Chapter 30: Uchiha (Part 1)
In his heart, Hajime silently raised his evaluation of White Zetsu once more.
He had always seen White Zetsu as nothing more than a disposable tool—just a cheap pawn of Black Zetsu, the real mastermind behind the scenes of the shinobi world. But who would've thought such a "cheap pawn" could prove incredibly useful in such unexpected ways?
Not only could White Zetsu offer three practical jutsu and serve as an experience bank, but it also turned out to have resistance against genjutsu...
Regardless of which of his two hypotheses was correct, the "White Zetsu transformation" undeniably helped him break free from genjutsu.
Having rescued one of his clansmen and made an unexpected discovery, Hajime 's mood eased slightly. He decided to stop worrying about the fused summoning beasts for now—what he couldn't see, couldn't hurt him.
Just then, a birdcall with a distinct rhythmic pattern echoed in Hajime 's ears. Interpreting the hidden message, he immediately rushed in the direction it came from.
Entering a dense forest, he quickly found Chihori, hidden in the treetops.
"Clan Head," she said weakly.
Chihori looked like a gust of wind could knock her over.
"How are you holding up? Can you manage?" Hajime reached out to steady her, afraid she might fall from the tree.
"No major injuries… just extremely weakened from prolonged chakra depletion…" Her tone was casual, but the truth behind her words was grim. For ordinary shinobi, "draining the well to catch fish"—that is, overusing chakra—was often fatal.
While chakra was indeed the source of a ninja's power, it could just as easily be described as a kind of slow-acting poison. Chihori clearly needed significant rest and recovery.
No time for being picky now—Hajime pulled out a soldier pill and handed it to her.
After swallowing one, some color returned to her face—although it was the unhealthy flush of an overheated engine rather than a sign of proper recovery. Still, it gave her enough strength to stay conscious.
Soldier pills weren't meant for people in poor health. Their potency could easily backfire on a weakened body—but at a time like this, any energy source was better than none. Not like Hajime had some miracle tonic on hand.
"After our village was breached, we split up and tried to escape," Chihori began after regaining a bit of strength. "Some resisted and were killed. The rest of us were captured by Tsugawa ninja and eventually sold into slavery. Seven of us made it here... I'm the only one left."
Hajime 's heart sank. The summon beasts he had fought and killed earlier—hawk and lion types—very likely contained parts of his kin. He hadn't known the truth at the time, and even if he had, he would have had no choice but to fight.
For the fate of those captured clansmen, he had no words—only silence.
"What about the others?" Chihori asked again, her voice trembling.
"With you and me included, we have eighteen survivors," Hajime replied honestly.
"Eighteen…"
The truth was too cruel—Chihori's sorrow was written all over her face.
Suddenly, she remembered something: "Beiji…"
"It fulfilled its mission well," Hajime replied.
That line said it all while saying nothing. If the people couldn't survive, neither could the dog. Such was the reality for small ninja clans struggling to survive in the current shinobi world.
The forest fell into a heavy silence. After hearing the fate of her clan, Chihori needed time to process her emotions.
It could take a hundred years for a small ninja clan to grow into a full-fledged shinobi village. But just one night was enough to send them back a hundred years—to square one. A hard truth for any native of this world to accept.
After about an hour, Hajime saw that Chihori had recovered a bit of strength.
"Let's go. No matter what, we need to return to camp… Everyone will be so happy to see you."
Hajime helped her, and the two quietly returned to camp without incident.
Their arrival sparked emotional reunions among the clansmen, which we'll gloss over here. During the conversation, someone explained to Chihori their decision to hide their "Yugamiha" surname.
Chihori understood the reasoning but requested that their clan name be preserved.
Hajime agreed. As long as it was buried among a sea of other surnames, it wouldn't compromise their goals.
They had originally planned to leave the camp soon, but with Chihori in need of recovery, they had no choice but to remain in place a little longer.
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Elsewhere…
Three days after the town was razed, two ninja arrived on the scene.
One looked to be in his thirties; the other, a boy of eleven or twelve. Neither wore a forehead protector—but even so, their identity was unmistakable. Their long black cloaks bore the symbol of what looked like a ping-pong paddle on the back…
The Fan of Fire—a symbol of the renowned Uchiha Clan.
"The intel was good. Shame we were a step too late," the older Uchiha said.
The younger one said nothing, kicking a rusted iron grate idly.
They had found the prison—now filled with the stench of blood and rot. Charred corpses of both people and beasts lay scattered across the floor, indistinguishable in death.
Clearly, after Hajime left, the prisoners he released had not only taken out the Tushi, but also turned on each other in a final, bloody showdown.
The older Uchiha was still carefully searching for clues. The younger one grew impatient.
"Captain, isn't it time to leave? We've already wasted too much time on something so pointless."
"Pointless?" The captain didn't even look back. "This is about strengthening the bond between our two clans."
"But the person we're looking for… he's just a loser."
"Exactly. And because he's a loser, our thorough search proves our sincerity."
The younger ninja wanted to argue, but couldn't think of a solid rebuttal.
The logic sounded plausible… but something about it just felt off.
Lesson of the day: never adopt a simp mentality.
Despite their efforts, the two didn't find anything useful. Luckily, another Uchiha arrived 30 minutes later, dragging a barely alive man.
"Captain, I found this guy lurking nearby. Don't know if he'll be useful."
He dropped the man at the captain's feet—one of the prisoners Hajime had released. For some reason, the man had stayed near the area instead of fleeing, and now he was in even deeper trouble.
The captain grabbed the man, who was already dazed and twitching from prior trauma.
A flash of red lit up his eyes—three tomoe spinning in the crimson Sharingan. With just a glance, the captain cast a flawless genjutsu, effortlessly invading the man's memories.
Bit by bit, he extracted the events of that fateful day—everything Hajime had done.
Once the memory dive ended, the captain let the man drop like trash, a strange look forming on his face.
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