After Tobirama Senju left...
Renya rested for a bit before eagerly heading to the training grounds.
This was his first ti practicing shuriken throwing, and he couldn’t help but feel excited.
In the shinobi world, shuriken are a ninja’s commonly used weapon. Throwing them allows for long-range attacks, perfect for ambushes and assassinations, capable of delivering a silent and deadly blow.
To put it simply, if you can kill your enemy from a distance, why bother with close combat?
If a sneak attack will get the job done, then go for the sneak attack. Taking down the enemy is the ultimate goal.
Renya couldn’t help but imagine—if his throwing skills reached a high level, one toss of a shuriken on the battlefield could instantly take out an enemy. Just the thought of it got his blood pumping.
He took a deep breath to calm himself.
Then, slowly raising his arm, his body leaning slightly backward, he adjusted his stance and threw the shuriken with all his strength.
It was his first ti training—he hoped for a good start.
He wasn’t asking for much. Just hitting the target would be enough. The scoring rings didn’t matter.
But reality was harsh.
The shuriken traced a crooked arc through the air and landed in the dirt a short distance in front of the target.
Forget hitting the bullseye—he hadn’t even hit the target.
The smile on Renya’s face froze instantly. His cheeks flushed red, and he felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on his head.
Instinctively, he looked around. When he saw no one else was there, he breathed a sigh of relief and muttered under his breath:
"Good thing no one saw that... That would’ve been way too embarrassing."
He picked up another shuriken and started over.
"Ahem, that was just an accident. Let’s go again!"
Over and over, the shuriken either veered off course or fell to the ground midway.
Renya’s forehead was covered in sweat. His arm ached from repeated throws, but he didn’t give up.
In this dangerous world of shinobi, personal strength is everything!
Unlike other transmigrators, he didn’t have a system to rely on. He could only grow stronger through constant effort. And that ant enduring intense training.
In fact, Renya was quite lucky to be born as a mber of the Uchiha.
The Uchiha clan had better chakra reserves, ninjutsu talent, and combat prowess than most other clans. Plus, they had the Sharingan—a powerful Kekkei Genkai.
Aside from the Uzumaki and Senju clans, no other family could compare to the Uchiha.
If he had transmigrated into a random clan, that would’ve been true hell. He wouldn’t even have a place to cry.
After all, the potential of ordinary ninja was limited. No matter how hard they tried, their ceiling was barely Jōnin level.
Talent determines the ceiling. Effort determines the floor.
Well... except for those green spandex guys who can use the Eight Gates.
No one knows how long he practiced. Renya once again stood firm, took a deep breath, and steadied his mind.
This ti, his gaze was especially focused. The shuriken in his hand felt like an extension of his body.
After so many throws, he seed to have found the right feeling.
Whoosh! The shuriken sliced through the air in a perfect straight line and landed squarely on the target—dead center in the red bullseye.
"I finally did it!"
Renya plopped down on the ground. His arm throbbed with pain, reminding him of the high-intensity training he had just completed.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, ran down his cheeks, and splattered on the ground.
Though his body was exhausted, the sight of the shuriken lodged in the bullseye made him smile with satisfaction. It was the joy born from hard work and perseverance.
As the sky darkened, Renya took a short break, then stood up and began picking up all the shuriken scattered on the ground, putting them back in their proper place.
Only after that did he drag his tired body back to his room. His clothes were drenched in sweat—he definitely needed a cold shower to shake off the fatigue.
That afternoon’s training had made one thing very clear to Renya—shuriken throwing couldn’t be mastered in a single day.
And that was just against stationary targets. In real combat, enemies don’t just stand around waiting to be hit.
"I should master the fixed targets first," Renya thought as he considered his future training plan.
Uchiha Madara had only recently gone rogue. The battle at the Valley of the End wouldn’t happen for a while.
And Hashirama Senju... seed to have died just a few years after defeating Madara.
Renya speculated that Hashirama probably suffered severe injuries during his battle with Madara, which eventually led to his death...
The First Great Ninja War broke out around year 17 after Konoha was founded. By that estimate, Renya had about ten years of developnt ti.
"Ten years might not be enough..." Renya clenched his fists and murmured to himself.
Becoming a powerhouse in just ten years was nearly impossible.
Ten years later, he’d only be sixteen. He wasn’t so cheat like Naruto or Sasuke. Gaining strength wouldn’t co easily.
"Unless I awaken the Mangekyō Sharingan!" Renya’s eyes lit up.
But he quickly cald down again. Forget the Mangekyō—he hadn’t even awakened a single tomoe yet.
With a sigh, he said, "Whatever. I’ll eat first."
So he headed to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.
Because of Tobirama’s request earlier that morning, he cooked extra rice—two full pots.
As for the dishes, it was the sa again.
He actually wanted to make sothing else, but unfortunately, the ingredients at ho were limited.
He’d have to ask Tobirama to go shopping later...
Just as Renya was setting the dishes on the table, Tobirama arrived—perfectly on ti.
He looked at the four plates of food and nodded silently.
Not bad. These were dishes he liked.
This ti, Renya had portioned the food into two separate servings—one for himself, one for Tobirama.
His reason? He had a cleanliness obsession and didn’t like sharing dishes.
Tobirama didn’t mind. This little brat was more thoughtful than expected.
To be honest, he didn’t like sharing dishes with mbers of the Uchiha anyway.
At the table, neither of them spoke.
Of course, the Uchiha and Senju didn’t have much in common. Neither of them was about to start a conversation.
After dinner, Tobirama picked up the dishes and walked toward the kitchen.
"White-haired old man, we’re out of ingredients," Renya reminded him.
Tobirama paused mid-dishwashing, then after a mont of silence, replied:
"I’ll go buy so tomorrow... What do you want?"
"Whatever." Renya stood up and stretched. "I’m heading back to my room."
Seeing Renya about to leave, Tobirama quickly walked out of the kitchen with a glass of milk.
"Drink your milk before you go back."
Renya was a little surprised. Milk again?
He hadn’t expected the old guy to be this considerate—seed he knew Renya was still growing.
He took the milk and drank it all in one go, then returned to his room.
After a full day of training, his body was completely exhausted. He needed a good night’s sleep.
Tobirama looked down at the now-empty glass, the corners of his mouth curling slightly upward.
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