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[Shinobi Year 380. After more than a decade of recovery, governance across the Shinobi world stabilized—the people prospered, and the nations entered an unprecedented golden age.]
[Shinobi Year 500. No large-scale wars occurred in the Shinobi world.]
[Shinobi Year 641. Three hundred years have gone by since the Six Paths Purge. People still read about that campaign in the official histories of each nation. The old battlefields stand as reminders for future generations.]
[Shinobi Year 800. The inevitable finally happened. After five hundred years of peace, the golden age ended. Luckily, this time it was just unrest among the shinobi clans.]
In the Historical Records Hall of Mount Myōboku, Black Zetsu and Fukasaku sat together, typing on their keyboards as they updated the latest records on the computer.
..............
Meanwhile, in the shinobi world, deep inside the Uchiha Clan compound, a courtyard was filled with cherry trees.
It was late spring. Pink and white petals floated down, covering the garden and giving it a dreamlike feel.
In the middle of the courtyard, an old man sat on the tatami, dressed in a simple kimono. His hair and beard were completely white, and his face showed the quiet loneliness of someone who had lived for ages.
This was Manji.
"..." He held an old scroll, but his eyes wandered to the falling cherry blossoms. His fingers traced the edge of the paper as he let out a sigh.
"Another five hundred years gone... Hashirama and Madara's births are getting closer."
For five hundred years, Manji wandered the shinobi world. He traveled through all the Five Great Nations, saw their greatest moments, and watched daily life in ordinary towns. His immortal sage body had endured countless goodbyes, empires, and seasons that passed without touching him.
Only recently did he choose a calm place to rest, settling for a while with the Uchiha Clan.
To avoid trouble, he cast a gentle genjutsu on the clan head and elders. To them, he was just a very old clan member, a respected elder who had lived a long life. No one knew his real origin or how many years he had seen.
A gentle breeze moved through the courtyard. A cherry blossom drifted down and landed in his open hand.
"How dull..."
Manji held the soft petal between his fingers and sighed again.
He had lived for too long. After so many years at the top of the Shinobi world, even victory felt empty.
Invincibility, once a joke, had become his reality.
Lonely.
A thousand years ago, as a Sage, he saw time differently. With endless life, a thousand years felt like a moment, something that would pass while he focused on training, history, and new challenges.
Only after living through that millennium did he realize how long it truly was.
He knew the Shinobi world's history well. From the founding of Konoha by Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara to the end of the Fourth Shinobi World War, less than a hundred years had gone by.
It was the same in ancient Rome. In barely two decades, Caesar crossed the Rubicon, the Republic collapsed, and Augustus rose as the first emperor.
A few decades could change the world, redraw borders, and replace old ways with new ones. But his thousand years had turned into a long stretch of days, one after another.
He had seen the world's vastness but was still touched by the simple green of grass and trees.
When Manji turned one hundred, the future still felt wide open. Time stretched endlessly before him, and he believed there was nothing he could not still do.
After three hundred years, his heart had grown still and distant.
After five hundred years, the warmth in him began to fade. All that remained was his obsession with reaching the level of the Six Paths.
After eight hundred years, his feelings changed. He often reflected on old memories and felt the sudden pain of realizing a thousand years was a long time.
..............
"Grandpa, Grandpa, what are you thinking about?"
A gentle child's voice called from behind, breaking his thoughts.
Two small arms wrapped around his neck. The child smelled of ink and paper, like he had just returned from the clan academy.
Manji snapped out of his thoughts. The loneliness faded from his face, replaced by a gentle smile as he turned his head.
The child hugging him was a handsome young Uchiha with clear eyes. His Sharingan hadn't awakened yet, and his gaze was full of the pure trust only children have.
"Tajima, are you back from the clan academy?" Manji raised his hand and gently ruffled the child's soft hair.
He met this child soon after arriving at the Uchiha compound.
At that time, Uchiha Tajima had just been born, and his parents died soon after. When Manji heard his name, something moved him, and he decided right away to adopt the lonely baby.
He believed their meeting was fate. Besides, this child was Uchiha Tajima, who would one day become the father of Uchiha Madara—
In a thousand years of solitude, it was rare for a small life like this to enter Manji's quiet days.
"Mm! Grandpa, today at the academy we learned the Uchiha Clan's throwing technique. I already mastered Throwing Kunai. I'm better than everyone else in class. I'LL SHOW YOU!"
Uchiha Tajima quickly looked up, pride shining in his eyes.
Before Manji could answer, Tajima grabbed his sleeve with both hands and pulled him toward the open space at the end of the courtyard.
There, Tajima bent down and picked up a few smooth pebbles, using them as pretend kunai. He planted his feet, gripped the stones, dropped his shoulder, raised his arm, and aimed.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
Three crisp sounds cut through the air.
Tajima snapped his wrist three times—sending the pebbles flying with a soft whistle. Each one hit the wall ahead with a neat tap.
Each pebble landed right in the center of the target drawn on the wall.
Not a single one missed.
After showing off, Tajima turned around, put his hands behind his back, and puffed out his chest. He looked up at Manji with bright, expectant eyes, clearly waiting for praise.
The pride on his face was obvious.
Manji watched him, amused by the child's grown-up pose. His smile grew, and he nodded with real approval.
"Not bad... For your age, your throwing technique is impressive. Your strength, accuracy, and control are all very good. You're ahead of other kids your age. With talent like this, Tajima, you'll go far in ninjutsu. One day, you'll surely become one of the best in the Uchiha Clan."
As soon as he heard his grandfather's praise, Tajima beamed. His eyes curved like little moons, and he bounced in place, too happy to stand still.
"Then, Grandpa, Grandpa, am I the most talented child you've ever seen?"
Uchiha Tajima hurried back to Manji's side, looking up with eager curiosity.
Manji saw the child's hopeful look and understood right away.
If they were talking about true talent in the Shinobi world, Tajima couldn't compare to Ōtsutsuki Hagoromo or Ōtsutsuki Hamura, let alone Asura and Indra.
But how could he tell that to a little boy so full of joy?
Children needed encouragement.
Manji paused on purpose, a teasing smile on his face. "No. You are the second most talented child I have ever seen."
"Oh?"
Tajima's smile faded a bit, but curiosity quickly took over. He grabbed Manji's robe and shook it impatiently.
"Second? Then who's first? Grandpa, tell me!"
Seeing the child almost bouncing with excitement, Manji stroked his chin as if thinking hard.
"Well, as for first place, of course the title of greatest genius in the Shinobi world belongs to your grandfather."
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