Pride: Zero, Pain: One

[A/N] Miss me? ;)

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KIBURI UCHIHA

Kiburi's fist shot forward like a kunai—fast, precise, silent, save for the sharp slice of air as his curled weapon traveled toward Satoshi's face.

How dare he ask to learn an Uchiha technique? How dare he then belittle it?

But instead of the satisfying impact Kiburi expected, Satoshi shifted. A simple, almost lazy tilt of his body let the punch sail by, close enough to ruffle the collar of his white kimono but not close enough to matter.

The boy flickered away, eyes meeting his. Stance casual as he balanced on one-tooth geta as if they were extensions of his own feet—smiling like a little bitch.

Kiburi's eyes narrowed, teeth grinding so hard that pain shot through his jaw. 

This… this trash had dodged him. A punch meant to teach him a lesson—to put him in his place. But he missed.

He was lucky—that won't happen again.

Kiburi planted his feet, hands lifting into the traditional Uchiha taijutsu stance the elders ingrained into every facet of his being, his bones, his soul.

It wasn't just muscle memory at this point; it was heritage, the pride of a clan that lived and died by its legacy.

Kiburi was, of course, the genius of his generation. The one meant to bring pride to the clan, to honor his parents' memory, to climb the ranks, and make all fear—respect the Uchiha name.

He was, until Shisui's brilliance eclipsed his own.

"A nobody targeting the Yamanaka heir. You must be the dumbest Uchiha out of the bunch."

Kiburi's weight shifted to the balls of his feet as he lunged, aiming for Satoshi's face.

Intention: erase that smirk, knock him out cold.

Shisui's voice bit at the edge of his awareness. "Kiburi! Stop this! What are you doing?"

He ignored it.

Shisui, the five-year-old prodigy who'd stolen the clan's attention, who'd lost to a Yamanaka, didn't understand. Kiburi would show him how to handle disrespect. How to uphold Uchiha pride. How to deal with trash.

The wind hissed as his fist shot forward, muscles coiled with intent—with a promise of impact.

The Yamanaka's eyes, half-lidded, indifferent, met his.

"You're too easy—"

The taunt broke with a satisfying crack.

Kiburi's fist connected—bone meeting bone as the smirk split into a grimace. The impact shuddered up his arm, and something warm pooled in his chest—Satisfaction? Vindication? 

Probably a bit of both.

He pulled to strike again but felt resistance. His fist was stuck. The skin of the Yamanaka's cheek clamped around his knuckles like a steel vice disguised as flesh.

The warmth in his chest chilled. His breath caught with confusion.

Then pain—brutal, blinding—speared in his ribs.

The next thing Kiburi knew, the sky twisted above him, the ground vanishing beneath his feet.

His body flew backward, limbs slack as momentum took over. He hit the ground hard, bouncing once, twice—like a stone skimming a lake—before slamming into a tree.

The bark cracked under the force, splinters biting into his back as the air burst from his lungs.

He couldn't breathe.

Vision dimmed at the edges.

A sharp ache pulsed in his chest as his heart thumped, pumping blood through his body.

It took a moment and a few laborious breaths, but the forest slowly blurred back into focus. His breath now coming out in ragged gasps.

In, out. In, out.

Two Satoshi's stood meters away from where he just was. One on the ground—now gone in a puff of smoke—while the other stood with arms crossed.

Kiburi's head spun. Two? A clone? He hadn't seen Satoshi use any jutsu. There was no time—no space. His mind returned to the moment his fist stuck, refusing to come loose from the trash's face.

How?

The answer burned in the back of his mind, but he was too prideful to believe a five-year-old could pull off something that required near-perfect chakra control and timing.

That fuck. He bated me— 

"Easy there, Go-Kiburi. I can almost hear your two brain cells rubbing together. Please do your best not to start a fire. We're in a forest."

Kiburi gritted his teeth at the insult—at letting this… trash get a hit on him. Ignoring the throbbing in his ribs, he pushed himself onto one knee, then stood. His vision sharpened, and he activated the pride of his bloodline.

With a blink, his one-tomoe Sharingan activated, spinning as it focused on the Yamanaka. He expected a flicker of shock, of uncertainty, of fear.

Instead, the boy simply raised an eyebrow.

"Just one tomoe at your big age?" he straightened out the sleeve of his kimono. "That's all?"

Kiburi's jaw clenched.

Hands moving on instinct, he started weaving seals. Fire-Style: Fire Ball Jutsu.

He'd scorch that smirk from his face.

Snake, ram, monkey—

A rush of footsteps on dry, crisp, leaves behind him shattered his focus. Instinct shot through Kiburi as he dropped his hands and flickered to the side. Eyes darting, searching for the source of the—

"Idiot." The word came in a whisper, close enough that he felt the warmth of breath against his ear.

A sharp, sudden lance of pain pierced his kneecap.

He choked on a hiss as his knee gave way, the ground slamming up to meet him.

Instinct took over again—he drew the tanto from his back and slashed in a wide arc. The blade cut nothing but empty air.

"Kiburi!" Shisui's voice cracked.

A laugh followed.

"Trying to kill a clan heir? You really are stupid."

Kiburi's fingers clenched around the tanto's hilt. He drove it into the dirt, using it as leverage to stand. Muscles—every last one of them—trembled with pain. With fury.

The taunt dug into him. Stoked the heat in his veins. The vitriol in his heart.

Reaching into the pouch resting on the back of his hip, Kiburi drew six shuriken and snapped them forward—fast.

Sharingan moving, calculating, unblinking. 

Satoshi's eyes barely flickered as kunai appeared in his hands, down from the sleeves of his kimono, as if conjured. He threw them—metal met metal.

But a smirk threatened Kiburi's lips. One shuriken rebounded off another, its trajectory altering just enough to angle for Satoshi's back—unseen.

A heartbeat.

Another.

Then.

It froze mid-air.

"Nice try," Satoshi said, the shuriken now dancing in a lazy circle around him, held by a near-invisible chakra thread glimmering between his fingers. "But too predictable."

Kiburi's breath caught. How had I missed that? How did he catch—

Satoshi's finger flicked, and the shuriken snapped forward, speeding toward his face.

He barely had enough time to roll to the side, the pain in his leg, his ribs, his chest, biting deep as the shuriken embedded itself into the dirt. Leaves lifted in the cool air from the speed at which it moved.

Grimacing, Kiburi pushed himself up, fingers curling around his tanto. His breath—shallow gasps, searing his lungs, but he forced his gaze up—his mouth opened in shock.

Four shuriken floated above Satoshi.

"Four shuriken, sharp and bright. Can a cockroach dodge them right?"

The shuriken retracted, pulling back like taut strings before snapping forward—wind shrieking.

Kiburi's Sharingan shuddered as he flickered to the right, dodging one aimed at his… head.

Is he trying to—

Kiburi ducked, a second shuriken slicing the space where his throat had just been.

He is! He's trying to kill me!

Two more came—one curving from the left, another from the front. His Sharingan whirred, calculating the angles, mapping his path.

"One for panic, two for fear. Three says your end is near."

He gathered chakra to his legs, prepared to flicker away, but the dry snap of a branch behind caught his ear.

He twitched, almost falling for it like last time, but instead shifted his weight, flooding chakra into the soles of his feet, and leaped skyward.

The shuriken hissed cleanly beneath him—or so he thought.

Kiburi's eyes bulged.

What? No—

"Four will cut, swift and true—tell me, Go-Kiburi, what will you do?"

The shuriken twisted mid-air, flipping on near-invisible threads of chakra, their trajectories reversing upwards like serpents slithering through the air.

Kiburi swung his tanto down, clinging against one shuriken, but the second—

Pain flared—sharp, immediate—as the other sliced across his right calcaneal tendon—his Achilles heel.

A scorching snip of agony rippled up from his lower body as he descended to the earth beneath.

The air was a blur, gravity heavy.

His mind raced, but the pain snaking up his leg—slow, excruciating—halted any productive thoughts.

He couldn't think. Couldn't process.

Green grew closer. His left leg extended to catch himself before—

A white-hot lance of pain shot through him as metal sliced cleanly through his left Achilles.

The scream that ripped itself from Kiburi's throat shattered the silence.

He nearly bit through his tongue as his knees met earth. Pain ricocheted up his leg and into his spine. 

He couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

His chest heaved. Headache pulsed.

The forest swayed. Shadows blurred at the edges of his vision.

A crunch of leaves—footsteps.

Kiburi's eyes lifted to meet the Yamanaka. The monster.

It approached, tanto now in hand. Kiburi must have dropped it from the pain.

Footsteps echoed through the forest.

Kiburi's hands dung into the dirt, fingernails breaking against the soil as he tried to drag himself backward—away.

The muscles in his legs spasmed. Useless. Torn.

His eyes felt heavy, but the fear flooding his veins kept him conscious—desperate.

Kiburi's instincts screamed at him to flee, to run, to run, to run! As fast and as far as possible.

But how could he? His feet were useless. His mind, shattered.

"You should have been taught never to drop your weapon, right?"

Leaves crackled as the monster drew closer.

"But I suppose—"

"S-Shisui! H-help me!" Kiburi's cries tore through the forest. His eyes darted frantically, searching for the Uchiha, but—

"He left." The monster said, tanto now spinning lazily in hand. "Muttered something about you being a disappointment, and him being tired, and blah blah blah."

Ragged, broken gasps spilled from Kiburi's mouth. His Sharingan twitched, desperate for something—anything to help him fend off this… beast.

He's gonna kill me. He's gonna kill me. He's gonna kill me! 

Crunch. Another step. 

"Otake Yamanaka," the monster said, his voice carrying through the trees. "Name ring a bell?"

"W-what? I don't—"

"You do." Another step. Another crunch. "She's in your class at the Academy. You spit on her because she was sitting in your spot."

The memory fought its way up, past the searing pain. "I-I-I think I r-remember."

"Y-Y-Y," it mocked. "Speak up, boy."

A step.

Another.

"I-it was a—a misunderstanding."

"Hm." A flicker of a smirk. "I see."

A pause.

"I suppose killing you will be a misunderstanding, too."

"What?" Kiburi screamed, the sound raw, jagged, tore through his throat, turning it hoarse and broken. "Help! Someone—please! I—I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I didn't—no, please! I won't—just don't—please, help me! I swear I won't do it again!"

"Amazing what fear does for diction."

The leaves crinkled.

Another footstep.

The monster now stood over him, slate-colored eyes boring down into Kiburi's soul.

His heart thundered.

Sweat drenched his palms.

Grass beneath, crimson.

"There are two things I don't like. Pitiful stains."

The tanto rose like an executioner passing his judgment.

"And someone who harms my clansmen." The blade glinted in the filtered sunlight.

"Maybe in your next life, you'll learn your lesson."

The blade fell.

Kiburi screamed—horror, regret, misery.

Pain seared across his neck—through tendons, ligaments, nerves.

And then—light.

"Four minutes and thirty-one seconds. Looks like I win again, Shisui."

Kiburi's heart pounded in his chest. He wasn't on the ground. There was no pain.

He looked down. No blood… No blood?

His eyes snapped up, finding a wooden log at the far end of the field. Perched atop like little chicks was Shisui and the monster. Shisui twirled a shuriken in his hand while the monster sat with one leg crossed over the other, yawning.

"W-what h-happened?"

The monster uncrossed his legs and stood.

Kiburi took a shaky step back.

Out of nowhere, a voice echoed in his mind. Cold. Final. 

[Lay hands on my clan again, and next time, I'll make sure you really die.]

"Alright, Shisui, back to training."

Vision blurred. The world tilted.

And then—darkness.

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[A/N] Satoshi = the blueprint. 

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