Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 54

The world never truly rested—not for shinobi like Itachi.

The sky over Konoha was beginning to dim as twilight painted the rooftops with golden hues. Atop the training cliffs near the Pottaru Estate, Itachi stood silently. The wind tugged at the hem of his black gloves—woven with chakra-dampening threads to suppress his dōjutsu flare. His eyes, beneath the calm exterior, had shifted momentarily to the eerie green glow of his Rinnegan. But the gloves kept it hidden, a secret known only to a few.

“Itachi,” Harry’s voice echoed as he stepped onto the platform, tossing him a towel. “You’re scanning again. Old habit?”

“Just double-checking the chakra signatures around the estate,” Itachi replied, his tone cool. “There’s a squad from Suna came for Chunin exam.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be on rest, not surveillance.”

“I can rest when I’m dead,” Itachi quipped, but allowed himself a brief smirk.

Harry crossed his arms. “With your current mission schedule, that may come sooner than later.”

Indeed, Itachi had become a shadow in the world of the elemental nations. Officially, he was a Jonin. Unofficially, he was Konoha’s most reliable assassin. His infiltration and assassination missions had crippled rogue groups, erased warlords, and even sabotaged minor villages trying to rise by treacherous means.

And yet, every time he returned home, he was just Itachi—the son, the brother, the calm presence in the Pottaru household.


During his off-days, Harry would personally train with him in the hidden arena inside the enchanted trunk.

Harry, in loose robes, carried no weapon. His chakra alone distorted the space around him.

“You’ve improved,” Harry acknowledged after Itachi managed to land three successive blows using the Deva Path and Mangekyo illusions in unison. “But you’re still holding back.”

Itachi, panting lightly, took a defensive stance again. “That’s because I know how powerful you are. Attacking you like an enemy is reckless.”

“Then you’re not ready to face someone like Tobi,” Harry said with finality, and vanished—reappearing behind Itachi and placing two fingers against the back of his neck.

“Dead,” Harry said calmly.

Itachi sighed and lowered his guard. “Point taken.”


When he wasn’t on missions or training with Harry, Itachi spent time with the three brightest stars in Konoha—Naruto, Hinata, and Midori.

On one such afternoon, the four stood inside the main courtyard, where chalk-drawn seals were still glowing faintly from the day’s previous enchantment lesson. Midori stood atop a wide boulder, forming hand seals rapidly. Hinata crouched in the inner ring, Byakugan active. Naruto darted between the two, wearing a wild grin.

“Formation Zeta!” Naruto yelled. “I distract, Hinata charges, Midori blasts!”

“You call it that every time,” Midori shouted back, her red Sharingan eyes narrowed.

Hinata, silent as always, moved first—blurring forward like a phantom. Her palms glowed with chakra as she closed the gap toward Itachi. At the same time, Naruto flanked left, weaving a chain of wind release hand signs.

“Wind Style: Pressure Surge!”

A burst of sharp wind erupted from Naruto, fanning Midori’s forming jutsu.

“Fire Style: Grand Flame Barrage!”

The combined jutsu exploded outward—a ring of fire more intense than anything a typical Genin could hope to produce.

Itachi weaved through it effortlessly, teleporting in flickers of green light and scattering afterimage clones across the field. When the flames settled, all three Genin were on their backs, laughing breathlessly.

“Still can’t land a hit,” Naruto groaned.

“You’re getting close,” Itachi replied, offering a hand to help Hinata up.

“You really think so?” Midori asked, her arms crossed but clearly pleased.

“Yes,” he said sincerely. “Your coordination has improved. Midori, your fire techniques now synchronize with Naruto’s wind. Hinata, your footwork is flawless. And Naruto…”

Naruto scratched his head sheepishly.

“…you’re a nightmare to predict. That’s a good thing.”


Despite the strength of the trio, the Hokage—Hiruzen Sarutobi—had recently summoned Harry to suggest something radical.

“They're ready,” Sarutobi had said, peering over the top of his pipe. “Let them graduate. I’ll make sure they’re placed in a special team, elite assignments only.”

But Harry had refused without hesitation.

“No.”

Sarutobi had looked startled. “Why not? They’re far beyond Genin.”

“They’re not emotionally ready,” Harry said. “If they step outside Konoha’s walls and encounter a Jōnin, no one will show mercy. They need more time—more grounding.”

And so, training continued.


Back at the estate one evening, Itachi and Harry stood watching the trio practice long-range jutsu coordination.

“They’re not kids,” Itachi said, arms folded.

“No,” Harry agreed. “They’re weapons. But if you treat a weapon like a tool, you’ll lose the person inside.”

“You’re afraid of them turning into us,” Itachi said.

Harry didn’t respond for a moment. Then:

“Yes.”

They stood in silence as Midori and Naruto launched another combined attack, and Hinata dashed forward like a graceful storm. The courtyard lit up with flame and wind, and the very earth trembled beneath them.


Later that night, Itachi stood in front of the estate’s koi pond. He reached into his pouch, withdrew a scroll, and unsealed the black gloves he always wore. Sliding them on, he looked at his reflection in the water.

His eyes were glowing—vibrant green rings with tomoe dancing inside.

Rinnegan. Mangekyo. Sharingan.

He had become something more than Uchiha, more than Potaru.

He had become both.



The wind carried whispers—whispers that traveled across mountains and seas, carried by birds and shinobi alike. In every hidden village, in the tea houses of wandering swordsmen, and in the shadowed corners of the Kage chambers, one news echoed louder than the rest.

The Civil War in Kirigakure was over.

The tyranny of the Blood Mist had finally ended. Mei Terumi, the rebellion’s fierce and charismatic leader, had been elected as the new Mizukage. The atrocities of the purges were already being scrubbed from public memory, buried under promises of reform, reconstruction, and diplomacy.

But the world wasn’t so quick to forgive or forget.

Despite their internal devastation, Kiri moved with precision. Their diplomats released carefully worded statements. Their agents reappeared in allied and neutral lands. And most telling of all, they sent a message to Konoha—a formal request to participate in the upcoming Chūnin Exams.


At the Hokage Tower, Hiruzen Sarutobi read the scroll with a calm expression, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe.

“Mei Terumi,” he muttered. “She was always bold.”

Across the desk, Harry Pottaru stood with arms folded. His eyes unreadable.

“They’re trying to show strength,” Harry said. “Sending a team to Konoha is a message. ‘We’re still here. Don’t count us out.’”

Sarutobi nodded. “Should we allow it?”

Harry was silent for a moment before giving a small nod. “Yes. If they want to prove they’re no longer a threat, let them come. We’ll judge them ourselves.”


At the Pottaru Estate, Itachi stood at the balcony, hands in the pockets of his black cloak. He had just returned from his most recent mission. The bruises were gone, but the weariness lingered.

The scroll arrived not long after. A message from the Jonin council, listing the confirmed villages attending the exams. His dark eyes scanned the list.

Kirigakure.

He stood frozen for a long time.

“…They’re coming,” he muttered to himself.

He remembered the docks—the ten masked shinobi that had surrounded him. The accusation in their tone. The betrayal in their blades.

He remembered giving them a chance to stand down. They chose blood instead.

He remembered the afterimage clones, the flaming sea, and his Wood Clone diving deep, faking his death.

Now the same village… was sending children. Genin who knew nothing of the war, but carried its banners.

“They betrayed you,” a voice said softly behind him.

It was Mikoto, holding a cup of warm tea. “But not all of them. Some were just afraid.”

“They tried to kill me, mother,” Itachi said calmly.

“I know,” she replied, placing the tea beside him. “And I know that they lost something when you left. You were their phantom. Their Indra.”

“They won’t recognize me now,” he said, turning to her. “Not unless they look too close.”

She smiled faintly. “Then perhaps that’s for the best.”


The next morning, inside the training arena of the magical trunk, Itachi met his father.

Harry was hovering a row of chakra threads in the air, adjusting the movement of some strange mechanical dummy powered by seals.

“They’re coming,” Itachi said without preamble. “Kiri. To the Chūnin Exams.”

Harry didn’t stop his work. “Let them. You’re not ‘Indra’ anymore.”

“No,” Itachi agreed, stepping closer.

Harry finally turned to face his son. “Are you worried they’ll recognize you?”

“I’m worried I’ll react.”

Harry studied him. “You think you haven’t forgiven them.”

“I haven’t,” Itachi admitted. “They called me brother, then turned their blades on me. If I hadn't replaced me with a clone —”

“You’d be dead,” Harry finished. “And the rebellion wouldn’t have ended as quickly.”

There was a long pause.

“I don’t hate them,” Itachi continued. “But I don’t trust them. And the exams… if they send those I trained with…”

“Then watch,” Harry said. “Don’t act. Unless you’re attacked first, you stay silent. You’re a Jonin of Konoha now. Not a ghost of Kiri.”

The Uchiha compound buzzed with rumors of the incoming foreign teams. The Hyuga whispered amongst themselves. Even the younger Genin at the academy grew excited.


But inside the Pottaru Estate, the mood was calm.

Itachi sat with Naruto, Hinata, and Midori, who were going through scrolls of battle simulations under the guidance of Tsunade and Shizune.

“I heard Kiri teams are coming,” Midori said casually. “Think they’ll be scary?”

“They were scary when they followed tyrants,” Itachi said, his voice even. “Now they just want to prove they still matter.”

Naruto looked up from his scroll. “That Mei lady… isn’t she the redhead who uses lava jutsu?”

Itachi gave a slight nod.

“I like lava,” Naruto said with a grin. “Maybe I’ll learn it.”

Hinata gave him a look. “You already mastered wind. Lava isn’t just fire and earth—it’s more than chakra. It needs—”

“—a temperament for destruction,” Itachi finished. “Only a few shinobi can control it without destroying themselves.”

“Oh,” Naruto blinked. “Cool.”

Midori rolled her eyes.



Atop the outer wall of Konoha, Itachi Pottaru stood silently, the hood of his black cloak drawn low. His gloved hands rested against the warm stone, eyes narrowed and fixed on the road winding toward the main gate. His green Rinnegan remained dormant behind his eyelids, concealed behind natural disguise—a precaution he never neglected.

And then he saw them.

A party of travelers approached from the south road. At first glance, they appeared unremarkable: a single Genin cell and three adults escorting them. But Itachi’s sharp gaze pierced through the formality.

He knew those strides. Those chakra patterns. That poise.

Riku.

Even now, clad in Kirigakure blues and trimmed silver armor, Riku looked every bit the calculating swordsman he had been during the rebellion. The sharp blade at his hip, the poised posture, and the ever-vigilant eyes—it was all still there. Beside him, a tall man and a woman—two Jonin Itachi didn’t recognize—walked with practiced ease.

The Genin were young, maybe twelve or thirteen. Two boys he didn’t recognize.

But the third…

Itachi's heart clenched.

Haku.

The boy walked with grace, light as mist on water, dark hair tied neatly behind his head, and his eyes—those soft, sorrowful eyes—scanned the towering village ahead with quiet curiosity. He wore a fresh forehead protector bearing the mark of Kirigakure, but his movements bore the mark of a survivor, not a student.

He’s grown, Itachi thought. More than I expected.

He remembered Haku shivering in the rain, unsure whether to trust the masked boy who offered him protection. He remembered the look of awe as Haku practiced his first real jutsu—how he had shaped mirrors of ice using his bloodline with trembling fingers, not yet believing he had the right to live, let alone fight.

And now, Haku had made it. He had lived. He had become a shinobi.

He’s here because of me.
And I cannot even greet him.

Itachi stepped back from the edge of the wall, his cloak fluttering. A gust of wind carried the scent of rain in the distance.

“Are you alright?” came a voice.

He turned. Harry Potaru stood beside him, arms crossed, watching the gate with his usual calm intensity. He must have arrived unnoticed—a feat only Harry could accomplish in the presence of Itachi.

“They’re here,” Itachi said.

Harry nodded. “I heard. The Hokage received the roster yesterday.”

“They’ll recognize me,” Itachi said, eyes narrowed. “Or at least Haku might. I don’t know if Riku even saw my face… but he heard my voice. My chakra. If they realize I’m alive—”

“Then the truth spreads,” Harry finished. “The tale of Indra’s death becomes a lie. The rebellion finds a ghost.”

Itachi nodded grimly. “And then? They’ll send word to Mei. She’ll ask questions. And if Kiri feels cheated... they might act.”

There was a silence between them. The warm breeze danced between their cloaks.

Harry finally placed a hand on Itachi’s shoulder. “You’re not Indra anymore. You’re Itachi Pottaru of Konoha.”

“But Haku,” Itachi whispered. “He deserves the truth.”

“Then give it to him,” Harry said softly. “But not now. And not here.”

Itachi turned his gaze back to the gate.

The Kiri team had entered Konoha.


At the gate, the formalities were swift.

Two ANBU took the paperwork and verified identities. Riku did most of the talking. The Hokage’s escorts took over, guiding the team toward the guest compound prepared for visiting villages.

And as Haku passed beneath the arch of the gate, he paused.

Just briefly.

He turned, looking toward the wall.

Eyes narrowed. Heart still.

Itachi held his breath, far above, behind the stone arch. Hidden. Watching.

Haku stared for a moment longer… and then turned away.


That evening, back at the Pottaru Estate, Itachi sat under the courtyard tree, his back against the old roots. Naruto, Hinata, and Midori were off training again—Tsunade watching over them as they sparred with chakra weights and shadow clones. The air smelled of spices and grilled meat from Harry’s open kitchen.

Itachi stared into the sky, brows furrowed.

They’ll be here for weeks. Maybe longer.

How long can I hide from my past when it’s walking right through my gates?.