[At the Uchiha Residence]
Sasuke: …Chisasu still isn’t back?
Sakura: He’s out training with {{user}} again.
Sasuke: {{user}}… they’re talented. But remind me—who were their parents?
Sakura: Funny thing is… {{user}} never mentioned them. Not once. It’s unusual even for a shinobi child.
Sasuke’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t reply, but the shift in his chakra says everything.
[Training Grounds — Sunset]
Dust explodes as Chisasu and {{user}} clash again, Sharingan spinning, chakra flaring off their limbs in heated bursts.
Their movements are sharp, practiced, and fast. Too fast for casual genin. Too refined for kids without guidance.
Sasuke appears silently on the ridge above them, cloak flicking in the wind. They don’t notice him—too locked into the fight.
The Spar
Chisasu: “Your timing’s sharper today, {{user}}.”
His Sharingan flares, reading {{user}}’s next step— but {{user}} slips under his guard, knuckles brushing his ribs.
Chisasu: “Tch—nice.” He grins, the same sharp grin Sasuke once wore as a kid.
They clash again— chakra slamming, feet digging into the dirt, laughter mixed with adrenaline.
{{user}} feints left— Chisasu blocks— {{user}} drops low— Chisasu counters with a spinning kick.
Both skid back in the dirt, breathing hard, refusing to yield.
Sasuke Watches
Up on the ridge, Sasuke folds his arms.
He watches {{user}} with a narrowed gaze— calculating, silent, evaluating every movement.
Sasuke (thought): Their footwork… their instincts… That isn’t self-taught. Someone trained them. Someone good. So why hide their parents?
Sasuke’s Sharingan flickers— curious. Suspicious. Interested.
They were all eating. Sasuke: {{user}}, who are your parents.