After their first meeting in the park, Uchiha Izumi's days shifted.
She still trained every afternoon. The boy still appeared—always at some point, always quiet.
He mostly watched. When she stumbled or hit a wall, he offered a line or two—never more—each one slicing to the heart of the problem. Sometimes it was a note on chakra nature transformation; sometimes the moment of power transfer in taijutsu. Every sentence unlocked something.
With the boy's pointers, Izumi's Katon: Hosenka no Jutsu (Phoenix Flower Technique) became something else entirely. She mastered secondary compression, fusing flame into tiny, white-hot "seeds."
Her volleys no longer chased size; they lanced out as fine red lines that bored through steel targets meant for jōnin drills.
Elders noticed. A few assumed Clan Head Fugaku must be teaching her in secret and praised her progress.
Izumi alone knew the truth. The growth came from the nameless boy.
Her feeling toward him moved—from surprise and curiosity to respect, then reliance. He didn't only understand Uchiha fire; he understood the logic of the whole shinobi arts with unsettling clarity. A walking encyclopedia of ninjutsu—problems fell apart under his gaze.
The more she learned, the heavier her question grew. Who was he? Why help her? Was he Uchiha?
She asked. He only smiled it aside. "Just passing through."
Eventually she learned the name anyway: the Namikaze family's eldest—Shinju.
The next day, Izumi put on a fresh kimono and stood alone before the Namikaze estate's grand gate.
She steadied her breath, tamped down her nerves, and gave her name and purpose to the guards.
It went smoothly. Soon a servant guided her into a quiet receiving room—quieter than any great house she'd imagined.
The boy sat by a low table, as if expecting her.
"Please, sit, Izumi-san," Namikaze Shinju said, pouring tea with steady hands.
She sat opposite him, hands on her knees, posture a touch stiff. For someone a few years her junior, he carried a composure that pressed on the room.
"I…" Her throat felt dry. "I came to… thank you."
"You've guided me many times. I've grown stronger. I don't know how to repay that." She bowed deeply.
Shinju accepted the bow. "You have talent. I only pointed you toward the right line."
Izumi straightened, met his dark eyes, hesitated, and let the largest knot in her chest unspool.
"Shinju-kun… besides thanks, I want your advice." Her voice lowered. "Our clan's mood is getting ugly. People are saying dangerous things. They resent the village, think it's suppressing us. They say the clan head is too soft."
"I've read histories of the village and our clan. I can't understand why. Lord First and Lord Madara were best friends. They built Konoha together. How did we end up here—Uchiha standing apart from the village?"
"I'm afraid. I'm really afraid we'll do something we can't take back. I don't want to see comrades, family, and friends from the village fight. But I don't know what to do. No one listens."
She spilled all of it. Not even to Itachi had she said this much. With this boy, the guard dropped.
Shinju listened. He didn't interrupt. No surprise, no impatience—only a calm that let her empty the pain out.
Silence settled when she finished.
Uneasy, Izumi watched him, wondering if she'd overstepped.
After a long moment, Shinju set down his cup. Porcelain ticked against wood.
"Because of foolishness," he said.
"Most of your clansmen are foolish."
Izumi flinched, breath drawing in to argue—then the rest left no room.
"They mistook the First Hokage's forbearance for weakness. They took the Second's vigilance as oppression. They read the Third's balancing as conspiracy."
"They see what they want to see and hear what they want to hear. They heap every fault on the village and never examine the arrogance ingrained in the Uchiha."
"They crave power without knowing how to use it. They worship strength, then let it blind them. They speak of 'glory' while doing the work of splitting the village."
Color drained from Izumi's face. She knew every line was true.
"Izumi," Shinju said, voice turning grave, "what you fear is close. I see a future—a road to ruin paved by Uchiha pride and folly."
"If you keep pressing on this way, the name 'Uchiha' will meet a catastrophic crisis soon. Blood in the streets, glory gone, everything burned to ash."
Catastrophic crisis.
The words crawled cold across her scalp. Tears threatened.
In Shinju's calm eyes, she read something like a prophecy—stated as if it were tomorrow's weather.
Before fear broke her completely, he shifted.
"But futures can change."
Her head snapped up.
He met her gaze, gentler now. "I—and the Namikaze behind me—don't want to be your enemies. We'll even help the Uchiha step out of this trap."
"So long as…" He paused. The air in the room seemed to lean toward his next words.
"So long as you're willing to put down empty prejudice and pride. Truly see yourselves as part of Konoha, not a special body standing outside it."
"Konoha is big enough to hold an Uchiha who understands humility and cooperation. But, to be responsible, it cannot hold an Uchiha that seeks to stand above the Hokage and the village, intent only on seizing power."
He fell quiet and left the choice with her.
Izumi sat, pulling sense from the weave—warning and goodwill both.
For the first time, she saw the cliff edge as it was—and a path away from it.
The boy wasn't only a prodigy with ninjutsu.
He was a bearer of flame—offering a seed of fire and light to the Uchiha.
A guide at a precipice—willing to pull if they would reach.
Curiosity and respect hardened into trust—and hope.
She rose and bowed again, deep and sure.
"Shinju-kun, I understand."
"Thank you for telling me."
The fog was gone from her voice; what remained was something new—resolve.
"I'll do my best. I'll bring your words to those who will still listen."
(End of Chapter)
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