart leapt.
It was there.
A spark.
RC cells shifting, coiling, gathering
He focused everything on it.
Pushed.
Willed it to grow.
For one glorious heartbeat, he felt it expand.
Then it collapsed.
Vanished.
Like a flame snuffed by wind.
Obito's shoulders slumped.
His hands clenched into fists on his thighs.
The chamber remained silent.
But the silence had weight now.
Disappointment.
Pity.
Contempt.
A soft chuckle broke it.
Izuna.
"Again," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "He's trying so hard. It's almost cute."
Scattered laughter rippled through the younger rows.
Obito's cheeks burned.
He kept his head bowed.
Madara raised one hand.
Silence fell instantly.
"Enough," the clan head said.
Obito's stomach dropped.
He knew that tone.
Madara rose slowly from his seat.
Every eye followed him as he descended the stone steps, robes whispering against the floor. He moved with deliberate grace, each step measured. When he reached the central platform, he stopped directly in front of Obito.
The boy forced himself to lift his head.
Madara's crimson eyes bore into him.
"You have failed," Madara said simply.
Obito's throat tightened.
"I… I felt something this time, Grandfather. I swear"
Madara's gaze sharpened.
The tomoe in his eyes spun faster.
Obito's words died.
"The Uchiha do not swear," Madara said. "We do not beg. We do not make excuses."
He turned slightly, addressing the entire chamber now.
"This child has failed the awakening ritual four times. He cannot manifest a kagune. He refuses to kill when ordered. He spares prey. He weeps when others train."
Murmurs of agreement.
Obito's mother stood suddenly.
"Father," Kagami said, voice soft but clear. "He is young. Some awaken later. Give him"
Madara's head turned toward her.
She fell silent.
"Later?" Madara repeated. "The Washuu grow bolder every year. They hide behind their human masks, forge quinques from our fallen kin, breed half-breeds in their gardens. The doves multiply. We do not have time for 'later.'"
He looked back at Obito.
"The blood runs thin in you," he said. "You are no predator. You are prey wearing our name."
The words struck like blades.
Obito felt them cut deep.
His voice came out small.
"Please… I can try again. I can be stronger."
Madara's expression did not change.
"The decision is made."
He turned away.
Two warriors Obito's uncles, broad-shouldered and silent stepped forward from the shadows.
They seized his arms.
Obito didn't resist.
There was no point.
As they pulled him to his feet, he caught one last glimpse of his mother.
Tears glistened on her cheeks.
But she did not move.
Did not speak again.
Izuna's smirk was the final thing he saw as they dragged him toward the exit tunnel.
Then darkness swallowed him.
-------
The ascent to the surface took hours.
Different tunnels.
Different exits.
Deliberate disorientation.
His uncles said nothing.
When they finally emerged, it was through a rusted hatch in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the 23rd Ward.
Night air rushed in cold, sharp, carrying the distant hum of the city above.
One uncle shoved him forward.
Obito stumbled, falling to his knees on cracked concrete.
The hatch slammed shut behind him.
A heavy bolt slid into place.
Locked.
He was alone.
He stayed there for a long time.
Knees in dust.
Staring at nothing.
The weight of it all crashed down at once.
Exiled.
Cast out.
No longer Uchiha.
His family gone.
His home sealed forever.
His name stripped away.
He pressed his palms to the floor and screamed.
A raw, broken sound that echoed through the empty warehouse and died against the walls.
No one answered.
Eventually, the scream faded into sobs.
He cried until his throat was raw.
Until his eyes burned.
Until there was nothing left.
Then he stood.
The city waited beyond the broken doors.
He took one step toward it.
Then another.
Into the night.
Into hunger.
Into a world that had no place for a ghoul who could not hunt.