“Happy Birthday, Riki!”

He closed his eyes, tried to remember the feeling of the stable seal, the old man's breathing, the lightness of the gesture. But everything in his body cried out with urgency, eagerness and a hurry to overcome it soon. And this hurry sabotaged everything!

He tried twice more, and again, he failed.

The seal fell apart before activating; at the end of the session, his hands were shaking, his eyes were burning and his body felt like it was carrying lead.

Takeshi calmly collected the scrolls.

"Even the most powerful seals began as mistakes," he continued. "But not everyone has the courage to fail as much as you."

Riki didn't answer. He just nodded, bowed in thanks and headed back home. The sun was already low, the valley was buzzing with voices and footsteps. But inside him, there was only tiredness.

And the determination to try again tomorrow.

The fatigue was more mental than physical, a type of exhaustion that could not be cured with rest; only success would bring the satiety his soul sought. He knew he had made progress, tiny, insignificant, but still visible. Connections between traits, partial stabilizations, cleaner chakra reorganizations, and still... It was not enough. He climbed the spiral steps to the ground floor, the night breeze greeted him, cold and damp, the open windows of the main building let out echoes of footsteps, but none of his classmates remained there. Not a whisper, not a sound, strangely quiet! Riki walked through the narrow streets of the Valley, passing through alleys where he would usually see other children returning home, or old masters closing doors. But that night, the village seemed to have retired too early. He found it strange, but did not suspect it, he was too tired, and this was the Valley, who would attack a useless land?! It was only when he reached the front of the house that he felt something... out of place.

The door was ajar, a warm light leaked through the cracks, the smell of freshly prepared food permeated the air, seasonings he recognized from afar: ginger, garlic browned in oil, roasted meat.

Something was bubbling deep in his chest.

He pushed the door open.

— SURPRISE!

The scream came like a wave. Colors, lights, voices, smiles, the house was filled with many people, tables full of dishes: ramen, dango, mochi. Flags with the clan symbol hung, banners with his name. And so many people; children, adults, elders, all filling every corner of the main room, there was even a handwritten banner: "Happy Birthday, Riki!"

He blinked. For a moment, he stood still in the doorway, as if his mind couldn't keep up with reality.

Akemi appeared first, hugging him tightly.

— Did you really think we would forget? She said, smiling.

Her hair tied in a simple bun, wearing a light kimono, but still with the elegance of a lethal kunoichi.

— It's your birthday, my little prince.

Tekka appeared next, wearing his traditional Uchiha outfit, more formal than usual, with a smile contained in the corner of his lips.

— Congratulations, son! He said. — You're getting older... and stronger.

Before he could answer, a swarm of children gathered around him. They were his usual friends: Jiro, with his dark hair and red eyes tinged with Chinoike blood; Sayuri, always restless, heiress of the Uzumaki lineage with wine-colored hair and an absurd talent for fuinjutsu; and so many others.

— Hey, Riki, has your father ever used the Sharingan in war? One of the boys asked, his eyes shining with curiosity.

— Has he ever fought against swordsmen from the Mist? Another asked.

Tekka, cornered by questions, tried to answer succinctly, but he was soon surrounded, discreetly narrating stories from his time as a police officer in Konoha, omitting the darkest details, of course, but drawing laughter and wide eyes from the little ones.

On the other side, Akemi was also the target of harassment.

— Mrs. Akemi, is it true that you defeated a jonin all by yourself? A girl asked, tugging on his sleeve.

— How do you capture your enemies with just a look?

Akemi laughed, patiently and charismatically. She was the princess of the Valley, and the most feared warrior among them, each of her stories seemed like a feat righteous from legends.

Riki stopped in the middle of the room, observing everything.

There were his grandparents, the old man a direct descendant of Ashina Uzumaki, red hair with a few gray strands, smiling as he drank tea.

At his side, Grandma Chinoike, elegant as always, silent but proud.

And further back, even the elders were present, including Takeshi, who was exchanging ideas with other seal masters while savoring a mochi.

The house was alive, full of voices, warmth, stories, smells, promises.

Riki, for an instant, felt everything slow down, as if looking from the outside, his family, his clan, his home.

It was strange to him, he had reincarnated in this world with fear; Fear of dying prematurely and of the difficult life he would have. Now that fear became milder than the fear of losing them.

There was still the fear of repeating tragedies from the original work, but there, in that moment, amidst the laughter and the warm light of the candles, he felt something rare.

Belonging.

Maybe even if only for today, he could be just an ordinary boy.

And tomorrow... well, tomorrow the seals, the training, the failures would return.

But that night, he smiled. Because no matter how much he knew about the cruel world lurking outside, no matter how much he carried memories of a previous life, in that room... he was just Riki.

And he was loved.

The main room of the Uzumaki house was unrecognizable, the wooden walls had been decorated with red and white stripes intertwined like spirals, in a clear homage to the clan's heritage.

Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting a soft golden light that danced over the faces of the guests, the smell of rice sweets, hot tea, and roast meat mingled with the unmistakable aroma of pine incense burning in a small brazier in the corner, a traditional gesture to bless the new age.

In the center, a low table covered in floral fabrics displayed the delicacies prepared by Akemi and some of the clan women; dango was neatly stacked on skewers, rice balls drawn with tiny holes of food ink in the shapes of spirals and tomoe.

A small wooden box carved with the symbol of the Chinoike clan held ceremonial coins, an ancestral gift to attract wisdom.

Riki could barely move; every time he took a step, someone stopped him. Children, adults, even the elders wanted to greet him; he sat like a small flame in the center of an ancient festival.

And then, from the shadows, his friends appeared. They didn't shout or make a flashy entrance. They were just there, as always.

Jiro Chinoike was the first to approach. He was tall for his age, with long, thin black hair, pale skin, and deep red eyes. The traits of the Chinoike clan were evident, and at only eight years old, he was already feared for his skill in ocular dojutsu.