The day after the challenge, her father informed her that he had already found a teacher for her.
His name was Uchiha Takaro.
Once a fearsome presence on the battlefield, he was known far and wide by the nickname "The Death Flame." He had only retired due to a severe leg injury, after which he took on the responsibility of training the younger generation within the clan.
However, according to her elder brother Madara, no one had ever truly learned well under Takaro. He was notorious for his explosive temper and his refusal to explain anything clearly. Among the clan's instructors, his name was spoken with dread.
It seemed her father had deliberately chosen the harshest path for her. He hadn't even given her the slightest leeway.
At the western edge of the Uchiha clan's territory lay vast training grounds.
After completing her early morning conditioning exercises, Mayumi waited in silence for her new mentor to arrive.
"You're the one Tajima mentioned... Mayumi, right?"
She turned toward the voice and found herself facing a tall, broad-shouldered man, likely in his late thirties. His sharp eyes were narrowed and constantly squinting, creating a permanent furrow in the center of his brow.
This was Uchiha Takaro, the infamous "Death Flame."
Despite a crippling injury that had ended his career, there was nothing frail about the man standing before her. If it weren't for the cane in his hand, no one would believe he had ever been wounded.
But just as she was observing him, Takaro was assessing her—a little girl standing defiantly with calm eyes, unflinching beneath his scrutiny.
"So you're the one who dared challenge Tajima. Got guts, I'll give you that."
For someone like Takaro to so casually refer to the clan head—her own father—by name, Mayumi could only conclude that he must be a truly formidable man.
Mayumi bowed at a respectful forty-five-degree angle.
"Please... teach me, Sensei."
"Hmph. Sweet words. Let's see if you can back them up."
She had a feeling things wouldn't be easy—and she was right. But turning back was never part of her plan.
"I'll only show you once. Watch closely."
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Jutsu"
He shifted his stance fluidly, weaving hand signs in swift succession before exhaling a massive fireball over two meters wide.
"This is the Fireball Jutsu. Whether you can replicate it or not is your business. I won't show you again."
What kind of teacher was this? He didn't explain the hand seals, didn't teach chakra control… It almost felt like he wanted her to fail.
"Go on. Give it a try."
As expected, she couldn't do it.
Her hand seals were off, her chakra control was unstable, and when she finally tried to release the technique, all she achieved was a sore throat and a burning sensation in her chest.
"As I thought, you lack talent. Better head home, little girl."
Biting her lip, Mayumi turned and walked away.
But she didn't head home.
Instead, she went straight to the clan's library and borrowed all the beginner ninjutsu scrolls she could find.
Though only four years old, Mayumi had already learned to read and write. In fact, compared to other children her age, her ability to absorb and understand information was remarkable.
That evening, she buried herself in study. By nightfall, she had grasped the basics of chakra control and memorized the proper hand signs for the Fireball Jutsu.
Alone beneath the fading twilight, in the empty training yard, her fingers weaving hand seals again and again. With each motion, sweat clung to her brow, chakra flickering unsteadily in her palms. No voice urged her on. No hand guided her. Yet still, she pressed forward—driven only by her own will, her breath, and the echo of silent determination.
The next day, Takaro resumed his usual drill-sergeant cruelty—making her run twenty laps around the compound, then forcing her through grueling strength and endurance routines.
By nightfall, her muscles throbbed with pain. Despite her exhaustion, she tried to estimate how much progress she had made, but the numbers felt discouragingly small.
Even so, she showed up every morning, on time, ready for more.
She followed Takaro's instructions to the letter—never complaining, never slacking. After two weeks, the man's usual scowls grew deeper, as though he was running out of ways to torment her.
"It's been nearly two weeks since I first showed you the Fireball Jutsu," Takaro grumbled one morning. "So? Can you do it now?"
Mayumi said nothing.
Her silence seemed to provoke him further.
"That jutsu's as basic as they come! Even brats with half your age and half your brains can do it! If you still can't pull it off, you may as well quit now!"
But she didn't lash back. She didn't flinch.
Instead, Mayumi closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and formed the seals in one smooth, practiced motion. Channeling her chakra into her throat, she focused her entire being into one forceful breath—
A massive fireball burst forward, searing the air.
Takaro flinched, barely dodging to the side as the jutsu blasted past him.
"I'm so sorry, Takaro-sensei!" Mayumi cried, eyes wide. "I couldn't control the output—are you hurt?"
Though her voice was filled with apology, a quiet smirk bloomed in her heart—Mayumi was laughing inside.
That's for underestimating me.
Takaro stared at her, stunned. The fireball had been far larger than expected—and perfectly executed. No help. No shortcuts.
Just pure determination.
A smirk twitched at the corner of her lips.
For the first time, Takaro was speechless.
And Mayumi stood tall—not as a child, not as a girl, but as a true shinobi in the making.
But by then, Takaro was already watching her—his expression unreadable at first, then shifting into a slow, unmistakable frown. He hadn't expected much from the girl he had once corrected in passing, offering instruction almost as an afterthought. Yet now, she stood before him executing her techniques with an unexpected sharpness.
His gaze hardened, narrowed with a flicker of surprise he couldn't quite suppress.
Annoyed, and yet undeniably intrigued, Takaro stared at her with a furrowed brow, as if seeing her for the first time.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly displeased.
"Who's been helping you?"
Mayumi didn't flinch. Her voice was calm, her expression almost innocently sincere.
"With Sensei's guidance and demonstrations, I've been able to perform like this. So, to answer your question—my only help came from you, Sensei."
She offered her reply with a face so free of guilt it was almost angelic.
Takaro was momentarily speechless.
So she was no helpless rabbit after all. No—she was a badger cub, small and clever, already baring little claws. That thought made a rare smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
"Well then, it seems you might have some potential after all. Fine. Let's move on to the next step."
Mayumi lit up with eagerness, a grin spreading across her face. But as she caught a glimpse of Takaro-sensei's deep, unreadable smile, a chill crept into her chest.
This old man… what is he planning now?
"A ninja needs powerful jutsu, yes—but that doesn't mean you can neglect the basics," he said, turning serious. "When the time comes to fight on the battlefield, relying solely on chakra-dependent ninjutsu will get you killed. In real combat, taijutsu is often what saves your life. Today, we're going to strengthen your foundation in that."
"Yes, Sensei."
She immediately shifted into a ready stance, eyes fixed on her teacher. But instead of facing her directly, Takaro suddenly leapt onto a nearby boulder, landing effortlessly with a light thud.
"Wait—aren't we going to spar?" she asked, blinking in confusion.
"You think you're ready to spar with me in your current state? Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed. "First, we're going to train your speed."
Then came his wide, mischievous grin.
"Let's see if you can dodge this, little sprout."
Even as he spoke, he raised his cane high, then slammed it into the ground with a sharp, deliberate motion.
From the earth, several fist-sized rocks burst forth with violent force, hurtling straight toward her like cannonballs.
This old man's trying to kill me…! her mind screamed.
How in the world was she supposed to dodge a barrage of flying stones?
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