For Tsunade, her hemophobia had long been a haunting demon—a barrier that she believed might never be cured. As time passed and her fear persisted, she began to worry that her immense medical knowledge and skills might one day be lost, wasted, buried with her.
That was when the idea began to bloom—if she could not overcome her fear, then at the very least, she could find someone worthy to inherit her techniques. Someone who could continue her legacy. For years, she'd placed her hopes on Shizune, her beloved niece and Dan's younger sister. Shizune was loyal and hard-working, but no matter how much Tsunade taught her, it became painfully clear over time that Shizune's aptitude for medical ninjutsu was only average.
With a heavy heart, Tsunade had nearly abandoned her search for an heir. That is, until she met Akira.
Her junior sister's son. Her nephew. The boy bore a spark she hadn't seen in years—perhaps not since her own youth. Not only did he show natural talent in both medical ninjutsu and standard shinobi arts, but his heart was strong. He was kind, respectful, and determined. And over the past few weeks, Tsunade had quietly, carefully observed his every move.
To her, it felt like the heavens had finally sent someone worthy.
Akira, for his part, had no idea how deeply Tsunade had been considering him. All he knew was that his dreams were finally within reach. Techniques that he had only read about, only fantasized over in his previous life, were now a breath away. Tsunade was willing to teach him.
The Mitotic Regeneration Forbidden Technique—an unparalleled medical technique capable of storing chakra over time. By conserving and gathering chakra during everyday training, he could accumulate massive reserves. And when the time came, he could release it all in a single burst using the Strength of a Hundred Seal. The explosive power and life-saving utility of such a method were immense.
Creation Rebirth was slightly less critical to him since it overlapped somewhat with his unique Yang Release Illusion Body ability. But even then, he recognized its significance. His Illusion Body could heal, but it required a huge amount of chakra to resummon. In rapid, brutal combat, where injuries stacked fast, Creation Rebirth—calculated by time rather than instances—could become his trump card.
Tsunade's techniques weren't about overwhelming power. They were about survival. Stability. Longevity. And for Akira, who valued all three, these were perfect.
Fearing he might miss this rare chance, Akira bowed deeply before her, voice steady and full of conviction, officially requesting to become her disciple—not just in name, but in spirit, heart, and soul.
Tsunade was moved. The sight of him bowing reminded her of days long past. Unlike Shizune, who often scolded her for her gambling and drinking, Akira showed genuine reverence. Respect. Faith.
And so, between their work on the Sunagakure poison antidote, Tsunade began formally imparting her teachings. The Mitotic Regeneration Forbidden Technique from her grandmother, and the Strength of a Hundred Seal and Creation Rebirth, which she herself had perfected.
At first, she didn't plan on teaching Akira her two battle techniques—Monstrous Strength Fist and the Heavenly Foot of Pain. She feared he was already overloaded, that too much knowledge too fast would backfire. Their time was short. The antidote was nearly complete, and Akira would soon have to return to Konoha.
She reasoned that if Akira could master the basics of her healing techniques, that alone would be enough to keep him alive on the battlefield.
But the boy was relentless.
Somehow, Akira discovered that Monstrous Strength could also be learned—and once he did, he pestered her endlessly. Tsunade turned him down at first, explaining her reasons. He left quietly, disappointed but respectful.
Yet only a few days later, he returned—with a gleaming rhombus-shaped mark on his forehead, proof that he had mastered the Mitotic Regeneration Forbidden Technique. And not only that, he had already memorized and comprehended nearly every detail of the Strength of a Hundred Seal and Creation Rebirth. All that remained was training.
"Teacher," Akira said earnestly, "I understand the urgency. Once I return to Konoha, time and distance will separate us. I want to learn everything I can from you—now. Monstrous Strength and Heavenly Foot of Pain… please. I need them."
He explained that while his Speed Force allowed for incredible velocity, it lacked the sheer impact needed to end fights quickly. His battles against Kakashi and Orochimaru had taught him this bitter truth. If only he'd had true physical power to match his speed, the outcomes could've been different. Devastating.
That reasoning struck home. Tsunade, stunned by his insight, couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and helplessness. This kid was a monster—but in the best way. He wasn't just a genius with a Sharingan; his memory and understanding were simply… freakish.
He learned things after hearing them once. And more than that—he understood them.
Faced with his conviction and progress, Tsunade relented. She explained the principles of Monstrous Strength and the Heavenly Foot of Pain. Both revolved around an explosive surge of chakra to deliver bone-crushing blows—the difference lay only in whether the energy was channeled to the hands or the feet.
Afterward, Akira bowed again, eyes shining with gratitude. Then, filled with excitement, he left to train. He split off two more shadow clones and added the two new techniques to his already rigorous regimen.
Peaceful days rarely last.
The poison—once thought a deadly threat—was unraveled by Tsunade and Akira in record time. Two top-tier minds from two worlds working in sync. It was less than a month and a half after Akira formally became her disciple that the antidote was complete.
And so, the time came for farewells.
That morning, Akira stood before Tsunade, now taller in presence if not in height. A young man with pride in his heart and power at his back.
"Teacher Tsunade," he said, voice full of earnest strength, "I've nearly mastered the techniques you've taught me. Now it's just a matter of time and battle experience to refine them. Don't worry—I'll carry your legacy with honor. I'll find others worthy to pass them on. Your techniques… they won't fade. I promise."
Tsunade felt a strange lump in her throat. She nodded solemnly.
"I believe you, Akira," she said. "You've shown me more than I ever expected."
She hesitated a moment, then added, "When you return, give my regards to the Third Hokage. And… Shizune won't be going back with you. She'll stay here with me. I need an assistant—and it's safer for her."
Akira understood immediately. Shizune wasn't like him. She hadn't learned Tsunade's elite techniques. Sending her to the front lines would be a death sentence. Tsunade, in her own way, was protecting her.
He nodded. "Understood, Tsunade-sensei. I'll inform the Third Hokage."
Then, with a final bow to both Tsunade and Shizune, Akira turned and walked away—antidote in hand, wind tugging at his cloak.
No tears. No regret. Only purpose.
And thus began his journey back to Konoha.
The spark of legacy now burned bright within him—and the road ahead would be paved with challenge, battle, and the promise of greatness.
Akira stood at the edge of the dusky forest, the last gold of sunlight bleeding through the trees like dying embers. His feet ached from the day's relentless pace, but his thoughts were heavier than the fatigue. With a hand pressed to his temple, he attempted to sense the Flying Thunder God mark he had left back at Konoha's training ground.
Nothing. Not a flicker.
His brows furrowed. Despite all his progress in recent weeks, he was still far from reaching the level of Minato Namikaze, the Fourth Hokage. Minato could leap across continents in an instant, even teleport from the distant Fourth Great War battlefield directly to Konoha. Akira, however, couldn't even cross the breadth of the Land of Fire.
It was frustrating.
Yet Akira understood the path of mastery was long and winding. The Flying Thunder God Technique wasn't a gift—it was a mountain, and he was still climbing. So, he chose the simplest answer: keep walking.
He'd make his way back to Konoha on foot, checking intermittently if the seal's signal grew strong enough to teleport. When he had first departed for Tanzaku Town, the journey had been peaceful, uneventful. He had expected much the same on the way back.
He should've known better.
Even trees wish to grow in silence, but the wind does not yield. And Akira, who only longed to remain in the background—quietly honing his craft, staying out of the gears of fate—was once again caught in destiny's relentless spin.
He pressed on without pause, stopping only to chew on some stale field rations. Dusk had settled in fully when he passed through a small forest. The light dimmed into shadows. Here, he finally allowed himself a rest, exhaling a slow breath.
And that's when the killers struck.
Eight chakra signatures had been trailing him for miles. He'd sensed them early on—he wasn't so naïve to ignore that itch on the edge of his perception. His Sharingan flared to life, casting the world into shades of crimson clarity. In the darkened underbrush, the figures of his pursuers lit up like beacons.
He counted them: eight. Two full squads. The clothing, the weapons, the chakra—Sunagakure. He exhaled sharply.
"So... the day my low profile dies is today."
Poison-laced senbon and kunai sliced through the air toward him. The faint shimmer of violet toxin confirmed it. Only the ninja of the Sand would be so reliant on poison.
"Earth Release: Multiple Earth-Style Walls!"
The ground around him surged and split, four thick earthen walls rising up like a fortress to intercept the projectiles. Clinks and thuds echoed as weapons embedded themselves in the hardened stone.
When the dust settled, Akira stepped out from behind the barrier. He stood there, young and calm, Sharingan spinning. The red gleam in his eyes betrayed no fear.
Above him, the attackers now made no attempt to hide. Eight figures leapt down from the trees. For a moment, there was only silence as they regarded the boy who had ruined their ambush.
The leader of the Sand ninja narrowed his eyes. "Three Tomoe Sharingan... No wonder."
"You really thought two whole squads for a single medical ninja wasn't overkill?" Akira said, tone calm but laced with mockery. "You honor me."
One of the men stepped forward, clearly the captain. "You're Uchiha Akira, right? Surrender now. It'll be less painful."
Akira tilted his head. "So... you're here to kill me because I found a way to neutralize your poison. But why now? That method's been known for weeks."
The man's jaw tightened. No answer. And Akira could see why.
In truth, when the Sand first learned that a medical prodigy from Konoha had devised a way to slow the effects of their latest poison, panic had ensued. But by the time they decided to act, the technique had already proliferated through the Konoha medical corps. The damage was done.
Then, just days ago, their worst fear was confirmed—Konoha had developed a true antidote. And again, it was Akira who had unlocked its secrets.
Now, eliminating him was no longer an option. It was a necessity.
They believed they were striking quickly, catching him unguarded.
But they had underestimated the boy who now stood before them—calm, calculating.
Akira's gaze flicked across their formation. Two with above-average chakra—Jonin. The other six? Chunin at best. He could see it in their chakra flow, their stance, their breathing.
He weighed his options. A direct assault would drain his chakra too fast. His reserves were substantial, but not endless. He was strong—possibly among the strongest of elite Jonin—but this wasn't just about power. It was about precision.
"Divide and conquer," he murmured.
He'd isolate the weaker six. Dispatch them quickly. Then, he would take on the two Jonin.
His Sharingan gleamed brighter.
"You all really should've brought more poison," Akira said quietly, his voice like the wind before a storm. "Because this? This won't be enough."
The Sunagakure ninja leapt into formation. The forest was about to burn with chakra, jutsu, and fury.
Akira, young and alone, faced them without a single tremble.
Because deep inside—beneath the careful composure, beneath the burden of genius and the weight of Tsunade's teachings—burned the fire of someone who had already decided:
He would live.
And he would win.