Right now, the Sharingan he possessed came from the Young Madara character card, not from an awakening born from his own blood and emotions. That meant one thing: no matter how powerful it felt, it was still borrowed power. The question was whether walking around with that vision, that clarity, that instinctive perception, might also stimulate his real body and push his own eyes toward awakening sooner.
Could the two someday overlap? Could the card's Sharingan and his own natural Sharingan merge, layer over each other, or even strengthen one another? Uchiha Gen had no answer. After thinking it over for a moment, he decided there was no point wasting energy on possibilities too far away to touch.
What mattered right now was what this new card had already changed. So he crouched in front of the cabinet, slid open the large lower drawer, and looked at the jumble of practice balls he had stuffed inside. There were rubber balls, worn training balls, and even a few cracked balloons left over from earlier experiments.
He picked one at random, weighed it in his palm, then steadily poured chakra into his hand. Instead of letting it flow in one smooth current, he forced it to rotate chaotically, colliding with itself over and over inside the ball.
A few seconds later, the rubber ball exploded with a pop. Bits of torn rubber bounced across the floor.
Uchiha Gen lowered his hand and narrowed his eyes. The Rasengan was still far beyond him. As one of the most iconic techniques in the original story, it had naturally become something he had tried to reverse-engineer, but knowing what a technique looked like and actually reproducing it were two very different things.
The Rasengan was an A-rank ninjutsu. In practical terms, that meant it was harder to learn than many jonin-level techniques. Naruto had only managed it because the Shadow Clone loophole let him cheat the training process, and the Multi Shadow Clone Technique itself was an A-rank forbidden technique that ordinary shinobi couldn't casually touch.
Uchiha Gen hadn't learned that either. He wasn't arrogant enough to assume he could casually pick apart two high-level techniques just because he knew what they were supposed to do. Still, the Rasengan training method had tremendous value even before success. It was one of the clearest ways to train shape transformation and chakra control.
Back when he was still in the academy's fourth year, popping a balloon had already stopped being difficult. Breaking a rubber ball, though, was another matter. That required much finer control, much denser chakra, and much more stable rotation.
The hardest part was not destroying the shell. The hardest part was making violently rotating chakra condense into something like a tiny storm, keeping it stable despite its chaos, and forcing it to move with precision inside a confined space. It wasn't enough for the chakra to be strong. It had to be obedient while refusing to stop moving.
But after equipping the Young Madara card, something had clearly changed. His control had sharpened by a small but unmistakable degree. The rubber ball had lasted a few more seconds than before, and that extra time told him more than any system prompt could.
His chakra was improving. His perception was improving. And perhaps, just perhaps, the road he was trying to walk had shortened a little.
He exhaled, swept the rubber scraps aside with his foot, and stood up. "Enough. Time to visit the Grand Elder." Then he paused, remembered something, and corrected himself. "No, first the ninja tool shop."
He needed a real blade. The bamboo sword he had bought last month had only been enough for basic forms and balance drills. Between Orochimaru's brutal training and all the extra study time he had crammed into his evenings, he barely had the leisure to touch it, let alone practice seriously.
Still, he was no longer the same person he had been a month ago. Not after equipping Madara's card.
In the card's cutscenes, young Madara's swordsmanship had been strikingly refined. Even when Hashirama's raw physical gifts clearly surpassed him, Madara had still held his own through technique, timing, and judgment. That refinement hadn't disappeared just because the card only represented Madara in his youth.
It wasn't complete mastery, but it was enough to make Uchiha Gen understand one thing very clearly: if he had a good blade in hand, his actual combat framework would become much more complete. Ninjutsu alone was never enough, especially in a world where running out of chakra could get you killed.
He glanced at the rubber fragments still scattered over the floor. With a few quick hand seals, he gathered wind-nature chakra in his palm and released Gale Palm. A modest gust rolled across the room, pushing dust and scraps into the dustpan tucked against the wall.
He watched it go and nodded in satisfaction. Wind Release really was useful in daily life. Once a person got the feel for control, even cleaning stopped being troublesome.
After a simple lunch at one of the better restaurants inside the clan compound, he changed direction just before the road that led to the Uchiha weapon stores. Instead of going deeper into clan territory, he left it entirely and headed toward the bustling commercial street closer to the center of Konoha.
This street was one of the busiest places in the whole village. The Uchiha, Hyuga, Nara, Yamanaka, and other clans all had storefronts here, and the foot traffic never seemed to end. Merchants shouted, housewives bargained, shinobi in half-zipped flak jackets passed by carrying supplies, and children darted between adults like minnows in a river.
Following the flow of the crowd, Uchiha Gen stopped outside a shop steeped in the smell of herbs and medicine. Hanging above the door was the signboard of the Nara clan's pharmacy.
Behind the counter stood a middle-aged Nara ninja with a pineapple-like hairstyle and the perpetually half-awake expression the clan seemed to produce as naturally as breathing. He took one look at the red-and-white fan crest on Uchiha Gen's clothing and lazily pointed toward a side display.
"Oh, an Uchiha kid," he drawled. "Catnip's over there. We've got a special for customers visiting the ninja cats. Buy two packs and you get a free ball of yarn. Soldier pills and wound medicine are on the next shelf."
Uchiha Gen almost laughed. Schizonepeta, catnip, whatever one wanted to call it, the stuff really had become standard etiquette whenever an Uchiha planned to visit the ninja cats. Somewhere along the line, that habit had become so common that even the Nara had started packaging for it.
"Two servings, please," he said.
"One hundred sixty ryo."
Uchiha Gen paid, tucked the two packets away, and left the pharmacy. A few minutes later, he arrived near the Uchiha district again—this time at a ninja tool shop marked by a beckoning lucky cat statue beside the entrance.
The moment he stepped in, an orange-yellow cat so fat it looked like it had swallowed a melon twitched its pink nose, then lunged half a body length across the counter toward the packets in his hand. "Mmm! Nara clan quality! Pure goods!" it exclaimed, voice thick with bliss.
Its whiskers quivered. Its eyes went dreamy. For a second, it looked less like a ninja cat and more like a landlord who'd just discovered a chest full of gold.
Uchiha Gen suppressed his amusement and bowed politely. "Senior Ninja Cat, these are just small gifts. I wanted to ask whether your shop has any ninja swords suitable for someone my size."
The fat orange cat inhaled deeply again, then straightened with sudden dignity, as though catnip intoxication and professional pride were perfectly compatible states. "Good eye, boy. Good manners, too. Come here. Let your Cat-Grandfather take a look at your height, arm length, shoulders…"
It circled him in a waddling loop, tail swaying with grave importance. "What's your budget?"
Uchiha Gen did a quick calculation in his head. The ninja crows were expensive. Feeding summoned birds high-quality food that could gradually improve their chakra was not something he could cut corners on, not if he intended to build them into part of his future fighting style. D-rank missions paid little, and what he earned after splitting shares with teammates vanished faster than he liked.
"Less than fifty thousand ryo," he admitted.
The orange cat clicked its tongue in exaggerated disappointment. "Only fifty thousand? Then you can forget top-grade blades. But for the sake of the catnip, I'll pick the best among the ones you can afford."
Waddling down a row of shelves, it leaped surprisingly lightly onto a display rack and flicked its tail at several sheathed swords. "These five. All between thirty and fifty thousand. Not masterpieces, but far better than standard issue. The Ninja Cat Clan doesn't skimp on material selection or forging. Sharpness, toughness, flexibility—they all meet the line."
Then it tapped two of them in particular. "If you're willing to spend a bit more within your limit, these two will suit you best. Better balance. Better handling. Better steel."
Uchiha Gen stepped forward and lifted the first blade. It cost forty-five thousand. The moment it settled into his hand, he felt the weight distribution. Not bad. He drew it partway, then fully, the steel flashing cold and clean under the light.
He gave it a few test swings. The blade cut through the air with a shallow whistle. Then he turned his wrist, twirled it once, and sheathed it again.
The feel was good. Better than expected, in fact. But he didn't let that decide things too quickly. A sword could not be chosen by price tag alone. A blade had to match its wielder, or else it became baggage the moment combat turned real.
So he picked up the second one, then the third. One was a little too front-heavy for his current build. Another had a grip that felt slightly awkward in transition. The fourth had acceptable weight but poor responsiveness when he tried a quick directional change.
When he reached the fifth sword—the one the orange cat had recommended—his fingers tightened almost unconsciously around the hilt. It was more expensive, just within what he could bear, but it fit his hand with startling naturalness, as if the center of gravity had settled exactly where his instinct expected it to be.
He unsheathed it in one smooth motion and executed a few more practice cuts. Downward slash. Reverse cut. Quick turn. Thrust. Recovery. The motion felt clean. Smooth. Alive.
For an instant, the afterimage from Madara's card and the habits Gen himself had drilled into his body overlapped. The blade moved before he had to consciously command it. Not perfectly, not yet, but enough for him to feel where this path could lead.
The fat orange cat, now sprawled across the counter with one paw possessively resting on the remaining catnip, narrowed its eyes in satisfaction. "That one suits you. Better wrist alignment. Better line of force. If you train properly, it won't hold you back for a good while."
Uchiha Gen nodded slowly. "Then this is the one."
He paid, accepted the sword, and left the shop with the new weapon at his waist and his wallet suddenly much lighter. Yet as he stepped back into the afternoon noise of Konoha, he did not feel the slightest regret.
Money could be earned again. Weapons, training, cards, teachers—those were all pieces of a future he was building with his own hands. Step by step. Blade by blade. Draw by draw.
And now, at last, he had a sword worthy of starting that next step.