The Uchiha household was quiet as usual, the soft clink of chopsticks echoing against bowls of steaming rice and simmered vegetables. Mikoto smiled warmly across the table at her eldest son.
"Itachi," she asked gently, "how did your mission go? You've only just graduated, and already they're keeping you busy."
Itachi set down his chopsticks, his expression calm. "It went well mother. I had a teammate with me. We worked together."
Mikoto tilted her head, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. " Was your partner your friend Enji?"
At the mention of the name, Sasuke's brows furrowed, and he stabbed at his rice with more force than necessary.
"Itachi spoke with measured tone. "Yes. It was Enji."
" Come on, tell me more." Mikoto insisted.
" Well....sorry mother, the mission is classified. I can't say anything about the mission."
" Then tell me everything else,leaving mission details " Mikoto pressed on.
"Since Enji knows me well, we worked well as a team. Our coordination was perfect.
And he is… mature for his age. More than I expected. Afterward, he reminded me of the weight of what we do… and how to carry it. He made sure I didn't lose myself in the moment."
Mikoto's smile softened, proud and a little relieved. "I'm glad. Every shinobi needs a comrade like that. Someone to steady them."
Across the table, Sasuke's lips twisted. "Tch. Why do you always talk about him like he's so great? You never say things like that about me."
Itachi's gaze softened, meeting his little brother's. "Because you're still young, Sasuke. if you train hard and study well in the academy, you'll be stronger."
Sasuke pouted, muttering under his breath as Mikoto chuckled lightly and reached to smooth his hair. Fugaku, as always, ate quietly, observing without comment , though his dark eyes lingered on his elder son a moment longer than usual.
---
Later That Night
Itachi was heading back to his room when his father's voice called out, low and steady.
"Itachi. Come."
In the veranda's pale moonlight, Fugaku sat in silence, his posture rigid and proper. Itachi approached, kneeling respectfully.
For a long moment, Fugaku said nothing. Then, with quiet gravity:
"Was it an assassination, Itachi?"
Itachi hesitated, then nodded once. His voice was low, steady despite the weight. "…Yes father. I was shaken.
Enji was there. He said that it was normal that I was disturbed, if it didn't bother me, I'd already be lost and that the weight is what makes us different from tools."
Fugaku's eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful. "Those are wise words… for one so young." He studied his son in silence, then added, "Invite him here, Itachi. Your mother insists on meeting him."
For the first time that night, a small smile tugged at Itachi's lips. "…Yes, Father."
Fugaku turned his gaze to the moon, arms folding behind his back. His voice was strict, yet gentler than usual.
"Do not mistake me, Itachi. The first kill never leaves you. It marks you. When I was your age, I thought killing meant strength. In time, I learned, that strength is not in taking life, but in carrying the memory of it, and still walking forward."
He looked at his son, eyes sharp but filled with a rare warmth.
Itachi bowed his head. "…I understand, Father."
For once, Fugaku rested a hand on his son's shoulder , firm, steady, neither indulgent nor cold.
The night air was silent save for the rustle of leaves. Father and son remained there together, watching the moon as it drifted behind the clouds.
" It's getting late, you should go and sleep. Rest well."
" Good night, father."
.....
When Fugaku finally stepped back inside, the lamps were low, the house silent except for the soft creak of floorboards. Mikoto was waiting, arranging the beddings. She glanced up at her husband, reading his face with that quiet intuition only she possessed.
" Why don't you smile, if you are so happy ?" she asked softly.
Fugaku raised an eyebrow. "Happy?"
Mikoto tilted her head, playful warmth in her eyes. "Yes. You always wear that stern mask, but after talking with Itachi just now… I can see it."
Fugaku gave a small "hn," and turned slightly away.
Mikoto chuckled softly, setting the cloth aside. "Ah, there it is. The great Fugaku Uchiha, so serious." She leaned forward just a little, teasing. "You can hide it from Itachi, but not from me."
He exhaled through his nose, silent for a moment. "…He bore his first kill well. Better than I did at his age. He's already… stronger than I was then."
Mikoto's expression softened, her teasing fading into gentle affection. "That makes you proud as a father. Admit it, just once."
Fugaku's lips pressed into a thin line, not quite a smile, not quite a frown. "…If I admit it, you'll only use it against me later."
Mikoto laughed quietly, her voice warm as she rose to brush her hand along his arm. "Of course I will."
Fugaku finally allowed the faintest curve of a smile to touch his lips, fleeting as a shadow. "Hn. Then perhaps I should say nothing at all."
Mikoto had just finished teasing Fugaku when his expression shifted back to its familiar seriousness. He folded his arms, his gaze distant.
"…The clan," he said at last, his voice low. "Whispers of discontent are spreading through the compound. Some are growing impatient, questioning the Hokage's decisions. They look to me for answers… and for action."
Mikoto's smile faded, replaced with quiet worry. "Fugaku…"
He continued, unbending. "Itachi is no longer a child. He's an ANBU now. The elders will begin to notice him, to pull him in."
Her eyes softened. "And what will you do?"
Fugaku's gaze sharpened, though it carried a rare hint of hesitation. "…He is gifted. But more than that, he is loyal. To the village, yes ; but to this clan most of all. He is the Clan hier. He must understand the weight of our name."
Mikoto's hands stilled on the cloth in her lap. "Fugaku. Must you already burden him with politics?"
Fugaku looked at her for a long moment, silent. Then, in a quieter voice:
"I would spare him if I could. But the world will not. Better he hears it from me than from others who would twist his heart."
He glanced toward the hall where Itachi's room lay. His expression was stern, but beneath it a trace of worry lingered.
"... I will speak to him. Slowly, carefully. He must begin to understand the weight the clan carries."
Mikoto lowered her eyes, her voice softer. "He is your son, Fugaku. Promise me you will not push him too quickly."
For a moment, Fugaku's stern mask cracked, just enough for warmth to slip through. "…I promise."
Mikoto smiled faintly at that, knowing it was all she would get.
Silence fell between them, comfortable and warm. Fugaku's arm shifted, drawing her closer beneath the quilt. His gaze drifted toward the shadowed ceiling, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
About his eldest son. His pride.