After "reluctantly" accepting the Third Hokage's goodwill, Akira took the mission with a polite bow and turned to leave, concealing the glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. Though he'd declined the initial rewards offered, he had always been playing the long game. And now, that patience had borne fruit. Not only did the Hokage hand over a valuable scroll from the forbidden archives, but Akira had earned something far more important: trust.
Shizune, his future teammate for the mission to find Tsunade, would not return to the village for another two days. Akira treated this brief interlude as a well-earned respite—a short vacation before diving into a task of great consequence. It was also the perfect window to study the new technique bestowed upon him: a jutsu from the infamous sealing scroll.
The scroll itself was tightly sealed, its parchment old but sturdy, the kanji etched with chakra ink that pulsed faintly in the dim light of Akira's home. Sitting cross-legged in the quiet of his room, Akira unfolded the scroll and carefully examined its contents. He had chosen this technique after much deliberation.
Many powerful jutsu rested within the sealing scroll, but few suited his unique combat style. As an all-rounder, Akira had already mastered a diverse set of abilities. With the Mangekyō Sharingan now awakened, his arsenal was frighteningly vast. Four distinct abilities, each of them devastating in their own right, and strong enough to stand toe-to-toe with even the Rinnegan-wielding Nagato.
He did not need taijutsu—Might Guy's tutelage had covered that base long ago.
He needed genjutsu even less. The only noteworthy genjutsu in the scroll was the Darkness Illusion, a jutsu that temporarily blinded opponents by shutting down their sense of sight. Though slightly superior to the genjutsu from his three-tomoe Sharingan, it paled in comparison to the illusions woven by his Mangekyō. With it, he could bind even tailed beasts into hallucinations.
No, what Akira sought was an edge that aligned with his cautious, methodical nature. He considered the Impure World Reincarnation, but unsurprisingly, it was not included in the catalog presented by the Third Hokage. Techniques that dark and morally ambiguous were intentionally kept off the record. Another glaring absence was the Reaper Death Seal, a technique too final, too grim.
Only two stood out: the Darkness Illusion, which he promptly dismissed, and the Flying Thunder God Technique.
That was the one. The ultimate escape tool, the ultimate ambush technique. A method that allowed one to dance through time-space, striking like lightning and vanishing without a trace. And best of all, it aligned perfectly with Akira's cautious nature: if the battle turned against him, he could retreat in an instant.
The Third Hokage had subtly hoped Akira would choose the Darkness Illusion, thinking it complemented his prowess in genjutsu. He hadn't anticipated that Akira would set his sights on the jutsu once mastered by Tobirama Senju and perfected by Minato Namikaze. But now, with Akira soon to team up with Minato himself, it became an ideal opportunity for the student to observe the master.
Taking the scroll home, Akira committed every word to memory with his Sharingan. The Hokage had warned him to destroy the scroll immediately after reading it. He obeyed without question. Flames erupted from his fingers, reducing the ancient parchment to ash. The room was filled with the scent of smoke and ink.
Then he closed his eyes and replayed the scroll's content in his mind.
As expected, the Flying Thunder God Technique was an intricate masterpiece, far beyond standard ninjutsu. It didn't rely on simple chakra manipulation or hand seals. It demanded spatial awareness, the ability to perceive and manipulate the very fabric of reality. It wasn't just a jutsu—it was a scientific marvel.
Even in his past life, a world that prided itself on science and rationality, spatial manipulation remained a theoretical endeavor. Quantum physics merely scratched the surface of what this jutsu demanded. But in this world, chakra served as a sixth sense, bridging the gap between theory and reality. The Second Hokage had stumbled upon a miracle and shaped it into a weapon.
Akira believed he could not only replicate this feat—but surpass it.
He had the qualifications. His chakra reserves had grown to rival those of seasoned Jonin. His control over chakra was nearly unparalleled, honed by performing countless delicate surgeries and chakra-infused procedures. And then there was his Phantom Body technique—a spatial ability that allowed him to summon an astral form to his side, further proving his affinity with space-time ninjutsu.
Most important of all was his knowledge. Unlike the average shinobi, Akira carried the wisdom of a former life, steeped in scientific reasoning. Where others saw jutsu as art, he saw equations, systems, and energy patterns.
He was the ideal successor to the Flying Thunder God.
Brimming with anticipation, Akira headed to the training grounds, the same clearing he had visited countless times. The wind rustled through the trees as the sun dipped below the horizon. With a breath of focus, he summoned ten Shadow Clones. It had been a while since he used this training method, but his mastery over Shadow Clones had only deepened. Each clone carried a sliver of his mind, a fragment of his ambition.
Each one began its task—analyzing, meditating, and attempting to connect with the unseen strings of space.
By late afternoon, they succeeded.
Akira could feel it: a subtle vibration in the air, a dissonance in space that wasn't there before. A shift, like the surface of water trembling beneath invisible ripples. He could sense it now.
The power of time-space.
He instructed one clone to mark a distant point with a spatial seal. Another clone would attempt the jump. The risk was real—if the technique failed, the consequences could be disastrous. Displacement. Injury. Death.
He wouldn't gamble with his real body.
With calculated resolve, a clone activated the Flying Thunder God Technique.
Poof.
In an instant, the clone disappeared, reappearing a dozen meters away at the designated mark.
Akira's heart leapt.
Success?
But before he could revel in triumph, the clone collapsed, clutching its stomach. It groaned, then dissolved into smoke, returning its memories to the original.
A wave of nausea crashed into Akira. The world spun. His breath caught.
"So that's the cost of incomplete synchronization..." he muttered, swaying.
His first successful teleport had worked—technically. But his body wasn't fully attuned. His mind hadn't yet adjusted to the disorienting fold of space. It was like being turned inside out and flung across reality.
Akira staggered, planting a hand on a nearby tree, a grin twitching at the corners of his lips.
He had touched the realm of gods.
The Flying Thunder God was within his grasp. Now it was only a matter of mastery.
And soon, very soon, the world would learn to fear the name Uchiha Akira.
The two arrived at the training ground, ready to begin their first duel since their reunion.
Akira looked at Kakashi with a calm smile, a quiet confidence simmering behind his crimson gaze.
Last time, he had relied on a genjutsu trick to win—cheating, really—because his taijutsu had been lacking and his early attempts at using the Speed Force were erratic and inefficient. Back then, Kakashi had capitalized on those flaws, nearly turning the tide of battle.
But this time was different.
Akira's Speed Force was now perfected, flowing through every cell in his body with seamless control. His taijutsu had evolved beyond recognition, sharpened by constant drills and the memory of Might Guy's punishing training methods. Most of all, his chakra reserves dwarfed Kakashi's. Even if Kakashi had tricks up his sleeve—like that unpredictable fifty-fifty gamble—the longer the battle dragged on, the more it would tilt in Akira's favor.
Kakashi stood across from him, just as composed, but far less relaxed. He knew. He could feel it.
This was not the same Akira.
Still, he wasn't afraid. With his recently completed Chidori, his speed had skyrocketed. He believed he could end the fight quickly, before Akira had a chance to gain momentum.
They formed the Seal of Confrontation, and without a word, the battle began.
Akira vanished.
A blur of golden light and raw acceleration, his body shot forward, delivering a Leaf Whirlwind Kick straight at Kakashi's guard.
Kakashi blocked it, but the force behind the blow sent him skidding backward, his sandals tearing up dirt as he struggled to keep his balance.
Akira didn't let up. He surged forward again, fists and feet a storm of precise, relentless strikes. His Speed Force-enhanced taijutsu was overwhelming. Kakashi couldn't match him in close quarters—not anymore. He was forced to dodge again and again, pushed on the defensive by the barrage.
Even though he had expected a stronger Akira, Kakashi hadn't imagined this. It felt less like sparring and more like surviving a battlefield.
This was the kind of foe his teacher would normally handle.
If he couldn't create distance soon, he wouldn't even get the chance to use Chidori.
And that… was exactly what Akira had anticipated.
He didn't want to win so easily.
If Kakashi realized the flaw in Chidori and improved it now, the entire timeline could change. Obito. Rin. Even the tragedy at Kannabi Bridge.
So Akira kicked Kakashi away, deliberately easing up on his strength, and didn't follow up.
Instead, he smirked. "What's wrong, Kakashi? Is that all you've got? Don't say I'm bullying you—go on, use Chidori. Let's finish this with one last move."
Kakashi hesitated only a second. Then, determined, he began to weave seals.
Seventeen of them.
Chidori, in its early form, was crude—powerful, but inefficient. It took Kakashi four seconds to complete the seals. Lightning sparked to life in his palm, the signature cry of a thousand birds rising into the air.
Akira's eyes burned crimson with the three-tomoe Sharingan as he watched every motion.
When Kakashi charged, he was like a bolt of lightning unleashed—faster than any elite Jonin, maybe even Kage-level. For a moment, he blurred.
But in Akira's eyes, it was still too slow.
Kakashi's Chidori came in fast and direct, but its linearity was a fatal weakness. The Sharingan read it like an open scroll.
At the last possible instant, Akira sidestepped.
The lightning blade missed by a whisper.
Then Akira struck—a sharp, upward punch to the chin with all the strength of the Speed Force behind it.
Kakashi's head snapped back. He flew into the air, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Akira had held back. The punch was moderated, and Kakashi only blacked out for a few moments. When he awoke, blinking up at the sky, the first thing he asked was:
"How did you dodge it?"
Akira helped him up and explained—how the Sharingan had revealed Kakashi's linear path, how experience would be the key to refining Chidori into something more than a gamble. He didn't hold back the critique. If Kakashi wanted to avoid this loss repeating itself, he needed to evolve.
Kakashi absorbed it all silently, his pride stung, but his resolve sharpening.
"Even without your Sharingan, you wouldn't stand a chance if I had more experience," he said stubbornly. "Next time, I'll beat you."
Akira laughed lightly. "Then let me give you one more surprise."
Before Kakashi could ask, Akira formed the same seventeen seals.
In his hand, the sound of birds erupted.
Kakashi's jaw dropped. "You copied it... just like that?!"
Akira's smile deepened. "You showed me everything. Did you think I wouldn't learn it?"
Kakashi stared, half in awe, half in horror. "Gods... If I've done something to offend you, let the Hokage punish me. Why did the universe send you instead?!"
That night, alone in a quiet field, Kakashi screamed to the heavens.
And once again, he dreamed of having the Sharingan—not to match Akira, but to finally stop feeling one step behind