"Sure enough… it's still come to this."
Downstream of the Naka River, Uchiha Mo sat alone on a damp rock. The cold scent of river water mixed with the heavy air of dusk, pressing down on the surroundings like an invisible weight. Not far away, the Naka Shrine blazed with light. What was once a place for secret gatherings had turned into a battlefield of words—shouting, accusations, and the occasional crash of something breaking.
The Uchiha clan meeting had collapsed again.
Shisui was dead. Itachi had already chosen his path. Sasuke had entered his second year at the Academy.
Which meant the countdown had begun.
Uchiha Mo exhaled slowly, a faint click of his tongue escaping as he lifted his gaze toward the horizon. The setting sun bled across the sky, painting it in a deep, ominous crimson. It looked less like a sunset and more like a warning… or perhaps a prophecy.
All these years, he had lived by one rule—stay ordinary. Don't stand out, don't attract attention. His performance had always been average. After graduation, he joined the Police Force, and even his Sharingan had only awakened a single tomoe.
The reason was simple.
He didn't want to die.
He had thought about changing things more than once, but reality was cruel. He had been born after the Second Shinobi War, and by the time he graduated, the Third Shinobi War was already nearing its end.
Back then, the Uchiha clan had placed all their hopes on Minato Namikaze. And for a brief moment, it worked. Minato became Hokage, and the Uchiha entered a rare period of cooperation with Konoha—a fragile honeymoon that felt almost unreal.
But what they didn't know was that Uchiha Obito had already begun moving in the shadows. The Eye of the Moon Plan had started. The Akatsuki had fallen and risen again under the name "Pain." Then came the Nine-Tails incident, and everything spiraled out of control.
And Uchiha Mo?
He had been too weak to interfere, too cautious to act… perhaps even too afraid.
Even someone like Uchiha Shisui—the man known as Shisui of the Body Flicker, a genius who awakened the Mangekyō Sharingan—had failed to change anything. Because idealism was a double-edged blade, and the line between hope and destruction was razor-thin.
Shisui belonged nowhere. Not to the Uchiha, and not to Konoha.
So he died.
And Uchiha Mo chose silence.
To the clan. To the village.
Shisui's death was almost… convenient. It created Itachi—a blade loyal to Konoha—and at the same time, it severed the last fragile thread between the Uchiha and the village.
No more illusions. No more peace.
Only one truth remained: if you want to survive, you must become stronger than your enemies—more decisive, and far more ruthless.
Uchiha Mo stood up slowly, giving the shrine one final glance before turning away without hesitation.
The door creaked open.
The room inside was small—just a bed, a chair, and a desk. Cold, empty, lifeless. But for an orphan like him, it was enough. A place to sleep was all he needed, and most of his time was spent outside anyway.
In truth, he had nowhere else to go. No one to meet, no one to drink with, no one to rely on. So he lived carefully, cautiously. When you carry a secret that could shake the world, you don't act—you watch, you wait.
That was why he stayed invisible.
After shutting the door and cutting off the noise of the clan compound, Uchiha Mo called out in his mind, "System."
There was no response.
No voice. No sound.
But deep within his consciousness, something stirred—ancient, broken, dormant. His awareness was pulled inward into an endless void. Beneath his feet lay a shattered platform, like fragments of a destroyed world floating in darkness.
At its center stood a massive crystal, cracked and flickering, barely holding together.
This was his "system."
A broken Main God Space.
Not a golden finger. Not a cheat.
Just a dying existence struggling to survive—and unfortunately, it had latched onto him.
Its functions were incomplete, its rules shattered. Its authority remained absolute, but its usefulness was almost nonexistent. And yet, they were bound together. If it collapsed, so would he.
Seventeen years old. A chūnin. Possessing a three-tomoe Sharingan and three chakra natures—Fire, Lightning, and Water. Proficient in taijutsu and having mastered over twenty ninjutsu.
And yet, his chakra reserves were abnormally low. After two techniques, he would be completely drained.
Because of this, he lived like a nobody—perfectly average, perfectly safe, perfectly suppressed.
But was that normal?
Of course not.
Since when did an Uchiha lack chakra?
Uchiha Mo frowned slightly. "How is this my fault? This broken system is dragging me down… Yeah, that must be it."
Two and a half months ago, the system had responded for the first time. His consciousness had been dragged into this space, and a stream of fragmented information flooded his mind:
[Energy supply reached minimum threshold… Authority activated…][Repair function missing… Exchange function incomplete… World coordinates missing…][Detection function intact… Punishment function intact…][Searching…][Low-energy world detected. Establish connection?][Warning: Passage unstable. Maximum capacity: three individuals. Risk of loss. Host must anchor return point.]
Uchiha Mo had been completely speechless.
No proper repair. No exchange list. No stable traversal.
Was this even usable?
Well… not completely useless.
Basic healing still worked. The exchange system could record items. And traversal had finally detected something.
Still, this wasn't a Main God Space.
It was clearly a broken, second-hand junk recycler.
And yet, the punishment function worked perfectly.
"…Seriously?"
Did it survive just to keep that part?
Uchiha Mo let out a long breath. Fine. Even like this, it didn't matter.
Because now, he finally had something.
A chance to live. To change. To survive.
And that… was enough.