Jogendra's POV:
The trek to the Uchiha compound was a two-hour sprint through a forest that seemed to breathe menace—every snapping twig, every shadowed rustle, a reminder that the Sengoku Era wasn't a place for the faint-hearted. My new abilities—*Soru*'s blinding speed, Observation Haki's tingling alerts—kept me ahead of trouble, but the tension gnawed at me like a misplaced decimal in a tax ledger. This wasn't Hyderabad's chaotic but predictable bustle; this was a world where survival was a daily audit, and I was still learning the rules.
The compound's outskirts loomed into view as the trees thinned, their dark silhouettes framed by a sky bruised with storm clouds. Before I could even glimpse the walls, my Haki flared—a sharp prickling at the nape of my neck, warning of approaching presences. I squinted through the foliage and spotted five figures weaving toward me, their black cloaks emblazoned with the Uchiha fan. Shinobi, no doubt, and their purposeful strides screamed suspicion.
"Time for diplomacy," I muttered, a wry grin tugging at my lips. Years of wrangling irate citizens and stubborn clerks had taught me the art of first impressions—better to file a proper introduction than dodge a hail of kunai as an uninvited guest. I stepped into the open, hands raised in a gesture of peace, though my muscles stayed coiled, ready to spring.
The five surrounded me in seconds, their Sharingan eyes glinting like red warning lights. The leader—a tall, sinewy man with a scar slashing down his cheek like a botched signature—stepped forward, his stance radiating authority. "Boy," he barked, voice rough as gravel, "who are you, and what's your business near the Uchiha compound?"
I took a steadying breath, channeling the calm I'd perfected during Hyderabad's endless queues. "Name's Jogendra. I'm here to meet Madara Uchiha."
The reaction was instantaneous—five pairs of eyes narrowed, tension crackling like a live wire. The scar-faced leader stiffened, while another—a wiry man with a sneer—scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. "You? Some random brat demanding to see the eldest heir? Get lost before we bury you in lessons you won't forget!"
I sighed, suppressing an eye-roll. Even in a world of chakra and carnage, arrogance was a universal constant. Still, their words were a goldmine of intel—My father Madara was the "eldest heir," meaning My Grandfather Tajima Uchiha,still ruled The Uchiha clan. I wasn't too late to nudge history's gears, assuming I survived this welcoming committee. But first, these fools needed a crash course in respect.
My Sharingan flared to life, crimson irises spinning with three tomoe, and their bravado faltered, replaced by wide-eyed shock. Before they could recover, I unleashed a pulse of Conqueror's Haki—a tidal wave of raw will that slammed into them like a monsoon. The air thickened with dread, and one by one, they crumpled, knees buckling, eyes rolling back as they hit the dirt, unconscious.
I stared at their sprawled forms, shaking my head. "Idiots," I muttered, a nostalgic echo of my Hyderabad days chastising sloppy interns. "You'd fail a basic competency review."
As I turned toward the compound, my Haki pinged again—stronger, sharper, a presence barreling toward me with lethal intent. I tensed, hand drifting to Ace's hilt, when a figure burst from the trees. Dark hair, Sharingan blazing, kunai poised—he was younger than I'd expected, but the resemblance to Madara was uncanny.My Uncle Izuna Uchiha, I realized, Madara's brother, radiating danger like a storm about to break.
"Boy," he growled, voice a low rumble, "what did you do to my clan's shinobi?"
I raised my hands, feigning surrender with a lopsided grin. "They jumped me first—rude, by the way. I just gave them a timeout. They're breathing, don't worry."
His eyes narrowed, scanning me like a ledger for errors. "Who are you?"
"Jogendra. Here to see Madara Uchiha."
He blinked, surprise flickering across his stern features. "Why?"
I shrugged, keeping my tone light. "I'll explain when I meet him. Classified intel—top-level clearance only."
Izuna studied me, his gaze piercing through my bravado. After a long, tense moment, he lowered his kunai, nodding curtly. "Fine. Follow me."
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Izuna's POV:
The surge of pressure near the compound hit me like a war drum, pulling me from a sparring session with a jolt. I raced to the source, expecting an enemy raid—only to find five of our shinobi sprawled in the dirt, and a boy, barely twelve, standing over them. His Sharingan glowed with the third stage, an impossibility that stopped me cold.
When I demanded answers, he claimed he'd come for My Brother Madara, brushing off the fight as self-defense. The evidence—our unconscious clansmen—backed him up, but his calm, almost flippant demeanor set my nerves on edge. He was Uchiha, that much was clear—those eyes didn't lie—but who was he? I decided to take him to My Brother Madara myself. This kid was a riddle, and I didn't trust riddles in a war zone.
The compound buzzed as we entered—children darted between houses, merchants hawked rice and blades, shinobi drilled in tight formations. Clan members bowed as I passed, but their eyes lingered on Jogendra, curiosity warring with unease. I caught their unspoken questions—*Who's the kid? Why's Izuna with him?*—but ignored them. Let them whisper; answers would come soon enough.
Jogendra walked beside me, silent but alert, his gaze sweeping the compound like a strategist mapping a battlefield. Pride flickered in my chest—this was our haven, the dream My Brother Madara and I bled for, a fragile peace carved from endless war. Fifteen minutes later, we reached the family estate, its sprawling frame a monument to Uchiha might. Jogendra's eyes widened, a spark of awe breaking his cool facade, and I smirked inwardly. Good. Let him feel the weight of our legacy.
We entered, footsteps echoing through the halls, until we reached the meeting room. My Brother Madara and Father sat at a low table, scrolls and maps spread before them, their voices a steady hum of strategy. I knocked, the sound sharp in the quiet.
"Come in," Father's voice called, firm and unyielding.
I opened the door, gesturing Jogendra inside. My Brother Madara and Father looked up, their expressions shifting from focus to confusion as they registered the boy beside me. Father's eyes narrowed, suspicion etching his weathered face.
"Izuna," he said, voice slow and edged, "why bring a child here?"
I bowed slightly, keeping my tone even. "Father, this boy approached the compound. Five shinobi challenged him—and he took them down effortlessly. He's got the third-stage Sharingan."
Their reactions were immediate—Father's brows shot up, My Brother Madara's frown deepened. "A child with the third stage?" Madara murmured, disbelief threading his words.
Jogendra stepped forward, unfazed. "I came to meet you."
My Brother Madara's gaze sharpened, pinning him in place. "Why?"
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Jogendra's POV: (Resumed)
The room was a pressure cooker— My father Madara's intensity, My Grandfather Tajima's scrutiny,My Uncle Izuna's quiet watchfulness bearing down on me. I took a breath, steadying myself like I'd done before a dozen hostile boardroom showdowns. "Because," I said, voice firm, "I'm your son."
Silence crashed over us, heavy and stunned. My father Madara froze, My Grandfather Tajima's jaw tightened, and My Uncle Izuna's hand twitched toward his kunai. I reached beneath my tunic, pulling out the chain Retsu had given me—a simple pendant, etched with her initials. "My mother was Retsu Unohana. She gave me this before she died."
My father Madara flinched, a crack in his stoic mask. "Retsu…" The name slipped out, soft and raw, like a wound reopened.
I activated my Sharingan, the tomoe spinning in sync with his, a mirror of blood and legacy. His breath caught, eyes tracing my face—searching, hoping. Then, in a blur, he was on his feet, crossing the room to yank me into a hug. His arms were iron, trembling as they locked around me, his voice a choked whisper against my shoulder. "My son… my son…"
Shock rippled through me, then melted into warmth. I'd faced down bandits, wielded flames, saved a baby elephant—but this? This was a battlefield I hadn't prepped for. I hugged him back, awkward but earnest, feeling the weight of My Mother Retsu's dream settle into place. My Grandfather Tajima and My Uncle Izuna stared, wide-eyed, the stern patriarch and fierce son and brother rendered speechless by My father Madara's vulnerability.
*Ding!*
The System chimed in my head, a private victory bell. *Host, congratulations. You have completed your first mission: "Meet Your Father and His Side Family." Rewards added to your System Backpack.*
I smiled, a quiet, contented thing. "I'm home," I said, and for the first time since Truck-kun's crash, it felt true.
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