The mechanical voice in his ears gradually faded away, but a tide of indescribable, tangled emotions surged in Ryota's heart.
If the mission was to "take control," that meant the Uchiha Clan still existed.
If they still existed, then the tragedy of their massacre had yet to occur.
That meant the current timeline Ryota found himself in had to be before Year 58 of Konoha.
In other words…
Itachi had yet to make his move, Danzō was still lurking in the shadows, and the Third Hokage had not yet completely lost himself in his tolerance for power.
The Uchiha had not yet been pushed to the breaking point—branded as the inevitable spark for simply a coup."
"Everything hasn't started yet."
Ryota gazed toward the distant, unreachable village beneath the night sky, his eyes growing deeper and darker.
If he could seize control of the Uchiha… then every step that followed, he could guide the course of fate himself.
"Starting with the Uchiha… swallow Konoha whole."
"And then—"
"From Konoha's position, declare war on the Four Great Nations and launch an entirely new Shinobi World War."
The hidden members of the Ōtsutsuki Clan would be forced to reveal themselves ahead of schedule.
At that point, Ryota could attempt to strip away their Kāma and merge it with himself.
"When that happens…"
"I could even enslave the Ōtsutsuki Clan."
"Make those so-called gods into my mounts on the road to transcendence."
But Ryota's ambition didn't stop there.
An even more distant, yet increasingly vivid image formed in his mind—far beyond simply absorbing the Uchiha, controlling Konoha, and enslaving the Ōtsutsuki:
"If I can completely seize control of the Uchiha Clan and finish the Main Quest…"
"Then maybe… I could bring them into the DanMachi's world."
"Or… I could reconstruct that golden door in reverse—and let the Loki Familia descend into the shinobi world."
If that succeeded, it would mean the boundary between the two worlds would be broken!
"At that point, there would be nothing separating them."
"I could plant Flying Raijin markers throughout the shinobi world, then use the golden door as a relay, creating a seamless return loop."
In Ryota's eyes, the Hokage Rock shimmered in the night.
But to him, it was nothing more than the starting point for something that would soon be under his control.
"I'll build a Familia that spans across worlds."
"I'll raise my divine domain in the shinobi world as well."
"From the DanMachi's side… I'll steamroll the world of Naruto."
Taking a deep breath, Ryota forcibly calmed the sudden rush of excitement pounding in his chest.
He raised his hand and lightly clenched his fingers.
Shhh!—
The space around them rippled, the wind tearing open with a sharp sound.
In the next instant, he and Ais vanished from where they stood.
When they reappeared, they were in a dense forest several kilometers outside Konoha's borders.
Ais had long since grown used to Ryota's methods that defied common sense and wasn't all that surprised.
She only lifted her gaze, taking in the unfamiliar and tranquil woods before her, and asked softly,
"Ryota… this isn't our world, is it?"
Ryota nodded, his expression more serious than usual.
"Ais, I need to tell you about this world."
"This is a place called…"
When Ryota spoke the final word, Ais showed no particular emotional reaction—just a quiet, acknowledging "Mm."
Then she tilted her head slightly and asked,
"So… now you're going to take control of this… Uchiha Clan?"
"Something like that."
Ryota nodded.
"But it won't stop at just one clan."
He was about to elaborate further, but Ais suddenly cut in:
"Then… which is stronger? The Uchiha Clan, or the Black Dragon?"
Ryota paused, thinking it over in his head.
The current Uchiha Clan… as far as he knew, their strongest would be at the Mangekyō level—capable of manifesting Susanoo.
In his eyes now, that wasn't all that troublesome.
Smiling faintly, he replied in a low voice,
"The Black Dragon's stronger, of course."
Hearing that, Ais didn't say anything more, but the faint trace of worry in her eyes quietly faded away.
…
Meanwhile, in Konoha—inside the Uchiha Clan Grounds.
Under the night sky, the clan's iconic central building glowed faintly with firelight.
Inside its main hall, the atmosphere was so tense it could have frozen the air.
Uchiha Fugaku stood at the very center, his eyes filled with suppressed anger.
Across from him, an elderly clan elder with a full head of white hair slammed the table in agitation:
"Fugaku! Open your eyes and look around!"
"Konoha's suspicion and suppression of us has reached an unbearable level!"
"The Nine-Tails' Rampage had nothing to do with us, yet the entire clan was pushed into the spotlight!"
"First, they banished us to the edge of the village like we were some plague to be quarantined, then they crammed every young man who awakened the Sharingan into the Police Force—"
His beard bristled as he barked,
"What the hell is that?!"
"That's like forcing a butcher who slaughters cows every day to go catch minnows!"
Behind him, quite a few middle-aged Uchiha shinobi frowned deeply, but nodded in quiet agreement, muttering under their breath:
"Yeah… the missions lately are getting more and more pointless. Feels like house arrest."
"All these young men's combat instincts are rotting away—they have no chance to join the village's primary battle forces."
"Forget the Will of Fire… there's no place for us in it at all."
"…."
This kind of collective pressure campaign played out in the Uchiha Clan almost every day, becoming a staple act in clan meetings.
Fugaku stood in the center, silent, eyes lowered, enduring the crushing pressure from all directions.
He wasn't just the head of the Uchiha—he was also a jōnin of Konoha and a member of the village leadership.
Or so he thought.
Ever since the Night of the Nine-Tails, the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, had chosen to avoid addressing the real problem, while Shimura Danzō applied covert pressure.
All the suspicion and blame had been quietly dumped onto the Uchiha Clan's shoulders.
They had been driven to the outskirts of Konoha, their people concentrated in the Police Force, their intelligence flow cut off, funds restricted, and mission authority stripped away…
Step by step, the Uchiha were being isolated—dismantled piece by piece.
"We have to seize power ourselves!"
"We can't wait any longer!"
"Fugaku! You're the clan head—you have to decide!!"
"…."
The tide of anger surged toward him.
Fugaku looked up wearily, gazing at the gathered clansmen.
At this moment, the people in the hall had already split into three distinct factions.
On the far left stood the Hawk Faction.
Their eyes blazed with hatred and fighting spirit, their stance summed up in one word: revolt.
In truth, ever since the days of Uchiha Madara, the Hawks had always existed.
It was only after the Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama, had crushed them completely that they'd fallen silent for decades.
That silence had persisted even through the reign of the Third Hokage and the tenure of Namikaze Minato.
But after the Nine-Tails' Rampage, the Uchiha's standing in Konoha plummeted. When the Third Hokage returned to power and joined forces with Danzō to launch an aggressive, systematic suppression of the clan—
The Hawks finally broke their silence.
Right now, within the Uchiha Clan, the Hawk Faction made up at least sixty percent of its core force.
They were the youngest awakeners, the clan's strongest combat elites—and also the most restless group of all.
In the center stood the Dove Faction.
They preached peace and endurance, putting the clan's long-term survival above all else.
Mostly elders and aged veterans who had lived through the First and Second Hokage's eras, they'd seen enough chaos, blood, and destruction to last a lifetime.
All they wanted now was to grow old quietly within Konoha, keeping the clan far from the whirlpool of politics.
But as time passed, their voices grew weaker.
On the far right stood the Moderates.
As their name implied, they wavered between both sides—constantly weighing their choices, unwilling to state their position lightly. They resented the suppression from Konoha's leadership but also feared the consequences of true rebellion.
And standing at the very center of this deadlock was the clan head, Uchiha Fugaku—the most crucial figure in this question of whether to move or not.
With just one nod from him, the Hawks would charge forward without hesitation, the Doves would be unable to dissuade them, and the Moderates would side with whichever group seemed most likely to prevail.
In short, Uchiha Fugaku was the balance point upon which the clan's fate rested.
Once again, all eyes turned to him.
Fugaku drew in a deep breath and said slowly,
"…Give me a little more time."
"Now is not the right moment."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried through the hall. Yet before he could continue—
The surroundings suddenly fell silent.
Not because of his words. Not because someone barked a command.
But because of an abrupt, unnatural stillness that descended over the entire space.
In the next moment, nearly every clansman who had awakened the Sharingan turned their heads toward the door in unison.
It was as if they were being drawn by an invisible force… or rather, responding to an instinct buried deep in their blood.
The sensation was indescribable, irresistible—like something was calling to them.
In just a few breaths, the Hawks, Doves, and Moderates alike were frozen in place.
Even Fugaku's pupils contracted sharply, a sudden tremor of Chakra rippling uncontrollably through his body.
"What's going on…?"
His brows furrowed. He was about to send someone to check if an intruder had arrived—
When—
Tap—tap—tap—
Footsteps echoed from outside the hall, each one clear and sharp in the oppressive silence, grating against everyone's nerves.
A second later, shadows fell across the doorway as two figures stepped inside.
Leading was a black-haired, black-eyed young man with a calm expression. At his side walked a golden-haired girl.
Fugaku's brows knit together. He opened his mouth to speak—
Only for a harsh voice to cut him off:
"Where'd this stray brat come from?! This is the Uchiha Clan's grounds—who gave you permission to enter?!"
It was the same white-haired elder who had been shouting at Fugaku earlier, his tone dripping with undisguised anger and disdain.
Eyes blazing, he stepped forward half a pace and jabbed a finger at Ryota, his voice carrying the oppressive pride of an old, battle-hardened elite:
"You dare to—"
He never finished.
Bang!
A dull explosion rang out, like something rupturing in the air.
Every pair of eyes shrank in shock as the elder's head burst apart in an instant!
No warning. No hand signs. No surge of Chakra. Not even the faintest hint of an attack trajectory.
His head simply burst like an overripe watermelon—spraying blood and bone fragments into the air for all to see.
Thud—
The headless body toppled to the floor, blood pooling across the polished wooden boards in vivid, jarring red.
Silence.
The hall turned to ice.
Everyone froze.
The Hawks' most radical young shinobi, the Doves' elders, even Fugaku himself—all stood in momentary shock.
No one had seen how it was done.
No one had sensed even the slightest ripple of Chakra.
This wasn't ninjutsu, genjutsu, or taijutsu.
This was… something that existed beyond the very rules of the shinobi world—an overwhelming display of absolute dominance.
Silence. Confusion. Astonishment…
But whatever the emotion, in the end it all distilled into one thing: fear.
That white-haired elder had been a Two-Tomoe Sharingan wielder—someone with reaction speed and insight far beyond the norm, a veteran whose strength ranked among the higher tier of the old guard.
Yet he hadn't moved a muscle before being killed outright.
Like an ant crushed beneath the finger of a god.
It was power—pure and absolute. A strike from a dimension above their own.
And while the weight of that dread still pressed against every heart—
Fugaku stepped forward.
Forcing down all emotion, he stopped a few paces from Ryota and asked quietly,
"Who are you?"
"Were… you sent by the Hokage?"
The moment the words left his lips, the mood shifted.
Many in the room grew visibly more guarded.
If this truly was some plot of Sarutobi Hiruzen's, then things were about to spiral completely out of control.
But Ryota only let out a cold snort, as if he'd just heard an unfunny joke.
"Sarutobi Hiruzen?"
"He's not worthy to give me orders."
His dark eyes swept across the crowd, and he spoke slowly:
"Starting tomorrow—"
"No… that's wrong."
"Starting now—"
"I will be the head of the Uchiha Clan."
The declaration cracked like thunder. The room erupted.
Fear was obliterated, replaced instantly by rage, disbelief, and defiance:
"What did you just say?! A brat without a Sharingan wants to be clan head?!"
"You kill someone the moment you walk in—what the hell are you?!"
"Let me cut him down!"
"…!"
All around, the tomoe of the Sharingan began to spin, killing intent flaring.
Terrifying as that earlier strike had been, Ryota's words had shredded the last of their restraint.
If just anyone could call themselves the Uchiha Clan's leader, then they'd have no face left to show in Konoha—or the shinobi world at large.
But Ryota only stood there, watching the flood of fury with cool detachment. His lips curled in faint contempt.
"Sharingan?"
"Is that what you mean by this… thing?"
As his words fell—
Vmmm—
His eyes changed in an instant, violet light swirling as a rippling pattern bloomed within.
The Rinnegan stared back at them.
The hall fell silent once more.