I knew she wouldn't start with her Sharingan. From Ryusei's memories, Mikoto had always been friendly, the kind of classmate who saw the quiet orphan kid as someone soft, not really a threat, someone who needed protecting rather than fighting seriously. I planned to use that to my advantage, letting her underestimate me just enough to create openings. It wasn't arrogance on her part—just the natural assumption of someone born to a clan that produced some of the deadliest shinobi in history. Why would she expect anything different from the boy who used to eat lunch alone while she trained with her cousins?
We circled each other on the grass of Training Ground 7, the morning light filtering through the trees in dappled patches that shifted with every breeze, the air still cool but already warming up with the promise of a full day. The dew had mostly burned off now, leaving the grass damp and slippery in spots where the sun hadn't fully reached. Sakumo stood off to the side with Kira, both watching closely, but I kept my focus on Mikoto, her ponytail swaying slightly as she moved, that confident Uchiha posture making it clear she thought this would be quick. Her hands were loose at her sides, kunai held in a casual reverse grip that could shift to attack or defense in an instant. She wasn't tense, wasn't worried. She was relaxed, and that told me everything I needed to know about what she expected from this fight.
As we closed in for the first clash, I sent a shadow clone rushing forward to intercept her. I'd trained hard on summoning them extremely fast, the hand seals barely a flicker—Ram, Snake, Tiger, the sequence burned into my muscle memory from hours of practice in the Forest of Death—before the clone popped into existence with a small puff of smoke, charging straight at her with a kunai raised high. The clone moved with purpose, feet pounding the grass, eyes locked on her throat, the kind of aggressive opening that forced a reaction.
Mikoto didn't even hesitate. Her eyes tracked the clone for less than a heartbeat, calculating its speed, its angle, its intent. With a clean swing of her own kunai she sliced right through the clone, the blade passing through its neck like it wasn't even there. The clone burst into smoke that drifted away on the morning breeze, thin wisps that curled and dissipated before they could reach the treeline.
The moment the clone disappeared I used body flicker, the world blurring into streaks of green and brown as I reappeared right at her side. I swung my kunai in a tight arc aimed at her ribs, the blade whistling through the air with a sound that promised a shallow cut at minimum. Not a killing blow—this was a spar, not a death match—but enough to make her work for it.
She reacted instantly. Her body twisted with that natural Uchiha grace, the kind of fluid motion that came from years of training and better genetics than most people could dream of. She dodged the strike by a hair's breadth, the kunai passing close enough to ruffle her shirt, and countered with a sharp elbow aimed straight for my chest. The strike was fast, economical, the kind of counter that punished overcommitment.
I summoned another clone right in front of me at the last second. The clone took the hit full on, grunting as the elbow slammed into its sternum before it poofed out of existence, the impact jarring my own senses through the shared feedback but giving me the split-second window I needed. I body flickered again, repositioning a few meters away, my sandals skidding slightly on the damp grass as I landed.
The whole exchange barely lasted three seconds. Fast and brutal, the kind of opening flurry that told me exactly how sharp she was. I'd landed zero hits. She'd landed zero hits. But we'd both learned something about each other in those few heartbeats of violence.
Kira's voice was soft from the sidelines, almost impressed despite her usual ice-cold demeanor.
Kira: He's much stronger than the academy days.
I didn't have time to feel good about that. Mikoto was already moving again.
Me and Mikoto clashed once more, closing the distance in a heartbeat. I was already taking this battle seriously—no youki, just straight chakra and hands, holding back the fox side completely because I wanted to see what I could do with pure skill and the new jutsus I'd been drilling. This was a test, not just from Sakumo but from myself. How far had I come? How much of Ryusei's body had I actually made mine?
And she was a good opponent, no doubt about it. She was the mother of Sasuke and Itachi after all; they inherited most of their talent from her. That sharp mind, that fluid movement, that ability to read a fight before it happened—it was all on display now, every second of this battle a reminder that the Uchiha didn't produce mediocrity. We traded blows in close quarters, kunai sparking against kunai with sharp metallic rings that echoed across the training ground, each clash sending small vibrations up my arm and into my shoulder. The sound was almost musical, a rhythm of violence that had its own tempo, its own flow.
She was fast. Her strikes were precise and economical, aiming for joints and pressure points rather than wild swings, forcing me to stay on my toes and use the new taijutsu forms I'd picked up from the archive. Every movement she made had a purpose. No wasted energy, no flashy spins or dramatic poses. Just clean, efficient violence delivered with the confidence of someone who'd been doing this since before she could read.
The kunai clash stretched out, turning into this intense back-and-forth dance that covered half the clearing. I swung low, trying to catch her leg, but she leaped over it effortlessly, her body coiling in mid-air before she came down with a downward strike that I barely blocked, our blades locking for a moment as we pushed against each other, faces inches apart. I could see my reflection in her dark eyes, could smell the faint floral scent of whatever soap she used mixed with the clean sweat already starting to bead on her temples. Her expression was focused, that small smile still playing on her lips like she was enjoying this more than she expected.
I twisted my wrist, breaking the lock and spinning into a Konoha Whirlwind kick, my leg whipping around in a wide arc aimed at her midsection. The technique was one I'd drilled a hundred times in the Forest of Death, the motion finally starting to feel natural instead of forced. She blocked with her forearm, the impact jarring both of us, and I felt the shockwave travel up my leg. Then she countered with a series of rapid stabs—left, right, center—forcing me to parry each one in quick succession, the sound of metal on metal ringing out like a frantic drumbeat that echoed off the surrounding trees.
Sweat was already beading on my forehead, my breathing coming faster as I adapted to her rhythm. I used the Leaf Rising Wind to launch upward, pushing off the grass with everything I had, trying to catch her from above with a downward kick. But she anticipated it, reading the shift in my weight, the tension in my legs before I even left the ground. She rolled under my strike and swept my legs out from under me the moment I landed, her foot hooking behind my ankle with practiced precision.
I hit the ground rolling, the impact knocking the breath out of me for a second, and came up in a crouch just as she pressed the attack again. Her kunai flashed in a series of thrusts that I deflected with increasingly desperate parries, the blade getting closer with each exchange. One strike grazed my sleeve, tearing the fabric and leaving a thin line of red on my forearm. Another nearly caught my shoulder before I twisted away at the last second, feeling the wind of its passing on my skin.
The exchange felt cinematic, like something out of a high-stakes fight scene from the anime I'd grown up watching. Our movements blurred together in a flurry of steel and footwork, the grass getting torn up beneath our sandals as we pushed each other across the clearing. Chunks of dirt and torn vegetation flew up with every pivot, every sudden change of direction. She was pressing me hard, her Uchiha training showing in every fluid transition, every perfectly timed counter.
But I was holding my own. I was using the new kenjutsu basics to turn my kunai work into something sharper, more aggressive than Ryusei had ever managed. The forms from the archive were starting to click, the blade-draw techniques translating surprisingly well to the shorter weapon. We locked blades again, pushing against each other with gritted teeth, her strength surprising me even though I knew she was no slouch. The muscles in my arms burned from the effort, my knuckles white around the kunai's handle.
Sakumo's voice cut through the clash from the sidelines, sounding genuinely impressed.
Sakumo: I've never seen such usage of clones in battle. That's creative.
I took the opening to summon two more clones, the puffs of smoke appearing almost instantly as I poured chakra into the technique. The clones immediately charged in from different angles—one low, one high, their movements synchronized to force her to choose which threat to address first. Mikoto's eyes narrowed, and she finally decided to stop holding back. Her Sharingan activated with a flicker, the black irises bleeding into red as two tomoe spun into place, the pattern sharp and clear against the crimson background. The red glow made her look even more dangerous and beautiful at the same time, like something out of a legend.
Ryusei: Finally taking me seriously, huh?
I grinned as I circled her, keeping my distance now that her eyes were active. The Sharingan changed everything. It would read my movements, anticipate my attacks, show her weaknesses in my stance that she could exploit. I'd have to be faster, more creative, less predictable.
She snorted, the sound light but edged with respect.
Mikoto: I didn't expect you could even push me this far. My mistake. I won't hold back now.
The clones attacked first. One unleashed a Wind Release: Gale Palm, a compressed burst of air that shot toward her like a cannonball, distorting the air in its wake. The other used Vacuum Wave, slicing crescent blades of wind that cut through the grass and left furrows in the earth as they traveled. The two techniques converged on her from different angles, a pincer of invisible death that would have shredded a lesser shinobi.
Mikoto had already formed the seals for her counter, her hands moving so fast they blurred—Tiger, Snake, Ram, the sequence drilled into her since childhood. She exhaled a Fire Release: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique, a swarm of small fireballs streaking toward the clones like angry hornets, each one trailing smoke and heat. The flames were fast, each ball targeting a different clone, spreading out in the air like a blooming flower of death.
The flames overpowered the wind techniques in brilliant explosions of heat and smoke. The fire met the compressed air and the result was a series of concussive blasts that shook the ground, the clones poofing out one after another as the fire consumed them. The heat washed over the clearing in waves, making the grass wilt and curl in patches, and the smoke drifted across the field in thick gray clouds that smelled of sulfur and scorched earth.
I had appeared in front of her with a body flicker at the exact moment the last clone disappeared. The timing had to be perfect—too early and she'd see me coming, too late and she'd have time to reset her guard. I launched into Dynamic Entry with everything I had, launching myself forward in a flying kick that turned my body into a projectile. The momentum carried me like a human missile, my leg extended straight for her chest with all the speed and power I could muster from the new taijutsu training. The move was flashy and aggressive, the kind that looked ridiculous until it connected. My body twisted mid-air to add extra force behind the strike, the air rushing past my face, my eyes locked on the point of impact.
She barely had time to block. Her Sharingan saw it coming, but seeing and reacting were two different things, especially when the attack was that fast. She crossed her arms at the last second, bracing for impact, and my foot slammed into her forearms with a sound like a thunderclap. The impact sent her flying backward across the grass, her feet skidding through the dirt as she fought to regain balance, leaving two long trenches in the turf. A small grunt escaped her lips from the force, and I saw her arms shake slightly as she lowered them.
She muttered under her breath, catching herself and straightening up, her eyes never leaving mine.
Mikoto: You fight like a trickster.
I grinned, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. The morning sun was higher now, the heat starting to build, and I could feel the exhaustion creeping into my muscles. But the adrenaline was still pumping, still keeping me sharp.
Ryusei: You have no idea.
She didn't waste time replying with words. Instead she reached into her pouch and threw multiple shuriken in a wide arc, the steel stars glinting in the sunlight as they spun through the air. At the same time she used the Fire Release: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique again, exhaling another swarm of small fireballs that mixed with the spinning steel. The flaming projectiles and the shuriken wove together in a deadly barrage, a net of fire and steel that filled the air with whistling death and streaks of orange flame.
It was a beautiful technique, deadly and artistic at the same time, the kind of combination that made you appreciate why the Uchiha were so feared.
With my enhanced hearing I picked out the sound of every shuriken cutting through the air, the subtle differences in pitch telling me their trajectories, their speeds, their angles of attack. It was like hearing music, each note distinct, each one carrying information that my brain processed in fractions of a second. I summoned clones at the perfect moments—two appearing at my sides and two at my back—each one raising kunai or arms to block the incoming storm.
The shuriken clanged off steel and poofed clones into smoke, the impacts ringing out like a deadly bell choir. The fireballs exploded against the defensive line in bright flashes that lit up the training ground like fireworks, each detonation sending a pulse of heat across my skin. The air filled with the smell of scorched grass and ozone, the heat rolling over me in waves that made my eyes water.
I unleashed a Great Fireball Jutsu right through the chaos. The massive orb of flame roared forward like a miniature sun, its orange core tinged with blue at the edges from the subtle youki amplification I'd been practicing even if I wasn't using full fusion yet. The fireball was bigger than it should have been, hotter than the scroll said it would be, and it carved a path through the remaining shuriken and fireballs like they weren't even there.
Mikoto countered with the same technique. Her own Great Fireball met mine head-on in the center of the clearing, two suns colliding in a blaze of glory. The two jutsus hit each other with a thunderous boom that shook the ground and sent birds fleeing from the trees in a panic. The flames twisted and roared against each other in a violent struggle, each one trying to consume the other, pushing back and forth like a tug-of-war made of fire.
Sparks and embers exploded outward in all directions, raining down on the grass and starting small fires that would need to be put out later. The heat was so intense it singed the leaves on the nearby trees, turning them brown and crispy at the edges. Both of us had to shield our faces for a moment, the brightness and the heat too much even for Sharingan-enhanced eyes.
The clash created a swirling vortex of fire that hung in the air for several long seconds, spinning and crackling like a fiery tornado. It was beautiful in a terrible way, the kind of destruction that made you understand why shinobi were considered weapons of mass destruction. Finally the vortex exploded outward, sending a shockwave of hot air blasting across the training ground that knocked both of us back a step and left a scorched circle of blackened grass where the flames had met.
I didn't let the moment pass. The second the flames cleared I unleashed my genjutsu, layering Echoes of the Phantom Veil across the space between us. The illusion spread out like ink in water, spiders crawling out of the shadows, twisting shapes moving at the edges of vision, the ground seeming to shift and writhe underfoot. I'd used it on the Suna nins to devastating effect, trapping them in a nightmare while I picked them apart.
She muttered, almost amused, as the illusion took hold.
Mikoto: Really? Using a genjutsu on an Uchiha?
Her Sharingan spun faster, the tomoe blurring as she channeled chakra to break the illusion. She dispelled it with a sharp kai, the spiders dissolving like they'd never existed, the shadows retreating to their corners. But that split second was all I needed. The moment her focus was on breaking the genjutsu, I closed the distance again, my kunai aimed straight for her neck in a clean thrust.
She twisted her body at the last possible moment, her Sharingan giving her just enough warning to avoid the worst of it. The blade grazed her collar instead of slicing skin, leaving a thin line on the fabric of her shirt. She countered with a sharp palm strike to my chest that sent me staggering back a few steps, the impact jarring my ribs and forcing the air out of my lungs in a whoosh.
I caught my balance, raising my kunai again, and saw something shift in her expression. Respect. Genuine respect, mixed with surprise and maybe a little frustration that I wasn't an easy win like she'd expected.
She thought to herself—even if I didn't know her exact thoughts—he fights like an Uchiha, the way he uses misdirection and layered attacks, the way he reads the flow of battle. It was a compliment wrapped in surprise, the kind that made her take me more seriously than she had at the start.
We weren't done. Not even close. Mikoto reset her stance, Sharingan tomoe spinning slowly in those crimson eyes, her breathing controlled despite the exertion. I readied another clone and adjusted my grip on the kunai, the handle slick with sweat now, the blade nicked from the clash of steel. The tension between us crackled like the aftermath of the fire clash, both of us breathing harder now but nowhere near finished.
The fight continued, fast and unrelenting, our movements blurring together once more as we closed the distance again. Kunai flashed in the morning light, feet pounded the scorched grass in a rhythm that showed no signs of slowing down. The sun climbed higher overhead, the shadows shortened, and the two of us kept going, neither willing to be the first to yield, both pushing each other further than we'd expected to go.
Mikoto and Kira's pic in comments