Since earlier, Ian had been unable to conceal his curiosity toward the other figure of his father. Something drew him in, irresistibly, as though his will had been gently stolen by a curiosity too strong to deny. His feet carried him forward, following the path his sister had taken, who had not ceased touching their father's double.
He gathered his courage, imitating his elder sister.
His hand moved forward slowly, then pressed against the figure's abdomen.
Solid.
Real.
The touch did not pass through. Instead, it returned a warmth, a living firmness beneath his palm, mingled with the softness of the dark cloth that clothed the figure. A sensation so convincing, as though he were truly touching his father himself.
A quiet awe filled his chest. He lifted his gaze, looking toward the real one, his eyes shining with wonder.
"So this is the Bunshin no Jutsu Father spoke of before?"
"Indeed, my son."
A small nod accompanied the answer.
His sister did not remain idle. She looked toward their father, her index finger and thumb resting lightly upon her chin, her brows gently furrowed, lost in serious thought.
"But Father once said that Bunshin no Jutsu is only a basic clone, something like an illusion. It has no will of its own, nor is it meant for battle."
"That is correct."
"Then why does this one feel so real? There is almost no difference from Father. Solid… it cannot even be passed through when touched."
A soft laugh slipped from their father's lips, gentle yet carrying a quiet depth.
"Use all your strength. Strike its abdomen."
The girl lowered her head.
A faint laugh trembled from her lips, so soft it nearly vanished into the air, barely caught by Ian.
Charlotte dipped her face, her shoulders trembling slightly. A small smile curved upon her lips, shifting into a subtle grin hidden from her father's sight.
A mischievous thought had taken root in her mind, much like days before, when she had proudly declared to her younger brother that she desired a larger target for her Fireball Technique.
And that target had been their own house, justified only because it was the largest in the village.
But this time, she was more careful.
Everything was hidden neatly.
When she raised her face once more, her expression had changed. Her eyes softened, her lips quivered faintly, as though restraining something heavy.
"I could never do such a thing, Father. Even if it is only a clone… it is still you. Please do not teach Charlotte such improper things."
Silence lingered.
"..."
"..."
"Charlotte would feel very sorrowful, Father."
Both Ian and James fell silent.
Especially Ian, who had just moments ago heard that faint laugh, now faced an expression so fragile, so dramatic. The change was too swift, too perfect.
Meanwhile, within the father's mind—
Ah… so that is how it is.
I was mistaken.
How could I not see it? My daughter… she would never bear to harm her father, even if it were merely a copy.
How gentle her heart is.
How devoted she is.
Yet before he could speak, his daughter's voice rose again, this time sweet, yet carrying a subtle ripple beneath it.
"But… just this once, Father. Charlotte will obey your wish and strike the clone without resistance."
"..."
"So Father must not be angered. Your daughter is only doing what you ask."
"..."
She lowered her head once more, hiding her face. Her hands clasped together, her small fingers interlacing, a sight so delicate and endearing from the outside.
"Then blame Father for teaching me such a thing."
James's expression dimmed slightly.
At first, he had not thought much of it. Yet when his daughter refused with such feeling, his heart had been stirred. A warmth had bloomed within him, gentle and slow, as though a soft flower had taken root in his chest.
His daughter… loved him dearly.
For a father, there was no deeper joy than seeing his child grow with such sincerity and devotion.
Yet beneath it all—
Something lay hidden.
A small intent, waiting for an opening.
And now, that opening had come.
His daughter would not let it pass.
With quiet cleverness, she turned the situation, using his own words as footing, as though the fault were not hers to bear.
My heart aches, my dear.
But it is well.
This is for your learning.
"Very well. It is indeed Father's wish. You need not feel guilt, my daughter."
A soft laugh followed.
"Of course, Father. Your little princess shall obey."
James's brow furrowed faintly.
Was this child… truly intending to strike him?
So lightly she called herself his little princess.
A title she had always resisted.
And yet—
This girl…
Far too mischievous.
His gaze shifted.
His son wore a wry smile, looking toward him with eyes that seemed to say they shared the same fate. There was sympathy there, gentle and sincere.
James returned it with a calmer smile.
You are the one who understands best.
Your sister… harbors a hidden desire to strike her own father.
Do not ever follow such a path.
Alas, those words remained only within his thoughts, nothing more than a fleeting comfort to ease the quiet sting left by his little daughter.
People often said that a daughter's first love is her father.
Was that truly so?
If it were…
Then there would be nothing to doubt.
I love you, my daughter.
My sweet child… my little cotton blossom.
Yet—
No.
My greatest love still belongs to your mother.
And you…
You mischievous little girl.
Who secretly longs to strike her own father.
Such a terribly unfilial child.
James lifted his gaze toward the sky, watching as its colors slowly shifted. The sun had climbed higher, nearing its throne at the heart of the heavens, a quiet sign that midday drew ever closer.
A dull thud broke the stillness.
His eyes fell once more upon his children. The clone had vanished, leaving behind a fading plume of white smoke that dissolved gently into the wind.
That girl…
Without hesitation, without the faintest trace of doubt, she had struck with all the strength she possessed.
Her face shone.
Not merely with satisfaction, but with an unhidden pride. Her eyes seemed to challenge the world itself, declaring that she was no longer the small child others believed her to be.
That very expression dimmed James's own.
How could it not—
The daughter he cherished so dearly… stood radiant with pride after destroying his clone. Though it had been nothing more than a demonstration, the figure had borne his likeness in every detail.
Oh, my daughter…
How easily you delivered that blow, though it bore the form of your own father.
This is my fault.
I should have foreseen it… perhaps altered the clone so it did not resemble me.
Yet what was done could not be undone.
He allowed the faint ache within his heart to soften, to fade beneath the sweetness of his daughter's spirited nature.
She was still his little cotton blossom.
Nothing in this world could ever make him turn away from her.
The unrest within him gradually settled. The disturbance that had stirred his chest grew calm once more. His expression returned to its usual warmth, that of a father who looked upon his children with quiet affection.
But that calm did not last.
His daughter's voice rose again, bright and cheerful, breaking the silence like a ray of light.
"Well, Father? How is your little princess's strength? It is splendid, is it not? With but a single strike, Father's clone vanished."
A soft laugh followed, light and expectant.
She waited.
For something.
Praise.
Of course.
A child always longs for acknowledgment from their parents, no matter how small the achievement. Praise becomes a gentle flame that warms their heart, easing unseen weariness and nurturing the courage to continue forward without fear.
His daughter was no different.
Innocent.
Honest.
Filled with hope.
Yet…
Would it be wise to praise her at once?
As his wife had once said, the girl was easily carried away when indulged. Her successes often led her too far, until she forgot her limits.
He remembered it clearly.
The way she had stood so proudly after protecting her brother from a dangerous woman. That pride had swelled, turning into a small arrogance she could scarcely conceal.
Her mother's gaze at that time…
Firm.
As though it spoke without words, reminding her that she must not act as she pleased.
And when she had boldly asked for more after being given a single lollipop, her courage had risen for a moment… only to falter under gentle reprimand, nearly bringing her to tears.
Her bravery was like the tide.
It came and went.
Especially in the presence of her mother.
My beautiful daughter…
You are like a warm flame within this home.
Burning softly, bringing comfort, filling every corner with laughter and mischief that never grows tiresome.
Your mischief…
Has never truly been ill in nature.
I… and your mother… love you more than you could ever understand.
And for you—
Praise shall always remain.
His gaze returned to the little girl, who now waited with an endearing face, full of quiet anticipation.
"Splendid… Father's daughter is truly a strong girl."
A soft giggle escaped her.
"Of course, Father. Your daughter is strong, is she not? Father's clone was nothing at all."
A smile formed upon James's lips.
Though there was the faintest trace of restraint within it, it remained sincere.
His daughter's joy was an irreplaceable warmth within his chest.
He had no wish to become a narrow-hearted father.
His love for his children knew no bounds.
And he wished to remain so.
Slowly, his gaze shifted toward his son.
"And what do you think, Ian? Your sister's strength."
"Strong! Very strong, Father!"
The answer came swiftly, filled with unhidden enthusiasm.
This child had always been so.
Whenever it concerned his sister, especially in her presence, he became more alive, more open, as though his feelings flowed freely without restraint.
James brought his hands together, the motion light, as though marking the beginning of something.
"Very well, children. Now, it is time for practice."
A brief silence followed.
"..."
"..."
"Ian, you shall observe and listen carefully. Charlotte, do not let a single detail escape you."
"Yes, Father!"
Their voices rose in unison, filled with readiness.
James began to explain once more, weaving his words with calm precision, ensuring nothing was lost to their understanding.
"Bunshin no Jutsu is commonly used as one of the requirements in the assessment for a ninja to attain the rank of Genin…"
"This technique may also serve as a diversion in battle. Strategy forms the very foundation for a shinobi to achieve victory."
The eyes of both children gleamed.
The more he spoke, the more their eagerness to learn grew, like embers stirred by the wind.
I cherish this spirit.
My children… are truly worthy to become exemplary disciples.
He continued, his voice carrying a gentle yet firm emphasis.
"Though this is a basic clone technique, it is not without value. Remember this well, every jutsu holds worth, so long as its wielder understands and masters it. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Father."
A small nod followed the answer.
Meanwhile, his daughter tilted her head. Her hands lifted slightly, as though she wished to voice something that still lingered within her thoughts.
"I understand, Father… but does this technique not feel somewhat useless? Is there not another clone technique that is more… real? One that can speak, fight, and aid in battle?"
This girl…
It seemed she had grasped only the part she wished to hear, allowing the rest to drift away like mist.
Useless?
Had I not just said that every jutsu holds value, so long as its wielder understands and masters it?
Ah, my sweet daughter…
Today, you truly reveal your mischievous side.
"Very well, my dear. Father does possess a clone technique such as the one you imagine. Yet the time is not yours, not yet. Master the fundamentals first, and only then step toward greater heights."
Charlotte fell silent.
Understanding slowly settled within her. She scratched her head, then lowered her gaze, as though bearing the small weight of a mistake she had only just come to realize.
Her voice emerged softly, tinged with regret, clear enough for her younger brother, who watched with wide eyes.
"Forgive me, Father… Charlotte did not mean to belittle it."
"It is of no matter. Father is neither angered nor offended. Yet remember this… never look down upon something simply because it appears simple, or because you deem it without worth. One day, what you consider small may become the very thing that saves you. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Father."
Her smile returned.
The dimness that had briefly touched her expression faded, and she bloomed once more, like a flower turning toward the light after being kissed by morning dew.
Her brother remained silent.
He sensed the shift in the air, though he did not fully grasp the complexity that stirred within his sister's thoughts. To him, the world was simpler. He held onto what he could understand, and let the rest rest quietly within him, waiting for a time when it would take shape.
There was clarity in his way of thinking.
A simplicity that, in truth, was its own strength.
Both their gazes returned to their father.
The lesson continued.
Word by word, his voice flowed with calm clarity, accompanied by repeated demonstrations to ensure nothing was lost. Unlike before, he no longer instructed his daughter to strike the clone. Instead, he used it as a guide, a living image to help her remember each step, and to allow his son to etch every detail into his young mind.
Time passed unnoticed.
His daughter…
Learned with remarkable speed.
Her vast chakra, inherited from him, blended with the increasingly refined flow she had gained from mastering vertical surface walking. Together, they formed a strong foundation, making it easier for her to grasp the Bunshin no Jutsu.
And in the end—
She was, without question, a genius.
The Uchiha blood flowing within her did not betray the effort she gave.
Her nature began to echo that of the great legends of that clan.
Her spirit.
Her competitiveness.
Her burning ambition.
All of it slowly shaped the silhouette of a figure who once shook the world itself.
A monster of the Uchiha clan.
One who stood equal to the Hokage.
A legend veiled in the shadows of power.
The rival of the God of Shinobi.
A founder of a great village.
A sovereign who moved from the darkness unseen.
Uchiha Madara.
A gentle breeze passed through.
Cheers of joy rang across the open training ground. The surrounding trees seemed to share in the celebration, their leaves drifting down like scattered petals, a quiet tribute to the little girl who had conquered the lesson of the day.
"Hooray!"
Small hands clapped with delight, her brother's laughter bright and unrestrained.
Their father merely shook his head softly, then lifted his gaze once more toward the clear sky.
It was time to return.
Someone awaited them.
And the day had not yet reached its end.
There were still meetings to be had, still laughter waiting to be shared.
"Charlotte, Ian. Let us return."
"Yes, Father."
The reply came lightly. The boy stepped forward at once, taking his father's hand without hesitation.
Charlotte lingered for a moment.
Then she nodded, slowly releasing the lingering thrill of victory that still echoed within her chest. She followed, walking at his other side, completing the rhythm of their steps.
They returned.
Each with their own thoughts.
James considered the preparations for their descent into the village, together with his wife and children, visiting the home of his wife's dear friend, allowing his children to grow accustomed to interacting with those their own age.
Charlotte drifted within the glow of her own success. The brilliance she felt, the achievement she longed to show—
Especially to her mother.
To be scolded?
That was nothing new.
She had grown used to it.
And perhaps… she never truly would change.
Meanwhile, Ian quietly pieced together his father's words within his mind. Still so young, he grasped only fragments, leaving the rest to settle within an imagination that would one day shape his future.
A shinobi.
Great.
Yet in his own way.
Not like his sister, who burned like a flame.
Perhaps he would be different.
Or perhaps… mischievous in his own quiet manner.
The sun moved gently across the sky.
Its light followed their steps, carrying warmth back into the home where someone waited with quiet affection.
Welcome home, my husband… my children.
So it seemed the air itself whispered.
And there—
A small child, the youngest, as though echoing that same greeting in his own way.
A soft laugh broke free.
Clear.
Pure.
Inviting laughter to follow in its wake.
He was like the moon, cool and gentle, bringing a serene stillness that soothed the hearts of his parents and elder siblings alike.
While his sister and brother shone like the sun, twin embers of warmth and life that filled the home with their bright, restless energy.
They were different, yet bound by the same sky.
Where the elder two brought the fire of ambition and the heat of growth, the youngest brought the dew of peace, a quiet comfort that settled upon the soul like a soft shadow beneath the midday heat.
And that house…
Seemed to whisper softly to them all.
You are the sun and the moon.
Then I—
Am the sky that holds you.
Holding the flow of affection, guarding the warmth of a love that never fades.
A silent witness to their journey.
From only James and Irene—
To the children who came after.
Their existence etched into the memory of these walls.
For what shelters them—
Is a home.
I am the house of the Wieser family.
The keeper of this warmth.
The bond of their pure love.
I have witnessed it all… and I shall continue to await it.
So, children—
Do not forget me.
A quiet smile lingers.
Ah… my tale, too, has reached its end.
Until we meet again.