Secret room.
A stone tablet engraved with cryptic characters stood quietly in the dim chamber, its surface flickering under the glow of fire. Behind it, the mural of the Tengu loomed like a silent guardian, hinting at secrets only the Sharingan could unravel.
Beep.
Two braziers, burning steadily on either side, cast long shadows, illuminating the inscriptions, murals, and the solemn faces gathered within the underground hall.
In front of the stele, more than fifty Uchiha were seated on the tatami floor, forming a semi-circle.
They spoke in hushed tones, some whispering cautiously, others brimming with agitation.
Some wore calm, restrained expressions, while others seemed restless, with eyes glowing faintly red in the dim firelight.
Every Uchiha present was dressed in the clan's dark blue high-collared robes, the fan crest stitched boldly across their backs—red as flame, white as bone.
Neat, dignified, unmistakable.
And undeniably proud.
At that moment—
The arrival of Duan and Itachi caused the room to stir.
Swish, swish, swish—
Heads turned one after another, curious gazes falling on the towering figure at the boy's side.
Nearly two meters tall, shoulders like boulders, his massive frame and sharp presence dwarfed the others. He wore no Uchiha uniform, but instead a loose black training gi. His aura was wild, unrestrained—an oddity among the disciplined Sharingan clan.
"That's Fugaku-sama's son Itachi. But the man beside him… who is that giant?" someone muttered.
"That's Uchiha Duan. Itachi's uncle. The patriarch invited him to attend tonight's meeting." Another, better informed, whispered back.
"So it's him… I've heard rumors. They say he relies only on brute force, yet tore through enemy spies in broad daylight. Strong, maybe—but can he even wield the Sharingan?"
Their suspicion lingered.
For among the clan, the right to speak in council belonged only to those who awakened the Sharingan.
Duan ignored the murmurs. His calm gaze swept across the room. Most were strangers to him, but a few familiar faces stood out—Uchiha Yashiro, Tekka, Inabi, and the elder Setsuna.
The radicals stiffened at his sight. They knew Duan's strength, his uncompromising will—and feared most his "Broken Jade Plan," the doctrine he once voiced that had shaken even hardened Uchiha.
Under his steady stare, several radicals averted their eyes, uneasy.
Then—
From the front rows, a soft smile. A woman with long black hair raised a hand gently toward him.
Mikoto.
Though now a full-time mother, she had once been an elite kunoichi of the Police Force's First Division. Rarely did she attend clan councils, yet tonight she had come—for her brother's sake.
Duan smiled back, and advanced.
"Make way."
His broad hands swept aside those in his path like fans brushing reeds. A few resisted, but against his strength were nudged aside, disgruntled.
Ignoring their glares, Duan strode forward and sat heavily beside Mikoto, his presence like a wall, shielding her from the crowd.
"Duan, since this is your first time at a clan meeting, you should know there are rules…" Mikoto said softly, tugging his sleeve and explaining the formalities.
"Mm."
He nodded absently, half listening, half letting her words drift past.
Meanwhile, Itachi had quietly separated from his uncle. Scanning the room, his eyes narrowed—Shisui was absent. The unease in his chest deepened.
Then—
"Itachi!"
A familiar, bright voice rang from the corner. Itachi turned, finding Izumi Uchiha.
She stood alone, a little uncertain, yet her eyes lit up on seeing him.
Itachi's expression softened, though he kept it restrained. He walked over, reassuring her quietly:
"Don't be nervous. Many here are not stronger than you."
It was the truth.
Izumi had awakened her Sharingan at just five years old—the earliest Itachi had ever seen. By eleven, she had reached three tomoe, an extraordinary feat. Many clan members twice her age still lingered at one or two tomoe.
Among the Uchiha, they measured strength as "capacity." And Izumi's far exceeded the average.
She only lacked battle experience, the hardened will forged by surviving death. In time, she could gain both. If she lived long enough.
At his words, Izumi smiled shyly, some of her nerves easing. Her eyes shone with expectation.
Itachi, however, sighed inwardly.
She didn't know. She couldn't know. The clan's conflict had grown too sharp. What she saw as a gathering of kin might soon turn into division—perhaps even bloodshed.
"Listen carefully," he said gravely. "No matter what happens tonight, don't speak. Don't take sides. Do you understand?"
Izumi blinked, puzzled, but nodded. "I… I understand."
Before he could say more—
"Itachi."
That voice—calm, steady. Itachi turned. Shisui had finally arrived.
"I'll go," he told Izumi quietly, then moved to Shisui's side.
Together, they exchanged quick words.
"That man is your uncle?" Shisui asked, his eyes flicking toward Duan's hulking form seated at the front.
"That's him," Itachi confirmed. His tone was low, heavy. "I'm counting on you tonight."
"Don't worry," Shisui smiled faintly. "I came prepared."
They seated themselves at the rear, side by side, watching the assembly with watchful eyes.
At the front—
"Duan, do you understand the rules?" Mikoto asked after finishing her explanation.
Instead of answering, he asked suddenly:
"Sister, how many Uchiha are there in total now? How many have awakened Sharingan? How many are jōnin among them?"
Mikoto was taken aback. In the past, Duan had shown no interest in clan affairs.
But seeing him ask at last, her heart softened. She answered honestly:
Currently, the Uchiha numbered nearly eight hundred—less than their peak of over a thousand, yet still one of Konoha's largest families.
Of them, about one-tenth had awakened Sharingan. Roughly eighty eyes.