Uchiha with hunger for knowledge

The days following his mother's death felt like a blur. Though the pain remained, the quiet words from his grandmother had given him something to hold onto. Slowly, he returned to his routines, but there was a constant undercurrent of change. The world felt different now, sharper, more vivid—his Sharingan, awakened by grief, had left its mark on him.

It had been days since the activation, and he had spent most of his time alone, trying to come to terms with his newfound power. His Sharingan, a single tomoe, was both a blessing and a curse. He had no one to teach him how to control it. No one except himself.

Sitting in his room, he gazed at the reflection in the window—his eyes, different from everyone else's. He had always felt a certain distance from the Uchiha clan, but now, with this ability, the distance seemed even greater. The Sharingan was a tool of power, one that could bring him both strength and danger. He needed to understand it, to master it before it controlled him.

Focusing on his reflection, he activated the Sharingan once again, the familiar spinning pattern appearing in his eyes. He had felt its pull before—its ability to see through lies, to track movement with unnatural precision. But there had to be more. 

He closed his eyes and attempted to focus. The sharp clarity was overwhelming at first, and his vision seemed to stretch beyond the room. He could see every small detail—the dust floating in the air, the faint shift of his heartbeat reflected in his mind. It was... intoxicating. But it was also draining. He shut his eyes and the world returned to normal, his vision now dull in comparison.

"This is only the beginning," he muttered, his voice almost a whisper.

But he needed more. More than just seeing clearly, more than tracking movements. He needed to understand the illusions—the genjutsu—that his clan was famous for. His father, Saruto, had spent years studying and perfecting Uchiha techniques, including the powerful genjutsu the Sharingan could weave. His father's study was filled with scrolls, each one a treasure trove of forbidden knowledge.

Quietly, he made his way to his father's study, his steps silent as he approached the door. His heart beat faster. He had never been allowed inside, but now, driven by curiosity and the need to understand his powers, he needed to look.

The door creaked open, and he stepped inside, the smell of aged paper and ink filling the air. His eyes fell upon the neatly stacked scrolls and books. Carefully, he approached the desk where his father's personal notes lay, open to a detailed study of genjutsu. Saruto had written about the illusions the Sharingan could create—how the eyes could trap an opponent in a world of their own mind, twisting reality until the target was lost in a nightmare.

His fingers hovered over the scroll, and he hesitated. Should he truly be looking at this? But the urge to understand was too strong. Gently, he began to read, the words revealing techniques that seemed far beyond his years. But there were simpler techniques too, ones that seemed within his reach.

He rolled up the scroll and left the study, determined to practice what he had learned. His father's genjutsu techniques might be advanced, but there were smaller, simpler tricks he could try. He needed to start somewhere.

Out in the training yard, he focused his mind, activating his Sharingan. His vision sharpened instantly, and he felt the shift in his perception. He began to concentrate, attempting the simplest illusion he could manage—a brief disorientation, like a fleeting dizziness, a misstep in reality. 

He focused, but the technique slipped from his grasp, fading before it could take shape. Frustration bubbled up inside him, but he didn't give up. He focused again, trying to grasp the feeling, the subtle change in the world. He could feel the pulse of chakra in his body, but the technique refused to take form.

Hours passed, and his Sharingan flickered several times. But the illusions remained just beyond his reach, too complex, too elusive. Some techniques from the scroll seemed impossibly advanced for him. His father's notes described creating an entire world of illusion, making the target see and feel things that didn't exist. That was far too much for him.

But the small steps, the simple tricks, he could grasp those. Slowly, over time, he would master them. Slowly, he would learn to control this power.

As the sun began to set, he sat down on the ground, exhausted but not defeated. His Sharingan faded back to its resting state. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. He would keep practicing, keep studying. There was still so much to learn.

He returned to his room that night with one thought in mind: *This was only the beginning.*