Chapter 33 – Mikoto: Seiji's Muscles Are Better Than Fugaku's
"The mental shift... it's the left eye."
Seiji could feel a powerful ocular force budding within—just a bit more and it would break through.
He was shirtless, refining chakra in his body and channeling it along the meridian pathways of the Lightning Release: Iron Body technique.
Invisible electric currents surged through his muscles.
"Huff…"
He exhaled slowly.
Though this jutsu was a D-rank, it was already having little effect on his strengthened body. Before long, it would be completely ineffective.
He needed more advanced and powerful techniques.
---
"Seiji."
A familiar voice called out from outside the door.
"I'm coming," Seiji replied, walking across the worn-out courtyard to open the door.
"Mikoto-nee, what brings you here?" he asked.
Her long black hair cascaded down her back—visibly contrasting against his defined musculature.
"This is your monthly allowance," Mikoto said, carrying a cloth bag on her shoulder. She pulled out a stack of banknotes marked with the symbol of Konoha.
"Seiji, you..."
Just as she reached to hand him the money, Mikoto paused, taken aback by the sight of his bare torso.
It was the first time she had seen such a sculpted and aesthetically pleasing physique—she couldn't help but take a second glance.
She had seen Fugaku shirtless before, after he'd sustained injuries on the battlefield.
But even then, his body hadn't been as proportionately built or visually striking as Seiji's.
Was this the innate talent of the Yotsuki bloodline?
Muscle shape and structure were largely determined by genetics. Some people, no matter how hard they trained, could never develop symmetrical abs—some had eight, others only six.
Now she understood why Nonō had once said that Seiji was suited to be a taijutsu specialist.
"Sorry, Mikoto-nee… I was just in the middle of training and forgot to put a shirt on."
Though Mikoto was still taller than Seiji, he looked up at her and apologized sincerely.
"Ah, it's fine. You're still just a kid."
Mikoto quickly shook her head. Why was she overthinking something like this with a child?
She handed him the money and reminded him to be frugal and not spend it recklessly.
"Got it, Mikoto-nee."
Seiji nodded respectfully.
This money was his living allowance, covering all his daily needs—partly funded by Konoha, partly by the Uchiha clan.
It was enough for an average person to get by, but a bit tight for a growing shinobi.
"I've scheduled a visit with Fugaku too. I'll drop by again next time," Mikoto said, waving as she left.
Seiji bowed politely and didn't shut the door until her figure disappeared from view.
---
"Same as always… I still need to find a way to earn more money."
Seiji counted the bills carefully and stored them securely.
Yūhi Kurenai could be exploited for some supplies, but that wasn't a sustainable plan.
Even buying a standard katana was pushing the budget.
After sparring with Kakashi, his blade had chipped and needed maintenance. On a real battlefield, there'd be no time to send weapons off for repairs.
"What I need is a chakra blade made of special metal."
Such a weapon could absorb and conduct his chakra nature with minimal resistance. It would greatly enhance his efficiency in battle.
With that in mind, Seiji retrieved the Lightning Release: Spark Finger scroll.
It was time to deepen his mastery of Lightning Release techniques.
---
"Mikoto, you're here."
Fugaku was drenched in sweat, having just finished training. He pulled off his green flak jacket.
For a shinobi, continual self-discipline was vital—stagnation meant regression.
"Did you already give Seiji his allowance?" Fugaku asked casually.
"Yes, I did," Mikoto nodded. Then, her gaze suddenly caught a small tear in the mesh armor clinging to Fugaku's torso.
Like most shinobi, Fugaku wore a chainmail undershirt resembling a fishnet—called a kusari katabira, or chain shirt.
"There's a hole in your armor," Mikoto pointed out.
Fugaku followed her gaze. Sure enough, there was a two-centimeter hole, revealing a patch of skin beneath.
"Probably got scorched while I was practicing a Fire Release jutsu," he said matter-of-factly, pulling off the top layer and revealing his muscular upper body.
"Something wrong, Mikoto?" he asked, noticing her gaze lingering a little longer than usual.
"No, it's nothing," Mikoto said, quickly shaking her head.
But inwardly, she couldn't help but compare. Fugaku's physique—while solid—lacked the aesthetic symmetry and definition Seiji had shown earlier.
"How does a kid end up with a body like that?" she thought to herself.
Fugaku was taller and more broad-shouldered, but his proportions just weren't as visually refined.
"Is that so?"
Fugaku chuckled, retrieving a fresh chain shirt from inside the house and pulling it on.
He was still confident in his physical conditioning—after all, he had spent years surviving and fighting on the battlefield.
"The clan meeting's about to start. Let's go," he said.
"Alright," Mikoto replied with a nod.
The Uchiha clan held regular meetings—a mandatory obligation for all shinobi members of the clan.
The upper floors of the Naka Shrine were open to all Uchiha, even non-shinobi. But the true clan meetings took place in a secret chamber below, restricted to only trusted Uchiha shinobi for confidentiality.
---
The Hatake Residence
The golden light of dusk cast long shadows as Kakashi returned home from his training, walking briskly as usual.
But as he opened the door, a heavy, suffocating pressure filled the air—along with a metallic stench of blood and decay.
He frowned, took off his shoes, and called out, "Father, I'm home."
Silence.
A knot formed in his stomach as he moved toward his father's room.
Ever since that mission—ever since his companions blamed his father for saving lives instead of completing the objective—Sakumo Hatake hadn't stepped outside once.
As Kakashi passed through the living room, he noticed several yellowed pieces of paper on the low tea table—letters, their ink still damp in places, crowded with handwritten words.
He glanced at them and saw phrases like "regret," "failure," and "disgrace"—a desperate despair clinging to every word.
"Father?"
Kakashi's anxiety spiked. Almost running now, he pushed open the door to his father's room.
The scene inside struck like lightning.
Sakumo lay motionless on the tatami mat, a short blade embedded in his chest. Blood had soaked through his clothes and into the woven flooring, staining it with deep, rust-colored marks.
The iron scent in the air was suffocating.
Kakashi froze, eyes wide, his brain unable to process what he was seeing.
"Why..." he finally croaked, stumbling forward and collapsing beside the body.
His trembling hand reached out and brushed against Sakumo's cold, stiff fingers.
Grief, fury at the shinobi code, and crushing guilt all surged through him in an unstoppable wave.
---
[Note: This chapter's ending made me cry. Don't know about you.]