UCHIHA: THE ATTACK ON KONOHA

Until the end of dinner, grandfather didn't say a word to the distinguished uncle. Uchiha Yang could sense that his father felt somewhat out of place, but at least grandfather hadn't gone senile—he still upheld the old traditions, refusing to let a married couple sleep in the same room.

Early the next morning, Uchiha Yang was summoned by his grandfather, who motioned for him to follow. They ventured deep into the forest, and along the way, grandfather asked about life in Konoha in a seemingly casual manner. But Uchiha Yang could tell—deep down, grandfather longed to return. However, for some reason, he had stayed away all these years.

Their destination was a secluded bamboo grove. Uchiha Yang thought it suited his grandfather—a swordsman's presence among the bamboo exuded a dignified elegance.

Grandfather pointed to the towering stalks. "Cut some bamboo. I'll make something."

Uchiha Yang instinctively reached for his katana, but before he could draw it, grandfather smacked him on the head.

"Are you stupid from training too much? Who cuts bamboo with a sword? You'll ruin the blade and waste the wood."

With a sigh, grandfather handed him an axe. "Use this. Learn to use the right tool for the right job."

For an hour, Uchiha Yang chopped, the rhythmic sound of the axe echoing through the forest. Eventually, he glanced at his grandfather, who appeared to be dozing off. Frustrated, he muttered, "Is he seriously sleeping?"

Without opening his eyes, grandfather spoke. "I wanted you to cut down some trees, but at your speed, I might not see them fall in my lifetime. Tsk, what a waste of potential. A good seedling delayed…"

He waved his hand dismissively. "That's enough for today. Carry the bamboo down."

Uchiha Yang turned to see the massive pile of bamboo he had gathered. His grandfather had already begun his descent, showing no intention of helping. With no choice, he shouldered the load and trudged down the mountain.

---

After breakfast, grandfather took him to chop trees again, silently observing for hours. Eventually, he scoffed, took the axe, and demonstrated proper technique. The speed and precision of his swings were mesmerizing—every strike was fluid, efficient, and deliberate. The clash of metal against wood created a distinct rhythm, almost like music.

Seeing his grandson lost in thought, grandfather nodded. "Good. At least you're not completely hopeless."

He pointed to a tree. "Every surface has a texture, a grain. And every action has an optimal point of impact. Strength means nothing if your body isn't aligned with your intent."

Uchiha Yang activated his Sharingan to analyze the details, but before he could study the patterns, a sharp smack landed on his head.

"Do you use Sharingan when you eat too?" grandfather scolded. "This is the problem with our clan—we rely too much on our eyes. Do you think the strongest warriors are those who flaunt their Sharingan? True strength isn't about seeing; it's about knowing. Even if the Uchiha ancestors closed their eyes, no one could defeat them. Stop looking—start feeling. Now, chop until lunch."

The cycle continued: cut trees in the morning, train in the evening. Every night, grandfather handed him a wooden sword and had him practice kata blindfolded. The purpose was clear—grandfather wanted him to develop instinct rather than rely on sight.

---

On the third morning, grandfather handed Uchiha Yang a bamboo vest adorned with small bells. "Put this on. We're going hunting."

As they walked through the dense forest, the bells jingled with every step. Uchiha Yang frowned. "With these, every animal will hear me coming…"

Grandfather smirked. "Exactly. Your goal is to catch something with your bare hands. A rabbit, a pheasant, maybe a deer—if you're confident, go for a tiger."

He crouched and demonstrated. "Control your presence. When you move, be swift like the wind. When you stop, disappear completely."

By the end of the day, Uchiha Yang had caught a single rabbit—by sheer luck. The poor thing practically ran into his arms. Still, the lesson was clear: he needed to learn how to move with absolute control.

From then on, his routine became grueling: chopping wood in the morning, hunting in the afternoon, and practicing sword techniques blindfolded at night. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.

---

Six months passed in a flash. Uchiha Yang's senses sharpened, and his movements became precise. He could now feel the natural patterns of bamboo and trees—every chop, every motion was deliberate. Even when blindfolded, he could react to subtle shifts in his environment.

To trade for supplies, he traveled to a nearby mountain village, exchanging chopped wood for simple necessities. Life here was peaceful, devoid of the clan's politics. The simplicity of nature, the honesty of the villagers—it was a stark contrast to Konoha's cutthroat environment.

One day, his grandfather and father constructed a training area beside their wooden house. At its center stood a large plum blossom pile—a set of wooden stakes arranged for footwork drills. Every day, they altered the placement of traps and mechanisms, forcing Uchiha Yang to adapt. At first, he was beaten black and blue, but over time, he learned to navigate the ever-changing terrain.

Then, grandfather raised the difficulty: blindfolded training. Every stake was fitted with wind chimes, and he had to rely solely on sound to land each step correctly. His first few attempts left him face-first in the dirt.

And yet, he persisted.

---

One Year Later…

Time passed. Wooden swords turned to sparring matches. Chopping wood became carrying weighted logs. Training expanded to balancing water buckets up treacherous paths. Practicing swords evolved into sparring in waist-deep rivers.

On this day, grandfather finally acknowledged his progress.

"Starting today, you may practice Uchiha-ryu Kenjutsu."

Uchiha Yang froze. His training thus far had been entirely without chakra—no Ninjutsu, no Sharingan. He had almost forgotten he was Uchiha.

"Now," grandfather continued, "you may use chakra. You may use Sharingan. But remember—true strength comes from the foundation, not the crutch."

Uchiha Yang finally understood.

For a year, he had trained like a monk—chopping wood, fetching water, enduring endless physical trials. But this training had forged his instincts, honed his discipline, and sharpened his mind.

This was not just sword training. It was the foundation of a warrior.

As he picked up his wooden blade once more, a newfound clarity settled within him. This was only the beginning.