Entering the room, Aizen spotted his grandfather sitting on the floor, hunched over a scroll spread out on the low table. A plate of food sat beside it, slowly going cold.
Aizen let out a light sigh.
"Grandpa, come on… eat before it gets cold," he said, voice casual but with a hint of concern.
The old man paused, blinked, then smiled softly as he folded the scroll and set it aside. He knew exactly what that meant. Aizen never liked it when he worked through meals.
"How was school?" Renzō Uchiha asked, sitting up straighter and giving his grandson his full attention.
"Pretty good," Aizen said with a small nod. "Everyone was chill, and Masaru-sensei was patient with us all. We went over some chakra control basics again."
Renzō hummed, nodding along. Then his eyes narrowed just slightly.
"And… no one gave you trouble, right?"
There was an edge to his voice, quiet but sharp. If Aizen even hinted at something, Renzō looked ready to march out and start a war.
Aizen blinked, then gave a small smile.
"Nope. Why would they? We're all from the same village. Everyone believes in the Will of Fire, after all."
Renzō snorted under his breath. "Right. Everyone believes in the Will of Fire," he muttered, lips twitching in a half-smile.
He stared at his food for a second longer, then picked up his chopsticks, hiding the conflict behind calm movements.
In his head, though?
The Uchiha believe in the village, but I'm not sure the village believes in us.
He didn't want to say that out loud—not to Aizen. Not to someone still young, still pure, still hopeful. Not to the only family he had left.
So instead, he just smiled, both forced and warm at the same time.
"Well, that's good then. Keep learning, and keep watching," Renzō said. "You've got a good head on your shoulders."
Aizen nodded, settling beside him and picking up his bowl.
He knew exactly what his grandfather was thinking. But there was no need to say it out loud. No need to fan the flames. No need to join the radicals outright.
That wasn't his path.
One of his many plans to save the Uchiha didn't involve open rebellion. It involved manipulation.
To follow the path of Sōsuke Aizen, the master deceiver, the ghost behind the curtain.
To become a preacher of the Will of Fire, so convincing that even Hiruzen would call him a perfect example of Konoha's ideals.
To let them think he was one of them. Obedient. Brainwashed. Loyal to the core.
And then? To create an escape route. A silent one.
Make the clan disappear—not through war, but through a masquerade of death. Let the world believe the Uchiha were wiped out. Let the village bury its guilt under official reports and false flags.
Meanwhile, the survivors would live. Hidden. Free.
That was the real plan. Or at least, one of them.
Of course, now that the Gacha system had finally activated, everything had to be recalibrated. Revised. Upgraded.
He wasn't just a boy with memories anymore. He was a player with tools. A shadow strategist with access to powers beyond this world.
But still, the core of his plan remained the same.
He would smile. He would bow. He would praise the Will of Fire.
And he would lie through his teeth every step of the way until the moment came to burn the script and rewrite the ending.
Because this time?
The Uchiha were not going to die.
"Grandpa…" Aizen spoke suddenly, breaking the momentary silence between mouthfuls of rice. "Is the Third Ninja War going to happen soon?"
He asked the question with a careful mix of curiosity and innocence. Just enough to sound like a concerned academy student, not someone with frightening insight.
Because he couldn't afford to come off as too sharp. Not yet. Let them underestimate him. Let them think he was just smart enough.
Renzō Uchiha blinked, then slowly placed his chopsticks down beside the bowl.
"Yes… how did you know?" he asked, his voice calm but his gaze sharper now. "There's been no official word."
Aizen gave a small shrug, eyes lowering to his bowl.
"I overheard some jōnin near the armoury on my way home from the academy. They were whispering about border instability. Also… the clan meetings are happening more often. And you've been… busy."
That last part he added lightly, but it landed.
Renzō exhaled through his nose, folding his arms. "You're observant. That's good. Stay that way."
He leaned back, his eyes scanning the small table, though his focus was clearly on the boy in front of him.
"You're right. Something's happening. We don't know exactly when or how, but the signs are there. Kiri has started moving more troops near the sea, and Iwa's forces have been seen near the borders. Tension's building up everywhere. It feels like we're just waiting for something small to set it all off."
Aizen nodded, chewing silently.
Another war. Another round of sacrifice.
If he played it right, the war could be the mask behind which his real plans moved. Displacement, death, fake identities. War could hide so many things. Even a clan vanishing without a trace.
He pushed those thoughts aside for now. Too soon. Too risky.
He tapped his chopsticks lightly against the bowl.
"Will they send Academy students this time too?" he asked, adding a trace of concern to his voice. Just enough for a grandfather to hear his grandson's fear.
Renzō's face stiffened. Just for a heartbeat.
"If it gets bad enough… yes. But not yet. That's why you train."
Aizen gave a small nod.
"Then I'll train harder."
He meant it. Not just because of the war. Not just for survival.
But because if he was going to rewrite the ending of the Uchiha Clan's story, he had to be ready.
Ready for war.
Ready for lies.
Ready to wear the smiling mask of a loyal Konoha shinobi…
And the silent eyes of a puppeteer behind it all.
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