The question hung in the air between them like a blade suspended by a thread, its edge glinting with the particular danger of a truth that could not be unspoken. Renjiro's eyes remained fixed on Miwa's face with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.
Miwa was no longer simply speaking to the boy she had raised, the child who had clung to her after Uzushio's fall, the young man who had grown into one of the most powerful shinobi in the village and even the world.
She was speaking to a shinobi whose instincts, intelligence, and ability to read people made deception exceptionally dangerous. Every micro-expression, every shift in breathing, every subtle tension in her posture was being catalogued and analysed by a mind that had been honed through years of political warfare.
Her thoughts flashed back to the recent clandestine gathering beneath the Naka Shrine, the memories rising unbidden like ghosts summoned by the weight of the moment. The chamber had been crowded with active Uchiha shinobi, their faces illuminated by the feverish glow of Sharingan eyes in the darkness.
Yashiro had demanded that the clan strike the Hokage Tower before sunrise, his voice carrying the particular intensity of someone who had moved beyond reason to fanaticism. Radicalised police officers had shouted Renjiro's name as though it were a battle cry, their voices echoing off the stone walls with terrifying conviction. Fugaku had attempted to hold the gathering together while armed insurrection threatened to erupt around him, his authority strained to its breaking point by the forces he had helped unleash.
The meeting invitation was never merely an offer of political support. The elders wanted Renjiro involved in a crisis that could destroy the clan and the village, a crisis that was already spiralling beyond anyone's control.
Miwa forced herself to remain still, her training as a kunoichi asserting itself over the primal urge to flee from the weight of her nephew's gaze. She deliberately avoided meeting his eyes and reached for her teacup, buying herself a few precious seconds to compose an answer. The ceramic was warm against her fingers, its heat a grounding presence in a moment that threatened to sweep her away.
"I… I don't know, Renjiro." Her voice sounded weak to her own ears, the words carrying none of the conviction she had hoped to project.
"How would I know what the elders are thinking? I run supply audits and check patrol shifts. I'm not in Fugaku's inner circle."
Internally, she recognised how pathetic the excuse sounded. She was an Uchiha kunoichi who had attended the clan's emergency gatherings, who had stood in the shadows of the Naka Shrine while radicalised officers called for revolution. Pretending to be uninvolved was not merely dishonest; it was inconsistent with everything Renjiro knew about her. He had learned to read her moods and expressions before he could walk, had watched her navigate the treacherous waters of clan politics for years.
Renjiro did not blink. He noticed the small details that betrayed her; the way her breathing caught for a fraction of a second, the way her gaze shifted toward the closed shoji screen as if seeking escape, the brief spike of nervous tension that rippled through her chakra coils. But it was the last detail that damned her most completely, the unconscious habit that she had never been able to break.
Her left thumb was rubbing against the seam of her trousers.
Renjiro let the silence stretch long enough for Miwa to understand that her answer had failed, the quiet becoming a pressure that pressed against her chest and made her want to scream. When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped into a flat, deadpan cadence that she had learned to recognise as the precursor to an interrogation.
"You're a terrible liar, Miwa." The words were delivered without malice, but their accuracy was devastating. "You've always been. Whenever you try to hide something from me, your left thumb rubs against the seam of your trousers. You've been doing it for the last ten seconds."
Miwa froze, her hand stiffening against her leg. Her attempt to maintain the fiction had made the situation worse; Renjiro now knew that she was concealing something directly connected to the Uchiha leadership. The mask had slipped, and there was no way to put it back on.
She released a ragged breath, realising that she could not deceive Renjiro as she might an ordinary relative. He leaned slightly forward, his expression unreadable, his posture carrying the particular stillness of a predator who had cornered his prey.
"Let's start with the basics." His voice was calm, almost conversational, but the undercurrent of steel was unmistakable. "Have you been attending the clan meetings at the Naka Shrine, Miwa?"
Miwa's expression darkened. She set her teacup down with a sharp clink that seemed to echo through the room, abandoning the pretence that this was an ordinary conversation between family members.
"Yes. I've been attending. Every single one since you returned from the Land of Lightning."
Renjiro absorbed the answer without reacting visibly, his analytical mind already working through the implications. Her admission confirmed that she had been present during the period in which the clan's hostility toward the village had intensified, that she had witnessed the arguments and debates that had consumed the Uchiha leadership.
"And?" He followed up, his voice carrying the particular precision of someone who already knew the answer to his next question. "Did my name come up?"
Miwa stared at him, momentarily incredulous. The question struck her as absurd given the circumstances, the kind of thing that could only be asked by someone who had been isolated from the reality of the village for too long.
"Of course your name came up!" She scoffed and crossed her arms, her frustration finally finding an outlet. "Did you seriously think they were sitting around discussing patrol budgets and parking violations?! Renjiro, Danzō accused you of capital treason in broad daylight! You are an Uchiha descendant holding the highest military post below the Hokage! Your suspension is the biggest political crisis this village has seen since the Third Shinobi World War ended!"
She explained that the entire clan had been consumed by the controversy, her voice carrying the particular intensity of someone who had witnessed the transformation firsthand. For seventy-two hours, Uchiha members had argued over Renjiro's suspension, Danzō's accusations, the council's treatment of him, and the village's willingness to strip him of authority. The argument was no longer confined to the elders' chambers; it had spread through the Police Force and into ordinary clan households.
"Every man and woman with a Sharingan in this district has spent the last seventy-two hours with their nerves frayed raw. The clan talks about nothing except you."
Renjiro remained silent for a moment, his expression giving nothing away. The answer told him something important; the invitation was not an isolated act by Fugaku or a handful of elders. His suspension had become a focal point for the clan's anger, a rallying cry that had united disparate factions in their resentment of the village leadership.
That did not mean the Uchiha were united in their intentions. Some might genuinely want to protect him; others might see his name, rank, and military reputation as tools for their own ambitions. Renjiro began to consider whether the invitation represented an attempt to recruit him into a larger political struggle.
'I really hope it's not what I'm thinking.' Renjiro thought.
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