Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

Renjiro walked briskly through the winding streets of Konoha, his footsteps soft against the damp earth. The air was heavy with moisture, and a faint drizzle hung suspended like a thin mist.

Above him, dark, brooding clouds churned across the sky, their shadows stretching over the village like mourning shrouds. A sharp wind whispered through the narrow alleys, carrying with it the scent of wet leaves and distant rain. Renjiro pulled his dark cloak tighter around himself, his expression grim. 

His gaze drifted upward. The steel-gray heavens seemed alive, restless and foreboding. He sighed, his breath misting in the cold air. 'Why are the clouds always on point whenever days like this arrive?' 

The chill crept through his bones, but it wasn't the cold that truly bothered him. Renjiro had never done well in cold weather. Perhaps it was the fiery nature he had inherited from his Uchiha bloodline.

The thought brought a small, fleeting smile to his lips. Fire nature affinity wasn't exactly rare in Konoha—many shinobi wielded it with pride—but to Renjiro, it was a defining connection to his heritage. His Uchiha lineage was the only real tether he felt to this village, the only part of him that made him feel like he belonged despite his weird relationship with the clan. 

The Shimura compound loomed ahead, tucked away in the western part of the village. It was an austere area, its structures reflecting the pragmatic ethos of its residents.

Renjiro approached a smaller, weathered building near the edge of the compound. Its wooden walls were darkened by age and moisture, and the faint creak of its sagging roof carried through the stillness. A small crowd had gathered outside, their black attire blending into the gloom of the day. 

Renjiro paused at the edge of the gathering, his sharp eyes scanning the mourners. Their faces were sombre, their voices low and subdued. The faint murmur of conversation mingled with the occasional rustle of the wind.

He took a step forward, his sandals crunching softly on the gravel path. The mood was dark and oppressive, just like the weather, the weight of loss hanging over the gathering like an unspoken spectre. 

'Or is the weather imitating the mood?' he wondered wryly. 

Amid the sea of black, a familiar figure caught his attention. A petite blonde kunoichi stood slightly apart from the others, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as though shielding herself from the chill. Her gaze was distant, fixed on the ground, and her golden hair was slightly damp from the misty air. 

Renjiro approached her, his footsteps deliberate but soft. "How's life as a Jounin?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence between them. 

Sama started slightly, her blue eyes widening as she turned to face him. Her expression softened when she saw who it was. "Huh? Oh, Renjiro."

Sama forced a small smile. "It's… fine, I guess. But honestly, it's hard to call it good when we keep attending ceremonies like this." 

Renjiro nodded, his expression mirroring her sombre tone. "True." He shifted his weight, his gaze drifting toward the building's entrance. "Will your cousin be joining us?" 

Sama nodded slowly. "Of course. They were close. They met back when they were Chunins, so… Minato didn't really take it well." 

Renjiro frowned slightly, "I wouldn't either if I were him," he admitted, glancing back at her.

"Did they… did they say how he died?" 

Sama gave him a sharp look, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Are you serious?" 

"What do you mean?" he asked, his brow furrowing. 

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I know you two were together in the ANBU." 

For a moment, Renjiro was caught off guard, his mind racing. He quickly masked his surprise, though, and asked, "How do you know that?" 

Sama smirked faintly, elbowing him in the ribs. "Minato told me the truth about how he really died." 

Before Renjiro could respond, Sama straightened and turned toward a figure approaching from the distance. "Hiro!" she called, her tone warming considerably. 

Renjiro's gaze followed hers, landing on another familiar face. Sama stepped forward and hugged Hiro briefly, her gesture filled with a quiet sense of camaraderie. 

Renjiro watched the interaction, a strange discomfort stirring in his chest. He couldn't quite place the feeling, but it lingered, nagging at the edges of his thoughts.

'Why is she hugging him?'

Hiro greeted Renjiro with a nod, his eyes lingering on the bandages partially obscuring Renjiro's right eye. "What happened to your eye?" 

Renjiro hesitated for only a moment before replying smoothly, "Injured on a mission." 

Inwardly, though, his mind raced. 'Is my transformation jutsu falling apart? I should've reinforced it with the fourth tomoe. No, that would've been overkill.' 

The trio moved toward the building, the muted sound of their footsteps blending with the faint rustling of the wind. Inside, the hall was dimly lit, its simple wooden interior adorned with only a few faded banners bearing the Shimura clan's emblem.

The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the quiet murmurs of the mourners created an almost tangible tension. 

Renjiro's gaze swept across the room, noting familiar faces among the crowd. Miwa stood near the back, her arms crossed as she observed the proceedings with a neutral expression.

Minato was near the front, speaking quietly with Rin and Obito. Kakashi lingered nearby, his silver hair catching the dim light, his ever-present mask concealing his thoughts. 

The ceremony began with a series of eulogies. Each speaker stepped forward to share their memories of Yano, their voices echoing softly through the hall. When Minato rose to speak, the room seemed to hold its breath. 

Minato's words were heartfelt, his tone steady but tinged with sorrow. He spoke of Yano's dedication, his unwavering loyalty, and the camaraderie they had shared during their missions together.

"Yano wasn't just a comrade," Minato said, his voice firm. "He was a friend, a mentor, and a shining example of what it means to serve this village. His loss is a reminder of the sacrifices we all make, but his memory will continue to inspire us." 

Renjiro listened intently, his expression unreadable. When Minato vowed to look after Yano's widow and son, Renjiro blinked in surprise.

'He was married?'

The revelation felt like a punch to the gut. He had fought alongside Yano, trusted him, and even admired him to some extent, but this… this was something he hadn't known.

'Did I really know him at all?'

Danzo's turn came next, and the mood of the room shifted. His words were colder, more calculated. He spoke of Yano's strength, his value to the village, and his tragic loss. But his eulogy quickly veered into a call to action.

"We cannot let this loss be in vain," Danzo declared, his voice carrying a sharp edge.

"Yano's death is a reminder of the threats we face from beyond our borders. We must remain vigilant, unified, and prepared to act decisively against those who would harm us." 

Renjiro's jaw clenched. 'I take it back. Danzo is a piece of shit.'

He had recently felt that his hate on Danzo was unnecessary but this just reminded him that his assessment was spot on.

As the ceremony concluded, the attendees began to disperse, their voices low as they shared quiet words of comfort. Renjiro lingered near the exit, waiting for Sama and Hiro. 

"Let's head out," Renjiro said when the two of them approached. His tone was lighter, as though trying to shake off the heaviness of the occasion. 

As they began to leave, Renjiro's gaze drifted to Sama and Hiro. The two seemed closer than usual, their quiet exchanges tinged with a familiarity that made something twist uncomfortably in Renjiro's chest.

The strange unidentifiable feeling returned. He didn't like it. It wasn't jealousy—at least, he didn't think it was. It was more of a discomfort, a sense of something being out of place. 

Just as he was about to propose grabbing a drink to lighten the mood, he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

"Hello, Renjiro," a voice said softly from behind him. 

Renjiro turned, his body tensing instinctively, as he came face to face with— 

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