The sun was on the verge of setting behind the Uchiha estate, its light golden and warming everything to a more relaxing hue than before. In our home, though? Softness wasn't quite there. Our kitchen was hot and filled with the noises of preparation. Mikoto—my mother—was in her element, darting between pots and pans like she had six hands instead of two. One moment she was dicing the vegetables into even, snappy sections, the next she was stirring a rich, full-bodied stew. The smell was… overwhelming, in a good way. Steamed rice, roasted meat, something spiced simmering on the stove. Every few seconds there'd be the sharp hiss of oil meeting water or the clatter of metal lids being lifted and set down. It was the sounds of a home, but tonight she was cooking dinner for an army and not just us.
A few steps away, my father was doing his usual routine—hovering like a hawk. Fugaku didn't cook, but he made up for it by scrutinizing everything else. He paced slowly around the dinner table, his hands behind his back, bowing once or twice to study the table as if the ill-fitting fold of the napkin would be a politcal scandal. I saw him making infinitesimal corrections to the arrangement of the chopsticks by a fraction of an inch, and taking a step back to consider whether it was an improvement. When he wasn't fixing the table, his eyes were on the servants, and they felt it. They moved stiffly, as if a single misstep would result in them being thrown out of the clan. I mean, the entire evening was like being in a war zone, not over a family dinner.
And I, in the corner, rehearsing my lines in my head like a bad actor on opening night. Every bow, every polite phrase, every respectful turn of the head—things Itachi Uchiha would know without thinking, but things I still had to rehearse. My fingers rested on my lap, but they wouldn't stay still. I continued rubbing my hands in the robe, wiping the sweat off, like smoothing wrinkles. I was breathing superficially, not breathing so deeply as I needed to, as if it would give me away if I breathed deeply. I changed my position, relaxed my shoulders, and did it all over the instant I became aware of doing it.
I tried not to stare at the table, but I couldn't help it. The plates shone, the bowls rested spotlessly, all cried of precision. I knew why—this wasn't just dinner. The Hokage and his wife were coming. A simple meal had turned into a test of the clan's discipline, and me? I was right in the middle of it. If I slipped—if I spoke wrong, moved wrong, looked wrong—I wouldn't just embarrass myself. I'd embarrass the Uchiha name. The idea parched my throat, and I looked once or twice towards the kitchen, in the hope of my mother noticing and coming in with a cup of tea as she used to do when I was a child. But no—she was too busy.
So I just sat there, palms damp, lips pressed together, rehearsing "Yes, Lord Hokage" and "Welcome, Lady Uzumaki" on repeat in my head. Over and over until the words lost meaning, until all that was left was the quiet thud of my own heartbeat under the noise of clattering pans and the creak of my father's shoes against the floor.
Sasuke didn't so much enter the room as he exploded into it. The sliding door banged open harder than it needed to, and suddenly he was there, hair sticking up in every direction like he'd just wrestled with the wind, eyes shining so bright it made me blink. "Itachi! Itachi!" he yelled, voice echoing off walls. No salutations. No formality. Pure, unadulterated enthusiasm. That alone told me how wound up he was—Sasuke was usually stricter about titles than half the clan elders.
I hadn't bothered to turn my head when he stood right in front of me, literally shivering. He came to a dead halt in his feet when looking at the dining table. His thin mouth agaped, his raying eyes taking in all the glittering plates, all the twisted napkins, all the dishes my mother toiled over till she was exhausted to the bone. He seemed like the gates of a treasure age were swung wide. His voice became low, like saying any louder word would shatter the illusion. "They're coming, aren't they? The Hokage and Lady Kushina are coming to eat with us!"
I started to nod slowly, attempting to soothe my movements even as my own excitement seethed just beneath my skin. "Yes, Sasuke." My tone came out softer than I'd intended, but he didn't notice.
He began to bound across his toes, the tatami mat creaking rhythmically. "What do you think they'll say about us? Will they like our food?"
I could notice the corner of my lip trembling, but I hid it right away. He didn't need encouragement; he needed grounding. I eased up a bit, letting my tone drop into something even. "Sasuke, calm down."
He ceased bobbing, though the energy continued to emanate off of him in waves. His eyes locked onto me, wide and scared, as if I possessed some secret key. "But Itachi, it's the Hokage and Lady Kushina! They're like the heroes in the stories. What if we do something wrong?"
I breathed a slow, silent breath through my nose, moving my head slightly towards him. I didn't want to snap, but I needed him steady. "Sasuke," I said evenly, "remember what I told you. We're not going to do anything wrong. We're going to be perfect little Uchihas, just like Father wants. Now—" I lifted my hand just enough to gesture at the empty cushion beside me, "sit down. Take a breath. We'll wait for them together."
He just stared at me, his mouth half-open in protest. His shoulders dipped the slightest amount. He relaxed down next to the cushion, the material giving under the pressure of his body. His legs started swinging forward and backward beneath the table, kicking the air in an agitated motion. His fingers twisted together in his lap, fidgeting like he couldn't decide whether to hold still or not.
I could see him tighten his fists, his small knuckles whitening, his chin thrust out in a combat stance. It was almost funny—this was the same kid who could glare down other children in the clan without flinching, and now he was coming undone over a dinner guest. My lips curved before I was able to keep them, a small, brief smile that I hid the moment it appeared.
The room breathed with us until the creak of wood against wood shattered the stillness. The doors behind the dining room swung open in one fluid motion, the ring of the sound resonating throughout the house like a drum roll heralding the headliner.
Then—they stepped in.
The Hokage stepped first, and the space around him seemed to ripple. Blonde hair lit by the candle, blue eyes smiling into a plain and contented face but weighed down with the responsibility of a man who could move cities if he wanted to. He had that aura—the kind that made you want to relax, even when you knew you couldn't. I involuntarily straightened my posture, as though his presence alone required it.
Behind him lay Lady Kushina, and if the man was fire, she was the spark. Red locks flowed behind her like a banner, and she illuminated the room so the candles burned the brighter by comparison. Whatever she relaxed into, the entire house drew in the aroma of the outside air. I caught myself staring a moment too long and quickly shifted my focus, folding my hands neatly in my lap the way I'd practiced.
Fugaku set off first, of course. One moment he was standing there, arms crossed, the next moment he was walking across the tatami in his signature stiff, measured stride. His hand shot out, quick and precise, to meet the Hokage's. I heard the distant slapping of palms, harsh and crisp, like the contact of two rocks together. Their handshake wasn't long—just a squeeze, firm enough to say I see you, I won't bend. My father didn't waver. Minato didn't either. Both of them shared nods, little small head nods, less than breath long, but the entire room was aware. I even stiffened in spite of myself.
The Hokage never once smiled, though I saw the edges become less extreme and more constrained. He was warm, yes, but no longer effulgent—like a fire with glass in front of it. His voice, however, was rock-steady, smooth, the sort of voice that made everyone release tension from around the shoulders whether they liked it or not. "Fugaku-san. Thank you for the invitation. It's an honor to dine with your esteemed clan."
My father mirrored him perfectly—same smile, same tone, just wrapped in Uchiha stiffness instead of Hokage ease. "The honor is ours, Hokage-sama. Please, make yourselves at home." I could almost hear the capital letters in his words.
Then Lady Kushina broke the entire atmosphere to shreds—a good thing, by the way. She disregarded the politeness of the shake, beaming like she just saw her favorite cousin of the clan in the room. In two long steps she was beside my mom, and she hugged her. Arms-wrapped-tight-in-a-full-on-hug, no hesitation, no stiffness of the clan. The room grew silent, and I swear even one of the servants drew a lungful of air and held his own breath.
Mikoto's eyes grew wide with shock, but only briefly. Her shoulders then relaxed and she hugged Kushina back, the mouth spreading into a natural, not a forced, smile. It was strange—seeing my mother drop her Uchiha mask in front of everyone. They hugged longer than they should have, and nobody felt obliged to separate them. Even Fugaku looked like he didn't know whether to clear his throat or let it play out.
While all eyes were on them, the Hokage's gaze flicked sideways—right to me. For a moment, but I could feel it strike like a kunai into flesh. Those blue eyes didn't just look—they searched. My heart skipped a beat. I lowered my chin into a neat bow, just as rehearsed, with an even pitch of voice. "Hokage-sama."
When I looked up, his eyes hadn't moved. There was something behind it that had convinced me he was peeling back my conditioned calm and looking at the stranger within. I didn't move, didn't raise a muscle on my face, but my hands found their way deep into my knees under the table until I could feel the fabric creasing.
Then Kushina was standing in front of me. She greeted my mom for a moment and then her hair hit my cheek by slapping it. She bent forward, and I didn't get the chance to do anything until her hands were touching my cheeks. Warmth. Gentleness. Pinching, as well. I couldn't breathe when she beamed a smile toward me like I was her child. "Look how much you've grown, Itachi-kun!"
My ears grew hot instantly. The room was warm, as if the stove had been turned up. I managed a smile—small, practiced, but hopefully not stiff. "Thank you, Lady Kushina," I said, and winced inwardly at how tight my voice sounded.
She didn't notice—or if she did, she ignored it. Her fingers rested on my face, her eyes soft but piercing, as though cutting through me. The comfort of the body was matched with the strength of the gaze. It wasn't clan formality. It was something else. Something… real. I didn't know how to respond, so I stayed perfectly still until she let me go.
The Hokage and Kushina were also sitting opposite us. Minato moved with the kind of grace that made it look like he wasn't thinking about posture, even though I knew he was. Kushina sat next to him, her arm beside his, the motion relaxed but intimate. I watched it happen, noted the ease between them, the quiet bond that didn't need words. My dad straightened up. My mom put her hands demurely in her lap. I prepared myself, back rigid, hands held fast on my thighs.
Dinner started as the chopsticks clinked. The food was perfect—of course it was—but the real noise came from Minato. He wandered about the room unencumbered, speaking of the village, of stories of no moment, of casual questions. He spoke unreservedly, yet every sentence tilted, every question rehearsed. His gaze moved from face to face, taking facts as discreetly as if reading from a file.
I answered when spoken to, short and respectful, and took care to balance every syllable. My father said less, but his presence loomed like a storm cloud—silent, heavy, demanding perfection from us all without saying a word. Every time I picked up my chopsticks, I ensured the movement was fluid, intentional, not hurried. Every time I placed them, I placed them gently upright in the bowl. My expression was serene, but beneath the table, my leg was grasping the mat so tightly it was beginning to numb.
Kushina looked at Sasuke, and the strain in the room went down a notch. All tension from her face disappeared, and she smiled radiantly, so much so that she seemed to emit almost a glow. She leaned forward to him, elbows barely placed on the table. "Sasuke-kun, I've heard so much about you. Tell me, how's your training coming along?"
Sasuke froze like she'd just tossed a kunai straight at his chest. His eyes widened, lips opened, and for a moment I really believed he was going to get choked up on his own breath. Then in the blink of an eye, he ignited. "It's good, Lady Kushina! I've been practicing really hard. Itachi-niisan says I'm getting better every day!" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, but he didn't even notice, too busy grinning from ear to ear.
It was a soft, rich laugh and she nodded as though she did indeed believe him. "It's not just your brother saying that, Sasuke. The whispers in the village say you're going to be a force to be reckoned with. I've heard your name in the same breath as some of the best young shinobi out there. You should be proud."
I caught Sasuke's cheeks turning a furious shade of red, the kind of blush that made him look like he'd swallowed fire. He spun so quickly toward me his hair almost whizzed by my arm. "Really? You think so?" He looked at me wide-eyed expectation, waiting for reassurance.
I set my chopsticks down intentionally, holding them by the rim of my dish correctly as I replied. My smile stayed small, controlled, the kind that wouldn't crack under my father's gaze. "I've seen your dedication, Sasuke. You're going to be great. Just keep working hard and you'll surpass even my expectations." My voice remained steady, but in secret I did feel a moment of pride. He was talented. Different from me, yes—hotter, louder, less precise—but that spark in him wasn't something to underestimate.
The Hokage's gaze shifted to me next, and I felt it immediately. His blue eyes were calm, nearly kind, but the seriousness behind them weighed upon me as if by a push against the shoulder blade. "And what about you, Itachi? I've heard a lot about your prowess as well. How's your training progressing?"
My stomach constricted. Every head at the table turned in my direction, even Sasuke's eager stare burning into my cheek. I didn't move right away. Instead, I adjusted the grip on my chopsticks, made sure they were parallel before lifting my chin to meet Minato's eyes. My heart was racing quickly, but my skin was smooth. "My training is proceeding as planned, Hokage-sama," I said evenly, each word shaped and deliberate. "I strive to maintain the Uchiha clan's reputation for strength and wisdom in all that I do."
There. Formal. Clean. Safe. It was a balancing act—say enough to please, not enough to reveal. The truth of my life—the missions, the expectations, the weight of being Fugaku's son—remained sealed behind politeness.
Kushina must've noticed how stiff I'd gotten, because she leaned back with a playful grin tugging at her lips. "Itachi-kun, you're so serious. You're going to scare away the food with that face!"
Heat crawled up the back of my neck, though I forced myself not to shift in my seat. The room chuckled lightly, the sound breaking the tension like someone cracking a window. I bowed my head just slightly, acknowledging the tease without arguing it.
She wasn't finished. She winked at me, her voice lilting with humor. "You know, you're not even a teenager yet, and you're more formal than my husband at a council meeting!"
Even Minato chuckled at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling. I allowed myself the smallest exhale through my nose, lips curving into the faintest polite smile, but I kept my posture straight. Inside, I wanted to relax, just a little, but my father's presence across the table was iron chains wrapped around my ribs.
Minato let the laughter fade naturally, then steered the conversation back to business with the kind of ease only a Hokage had. "The village is facing new challenges, Fugaku-san," he said, his tone soft but carrying weight. "The world is changing, and we all must adapt with it. The bonds between our clans are more important than ever."
I flicked my gaze to my father. He hadn't moved much all evening, but now I caught the subtle shift—the way his eyes narrowed just slightly, the way his hands rested on the table without so much as a twitch. His smile remained in place, but it was sharp, polished steel beneath velvet. "Indeed, Hokage-sama," he replied smoothly. "We of the Uchiha understand the importance of unity. After all, we stand as the first line of defense for our people, as we always have. Our loyalty is unwavering, as is our commitment to the greater good of Konoha."