After saying that, Sarutobi Hiruzen set down the pipe in his hand.
This wasn't the first time they'd discussed this subject.
In fact, they'd already met dozens of times just this month.
The participants never changed. The only thing that did was the ever-growing stack of papers on the table—while the weariness in Sarutobi's eyes grew heavier and heavier.
At first, the topic had been whether to impose sanctions on the Uchiha.
Then it shifted to whether they should guard against a possible coup.
After that, whether they needed to secretly monitor them.
And now, the entire focus of the meeting had boiled down to one thing—how to wipe out the Uchiha Clan entirely.
Sarutobi knew all too well that his once-firm plans for a peaceful resolution and gradual dismantling had been quietly torn apart in a flurry of heated arguments and classified reports.
And the man pushing it all forward was the one sitting across from him in quiet contemplation—Shimura Danzō.
This old comrade-in-arms—his constant rival—was using his Root (Foundation) to silently steer the will of Konoha straight toward an irreversible abyss.
The silence dragged on.
Suddenly, Utatane Koharu lifted her head, her gaze sweeping over Sarutobi's face as she spoke slowly:
"What's there to debate?"
"Everyone has their own agenda. No one wants to be the one sticking their neck out."
"That's the Uchiha we're talking about!"
At that, Sarutobi's brows drew together.
His drifting thoughts were pulled back to the present. He could only pick his pipe back up in silence, drawing a deep breath, the smoke curling above his head.
"…Then… let's wait a little longer."
"Wait? How much longer are you planning to wait?"
Danzō, who had kept his eyes closed this whole time, finally opened them.
"Konoha is already a village on edge."
"The Uchiha, who are supposed to guard our streets, have shut themselves away in their clan grounds—skulking in the dark with suspicious movements."
"There are even rumors—"
"That the Uchiha have already gathered in secret, ready to rebel any day now."
"You say wait. But tell me—"
"How much longer will you keep waiting?"
The meeting room fell into silence again.
That relentless question of Danzō's stabbed into Sarutobi's heart like an icy awl.
It was a long while before he raised his head, staring at his one-eyed, unyielding rival.
"…This way, no one wins."
"Still the same indecisive monkey, aren't you?"
Danzō's voice rose, sharp with frustration.
"You try to protect everything—and in the end, you protect nothing."
He shot to his feet and turned toward the doors.
"Just wait for the result. Everything I do is for Konoha."
But he hadn't taken two steps before—
BANG!
A deafening crack sounded behind him.
Sarutobi's palm had slammed down, shattering the massive round wooden table into splinters.
Shards flew, dust rising.
"Danzō!" Sarutobi's voice was a low growl.
"In Konoha, I am the Hokage!"
"You'd better not forget that!!"
Koharu and Mitokado Homura both tensed, ready to step in before things escalated further, but Danzō was already striding away.
And as he walked, he tossed back:
"Of course I know you're the Hokage."
"But you… are already old."
With that, he left the room.
…
Meanwhile, in the Uchiha Clan Grounds, the great hall had shed its former oppressive gloom.
Now, the sacred heart of Uchiha territory was lit by wave after wave of strange, shimmering light.
Hum—!
With each resonating surge of energy, the moment Uchiha Setsuna pressed his palm to a clansman's back, golden divine markings bloomed from the point of contact, curling out like vines before settling into a mysterious emblem—the mark of the Falna.
The blessing, complete.
At the very center of the hall, Ryota sat upon the stone seat that once belonged to Uchiha Fugaku, expression calm.
On either side of him, three full rows of clansmen had already received the Falna.
They stood tall, eyes burning with a fervor that was no longer just fear—it was reverence.
If they had once obeyed out of intimidation, now it was something deeper—an instinctive worship.
Ryota hadn't explained much, but those with the Falna engraved on their backs already understood.
They were no longer "tools" to be manipulated by Konoha's leadership.
They were now the Familia of a god—the true rebirth of the Uchiha's power.
The first to receive the blessing were already testing the changes in their bodies.
It was… indescribable.
If their Chakra had once been "1,"
Now—"2," even "10"!
A surge of vitality, doubled perception, vastly heightened control…
This wasn't a gradual gain from training—it was an overhaul at the very core.
"My… my Sharingan feels sharper…"
"The Chakra inside me… it's like it's growing on its own… that's impossible…"
"Is this… the power of a god…?"
Quiet murmurs rippled, but no one dared raise their voice. Every so often, eyes flicked to the black-haired boy on the stone seat.
Even veteran jōnin who'd fought through wars and never truly bowed to any clan head—had no objections now.
Every gaze shone with something called faith.
The Uchiha were no longer the vast force of the warring era.
Years of suppression and marginalization had diminished their numbers, forcing them to gather within their grounds and cease expanding outward.
That was why the process of engraving the Falna did not last long.
When the final flash of light faded, Uchiha Setsuna lowered his hand, wiping sweat from his brow—but his face was flushed with excitement.
He steadied his breathing, hurried to the stone seat, and bowed respectfully.
"Clan Head, all blessings have been engraved! Except…"
His eyes drifted to the side.
In a corner of the hall sat one man in silence—Uchiha Fugaku.
Once the clan head. Now, an observer.
His gaze was lowered, his presence still and silent as stone.
Ryota looked at the man who once held the highest seat, just about to speak—
"…I accept."
The hall fell silent. Every pair of eyes turned toward that familiar figure.
Setsuna didn't move. He looked to Ryota instead.
One shake of the new clan head's head, and he'd cut the old one down where he sat.
But Ryota's voice came instead:
"Go ahead, Setsuna."
Setsuna nodded and stepped forward, standing behind Fugaku.
Fugaku said nothing—just pulled his shirt higher to bare his back.
Setsuna lifted his right hand and pressed his palm to the center of Fugaku's spine.
The next second—
Hum—!
The golden light flared again, divine lines rippling from Setsuna's palm to twine across Fugaku's back.
But this time, the resonance was far stronger!
Fugaku's whole body jolted, pupils shrinking sharply.
His Chakra exploded like a detonated charge.
As one of the clan's top fighters—a wielder of the Mangekyō Sharingan—he had believed he'd reached the peak of his power.
But the instant that light covered his back, he felt his Mangekyō ignite with a divine engine.
"What… what is this…"
His hands trembled slightly as he raised them, feeling the torrential energy coursing through him.
His Mangekyō spun open on instinct, the blood-red glow now faintly wreathed in a deeper, swirling shadow.
He had never felt so close to the threshold of eternity.
Fugaku stared at his hands in disbelief before slowly lifting his gaze to Ryota on the stone seat.
And in that moment, he understood.
This boy sat there not just because of strength—he had brought the Uchiha an entirely new future.
His lips parted, but words caught in his throat.
After a pause, emotions swirling in his eyes, Fugaku stepped forward until he stood below the stone seat, looking up at the new clan head.
He hesitated for a long time before finally asking quietly:
"…Can you spare Itachi?"
Uchiha Fugaku's voice wasn't loud, yet it stilled the entire hall once again.
Everyone knew Uchiha Itachi was one of the clan's most brilliant prodigies.
At such a young age, he'd already joined the Anbu on sheer ability alone. Even among Konoha's upper echelons, he was one of the few Uchiha deemed trustworthy.
He carried a near-pathological maturity and composure. After witnessing the death of his closest friend, Uchiha Shisui, he had awakened the Mangekyō Sharingan.
If not for the sudden appearance of the black-haired boy before them, Itachi would have been the obvious heir in everyone's mind.
In the past, anyone who dared question him would have been drowned out by the protests and scorn of the clan, young and old alike.
But now…
No one spoke.
Every gaze turned to Ryota—steady, unwavering—waiting for his judgment on Uchiha Itachi.
Ryota only smiled faintly, as though he'd just heard an amusing question.
"Spare him?"
He rose to his feet, a hint of mockery and playfulness glinting in his eyes.
"Uchiha Fugaku… you really are hopelessly foolish."
Then he lifted his head, his gaze drifting toward the great doors of the hall.
"Or better yet… why don't you ask him yourself?"
Everyone followed his line of sight.
At some point, a lone figure had appeared in the doorway.
Uchiha Itachi stood there in his Anbu uniform, tall and lean, eyes cold beneath the shadow of his fringe.
In his sockets, the crimson of a Three Tomoe Sharingan spun slowly—emotionless whirlpools that swept across every face in the hall.
His gaze settled on Ryota upon the stone seat… then swept over his gathered kin.
A moment later, his hand reached behind his back, fingers curling around the hilt of his blade.
Shing—
He drew the blade in a reverse grip.
"So… here you all are."
The silence deepened.
Hearts lurched, as if struck by an unseen blow.
"No… no way…"
"Itachi… you'd really raise your blade against the clan?!"
"Clan Head was right… this guy really is insane!"
No one had truly believed Uchiha Itachi could become a lapdog of Konoha. But the cold, unblinking eyes before them—and the naked blade in his hand—spoke louder than words.
The chorus of voices reached his ears, making him pause for just a moment.
"…Clan Head?"
His eyes drifted toward the black-haired boy on the stone seat. A strange, inexplicable unease stirred in his chest.
"Clan Head… isn't that supposed to be my father?"
His brows knit together. He shifted his footing, preparing to step forward—
A sudden arc of killing light swept across his vision.
His reflexes flared—instinct snapping him into motion.
Steel rang on steel as his blade met the attack with a sharp clang.
Sparks burst, and he finally saw his attacker.
Uchiha Setsuna—the one who had been engraving the Falna into their clan member moments earlier.
Now, Chakra surged from him in waves, far stronger than before. His Three Tomoe blazed with unrestrained killing intent.
"You bastard!"
"To show your face in front of the Clan Head?!"
"I'll cut you down right here!"
Without another word, Setsuna swung again.
His rage wasn't just for the drawn blade—it was the release of a long-misdirected trust.
The instinctive retaliation of a clansman against a traitor.
The inborn judgment of a god's familia upon one who had abandoned them.
But just as his edge was about to fall—
Whoosh!
Itachi's form vanished, leaving only an afterimage.
He reappeared at the far right of the hall, eyes scanning those familiar-yet-changed faces.
And a deep frown settled on his brow.
Something about their Chakra… was wrong.
"…This texture…"
He could feel it. The aura of his kin was completely unlike what he remembered.
It wasn't a mere gain from training—it was a transformation from the roots upward.
How could such a change happen overnight?
His frown deepened, unable to make sense of it.
"…I should take out the key one first."
His eyes fixed once more on Ryota in the center of the hall.
For some reason, ever since this person appeared, nothing had been within his control.
He couldn't wait any longer—there were people waiting for him.
His weight shifted forward, ready to strike—
BOOM!!!
The air itself shuddered.
A soul-crushing pressure erupted from behind Ryota.
Itachi's pupils shrank; his body locked in place.
A suffocating force, as though stopping his very heartbeat, rolled over him.
And then—
A colossal arm—big enough to blot out the light—emerged from behind Ryota.
Blue-violet Chakra condensed into armor plates, an overwhelming defense spoken of only in legend.
"Susanoo?!"
"How the hell do you have Susanoo?!"