The field just beyond the training grounds was quiet that morning. Mist clung low to the earth, shrouding the edges of the grass in ghostly silver.

  Ken stood at the center of it, shirt damp with sweat, breathing controlled. His hands moved slowly through a series of precise seals—not fshy or rushed, but clean. Intentional.

  He closed his eyes and pressed his chakra outward.

  Suiton: Suimen Hōfutsu.

  The small water basin beside him rippled. A thin yer of water spread out like a film across the dirt, undetected by sight, controlled by touch. Ken adjusted the flow until it bent in a thin curve, forming a trap zone around his blind side.

  He moved, fast.

  A flicker—his chakra surged downward.

  Flicker. Step. Stop.

  His foot nded just short of the water. He shifted his stance as if an enemy was approaching. The moment his heel touched the edge of the surface film, he pushed.

  The water snapped upward like a whip, a precise arc slicing air with just enough force to trip or blind an opponent.

  Useful, he thought, watching the arc settle.

  Next, he focused on the scroll’s wind technique.

  Fūton: Saji Otoshi.

  A short-range, low-power palm strike that condensed wind chakra in a burst to disrupt bance. No boom. No wave. Just impact.

  He drew breath, filled his palm with chakra, and struck forward.

  The leaves on the training post twitched violently, torn slightly from the sudden gust. The pole cracked. Not a clean break—but enough to send someone sprawling if it nded right.

  He exhaled and stepped back, wiping his brow. The techniques were coming together. Slowly. Quietly.

  But it wasn’t quiet enough.

  By midday, two masked Uchiha arrived.

  They didn’t knock. They simply appeared at the edge of the field.

  “Ken,” one said. “The Elders have summoned you.”

  Ken didn’t ask why.

  He already knew.

  The inner compound felt colder than usual.

  Ken followed the guards through narrow corridors of dark wood and stone. Carved fans marked the walls—sharp, pristine, unyielding. Every step echoed too loudly.

  They brought him into a chamber lit by a single square of skylight. Three Elders sat in a triangle formation, eyes fixed on him like hawks.

  Around the room, half a dozen young Uchiha—students, trainees, heirs—stood in silence. Cn children from powerful lines. One had already awakened his Sharingan. Another wore the red sash of a jutsu prodigy.

  They were here to observe.

  To compare.

  To measure.

  Elder Nakano, the one in the center, cleared his throat.

  “Ken, son of Daiki,” he said. “You have drawn attention.”

  Ken bowed slightly. “Understood.”

  “You train outside the cn curriculum. You pursue unorthodox jutsu. You do not attend Uchiha gatherings. And you have not awakened your Sharingan.” The st sentence hung heavy.

  Ken didn’t speak. He waited.

  “We will now assess your chakra alignment and compatibility with cn techniques.”

  He stepped forward as instructed.

  A tall Uchiha woman came forward with a scroll and a small bck sphere—an ancient chakra resonance tool. She handed it to Ken.

  “Focus chakra into the orb,” she said.

  Ken pressed his hands to the surface and fed his chakra slowly, evenly.

  The orb shimmered faintly. Then flickered. Water. Wind. Flicker. Then… nothing.

  The woman frowned.

  “No fire,” she said, softly. “Not even tent.”

  The room murmured.

  Elder Nakano’s jaw tightened. “You possess no fire-natured chakra?”

  Ken’s voice was calm. “I’ve never felt it.”

  One of the younger Uchiha ughed under his breath. “A cn child with no fire. No Sharingan. Why is he even here?”

  Nakano raised a hand for silence, but his eyes didn’t leave Ken’s.

  “You dishonor the foundation of this cn,” he said. “Our fire is not just jutsu. It is identity. You’ve rejected it.”

  Ken finally spoke—measured, clear. “I haven’t rejected anything. I’m building what I can with what I have.”

  Another Elder leaned forward. “We’ve seen your records. Wind and water jutsu. Flicker footwork. Sensing attempts. Swordpy. You train like an outsider.”

  Ken looked around the room—at the children staring at him like he was a failed experiment. Like he was broken.

  “I train like someone who doesn’t have the luxury of tradition,” he said.

  A few eyes widened. The boldness of it.

  The air turned tense.

  Elder Nakano’s voice was cold. “You are not special. You are an anomaly. A cracked branch.”

  “Then maybe the tree needs pruning,” came a sudden voice from the far hallway.

  Footsteps—fast, firm.

  Shisui entered the chamber, still wearing his ANBU vest, his hair damp with sweat, his bde slung over his back. His eyes—bck, not Sharingan—swept the room before locking on Ken.

  “Am I te?” he asked, walking straight up to the Elders without a hint of fear.

  Nakano frowned. “Shisui. This is a formal internal review.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m family,” Shisui said, voice light but edged.

  He stood beside Ken, arms crossed.

  “I heard you summoned a child. To accuse him of what, exactly? Not being enough like us?”

  Nakano’s tone shifted. “He diverges from tradition. He cks the will of fire.”

  Shisui’s smile vanished. “No. He cks your version of it.”

  He turned slightly, enough for everyone to hear.

  “I’ve fought alongside shinobi who could burn vilges to ash. You know what most of them cked? Discipline. Control. The sense to hold back. Ken has all of that. He fights with purpose.”

  Nakano narrowed his eyes. “And his ck of the Sharingan?”

  “It’ll come. Or it won’t. But tell me—how many in this room could disarm someone without chakra? Or set a trap without exploding tags? Or vanish in mist without a single seal?”

  The room went quiet.

  Ken stared at the floor. He hadn’t asked Shisui to come. He hadn’t expected it.

  But he was gd he did.

  “Let him train how he wants,” Shisui said. “You need less arrogance in this cn. Not more of it.”

  Elder Nakano’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not anger. Something unreadable.

  “This is not your decision,” he said.

  “No,” Shisui agreed. “It’s his.”

  The review ended without resolution.

  Ken wasn’t punished. He wasn’t praised. He was simply dismissed—with the same quiet suspicion that had always followed him.

  As they walked back toward the outer compound, Shisui kept pace beside him.

  “You alright?” he asked.

  Ken nodded. “I expected worse.”

  Shisui grinned. “I expected more.”

  They both ughed—soft, brief.

  Ken stopped at the edge of the road. “Why did you come?”

  Shisui’s answer was simple.

  “Because you’re not broken. And I won’t let them break you.”

  Ken looked up, eyes calm, a faint shadow beneath his lids.

  The Sharingan hadn’t awakened.

  But something else had.