Back to the Valley of Hell!

The sun had not yet completely broken through the mountains surrounding the Valley when Riki opened his eyes. The faint light of dawn filtered through the wooden blinds of the room, casting golden stripes over the futon and the tatami floor.

The silence of the house was welcoming, a kind of living silence, full of presences sleeping nearby.

Riki stood up with slow movements, feeling the pain of the previous day.

The muscles in his shoulders and legs were tense, revealing the repeated effort of training in kenjutsu and seals, but he did not complain. The pain of exhaustion was a sign of progress for him.

He put on his light sandals, tied the belt of his training kimono and left discreetly, passing through the still dark room, listening to the rhythmic breathing of his parents in their respective rooms. Outside, the air was fresh, the ground damp with dew, and the sky a mix of gray and violet.

He went to the stone field, where he did his morning exercises: First, slow stretching, coordinated with breathing, push-ups, sit-ups, planks, climbing trees and balancing exercises on wooden stakes stuck in the ground.

Each movement was repeated with precision, his mind, however, wandered.

"Mistake... mistake... almost. That curve of the seal was crooked, the chakra channel fell apart at the end. But why? The line was firm... Maybe I'm trying to force it too much..."

He took a deep breath, jumped from one stake to another, fell and rolled and got up.

After almost an hour, with his body covered in sweat and his heart racing, he returned home.

He took off his kimono, went straight to the shower, the hot water relaxed him and, for a moment, allowed him to forget the weight of his goals.

He went out, changed, tied up his damp hair and headed to the backyard, where Tekka was already waiting for him.

His father was standing, with the two wooden swords resting at his sides. The rising sun dyed his dark hair a coppery tone. Tekka didn't smile, he just raised one of the swords and threw it to his son.

— Today, we're going to repeat the basic movements, horizontal, vertical, diagonal cuts, line attacks and low blocks. You still hesitate on the basic pivots and retreat without repositioning the center, understood?

— Yes, sir. Riki replied, picking up the sword.

The training began, Tekka gave short, direct orders, and Riki executed the movements in silence, the wooden blade cut through the air, but its angles were still imprecise, his fists hurt from the pressure, his shoulders burned.

With each mistake, Tekka corrected him with subtle touches or dry reprimands:

— Lower yourself, your base is loose, start over, don't tilt your torso. Again!

Riki fell, slipped, breathed heavily, but didn't complain. Each correction was a nail in the bridge he was building between himself and his future. In the end, Tekka stopped, watching his son with an appraising gaze.

— You haven't gotten the hang of it yet. But you're starting to realize where you need to go.

Enough, come on, let's duel.

The fight began, Tekka attacked hard, the impact made Riki take three steps back, Tekka advanced with another series of cuts, not only fast, but strategically lethal, the Uchiha style was not made to last long battles.

It was made to end everything in a single decisive move, it was a style of execution.

— We are the sword of Konoha. Tekka said between blows. — Our job is to cut, fast, precise and irreversible.

It was like facing fire, each blow left a mark.

"Each blow carries our memory," his father continued. "We fight not only with muscles or chakra, we fight with the pain of each fallen Uchiha, with the blood that each member of our clan has shed, and the will of those who have fallen to return home! Do you feel that?"

Riki stopped, gasping.

There was a thin cut on his face, an edge of the wood that had passed too close. He ran his finger through the blood, and observed the red color.

His heart was beating fast, but not from fear, it was excitement.

The Uchiha clan was not just an ocular dojutsu. It was honor. It was ferocity. And a purpose.

And then he smiled, a contained, subtle smile, and attacked.

Without hesitation now.

Tekka had to retreat, his son's blows came with surprising speed, mixing the lessons he had absorbed in silence with his own movements, strategic adjustments, creative angles.

The boy read the battlefield like a veteran.

Riki's cut passed close to Tekka's neck, the wood clinking as he blocked it at the last second.

Tekka raised his hand.

"That's enough for today."

Riki stopped, sweating, but firm.

"You fought seriously with me."

Tekka nodded.

"And you answered seriously, you're on the right path..."

Riki returned the sword to the stone support and began to walk away.

Tekka, still looking at the marks on the ground, thought about Danzou, about Hayato.

About the rot that grows where power has no purpose.

Inside, the sound of footsteps echoed through the wooden corridors, passing children studying in open classrooms, all of them looking at him with curiosity and admiration. Some whispered:

— There goes the Prince of the Valley...

— He trains with Takeshi-sama himself...

In the basement, the seal laboratory was as usual: brightly lit, the smell was a mixture of fresh ink, ancient parchment and condensed chakra.

— Let's resume the Seal of the Tower of Chains. Takeshi said, holding out a new parchment.

He demonstrated once.

The precise lines formed spirals, channels, bridges between ancient inscriptions. When he completed it, the seal glowed briefly, a nucleus of light formed in the center and stabilized.

— Now you.

Riki took a deep breath, and began.

First turn: good. Second: failure at the end of the line, the seal hissed, the energy dissipated and left a burning sensation in his palm.

He tried again.

Second attempt: Almost, but the channel between the second and third characters was misaligned, the chakra escaped and formed a spark that bounced against the wall, his shoulder throbbed.

Third. Fourth. Fifth attempt. Fatigue was building up, his fingers were shaking, his vision was starting to blur.

"Stop for a moment," Takeshi interrupted.

"Take a breath."

Riki was sweating, he felt his chakra behaving like water outside the dam, his thoughts echoed in disorder:

Why can't I do it? I'm following the lines... I'm applying chakra calmly... where's the mistake...?