Morning in Konoha greeted its residents with a clear sky and a gentle breeze that played with the village flags lining the streets. Today was a special day: the start-of-year ceremony had drawn not only future students to the Academy building, but also their families. Laughter rang through the air, mixed with whispers of excitement, the rustle of clothes, and a low hum of voices that gradually faded as an elderly shinobi in formal attire stepped onto the stage.
Normally, it was the Hokage who gave the opening speech at events like this. But today was different. Instead of the Fifth—Fugaku Uchiha—another figure stood before the crowd: the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi. He no longer wore the cloak and hat of the village leader. The lines on his face had deepened, and the gray in his hair marked his years. But in his eyes, the same fire still burned—the fire that had once made hundreds of shinobi bow to the will of Konoha.
Hiruzen had turned down his well-earned retirement, the quiet life and honors, in order to pursue an old dream: to teach children. And today, on his first day as a ninjutsu instructor, he began with what he did best—a speech. Inspirational, lengthy… far too lengthy.
Fugaku, without his Hokage mantle, stood off to the side among the other parents, though he still stood out. Beside him were Mikoto, offering a restrained smile, and Sasuke, who looked as if he were doing his best not to yawn. The boy stood straight, but his brows were drawn together, and he kept glancing at the blond kid standing next to him.
"I can't sit through this twice a year," Sasuke muttered just loud enough for his friend to hear. "I'm finishing the Academy in one year. Just watch."
Naruto let out an exaggerated sigh and slouched.
"Yeah, sure, you'll graduate. And what about me? Am I supposed to be left here all alone? I thought… we'd be in class together, pulling pranks…" He trailed off, scowled, and stared at the ground. "It'll be boring without you."
Fugaku, silent on the outside, heard the exchange. And he understood Sasuke's logic—finish school quickly, get into business, start earning money. Even now, this ceremony was wasting precious time. He wouldn't have come if he didn't know how much his presence meant to his son.
Fortunately, Mikoto had picked up on the tension between the boys. She crouched down to Naruto's eye level and gently touched his shoulder. Her voice was warm and calm, like autumn sunlight.
"Don't be sad, Naruto," she said with a kind smile. "You and Sasuke will still have time together. After class, you can play, train."
"It's not the same…" Naruto puffed out his cheeks as if he were about to blow the whole world away. "We're friends. If he leaves early, what am I supposed to do by myself?"
"Try to catch up to him," Mikoto said simply, and winked.
"Catch up to him? As in surpass him?" Naruto asked, frowning.
Sasuke leaned in slightly, pretending to adjust his jacket, but he was actually trying to catch every word.
"Exactly. You don't realize it yet, Naruto, but you're lucky," Mikoto continued, looking him straight in the eye. "You have someone your age to compete with. Not everyone gets that chance."
"But my grandpa's a genius too," Naruto muttered stubbornly. "Hiruzen Sarutobi—he's the god of shinobi. I can look up to him!"
"That's not the same," Mikoto shook her head gently. "There's sixty years between you. You can't truly compete with him. He's like a mountain—high, unreachable. But Sasuke… he's beside you. He's your horizon."
Naruto stared at her like the thought had never occurred to him before.
"You know who else grew up as rivals?" she added. "Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha. They came from enemy clans and rarely met, but every time they did, they tried to be stronger than before. Their rivalry didn't destroy them—on the contrary, it deepened their friendship, strengthened their resolve, and made their dreams bigger."
"Hashirama and Madara?" Naruto whispered, as if invoking a forbidden legend.
"Yes. Rivalry doesn't stop friendship," Mikoto stood up, straightened her back, and gently ruffled Naruto's hair. "Sometimes, it's what makes it real."
The boys looked at each other silently. There was no hostility in their eyes, no jealousy—only that vague but familiar feeling, as if a path had just opened before them. A path where each would grow beside the other, pushing, challenging—but never losing the bond between them.
"Even if I don't graduate in one year," Naruto suddenly said with surprising resolve, standing tall, "I still won't let you beat me, Sasuke. Just watch! That's my ninja way!"
Fugaku, his expression unreadable, shifted his gaze to his son. Sasuke gave a faint smirk—just the corner of his lips—but there was a flicker in his eyes. Not mockery, not superiority. Something else. Expectation. A challenge accepted.
"Good luck," he replied briefly.
Mikoto offered a reserved smile. Their rivalry was only beginning.
///
The leaves had begun to slowly change color. Once bright green, they now ripened into copper and gold, with streaks of rusty crimson showing through.
It was midday when Fugaku returned home. He opened the front door unhurriedly, slipped off the Hokage's cloak from his shoulders, and carefully removed his shoes. The floor, as always, was spotless—almost sterile. Uruichi had cleaned it right on schedule. The house remained unchanged—precise, calm, reliable.
In the living room, Mikoto sat on the couch in a relaxed pose. Her legs were tucked underneath her, a scroll of financial reports in her hands. The look in her eyes made it clear—she wasn't reading just to tick a box. When she noticed her husband, she blinked in surprise—not because he had come home, but because it was actually him.
"Darling… you're home?" She set the scroll aside, as if doubting whether he was real. "I haven't seen you here in almost a year. Don't tell me you've finally finished all your urgent affairs?"
"Yes," Fugaku answered softly, and a faint shadow of a smile touched the corners of his mouth.
He sank into the low armchair across from her, allowing himself, for the first time in what felt like forever, to simply… relax. No thoughts of politics, economics, or strategy. Just being beside his wife.
As he'd predicted, the first months in the Hokage's seat had been exhausting. His mind, his body, every clone—constantly working around the clock.
Even with a shadow clone corps—ten steady ones, plus two powered by Reibi's chakra—it was barely enough. The old system had to be dismantled manually, layer by layer.
Fugaku had redrawn the entire strategic map of the village—every tunnel, every cave, every ancient root. He discarded Hashirama's wooden architecture in favor of a new chakra-reinforced concrete formula. The old look of Konoha had been beautiful, yes—but inefficient. And he tore it down without sentiment.
He had designed a new security network: expansive, decentralized, but under tight control. Access keys were held only by him, Shisui, Itachi, and Mikoto. Every detail had been accounted for. If Orochimaru or Danzo had passed on any clearance to Konoha's secret routes, it was already invalid.
Even within his own household, he had communicated only through clones, and only for business. With Mikoto—it was logistics and finances. With Shisui—crime reports. With Itachi—reforms in the hospital and research labs. He knew he couldn't handle it all alone, so he made them part of the machine.
With Hikari, he discussed missions. With Sasuke, he attended the Academy—again, as a clone. Only Reibi barged in uninvited as usual, leaping onto his shoulder, demanding "dark chocolate," and sharing a portion of her chakra in return. The whole family was involved. In this new reality, there was no other way.
But now… now he could loosen the reins just a bit. Not forever—maybe for a day or two. Just long enough to feel like he was home again.
"Are you real?" he asked, staring intently at his wife.
Mikoto smirked and shook her head.
"No. Shadow clone. The real me is in the Land of Mountains. We're negotiating to buy a rare metals mine. It's been a tough bargain, but I think we'll close the deal by tonight."
Fugaku nodded slowly—not disappointment, but approval. Like him, she couldn't afford to stop entirely.
He knew: behind him wasn't just a family. They were his backbone. He wouldn't have made it without them. Shisui ran internal security—an iron grip on the streets, markets, and information flow. Itachi—scientist, medic, strategist—monitored every piece of research with surgical precision. Mikoto managed business, factories, supply lines, and external relations. Hikari was preparing to become something greater than just a soldier. Together, they were building an empire.
And while he sat in that chair, one of his clones was at this very moment having a conversation with a client from the past. An old man who once paid young Hiruzen for special missions. He now wanted to hire an assassin. He received a polite but firm refusal.
Konoha no longer dealt in contract killings. The risks far outweighed the fleeting profits. Now, every operative licensed for lethal action worked strictly in defense of Uchiha Enterprises assets. No private jobs. Only corporate objectives.
Fugaku leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He knew: this world would catch up to him soon. Other villages would giggle, look down on Konoha as it grew wealthier. In a year, they'd try to copy. In two, they'd start implementing similar models. In three—they'd want to take everything by force.
But he would be ready. When the time came—he would erase them. With a single strike.
"Actually, I'm not home just for the sake of it," Mikoto said calmly, rolling up the scroll. "I'm expecting guests. They should be here any minute now."
Fugaku raised an eyebrow and turned slightly toward her, as if shifting his attention from thought back to the present.
"Business?" he asked without much surprise.
"Unlikely," Mikoto said thoughtfully. "Gai and Suzumebachi are coming today. They said they want to talk. You understand—internal clan matters, visits like this can't be ignored."
Fugaku gave a short nod in full agreement. Though he still officially held the title of Uchiha clan head, in practice his new position—Fifth Hokage—consumed him entirely. The responsibilities of running the village left no room for clan routine. And as Hokage, he couldn't allow himself to think only of one family.
The clan's internal affairs were now handled by three people: Mikoto, Shisui, and Itachi. Senior, experienced, trusted. They didn't just divide tasks between them—they had become the inner council, the backbone that kept the clan from losing face or splintering apart.
Just then, a light knock came at the door.
"That's them," Mikoto said evenly, not even glancing toward the entrance.
A few seconds later, Teaki—Uruichi's husband—walked through the corridor. He opened the door and ushered the guests in without questions. Everything had already been arranged.
Meanwhile, Fugaku and Mikoto cleared the table of scrolls and made space on the couch, sitting down side by side in the kind of effortless, nearly invisible synchronicity that only develops between people who've lived together for many years. Neither said a word, but both knew how to carry themselves: composed, gracious, the dignity of hosts without arrogance.
Might Guy stepped into the room first. Still loud-voiced, energetic, and… radiant. Even without his signature green jumpsuit, today dressed in traditional dark robes embroidered with the Uchiha crest on the shoulder, he remained a living embodiment of inner fire. His posture was straight, his shoulders squared, and his eyes shone with genuine joy.
Next to him walked Suzumebachi—composed, as expected of someone raised within the Uchiha clan, yet her eyes held a softness. She carried an infant in her arms, gently wrapped in a red blanket embroidered with delicate patterns. The baby slept, his nose nestled against his mother's chest.
"Mikoto, you look wonderful," Suzumebachi said warmly, smiling as she stepped into the living room.
"You two are a bright spot against this dragging autumn," Mikoto replied with a light tilt of her head.
Guy was about to throw his arms around her in a friendly hug, as was customary, but upon seeing Fugaku seated in the room, he paused visibly. His expression shifted—from warm to suddenly focused. He straightened, pulled back his shoulders even more, as if facing a military inspection.
"Hokage-sama," he declared solemnly, beginning to kneel.
"No need," Fugaku said sharply, though not unkindly, making a quick gesture with his hand. "This isn't the office. Not a council meeting. Here, you're my guests, not subordinates."
A flicker of relief crossed Guy's face, and Suzumebachi gave a polite nod. They stepped further into the room and sat on the couch across from the hosts. They sat close, shoulder to shoulder, like a real family.
Uruichi entered with tea and placed a dish of handmade jellies on the low table—cone-shaped candies shaped like animals, clearly meant for the baby. Her movements were quiet and swift, as if she were dissolving between the furniture.
Fugaku looked at the child. His eyes narrowed with concentration. He wasn't just curious—he was analyzing.
"What's his name?" he asked after a pause.
"Uchiha Metal," Suzumebachi whispered lovingly, gently stroking the baby's back.
The name seemed to hang in the air—firm, direct, resonant with strength.
"A strong name," Fugaku murmured. "You want him to grow up solid and unbreakable?"
"He already is!" Guy blurted out proudly, his voice ringing with unfiltered joy. "The doctor who examined him said he's got both the Sharingan and the Steel Release. Can you imagine? He'll be the perfect taijutsu master!"
Fugaku raised an eyebrow slightly.
"This doctor, by chance—was it my son?"
"Yes, it was Itachi," Suzumebachi replied, and there was a note of gratitude in her voice. "He was very attentive. And, surprisingly, he examined the baby on his own initiative."
Fugaku let out a quiet hum and reached for a jelly candy. Itachi. Of course. He knew his son had mastered advanced medical techniques—ones that had become the stuff of semi-mythical rumor throughout the village. Diagnosing chakra potential in infants was a skill possessed by only a select few. Now, Itachi was among them.
The women had slipped into a quiet conversation—discussing family matters, parenting methods, and internal clan business.
Fugaku stayed silent, observing the baby. A remarkable mix: his mother's eyes and his father's steel energy.
He could already picture what Uchiha Metal would become. The Sharingan would give him control, precision, and tactical thinking. The Steel Release—not just physical durability, but the ability to withstand extreme stress, perhaps even unlock the Eight Gates with reduced damage. A shinobi like that could go further than anyone before. Maybe… even surpass Fugaku himself.
"Fugaku-sama…" Gai spoke, barely above a whisper, once the living room had quieted. He shifted uncomfortably, casting quick glances at his wife and child, as if afraid his words might be misunderstood. "May I speak with you in private?"
Fugaku set his teacup down and stood without question. He already sensed this wasn't a social call.
"Of course. Let's go."
They left the house without another word. Walking along the stone path, they passed the courtyard with its flower beds—where autumn chrysanthemums had recently bloomed—and reached a small bench beneath a willow tree.
"Speak."
Gai stood in front of him like a man before an examiner. His fists clenched at his sides from tension.
"There's a boy," he began, almost apologetically. "His name is Rock Lee. He's in the second year at the Academy. Not the strongest, not the most talented… but Fugaku-sama, he has such determination. He lives for taijutsu. From morning to night, he trains, even in the rain. I… I want to take him as my student."
Fugaku narrowed his eyes slightly. The words were honest. The emotion—real. He could tell this wasn't just a decision for Gai. It was a vow.
"You just became a father," he reminded calmly.
"Yes, but…" Gai looked up, and in his eyes burned that familiar fire—his unmistakable drive. "You meet your true student, your kindred spirit, only once in a lifetime. It's not about timing—it's a calling. And my father will help me. We'll train him together, the three of us."
Fugaku gave a silent nod, acknowledging the strength of his argument. Personal apprenticeship had always been considered a sacred bond in the shinobi world. Often—even deeper than blood. Some said fate itself brought true teacher and student together when they were meant to be.
"Lee has a problem," Gai continued, voice dimming. "He can't use ninjutsu or genjutsu. The doctors say it's congenital. His chakra just doesn't flow outward."
"That's serious. Even if you focus only on taijutsu, it's a severe limitation. No summoning, no weapon enhancements, no concealment jutsu—none of it will be available to him." Fugaku frowned. "What do you want from me?"
"Your son… Itachi…" Gai bowed deeply, spine straight. "He's become a legend in medical circles. They say he's already surpassed Tsunade. I'm asking—please—let him examine Lee. Maybe he'll see something others missed."
"Then go to him directly. At the hospital," Fugaku said, with a note of irritation. "He treats civilians and shinobi alike. The line is long, but he sees everyone."
"I… I tried," Gai didn't raise his head. "But the nurses turned me away. Said he was in surgery, in research… I understand—he's important. But if you ask him personally… maybe he'll spare a little time for Lee…"
Fugaku watched the willow branches sway, not answering right away.
"I'll speak to him at dinner," he said quietly.
Gai exhaled — like a man who had just escaped a deadly trap.
"Thank you, Fugaku-sama. Truly. From the bottom of my heart."
Fugaku said nothing. But inwardly, he already knew: Itachi would take an interest in this boy. His cold, rational nature never stopped him from being a seeker. And Lee… Lee was a unique case.
///
A few days later, in the same park, beneath the same willow, Fugaku sat on the bench once more. The leaves had fully turned yellow, and now drifted down in a slow, swirling dance.
Itachi approached him — quietly, as always, but not hiding. He looked focused, almost emotionless, like a surgeon before an operation.
"I examined Rock Lee," he said, taking a seat beside him.
Fugaku turned his head, listening closely.
"His body produces chakra in normal amounts. The flow is steady. But… he can't project it outward. Internally, he can enhance his muscles, bones, reaction speed — but releasing chakra, activating jutsu… it's impossible. It's as if his chakra lacks the final push to exit the body."
"Is it a problem with the chakra pathways?"
"No." Itachi shook his head. "It's the heart. Medically, it's perfectly functional — pressure, structure, rhythm — all within normal range. But it doesn't generate the necessary resonant impulse. It's like a weak battery. It won't initiate the output flow. Surgery is required."
Fugaku nodded slowly.
"Heart surgery is almost taboo in the shinobi world. One wrong move and the patient loses access to chakra forever — for many, that's worse than death. But you…"
He looked into his son's eyes. Black and calm. But beneath that surface, the Sharingan stirred.
"I have no doubts," Fugaku continued. "You register every detail. Every incision you make is flawless. For you, the margin for error is zero."
"I've already booked him in for surgery. In two weeks," Itachi said. "If there are complications… I've prepared a contingency. I acquired a compatible donor heart on the black market. If necessary, I'll transplant it using Jiongu threads."
Fugaku didn't ask questions. Not about the black market. Not about the threads. He understood: Itachi had long since stepped beyond conventional boundaries. Not because he wanted to — because he had to. Because that was the world they survived in.
"So you'll succeed where Tsunade failed — you'll heal Rock Lee," Fugaku said, with a faint, nearly invisible smile. "Just as I'd expect from my son."