Chapter 32 - Naka and the Uchiha

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Mi Blade lounged at the training ground, an expression of calm bliss on his face as he savored his milk tea, his demeanor more akin to that of a patron at a luxurious spa than a dedicated ninja-in-training.

A playful smirk curled on his lips as he watched Naika bounce with excitement.

“Oh, the Sharingan? The ultimate ninja cheat code?” he mused, reclining with an air of relaxed confidence.

“Once you unlock that, it’s like stepping into ‘God Mode.’ You become this walking power-up, bursting with a chakra boost that would put even the most advanced arcade games to shame.”

For a fleeting moment, Naika’s enthusiasm surged at the thought of wielding such incredible power, and she puffed out her chest, envisioning herself as a fierce ninja ready to conquer the world.

“But…” Mi Blade’s voice took on a teasing tone, his eyes twinkling with mischief,

“you have to actually unlock it first. Even your sister, Yu, is still flaunting a single tomoe. Not everyone is blessed with instant eye upgrades. Some folks train for years, and... nada.”

In an instant, Naika’s confidence wilted like a flower deprived of sunlight.

“Yeah, yeah, I know! But just you wait! Once I unlock mine, then—”

Mi Blade merely chuckled, leaning back further in his spot, his lazy grin still plastered across his face as he took another leisurely sip of his drink.

“Then you’ll still be playing catch-up, my friend. Meanwhile, I’ll be right here... sipping tea and soaking up the ambiance. No rush at all.”

Naika let out a loud groan, throwing her hands up in frustration.

“You’re the only ninja I know who treats training like a vacation! I swear, one day, Mi Blade, you’re going down!”

Raising his milk tea in a mock toast, Mi Blade replied, “To that glorious day, Naika. Until then, I’ll just sit back, enjoy my tea, and wait.”

As Naika stormed off, muttering under her breath about his “smug face,” Mi Blade chuckled softly, savoring another sip.

Ah, the sweet taste of victory... and boba, he mused, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The Uchiha clan was renowned for birthing exceptionally gifted young ninjas, almost as if they came out of the womb with kunai in one hand and a jutsu scroll tucked neatly away in the other.

These prodigious children could easily outmatch their peers before they even entered their teenage years.

Yet, there was always a caveat: until someone successfully unlocked the fabled Sharingan, they remained just ordinary ninjas, albeit ones with hairstyles that would make rock stars jealous.

Among ninjas, the true competition didn’t revolve around performing the most impressive acrobatics or mastering the art of kunai throwing; no, it all boiled down to who could awaken those illustrious Sharingan pinwheels.

It felt like a peculiar beauty pageant where only the most skilled eye spinners earned the title of champions!

Naika, however, was unfazed by the lofty expectations set by her clan. She firmly believed that her Sharingan would awaken any day now, and when it did, the world better brace itself for her unstoppable power.

She envisioned herself as the ultimate ninja, a force capable of wielding the power of the universe at her fingertips.

“Hmph! Don’t you dare underestimate me! When I unlock my Sharingan, you’ll be on your knees, begging for mercy!” she declared, her small fists raised triumphantly as if she were a tiny warrior gearing up for battle.

Her fiery determination radiated from her, despite her still-developing ninja skills.

In stark contrast, Mi Blade rubbed his hands together with a glint of mischief in his eyes, resembling a cartoon villain plotting an elaborate scheme. A sly smirk spread across his face, signaling that he was ready for some playful trouble.

“Alright, alright, but how about I knock some sense into you now, before you get all fancy with those red eyes? I’d rather take you down before you become overpowered,” he teased, inching closer to Naika like a cat stalking a captivating laser pointer.

Naika stood her ground, channeling all her inner strength. She looked ready to embrace the possibility of defeat.

“Come on then, do it! See if you dare!” she challenged, puffing out her chest, portraying herself as a fierce competitor prepared to face any foe.

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But then Mi Blade abruptly halted in his tracks, his bravado dissipating like a poorly drawn anime character. He waved her off with a dramatic sigh.

“Nah, it’s no fun beating up someone who’s still waiting for their power-up. My heart aches just thinking about it.”

Naika huffed in response, her confidence surprisingly intact. After spending more than two months in Mi Blade’s company, she had begun to understand his patterns.

He was all bark and significantly less bite than she’d initially believed. A startling realization washed over her: he wasn’t the sharpest kunai in the pouch—more like the butter knife of ninjas.

“Seriously, Mi Blade, you’re like a half-cooked noodle. You have potential, but you just don’t seem to know how to use it!” she quipped, her tiny fists now resting on her hips as she glared up at him, unimpressed.

With that, Mi Blade threw back his head and laughed, a sound like a mix between a hyena and a door creaking open.

“Fair enough! But just wait until you see my genius plan for your training! It’s going to be epic!”

And so, in the bustling world of ninjas and dreams, the duo stood at the crossroads of rivalry and camaraderie, both unaware that their antics were just beginning.

Strangely enough, over time, Naika found herself minding Mi Blade’s teasing less and less. His goofy antics that once had her seething in frustration now barely even registered on her annoyance radar.

Somewhere along the way, the urge to punch him every time he opened his mouth had transformed into a weird sort of camaraderie—like sharing a bento box with a friend who occasionally forgot to take off the wasabi.

“I heard your sister’s joining the security team,” Mi Blade said, switching gears faster than a ninja on caffeine.

Naika’s chest puffed out with pride, her smile shining like a thousand suns.

"That’s right! My sister is finally getting the recognition she deserves! Uchiha pride!” She felt like she could take on the world, or at least give a solid high-five to it.

Mi Blade smirked but kept his thoughts to himself. Poor girl, he thought. She had no idea that the Uchiha clan’s ‘special’ job, bestowed upon them after a legendary negotiation with the Second Hokage, was more of a consolation prize than a badge of honor.

Sure, they were tasked with protecting Konoha, but in reality, it was like being handed the village’s least wanted chore list. It was the ninja equivalent of being promoted to head of the office supply committee.

“Yeah, the good ol’ security team,” Mi Blade said with a grin that could only mean mischief.

“It’s like being told, ‘Congrats, you get to babysit the village and make sure nobody steps on the grass.’ Sounds thrilling, right?” His eyes twinkled with barely concealed laughter.

Naika, blissfully oblivious to the sarcasm, nodded enthusiastically.

“Exactly! It’s a huge responsibility!”

Mi Blade chuckled, his heart swelling with amusement. Bless her heart, he thought.

In a past life (probably one spent browsing way too many internet forums), Mi Blade had read countless threads about the Uchiha clan's tragic fate, and honestly? The analysis made way too much sense.

The Konoha Garrison job? It was basically the ninja equivalent of being the village’s parking attendant and hall monitor rolled into one—complete with a shiny vest that screamed “Underappreciated.”

“Congratulations! You get to tell people where not to park their carts and break up fights over ramen! Truly an honor for the mighty Uchiha,” he added, feigning a bow, complete with a flourish that would make a stage actor proud.

Every day, the Uchiha were out there, patrolling the village like glorified babysitters, catching petty thieves, scolding kids for jaywalking, and giving stern warnings to illegal street vendors selling knockoff kunai that could barely slice through a buttered piece of toast.

It wasn’t exactly the glamorous, world-saving ninja work they thought they’d signed up for. They were supposed to be "defending the village and maintaining community safety," but let’s be real.

Since the Uchiha took over, the actual important jobs—like secret missions, defending against outside threats, and any cool stuff that involved epic battles—were all handled by the Anbu or the shady Root division.

What were the Uchiha left with? Crowd control at the Konoha market, of course.

And since the Uchiha clan had a bit of a superiority complex—think high-flying eagles with a flair for drama—they didn’t exactly handle their jobs with a gentle touch.

Most strutted around like they were too good for the role, dishing out tickets and stern lectures with a side of condescension that could cut through steel.

To the villagers, getting a warning from an Uchiha felt like receiving a speeding ticket from a guy in an Armani suit who casually reminded you how much better he was than you while polishing his designer sunglasses.

“Excuse me, sir,” they could practically hear him say, “but your level of ninja skills is embarrassingly subpar. Now pay your fine and try not to embarrass the village again.”

And so, Naika continued to bask in her delusions of grandeur, oblivious to the fact that her sister was entering a world where every day was a thrilling game of "Don’t Step on the Grass" with a side of “Why Are You Selling Fake Kunai?”

Little did she know, the security team was about to turn her sister into the ultimate babysitter for the village—complete with an apron that read "Konoha's Finest."

Naturally, this didn’t do wonders for the Uchiha clan’s reputation. Civilians began to see them as stuck-up enforcers—like a squad of ninjas who took their job far too seriously and had all the warmth of a brick wall.

With their signature “arrogant” demeanor, it wasn’t long before villagers started grumbling behind their backs like a bunch of cranky old men at a tea party.

So when the Uchiha clan ultimately faced one of the most dramatic downfalls in ninja history, the civilian response was less “tragic loss” and more “eh, who’s going to break up the street vendors now?”

Not a single tear was shed. Even the local ramen shop owner casually slurped his noodles, oblivious, as he asked,

“So... uh... do we still get tickets for selling noodles past curfew, or...?” The vibe was less “mourning” and more “do we still get a discount on lunch?”

The Uchiha clan had a serious image problem, and they were acutely aware of it. They weren’t exactly in the running for the “Most Likely to Be Invited to the Village BBQ” award anytime soon, but did they care?

Not in the slightest. Instead of attempting to improve their public relations like any rational clan might, they cranked their holier-than-thou attitude up to eleven.

It was like they were that kid in school who knows everyone finds them annoying but just doubles down on the obnoxiousness out of sheer spite.

“You don’t like me? Well, watch me be even more irritating!”

And as if that wasn’t enough, the radicals in the Uchiha clan thought, “You know what would really fix this mess? A coup! Yeah, let’s take over the village!” Because, obviously, the solution to being widely disliked was to become even more disliked.

Great plan, guys. Really. Except for the part where, you know, nobody liked them.

The other ninja clans thought they were as humble as a peacock at a fashion show, the villagers loathed getting parking tickets from them, and even the other Hokage hopefuls were like,

“Eh, we’ll pass.” No one wanted to back a team of ninjas who considered themselves too good for ramen.

If they had actually managed to overthrow the Konoha regime, who would’ve supported them? The street vendors they busted? The petty thieves they tossed in jail like expired leftovers?

Even the ramen guy would probably look at them and say, “Sorry, but I’m team Sarutobi.” He’d rather serve noodles to the village’s beloved grandpa than get tangled up in Uchiha drama.

Mi Blade didn’t share these harsh truths with Naika, though. She was just a kid, blissfully unaware of her clan’s bizarre mix of superiority and impending doom.

Let her enjoy her innocent days, free from the worry of her clan’s ridiculous antics. After all, she didn’t need to know that her family tree was a precariously balanced house of cards, ready to topple at any moment.

Let her dream of unlocking her Sharingan while believing that one day, maybe, she’d be serving ramen to adoring fans instead of dealing with her clan’s looming mess.

As for Mi Blade, he didn’t really care about the Uchiha clan drama. Sure, his mom hailed from their ranks, but that didn’t mean he had to dive headfirst into their melodrama.

The Uchiha were basically a clan of highly trained, superpowered drama queens who couldn’t see past their own egos, like a reality TV show waiting to happen.

After a long day of training (and lecturing Naika about why her clan was a hot mess), Mi Blade decided it was time to indulge in some much-needed ramen therapy.

Uchiha Yu was busy preparing to join the Konoha Security Team, leaving Naika unsupervised, which meant only one thing: ramen was calling his name.

Once he filled up on steaming bowls of noodles and broth that could probably fix any emotional turmoil, Mi Blade waved goodbye to Naika, assuring her she wouldn’t turn into a puddle of anxiety without him hovering around.

As he wandered through the bustling streets of Konoha, he couldn’t help but wonder:

“Where the heck is Orochimaru these days? And why hasn’t he dropped by the Hatake house for tea in ages?” Maybe he was too busy plotting world domination—or perhaps he was just preoccupied with perfecting his snake-themed tea set.

Just another day in the village, really.

Meanwhile, Kakashi was doing his usual thing: training like a machine by day and moonlighting as a romantic disaster by night.

Now, Rin, bless her simple heart, admired Kakashi but also thought Obito had some serious qualities.

Thus, the love triangle remained stuck in a wobbly balance, like three people trying to sit on a bench clearly built for two. Every shift of weight threatened to send them all tumbling off in a dramatic flail.