The cold of winter had finally passed—but for Konohagakure, a different kind of winter was just beginning.
At the borders between the Land of Fire and its neighboring nations—the Land of Rain, the Land of Grass, and the Land of Hot Water—tensions simmered. Small-scale conflicts, reconnaissance skirmishes, and unauthorized border crossings were becoming more frequent. The situation, though not yet open war, was escalating dangerously.
Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, bore the weight of these tensions. As Konoha's leader, he was inundated with reports, mission requests, and diplomatic briefings each day. His son, Asuma Sarutobi, felt increasingly distant—and increasingly frustrated.
"Father," Asuma said, standing stiffly in the Hokage's office. "Shouldn't these kinds of problems be left to the daimyo? Let the Land of Fire handle its own borders."
Hiruzen, pipe in hand, exhaled a trail of smoke. "Asuma, you misunderstand. The Daimyo governs the country, but the shinobi villages are its sword and shield. Without us, the Land of Fire would be overrun."
He tapped his pipe against the ashtray, his gaze sharp. "Amegakure backs the Land of Rain. Kusagakure stands behind the Land of Grass. And Yukigakure, though smaller, supports the Land of Hot Water. If they chose to attack, even the Daimyo's palace wouldn't last a day."
"But that's exactly the problem," Asuma argued. "If the Daimyo can't even defend himself, how can he rule? Shouldn't he have the power to stand on his own?"
Hiruzen smiled faintly, a touch of weariness behind his eyes. "You're thinking too simply. These conflicts don't exist in isolation. Behind those small villages might be hidden the hands of Iwagakure, Kirigakure... even Kumogakure. We can't afford to act rashly."
He reached out and tousled Asuma's hair with paternal warmth. "Now, off to school. The world won't wait for you to catch up."
Asuma lowered his head, frustration simmering, and left the office.
Meanwhile, the unrest at the borders led to an influx of mission requests—assassinations, recon patrols, merchant escorts—all piling up at the Hokage Tower.
Namikaze Minato, already renowned as the "Yellow Flash," had just completed developing his signature jutsu: the Rasengan. Shortly afterward, he departed on a high-ranking mission near the border.
But for Uchiha Fenghuo, these political shifts felt distant. With Minato-sensei's occasional guidance, his progress had accelerated. He had completed the third stage of his personal training plan and was preparing for the final step.
Physical training was overseen by the relentless Might Dai, a self-proclaimed "eternal genin" and legendary taijutsu master. Under his guidance, there was no room for sloppiness.
Genjutsu was another matter entirely. His mentor, Kurama Congyun—the eccentric head of the fading Kurama Clan—was more nostalgic than structured. His lectures regularly devolved into tales of past clan glories, averaging five such tangents every three days. Occasionally, he'd snap back to reality with a sudden burst of genjutsu aimed at Fenghuo—part test, part punishment for inattention.
Learning from him was like climbing the perilous paths of Mt. Sumi: steep, confusing, and occasionally maddening.
Still, from this chaotic education, Fenghuo gained just enough foundation to attempt a significant breakthrough.
That night, he carefully crafted an illusion—his most elaborate attempt yet. It was designed to provoke deep emotional response by simulating the deaths of his closest friends. The illusion was crude but effective enough to bypass conscious defense if activated during sleep.
"If I fall asleep before the illusion activates, my conscious mind won't know it's fake," Fenghuo muttered. "Let's do this."
He set the genjutsu to trigger in one hour, closed his eyes, and began counting sheep.
One sheep... two sheep... three sheep…
Over a thousand sheep later—nothing.
Frustrated, Fenghuo awakened and dispelled the illusion using his Sharingan.
"Again. I'm not giving up!"
He repeated the setup. But sleep refused to come.
Sheep failed. Turtles failed. Even cows didn't work.
Eventually, near dawn, exhausted and barely conscious, Fenghuo cast the genjutsu one final time—just before drifting into deep sleep.
An hour passed. The illusion triggered.
In the dreamscape, Fenghuo was walking hand-in-hand with Yūhi Kurenai, playing a childish game.
Suddenly, Uchiha Rakuna and Hyūga Shinmune appeared, their expressions scornful.
"Shameless!" Shinmune shouted. "Flirting with a seven-year-old?! That's a decade in prison—or worse!"
They attacked.
Fenghuo's temper flared. He fought back. Kurenai, in tears, rushed in to defend him—eventually turning on Shinmune with furious fists. But before Fenghuo could intervene, Rakuna blocked him.
Just as panic set in, Obito arrived—but was quickly overwhelmed.
"Stop! STOP!!"
The genjutsu and the dream fused too perfectly. It was all too real.
As Kurenai's sorrow deepened and Obito's resistance faded, a strange chakra surged within Fenghuo. A force awoke inside him—intense, ancient, and familiar.
His eyes snapped open.
In his bed, Fenghuo gasped for breath. Sweat drenched his brow. His Sharingan had evolved—two tomoe now spun in each eye.
"Hah... hah...!"
Exhausted but exhilarated, he felt the surge in ocular power. The evolution had succeeded.
He deactivated the Sharingan and fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When he next awoke, the sun was already setting. To his surprise, Obito and a tall woman were seated nearby.
"About time," Obito grinned.
"Good afternoon, Fenghuo," said the woman softly. Her long golden hair glimmered in the fading light.
"Pharmacist... Nozomi?" Fenghuo blinked, confused. "Why are you here?"
"You missed class. Everyone was worried," Obito said. "I ran into Sister Nozomi on the way, so we came together."
Fenghuo laughed awkwardly. "It's... been a while."
He glanced away, guilt stirring. He still owed her ryo for various medicines.
"You've been having intense nightmares," said Nozomi, frowning. "Your spirit is overstrained. I suspect it's a side effect from genjutsu exposure."
"I've been training under Kurama Congyun lately," Fenghuo admitted.
Nozomi nodded and gently placed her hands on his head, sending soothing chakra pulses into his brain. The relief was immediate—warmth spread through him like a hot spring.
Only a master-level medical-nin could do this.
"Fenghuo," Obito added, "Kai, Rin, Kurenai, and the others stopped by earlier, but you were still out cold."
"Tell them thank you for me at school tomorrow," Fenghuo said, smiling.
As he closed his eyes again, a firm light returned to them.
Illusions are illusions. No matter how painful, they aren't reality.
And that truth made him stronger.
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