Anyone with a discerning eye could see it.
The reason Yashiro targeted Itachi so fiercely was not only because of the boy's words, but also as a way to indirectly pressure the patriarch, Fugaku.
Facing the sharp doubts of Yashiro, Itachi did not flinch. His eyes, clear and unwavering, reflected his conviction as he replied:
"I am a member of the Uchiha."
It was precisely because of that truth that he spoke out. He wanted to protect his clan—not by dragging it into a reckless coup, but by pulling it back from the edge of destruction.
Ever since joining Anbu, Itachi had seen firsthand Konoha's vast strength. Even the shadowy operatives under the Third Hokage's direct command were enough to crush a Uchiha uprising. And beyond Anbu, there were the other great clans, and thousands of shinobi across the village.
They would not stand with Uchiha.
The clan's reputation was one of arrogance and fear, not sympathy. When the time came, Uchiha would stand alone.
And if the coup failed—as Itachi feared—it would not only bring annihilation, but erase Uchiha's legacy. They would be remembered not as Konoha's proud police force, but as traitors, mocked like the fallen Kaguya of Kirigakure.
Thinking of this only steeled Itachi further. He swore to drag his clan back from the cliff's edge, no matter the cost.
Fugaku remained silent as his son clashed with Yashiro. He neither defended nor rebuked him. A patriarch could not appear biased toward his own blood. If the discussion turned dangerous, Fugaku would step in. Until then, he would let the fire burn and reveal the truth.
But then—
Yashiro's eyes shifted, not back to Itachi, but toward the young man sitting nearby. His voice sharpened as he called out:
"Shisui. You're Itachi's closest friend. Tell me, do you share his beliefs? Or worse—are you the one who filled his head with these ideas?"
At once, the atmosphere tensed.
Itachi opened his mouth to defend his friend, but Shisui gently pressed a hand on his shoulder. With calm courage, Shisui stepped forward and answered without hesitation:
"That's right. I was the one who told him."
The murmur that swept through the chamber grew louder. Yashiro's lips curled into a triumphant sneer, convinced he had caught Shisui's weakness.
"So it's true. You've sold your soul to the Hokage, abandoned your kin. Tell us, Shisui Uchiha—do you even see us as family anymore?"
But Shisui's response was steady, his tone carrying both gentleness and iron resolve.
"Because I see you as family, I cannot stand by while you walk into ruin."
It was the same conviction Itachi carried in his heart.
"Arrogant child," Yashiro spat, his voice rising. "You dare to lecture your elders?!"
Before he could continue, a dry cough echoed through the room. The clan elder, Uchiha Setsuna, leaned heavily on his cane, his sharp eyes narrowing on Shisui.
"Shisui. You've been poisoned by that cursed 'Will of Fire.' Just like your grandfather, Uchiha Kagami."
The name struck like a spark. Shisui's eyes hardened, his jaw clenched.
"Elder Setsuna, choose your words carefully."
Of course Shisui knew the history. Setsuna, who once led an attempted rebellion against Konoha and had been imprisoned by the Second Hokage, was the ideological root of today's radicals.
Setsuna's voice, however, only grew louder, almost trembling with fury as he addressed the entire chamber:
"Tell me, clansmen—was I wrong? Tobirama Senju had six disciples. Four became today's Konoha leaders. One retired peacefully. But Uchiha Kagami—our clan's shining hope—died young, at just twenty-five! Who believes it was an accident? I tell you now: Kagami was eliminated by Konoha's scheming elders!"
His words stirred the crowd. Murmurs rippled like wildfire. Many nodded, faces dark with anger.
It was a dangerous truth, wrapped in venom.
Shisui drew a deep breath. His gaze, unwavering, locked onto the elder.
"My grandfather died protecting the village he loved. He chose honor over ambition. Don't twist his memory to serve your hatred."
The firmness in his voice silenced some, but not all.
Setsuna's face reddened, his fury rising, but before he could retort, Yashiro stepped forward, his eyes glowing scarlet.
"Enough talk." His voice was a low growl. "Let actions decide."
In unison, his allies Inabi and Tekka flanked him, their Sharingan flaring to life. Three pairs of tomoe spun, locking onto Shisui.
The air grew heavy with killing intent.
The crowd parted instinctively. This was Uchiha's way—arguments often ended in combat, and blood decided what words could not.
Fugaku hesitated, then gave a single order:
"Clear the floor."
The clansmen moved aside, opening space. Fugaku's eyes, calm yet calculating, stayed fixed on Shisui. Perhaps this would reveal just how far the prodigy's strength had grown.
Itachi stepped forward, Sharingan blazing.
"Shisui, let me fight with you."
But Shisui only smiled, shaking his head.
"No need, Itachi. This will be over quickly."
His eyes bled red, the tomoe merging, shifting—three tomoe blossoming into the sharper, darker pattern of the Mangekyō Sharingan.
The instant Shisui met Yashiro's gaze, the outcome was sealed.
Yashiro had prepared himself, confident in his skill at rebounding illusions. His Sharingan blazed defiantly as he tried to twist the genjutsu back.
But pride lasted only a heartbeat.
"W-what—" His words broke off, his vision collapsing into formless darkness. Agony twisted across his face, and then—
Bang.
Yashiro fell forward, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The chamber fell silent.
The truth was undeniable: even without revealing its full might, Shisui's Mangekyō genjutsu overwhelmed Yashiro's three tomoe effortlessly.
One glance. That was all it took.
The clan watched, stunned. The radical leader of Uchiha's opposition had been defeated in an instant.