Chapter Ten: The Sharingan Eye
After returning to his room, Obito was filled with profound exhaustion. Even after being treated using the cursed tools, he still felt weary. But he didn't go straight to bed. He sat down and looked into the mirror. This time, his expression was brimming with intense hope. He tried to do the same thing he had done when he was about to be attacked by the curse in the hotel—he tried to channel cursed energy directly through his head instead of through his entire body.
He had felt it during the attack. When faced with the strike, he was afraid. He felt helpless. So, his brain worked at maximum capacity to help him escape and find some way to avoid that attack, which had easily been capable of destroying the wall.
In that moment, the cursed energy in his head had shifted to the skull region associated with visual processing before moving directly to his eyes. Obito remembered that with extreme clarity after finishing that mission. Even with the fear and intense feeling of weakness he had felt, in that moment, he was able to see cursed energy with great precision without needing to sense it. The cursed energy that was in all the rooms, plus the core of the barrier, and the core of the cursed energy belonging to the Grade Two curse—all those things he saw, he saw with precision. Plus, the information that flowed into his mind. All of that was obtained thanks to the eye technique he had finally recognized.
In front of the mirror, Obito Zenin's expression was enlightened, as if he had finally found the thing that had been missing all along. His eyes were now red, with the addition of three tomoe spinning around the black pupil. His eyes were now exactly as he remembered them from the Naruto anime.
"I really have the Sharingan."
There was no need for much thought. He knew there was a chance he knew what the eyes were from the first moment he'd heard his eyes could turn red. Plus, the name 'Obito' alone was evidence enough. True, he had tried to ignore it and decided it was just a coincidence of names. But now he was looking at the eyes that held the Uchiha glow. He was certain.
"I really have the Sharingan eyes."
He had finally discovered the method he needed to activate the eyes. He needed intense concentration and to transfer cursed energy directly to his head without directing it towards his body. Then, using that focus, when the eyes transformed, his body would automatically reinforce itself with cursed energy. That's why he felt things slow down and could act simultaneously—because the eyes, as soon as they activated, automatically enhanced his body with more concentrated cursed energy.
Currently, as he looked at himself, he could sense the cursed aura emanating from the eyes. But this wasn't the only thing. He felt that the cursed energy the eyes consumed to function was a significant amount, but it didn't deplete his reserves completely. At the same time, he could say he could keep the eyes active for about half an hour, at least 15 minutes, before feeling the real drain on his stamina. Even after the mission, he was now able to use these eyes.
"This is amazing. If these are these eyes, I can survive in this world."
He didn't know the precise differences, but he had managed to realize he couldn't perform ninjutsu techniques used by ninjas in Naruto because he didn't have chakra. Instead, he used cursed energy as the power source for the Sharingan eyes. Something else he discovered after a few simple experiments in these minutes was that the density of his cursed energy when using the Sharingan became slightly higher. Not to an insane degree, but enough to make him more comfortable using cursed energy. Even his precision while using cursed energy was greater.
Finally, the last thing he observed was that there were three tomoe in each of his eyes at this moment. This meant he had reached the maximum level of the ordinary Sharingan.
"…"
These eyes, known for their power and ability to perceive the flow of cursed energy (instead of chakra), granted the user enhanced dynamic vision and, finally, the ability to copy physical movements. He could tell that in that moment, when he concentrated his cursed energy to create a punch to confront that curse, he had used the same style his instructor Kyoshi had used. True, the execution wasn't precise, because the Sharingan hadn't been used to copy that combat style yet, but it had utilized the memory stored in Obito's mind to execute that technique somewhat effectively.
"This is absolutely incredible."
He stopped using the Sharingan eyes and decided to rest a bit. He went to the bed and lay down.
The next day, he was summoned to the manager's office. He went there. The manager was sitting in his chair, looking at Obito before asking,
"I heard your performance improved. Even to the point of using your cursed technique. Can you use it now?"
There was no hesitation in Obito's actions now. Using his eyes at this time was a way to gain some value. Besides, there was nothing he could really hide. If he hid something, the old man before him might do something about it or torture him until he used his cursed technique. So, instead of being stiff, he decided to do as he was asked. He focused cursed energy into his head and activated his eyes.
In the next moment, red eyes appeared in place of the black eyes Obito had possessed. The old man, Yoshinobu Gakuganji, observed the flow of cursed energy from the eyes with a contemplative gaze. But inside, he was shocked. Because this eye technique made Obito's previously erratic and imprecise cursed energy flow become remarkably precise—so precise, in fact, that it was impressive even for someone at the level of a Grade One sorcerer. If Yoshinobu Gakuganji didn't have a great ability to hide his expression, he would have shown it. He now began examining these eyes thoroughly, especially since they seemed to possess many capabilities. So, he asked carefully while mentally taking notes,
"What exactly are the abilities of these eyes?"
Obito didn't hide anything, but he certainly concealed the true name of the eyes. He began explaining a few of the Sharingan's capabilities.
"They allow me to see the flow of cursed energy. In addition, they let me see the cores of curses and different barriers. They also provide enhanced dynamic vision. And finally, they allow me to control cursed energy more effectively."
Obito was certain the old man had sensed his cursed energy. He wanted to hide his ability to control it while using these eyes, but that was futile because, in the end, he didn't have much knowledge about methods to conceal cursed energy. It had been just over a week since he arrived in this world, and even the previous Obito Zenin wasn't talented enough to use what knowledge he had to hide his cursed energy or pretend to be weak while using these eyes. True, he was still very weak—he didn't have a good foundation. But this special eye technique would certainly allow for better training in the future, especially with the ability to copy combat styles—if he was correct that the eyes possessed it. He didn't have enough proof, even after trying to imitate Kyoshi's movement during the fight with the curse, but he decided it was better not to say anything about this matter and hid his ability to copy techniques, which he wasn't 100% confident actually existed.
"Good. So those are the eye's abilities. Are you certain?"
Obito used a thoughtful expression, as if trying to concentrate and remember if there was anything he had forgotten. Of course, this was 100% an act. But he decided to use this method. He couldn't suddenly reveal that his eyes could easily copy the offensive techniques related to hand-to-hand combat or weapons used by others, right? Moreover, the manager before him was aware that Obito had only used his eyes this one time and had learned how to use them while facing death. Plus, he had received reports from Instructor Kyoshi Ryo, who had been assigned to train Obito, which clarified that the young man didn't have the ability to use his cursed technique—at least until now. Because after seeing the eyes, the manager was convinced Obito could finally use his technique whenever he wanted.
"Very good. You may go. But make sure you train better to master your cursed technique. I will inform Kyoshi to ensure your training is conducted properly."
With that, Obito left the manager's room and went to his own room, leaving the manager alone, staring at the door that had closed with a contemplative gaze.
The walk back to his dormitory was a blur of adrenaline and paranoia. The clicking of his own shoes on the linoleum (click-clack, click-clack) seemed unnaturally loud, echoing the frantic beat of his heart. He kept expecting a hand to clamp down on his shoulder, a voice to demand he return for "further assessment." He replayed the manager's expressionless face in his mind, trying to decipher any hidden intent behind those old, calculating eyes. The man had been too calm. A previously useless Zenin suddenly manifesting a powerful, visual-type inherited technique? That should have caused a bigger reaction. The silence, the careful questions—they felt more dangerous than outright shock.
He finally reached the sanctuary of his room. The door closed with a soft but definitive click. He leaned back against it, letting out a long, shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The air in the room was still and cool, smelling of dust and his own lingering exhaustion.
Safe. For now.
He pushed himself off the door and went to the small, foggy mirror above the sink. He stared at his own reflection—ordinary dark eyes, pale face, the faint shadow of a bruise from a stray hit during yesterday's training still visible on his jaw.
"Okay," he whispered to his reflection. "Showtime."
He closed his eyes, shutting out the bleak room. He focused inward, on the pool of turbulent, dark energy that swirled in his core—his cursed energy. This time, it wasn't a desperate, panicked grab. It was a deliberate act. He visualized a narrow channel, a pipeline, leading from that core directly up through his spine, into the base of his skull, and then branching out to feed the optical nerves behind his eyes. It was crude, inelegant, like trying to perform brain surgery with a garden hose, but it was a method.
He felt the energy respond. It was like coaxing a nervous animal. A trickle, then a steady stream of that cold, potent force traveled upwards. There was a pressure, a building warmth behind his eyelids. It wasn't painful, but it was intensely… present. Like a second set of thoughts forming in the back of his head, focused solely on perception.
He opened his eyes.
Snap.
The transformation was instantaneous. The world didn't just change; it crystallized. The ordinary brown of his irises was gone, replaced by a vibrant, blood-red canvas. And spinning lazily within that red, like planets in a crimson sky, were three black comma-shaped tomoe, connected by thin lines to the dark pupil.
The Sharingan.
The first thing he noticed wasn't the color, but the detail. He could see every individual speck of dust floating in the beam of light from his window. He could see the microscopic cracks in the plaster of the far wall, the uneven texture of the paint. He could see the faint, almost imperceptible swirl of air currents in the room. It was overwhelming, a flood of visual data his brain was somehow processing effortlessly.
He looked at his own hand. He could see the faint aura of his own cursed energy clinging to his skin like a thin, smoky glove. He willed a little more energy to his fingertips. The smoke-like aura intensified, and in the Sharingan's vision, he could see the individual currents and eddies within it, the places where the energy was dense and where it was thin. He could see his own lack of control laid bare, but also the potential paths to improve it.
"This… this is insane," he breathed, his voice sounding strange to his own ears, sharper, clearer.
He practiced for what felt like an hour, moving around the small room. With the Sharingan active, his movements felt more assured. When he reached for his cup on the desk, his hand didn't just go to the cup; it traveled along the most efficient, direct path, his brain having subconsciously calculated distance, trajectory, and muscle adjustment in a microsecond. He didn't spill a drop.
He tried the memory thing. He recalled Kyoshi's stance from their last beating—the slight shift of weight to the balls of the feet, the relaxed but ready positioning of the shoulders. He mimicked it. His body fell into the posture with an eerie accuracy. It wasn't perfect—his muscles didn't have the memory or the strength—but the form was there, copied and pasted from his visual memory into his physical execution.
A grin spread across his face, wild and disbelieving. "I can copy movement. I can see cursed energy. This… this is a cheat code. A really, really painful-to-unlock cheat code, but a cheat code nonetheless!"
He deactivated the Sharingan. The world rushed back to its normal, blurry, imprecise state. A wave of fatigue hit him, not crippling, but noticeable—a dull headache blooming behind his eyes and a slight emptiness in his gut, as if he'd just run a sprint. He checked his internal sense of cursed energy. He'd used maybe a tenth of his reserves. Kyoshi's estimate of 15-30 minutes of active use felt about right.
He sat on the edge of his bed, buzzing with a strange cocktail of euphoria and anxiety. He had a power. A real, tangible, legendary power from another fiction. But in this world, it was fueled by cursed energy, a manifestation of human misery. And it was stuck in the body of a complete novice who was on the radar of a suspicious academy manager and a sadistic instructor.
The euphoria faded, leaving the cold, hard reality. The Sharingan was a tool, a weapon. But a weapon in the hands of an amateur was just as likely to blow his own fingers off as it was to hit the target. He needed to train. Not just getting beaten up by Kyoshi, but train the Sharingan. Test its limits. See if he could copy cursed energy manipulation patterns, not just physical moves. See if there was anything… more. The Mangekyo? He shoved that thought away violently. The cost of that was a one-way ticket to blindness and despair. He wasn't Obito Uchiha. He didn't have that kind of tragic backstory (yet). He just had these weird, imported eyeballs.
A knock on his door startled him out of his thoughts. It wasn't the firm, official rap of a staff member. It was lighter, hesitant.
Tap-tap-tap.
He got up, his body still humming with residual energy from his experiments. He opened the door.
Kasumi Miou stood there. Her blue hair was tied back neatly, and the burns on her arm and side were visibly bandaged beneath her uniform. She looked… tired. But her eyes were as sharp and analytical as ever. They immediately scanned him, and he saw a flicker of something—recognition?—when they met his. His Sharingan wasn't active, but he felt strangely seen.
"Zenin," she said, her voice its usual flat tone. "The manager informed me of your progress. And I witnessed it myself at the hotel." She paused, as if choosing her words carefully, a rare display of hesitation from her. "Your technique… it provides a significant tactical advantage. Predictive sight and enhanced cursed energy perception."
Obito just nodded, unsure where this was going. Was she here to congratulate him? To warn him? To ask for tips on interior decorating for cursed hotel rooms?
"In our next mission," she continued, her gaze steady, "I will adjust our strategy to incorporate your visual capabilities. You will act as the primary spotter and movement predictor. I will handle containment and execution. This should improve our efficiency and reduce risk."
It was a statement, not a suggestion. She was reforming the team dynamic based on his new, actual usefulness.
"Uh… okay. Sounds good, senpai," Obito managed.
She gave a single, curt nod. "Good. Your training with Instructor Kyoshi will likely intensify. Do not fall behind." She turned to leave, then stopped, glancing back over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable. "Your punch at the hotel. The form was similar to Instructor Kyoshi's basic striking stance. Was that coincidence?"
Obito's blood ran cold. She'd noticed. Of course she'd noticed. She was a professional, and her own life had depended on that punch.
He forced a casual shrug, hoping it looked more natural than it felt. "I guess? I was just trying not to die. Maybe I remembered it from getting hit by it so many times."
It was a weak excuse, but plausible. Pain was a good teacher.
Miou held his gaze for a second longer, then nodded again, accepting the answer—or filing it away for later consideration. "Hn. Rest. We have another mission briefing in two days."
She walked away, her footsteps silent on the worn hallway carpet.
Obito closed the door and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor, his back against the wood. The encounter had drained the last of his excited energy.
He was in the game now. No longer just the deadweight, the trash to be disposed of. He was a piece on the board with a unique ability. And in the brutal game of jujutsu, unique pieces were either prized assets… or primary targets.
He looked down at his hands. With a thought, he activated the Sharingan again, just for a second. The world snapped into hyper-focus, the grain of the wooden floorboards leaping into clarity, the shadows in the corner revealing their secrets.
He deactivated it. The room returned to its comforting, ordinary dimness.
He had the eyes. Now he just had to learn how to survive everything that would come looking for them.
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End of Chapter.
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