Konoha: The Thirty-Year-Old Uchiha Can’t Be Bothered

Dragged into his own shadow by the old jailer, Gin felt like he was suffocating. Around him was nothing but inky blackness, and his senses seemed completely cut off, a wave of helplessness washing over him.

He tried activating his Sharingan, and to his surprise the crimson glow of his eyes seemed to push back the darkness, restoring his senses.

The more chakra he poured into them, the more his senses returned — until at last he saw the old jailer standing there before him.

"What do you really want?"

Though the man had helped him more than once, Gin still couldn't tell if he was friend or foe, so he kept his guard up.

"Hehehe… I've been waiting for you."

The old jailer's clouded white eyes betrayed a long-suppressed anticipation.

"When you enter Cell Zero and meet the one who awaits you… then you'll understand everything."

His words were cryptic, and before Gin could ask anything more, he felt his body lighten. In the blink of an eye, he was back in Uchiha Ryuei's office.

Ryuei himself was long gone. Gin looked down at his shadow — calm and unremarkable.

Without further hesitation, he reached for the flower vase on Ryuei's desk. As he twisted it, the bookshelf behind the desk swung open, revealing a narrow, dark passage.

So this is the entrance to Cell Zero.

At this point there was no turning back. Every clue he'd uncovered pointed to this place — if he wanted to unlock the mystery of the original's memories, the answer had to be here.

He stepped through the hidden door. On the wall was a small lever; Gin flipped it, and heard the hidden door behind him close. That must be the control.

Taking a deep breath, Gin kept his Sharingan active, his crimson gaze sweeping the darkness for danger.

The layout of Cell Zero was similar to the other dungeons, with crumbling cells lining the corridor — long since abandoned.

A pungent musty odor made Gin wrinkle his nose. But if Ryuei himself guarded this place, there had to be secrets here worth keeping.

The further he went, the more skeletal remains he saw in the cells on either side. The twisted, broken limbs told him these prisoners had suffered cruel torture before their deaths.

But aside from the bones, he found nothing — until he reached the very last cell.

A heavy iron door, sealed with an intricate barrier of sealing scripts.

This was it.

But Gin didn't know the first thing about seals. If he forced it open, it would surely draw attention. But he couldn't exactly pick the lock either.

As he stood there stumped, the old jailer's familiar, raspy voice came from his shadow:

"Hehehe… I can take you inside."

"I'll trouble you, then, senpai."

Gin turned to see the old man grinning eerily at him, and didn't refuse.

After all, the old jailer had been guiding him to this place from the start — it was clear he wanted Gin to meet whoever was inside.

Besides, Gin thought with a bitter smile, he wasn't exactly an important figure in the clan. Why would anyone bother setting up an elaborate trap just for him?

The old jailer merely chuckled, as if he'd expected Gin's answer, then reached out his clawlike hands and once again pulled Gin into the shadow.

Gin's shadow didn't vanish — instead, like a pool of ink, it oozed through the cracks in the iron door and seeped inside.

Having experienced this once already, Gin wasn't as uncomfortable this time. When he opened his eyes, he was inside the cell.

To his surprise, the room was clean and tidy — more like a study than a prison. Shelves, simple furniture, even a writing desk.

At that desk sat a figure, hunched over as he scribbled. Hearing the sound of someone entering, he slowly set down his brush and straightened.

"So… you've finally come."

The man turned, revealing a head of gray curls and a face lined with age — yet alight with emotion.

One of his eyes was cloudy white like the jailer's, and his frail body trembled slightly as he looked at Gin.

"You are…?"

The sight of this old man — his curly hair, his familiar features — made Gin's heart skip a beat. He looked exactly like the man in the photograph he'd found at home.

"Ah… you don't remember, do you?"

The old man studied Gin's confused face, then let out a weary sigh, as if this was what he'd expected all along.

"My name… is Uchiha Yao."

Then he added, with quiet solemnity:

"I had a son… named Uchiha Kin."

Uchiha Kin. The name of the original's father — long dead, with only faint impressions in Gin's inherited memories of a kind, gentle man.

Gin's throat tightened.

"You're… my grandfather?" he asked cautiously.

"That's right… my dear grandson," Yao said with a satisfied nod.

"Then why don't I remember you at all?"

The pieces fit perfectly, and yet Gin couldn't help but voice his doubt.

"That's… a long story. But you must understand this…" Yao shook his head with a sigh, then said something that made Gin's blood run cold:

"The one responsible for all this — for what was done to you — is none other than your uncle… Uchiha Tajima."

"???"

Gin's head throbbed.

The man who had cared for him after the tragedy, the one he remembered as stern but protective — his uncle, Uchiha Tajima — was being accused by his grandfather of causing his memory loss?

It was too much to take in all at once.

Seeing Gin's expression of disbelief, Yao continued, his voice heavy:

"Over ten years ago… I was the head of the clan's research department, dedicated to unlocking the true potential of the Sharingan."

"…Like Uchiha Myo?" Gin interjected, astonished.

So his grandfather had once been the top researcher in the clan? That made him, Gin thought wryly, something of a second-generation elite.

"Hmph. Myo? That cowardly fool?"

Yao's lip curled with disdain.

"And that fat old traitor Uchiha En who locked me down here? He and Myo are both my younger cousins."

Gin's eyes widened. He hadn't expected that the two most powerful elders of the clan were actually close relatives — and clearly on bad terms with Yao.

"But never mind those two…" Yao said dismissively.

"This all began the day my son… was killed."

Speaking of his son, Yao's voice trembled with grief.

To die for the clan was an honor — but for Yao it was simply the cruelest fate, a white-haired father burying his black-haired son.

Gin racked his brain, but his inherited memories of his father's death were faint, as if most of them had been erased.

No matter how hard he tried to remember the details, his head only hurt more — like being stabbed with needles.

"Your father, Uchiha Kin… was once the number one genius of the clan. The strongest contender for the title of clan head."

Yao's voice swelled with pride when he spoke of his son.

Gin almost felt his mind go blank.

His father… the number one genius?

The man he remembered as kind and mild-mannered at home, doting on his wife and son — but who left no impression of his strength?

"Your father awakened his Sharingan at eight… reached three tomoe at twelve… defeating his peers with ease. A true prodigy. But…"

Yao's tone darkened.

"…he should never have died. I thought he fell honorably on the battlefield — but…"

"But he didn't?" Gin's voice was low, his brows knitting.

Yao looked up at him, his one good eye burning with bitterness.

"No. He was murdered. And the man who orchestrated it… was your uncle."

Gin stood frozen, his head throbbing painfully as if to stop him from hearing more.

(End of Chapter)

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