Through New Eyes

Thunk! Thud!

A grin spread across her face as every shuriken hit its target dead center. The satisfying sound of metal sinking into wood echoed through the training grounds. Despite the disorienting circumstances, she was relieved to find that the body's muscle memory and the remnants of Sasuke's training were more than sufficient.

Though Fugaku had often looked down on Sasuke as a child, she'd still been trained rigorously, expected to be the potential heir to the Uchiha Clan. From shinobi skills to business management, Sasuke had been schooled in both disciplines—though more as an apprentice than a master. Still, it was enough to help her pull the Uchiha family businesses under her control without attracting suspicion.

She briefly entertained the idea of attempting a Shadow Clone, but caution held her back. Even with a chakra pool greater than most, the technique was dangerous. Only those with Jonin-level reserves and superior chakra control could use it without suffering severe consequences.

"Tsk! Damn blonds and their freakishly huge chakra pools," she muttered, retrieving the shuriken and kunai from the wooden post with a sharp tug.

Sitting cross-legged, she focused on chakra control, laying the leaves she had collected on her way to the training ground across her skin. The goal was clear: master the Water-Walking Technique quickly. If she could perfect it, she'd be able to perform a Shadow Clone without depleting her reserves, or worse, injuring herself. The sooner she accomplished that, the better. Sitting still, meditating—focusing on something so seemingly simple—felt like torture. Every second spent motionless gnawed at her patience. She couldn't afford to waste time.

"I need to learn the Shadow Clone Jutsu," she murmured to herself, her voice low but determined. As she spoke, the familiar warmth filled her eyes—the faintest shimmer as her Sharingan activated, a reminder of the power and responsibility she now bore. Her bloodline was a tool, an inheritance, and a burden that would follow her wherever she went.

With a sharp breath, she pushed herself to her feet, determined to make every minute count. The focus shifted from chakra control to precision—she couldn't allow her frustration to cloud her training. Reaching into her pouch, she pulled out a length of ninja wire and began practicing its intricate manipulation. The wire, which had once seemed like a simple tool, now felt like a tangible extension of her will.

She tossed the wire into the air, guiding it into quick, controlled loops and twists. Her fingers moved deftly, weaving the wire with the same sharp precision "she'd" once used in combat. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the wire slicing through the air, targeting an invisible enemy, imagining the sensation of it cutting through flesh with surgical accuracy. Each movement, every twist of the wire, was a reminder of her Uchiha lineage—the meticulous nature that ran through her veins.

After a while, she set the wire down and returned to her shuriken. Each time her hands gripped the familiar metal, the tension in her body eased, like an old friend. She threw the shuriken again and again, ensuring they embedded themselves deeper into the wood. Her Sharingan whirred to life in response, sharpening her focus and increasing her reaction speed. It was as if the world slowed just enough for her to gauge every angle, every trajectory, before the shuriken even left her fingers.

"Faster… more precise," she muttered, testing herself. The sound of the metal hitting the post became a rhythm, a beat that matched the pulse of her heart.

Feeling her chakra reserves steady, she switched to a technique she hadn't yet fully mastered—Fire Release: Great Fireball Jutsu. Sasuke had never been known for his proficiency with ninjutsu compared to other Uchiha, but she had the potential to surpass those limitations.

The fireball technique was a basic, yet powerful jutsu in the Uchiha arsenal. Standing tall, she focused her chakra into her chest, as she had seen countless times before. Drawing in a deep breath, she formed the correct hand seals—Rat, Snake, Monkey, Boar, Horse—and then, in an instant, expelled a burst of fiery chakra from her mouth.

The result? A weak puff of smoke. She frowned, stepping back. It wasn't enough. Not nearly.

"That won't do," she muttered, eyeing the empty space where the fireball should have been. Her Sharingan flared again, eyes glowing crimson as she focused. She didn't need to rely on brute strength. She needed to refine her control, to shape the chakra within her precisely. With renewed focus, she tried again.

This time, the chakra surged forward, expanding into a large, roaring fireball that lit up the training ground, casting shadows on the trees around her. The flames licked at the air, swirling and burning with intense heat. It wasn't perfect—not yet—but it was a start.

She stood still for a moment, watching the flames die down as she took in the weight of her actions. Each jutsu she learned, each technique she perfected, brought her closer to her goal—closer to controlling this body, this power, and ultimately, her fate.

"I'm not there yet," she whispered to herself. "But I will be."

…

The thud of her fist connecting with the wooden post echoed through the quiet training grounds, her knuckles stinging from the impact. She stepped back, her body already anticipating the next movement as she flowed seamlessly into the next series of Taijutsu strikes. Each punch, each kick, felt more fluid than the last. The physical muscle memory of Sasuke's years of rigorous training was beginning to fall into place. Despite the disorienting shift in her body and identity, the movements were becoming second nature.

Her feet moved swiftly, dodging and weaving, her body flowing in sync with the rhythm of the combat. She practiced the basic stances again—low stances that were meant to strike quickly and efficiently, movements that would allow her to disarm or incapacitate an opponent before they had the chance to react. Her body had grown accustomed to the techniques, but her mind still struggled to fully accept the unfamiliarity of her new form. She wasn't the same person anymore, but the skills were still there, buried deep within.

She pivoted sharply to the right, a roundhouse kick slicing through the air. Her foot connected with the post, knocking it slightly askew, the wooden surface splintering under the force. She gritted her teeth, focusing on the power behind each movement. Taijutsu was about more than just strength—it was about precision and control. She needed to master both, even if it felt like she was still wrestling with her own body.

She paused for a moment, taking in deep, calming breaths as she assessed her progress. Despite her current form, her chakra control was steady. But that wasn't enough. Her punches lacked the devastating force of a seasoned shinobi. Her kicks, while swift, lacked the weight that came with years of combat experience.

She squared her shoulders and began again, slower this time, focusing on each motion.

First, she lowered herself into a basic stance, her feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. She moved through a series of defensive blocks, stepping forward and back, practicing her ability to redirect an opponent's attacks rather than meet them head-on. Each time her arm blocked the invisible opponent's strike, she imagined the motion as an extension of her own body, her core leading the movement.

She switched to a more aggressive stance next, throwing quick punches, jabs, and cross strikes into the air. Her knuckles connected with the air as if breaking through an opponent's guard, snapping out with speed and precision. The muscles in her arms burned as she worked through combinations, focusing on using her body's momentum, maintaining fluidity, and making sure each blow packed more force than the last.

As she moved through her practice, the familiar weight of her memories—the ones that belonged to Sasuke—started to take hold. She remembered how he had trained tirelessly, pushing past his limits, enduring pain, and sharpening his combat skills in order to stand out. It was this constant training, this ceaseless effort, that made him the skilled fighter he was. That determination was now her own.

She focused on building her endurance. The rhythm of her movements became more pronounced, and soon she was breaking into a sequence of quick jabs, low sweeps, and high kicks. She moved in a blur, practicing the evasive maneuvers she had seen Sasuke use to avoid opponents far more powerful than him. The energy in her legs grew stronger, her footwork more fluid, allowing her to move across the training field in a fluid, unpredictable pattern.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she forced herself through a set of squat thrusts. The physical exertion pushed her to the edge, but she refused to stop. She was no longer just training for the sake of technique—she was training for survival. The Uchiha Clan's legacy rested on her shoulders, and no matter how strange or wrong it felt to be in this unfamiliar body, she couldn't afford to let it slow her down.

She finished the set with a final kick, the force of it sending a nearby wooden dummy crashing to the ground. She stood still for a moment, breathing heavily, eyes narrowing with resolve. Her body felt on fire, her muscles crying out for rest, but she knew it wasn't time to stop. She was still far from where she needed to be.

Her gaze drifted toward the distant trees, where she could make out the faint shadow of a sparring partner—a memory of Sasuke's past, a reminder of the many battles that lay ahead.

She had spent too many years alone, driven only by the need for vengeance. But now, in this body and this world, she had a different fight to focus on. The stakes had changed, and so too had the purpose driving her forward.

Her eyes narrowed in determination as she moved toward a small pile of training equipment. She picked up a pair of weighted gloves, strapping them on with a firm pull. They were a reminder that no matter the weight she carried—whether it was the clan's legacy, the Uchiha bloodline, or the body she now inhabited—she could handle it.

Every punch, every kick, every move made her more dangerous, more prepared to face whatever came next.

With one last glance at the sun sinking low in the sky, she dropped back into her stance, ready to begin again.