Naruto: Beyond The Dreamscape

The fragments of her dreams were beginning to take shape. Not all at once—but gradually, like scattered puzzle pieces falling into place.

She saw the Five Great Shinobi Nations.

Great Ninja Wars. Vague, shifting images—distant, yet undeniably real.

She didn't know the full details yet. They remained hazy—like distant echoes from a future not yet written. But one thing was becoming clear:

Those wars… they belonged to another time. A future time. Not something directly connected to her present.

Still, the dream that haunted her most—the one that never let her rest—was the downfall of the Uchiha clan.

When she first had that dream, she had been overwhelmed with disbelief and shaken to the core with fear.

She couldn't believe it could possibly be real.

How?

How could such a powerful clan, one with thousands of members and a legacy of unmatched strength, fall so completely?

And yet, in her dreams…

they vanished.

Not through war,

not through attrition,

but under a single blade.

One man.

A silent massacre.

A man with the Sharingan.

But not with the familiar tomoe.

His eyes were different—

a unique pattern, shaped like a shuriken.

Dark. Piercing. Absolute.

That image alone sent a chill through her.

What did it mean?

What kind of power was that?

All she knew for certain was this:

The Uchiha Clan would be destroyed—by one of their own.

The most painful part wasn't just the slaughter.

It was the silence.

No one intervened.

No one came to help.

No clan raised its voice.

The world simply let it happen—

as if the Uchiha were meant to disappear.

This was the dream that lingered.

The truth that refused to fade.

A prophecy etched in nightmare—

of betrayal, silence, and blood.

And she,

still just a child,

could only wonder:

Was it too late to change that fate?

---

After the duel with Uchiha Yuko, everything changed.

With the backing of her father and the approval of the clan elders, Mayumi was officially granted the right to train as a shinobi.

It was unprecedented.

She was still a child. A girl. But no one could deny what they had seen on the training field.

Uchiha Takaro remained her personal instructor, but now she also joined the clan's formal training classes—standing shoulder to shoulder with the boys who had always assumed they alone would inherit the clan's legacy.

And in those classes, Mayumi stood out in more ways than one.

She was the only girl.

Her presence drew glances—some curious, some skeptical. Whispers followed her, eyes lingered on her longer than necessary. But no one dared challenge her.

Word of her match had spread quickly.

The youngest daughter of the clan head. Five years old. And already capable of going head-to-head with one of the clan's prodigies.

The story rippled through the compound and beyond. But not everyone was pleased.

Yuko's grandfather, in particular, was furious—though he tried not to show it. He wanted to elevate his grandson's image and reputation by defeating the clan leader's daughter in a public setting.

But things hadn't gone the way he planned.

Instead of lifting Yuko's image, the duel had cast a spotlight on Mayumi.

The old man's plan had backfired.

Badly.

And judging by the grim set of his jaw these days, he hadn't quite come to terms with that.

Poor old man, Mayumi thought once, not without a little mischief. Must be hard—watching your grandson get outshined by the "little girl" you tried to use.

---

"Mayumi-sama!"

She was heading home from the training yard when two familiar voices called out behind her.

It was Reika and Akari—her childhood playmates.

Both girls ran up to her with excited smiles, cheeks flushed, eyes shining.

"You don't have to call me '-sama,'" Mayumi said, chuckling softly. "Just Mayumi is fine."

They exchanged a quick look, then nodded sheepishly.

"Mayumi," Reika said eagerly, "we saw your match! You were amazing!"

"You've only been training for three months, right?" Akari added. "That's insane!"

Mayumi gave a quiet nod.

"You've gotten so strong so fast," Akari said. "It's kind of inspiring, honestly."

Reika leaned closer, whispering like she was sharing a secret. "We've been thinking… we want to be shinobi too."

Akari nodded. "There's nothing to do these days. No one takes us seriously. It's so boring."

"Exactly," Reika said. "We just sit around doing chores. All day. Every day."

Mayumi gave a soft chuckle, then looked at them thoughtfully. She wasn't sure how to respond.

"Do your parents… know you feel this way?"

The girls froze. Then slowly, they shook their heads.

Reika looked down. "We're not brave like you. "We don't have your courage. We could never say something like that to our parents."

Mayumi didn't respond right away.

But she understood.

She'd been lucky—her father was strict, yes, but he listened. Not everyone was so fortunate.

Still, the truth of it sat heavily on her shoulders.

In a time like this—an era of instability and looming conflict—every child, regardless of gender, should have the right to understand the world they lived in. Even if not trained as shinobi, they should at least be taught the basics of defense, of awareness, of survival.

At the very least, they should be allowed to choose.

And yet the structure of the clan told a different story. The clan's resources were directed almost entirely at training boys.

The boys were prepared for war. They were educated in both combat and scholarship, molded into future leaders of the Uchiha.

The girls? Most were left behind.

Those born into affluent families might receive lessons in literature, etiquette, or the arts. But most—particularly daughters of the lesser branches—were expected to tend to chores until they reached a marriageable age, after which their lives would be devoted to family, not ambition.

Some never even learned how to read.

Mayumi looked at her friends again, at their small hands and hopeful eyes.

No. It didn't have to stay this way.

Not forever.

---

"Who are they?"

Mayumi narrowed her eyes as she spotted a group of shinobi approaching from the distance. They wore pristine white robes, marked by a distinct symbol emblazoned across their backs—clearly members of a clan, and not one she recognized immediately.

"They're from the Hogoromo clan," Izamu said beside her.

They had been observing them carefully from a concealed vantage point for a while now.

"What are they here for?" she asked, her gaze never leaving the approaching figures.

Izamu shrugged slightly. "The Hogoromo are our allies, remember? Judging by the way they're moving, it looks like they're here to discuss some sort of collaboration."

Mayumi was quiet for a moment, thinking it through.

The truth was, their clan didn't have many allies.

The Uchiha were known for standing apart—prideful, self-reliant, and dangerously temperamental. Their arrogance and volatile nature had made diplomacy… difficult. Even among the great clans, the Uchiha were often regarded as too intense, too uncompromising to deal with.

"Do we have any other allied clans besides the Hogoromo?" Mayumi asked after a pause.

"Yeah," Izamu nodded. "The Fūma clan."

"They're considered an offshoot of the Uchiha, right?"

"Exactly. They pledged loyalty to us a long time ago. They're more like a branch family than a separate ally."

"That's it?" Mayumi asked, eyebrows raised.

"That's it," Izamu said with a slight smirk. "You really think the Uchiha need help from outsiders, like the Senju do? We've always been strong enough to stand on our own."

The pride in his voice was obvious—unmistakable.

And in that moment, something in Mayumi's chest tightened. There it was again—that same unshakable Uchiha pride. Blinding, uncompromising, and dangerously short-sighted.

Her vision dimmed slightly, not from anger… but from quiet, gnawing dismay.

How far could they really go, clinging to isolation and pride alone?

It's no longer surprising.

The fact that no one stood by the Uchiha in the end...

The fact that, when their fall finally came, not a single hand reached out to stop it...

It no longer shocked her.

Mayumi released a slow, steady breath—one that carried the quiet weight of realization.

The proud and headstrong Uchiha—so fierce, so certain of their own power—had, somewhere along the way, become a clan unsure of how to correct itself, how to change. They were burning too brightly to see the path ahead.

Too fierce to ask for help.

Too stubborn to change.

And truly… perhaps it was inevitable.

Their pride and their power had always walked hand in hand.

For generations, the Uchiha had dominated the battlefield like god of war, carving their legend into the bones of history with their blades and their blood. Among the great clans of the era, only the Senju could rival them—and even then, it was whispered that a single Uchiha with an awakened Sharingan could face three Senju warriors of equal ranks and still emerge victorious.

The Sharingan…

The most treasured weapon of the Uchiha.

It wasn't just a gift.

It was a double-edged sword—brilliant and terrifying.

A power that did not bloom from joy, but from pain.

It fed on loss.

It opened in grief.

And the deeper the sorrow, the stronger the flame it ignited.

That was the true cost of their strength.

It was no wonder people said the Uchiha were born for war.

Shaped by suffering.

Made to conquer.

And perhaps they weren't wrong.

Their very name inspired fear—Uchiha—spoken like a warning, a shadow that fell across any battlefield they entered. Entire clans had turned and fled rather than face them.

But that was where the real problem began.

In an age that longed for peace…warriors forged only in blood became difficult to trust.

The tragedy was not just that the Uchiha were feared. It was that, over time, they stopped being seen as necessary.

In peace, they were no longer protectors.

They were threats.

Weapons with no sheaths.

Fire with no direction.

An ill-fitting piece that no longer belonged to the world others were trying to build.

They were left to crumble.

Mayumi lowered her gaze, her heart heavy with a sadness she could not yet name.

She was beginning to understand, little by little, the root of the problem.

---