Mitsuro walked briskly, leaving the wooden gate of the orphanage behind. The air in the Uchiha clan was heavier than ever. Bitter silence filled the alleys, sending a deep sense of anxiety with every breath. The villagers' eyes were cold and suspicious. The Uchiha, once known for their unity and pride, now stared at him with unfamiliar expressions. The shadow of a coup moved over the clan like a dark cloud.
Mitsuro tried with all his might to appear normal. He shoved his hands into his pockets and lowered his head slightly, avoiding curious gazes. But before he could leave the clan grounds, a familiar voice stopped him.
"Mitsuro, where are you going?"
It was Uchiha Yashiro, assistant to Fukago—the clan patriarch—and deputy chief of the Konoha police. A middle-aged man with short hair and dark eyes, He approached Mitsuro with confident steps.
He had been a close friend of Mitsuro's late Teacher. Among the clan's fire ninjutsu practitioners, he was one of the strongest. Unlike when he spoke to ordinary villagers, whenever he met a clan member, his gaze carried a particular warmth and compassion.enough to make Mitsuro feel slightly embarrassed under his eyes.
"Hello, Yashiro-san. I'm going to the village to get some supplies for the orphanage," Mitsuro said.
Yashiro raised an eyebrow. "Supplies? I thought the orphanage had already received its full allowance this month."
Mitsuro nodded. "Yes, but I mean consumables. Like formula for the babies, you know, some infants were just placed in the orphanage a few months ago. The poor little things don't have anyone to feed them, and the formula they've been given isn't enough."
He's expression softened. "I know which children you mean… Poor kids. Don't be too hard on their sister ,she's probably no more than five. Did you know how to feed a baby at that age?"
Mitsuro protested, "Yashiro-san, I started ninja school at that age!"
Yashiro chuckled softly. "Anyone else would think you graduated that same year! But our little Mitsuro couldn't even earn his Genin license until he was eight." He paused, then his face grew serious. "I'm telling you this for your own good. It's better if you don't appear openly in the village for now… Things aren't safe."
He glanced around subtly, indicating the Anbu were watching.
Yashiro hesitated, as if holding back something he didn't want to say. Mitsuro waited in silence, his heart racing. He understood exactly what Yashiro was implying—about the hidden conflicts between the clan and the village, about the rumors of a coup. The Uchiha thought the village was unaware of their plans, and showing up too openly now could jeopardize everything.
"You better be careful, Mitsuro. The flies are multiplying," Yashiro said, his tone softer now. "Your Teacher would have been proud of you. He always said that even if you lack talent, you give everything you've got. Don't forget your loyalty to the clan."
Mitsuro felt the weight of guilt pressing harder with every passing moment, especially when his Teacher's name was mentioned. He bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Yashiro-san. I will."
He passed silently by Yashiro, who continued speaking of his Teacher's pride. The very Teacher who had been killed in front of Mitsuro's eyes during the Third Ninja World War, and whose eyes had been stolen while Mitsuro lay unconscious. Or at least, that was what the village and the clan believed. In reality, those eyes now rested in Mitsuro's own eye sockets. Though he had loathed desecrating his Teacher's body, Driven by a selfish desire for the Sharingan, he committed the great sin of desecrating his Teacher's body
Passing through the clan gates and after a fairly long walk, Mitsuro entered the bustling streets of Konoha.
As Yashiro had warned, from the moment he stepped beyond the gate, Mitsuro felt the invisible gaze of ANBU agents tracking him. In the village, things felt slightly more normal—at least until someone's eyes fell on him. They did not see just any ninja; they saw an Uchiha.
These days, being an Uchiha was practically synonymous with being a harsh and uncompromising enforcer. The hostile stares of ordinary villagers and ninjas alike were drawn directly to the clan symbol on his shoulder, as if the Uchiha crest itself was a crime.
Mitsuro's stomach tightened with every step.
Having never bought powdered milk himself, he wandered through the village for a while to find a shop that sold it. Most stores only carried fresh milk and knew nothing about powdered milk, which was understandable ,children in this world were typically nursed by their mothers, and powdered milk was used only in orphanages.
After passing through narrow alleys lined with small wooden shops, he finally found an old, worn store hidden from the main street. Dust particles danced in the sunlight streaming through the cracked windows. The faded sign above read: "Nakano Supplies." With a pang of anxiety, he realized it was precisely the kind of shop ninjas usually avoided.
Ten packs of powdered milk were on the counter. The shopkeeper, an elderly man, did not appear kind. His eyes locked onto the Uchiha symbol on Mitsuro's shoulder, and his face hardened. "I don't sell to Uchiha."
Although Mitsuro was in a hurry, he tried to maintain his composure, though his voice betrayed his anxiety. "I'll pay."
The old man let out a short, bitter laugh. "Your money's worthless. Now get lost!"
For a brief moment, anger flared in Mitsuro. "Either you behave like a shopkeeper, or I'll drag you to the police station myself and show you how to deal with law enforcement!"
He was not a member of Konoha's police, and this bluff could have been dangerous, but given the time slipping away, he chose to ignore minor rules that would clear his path.
He gathered chakra in his hand and slammed it down on the counter with force. The wooden surface bent and cracked slightly, sending tiny splinters into the air. "Want to see how comfortable a night in jail is?"
For a moment, the old man froze, eyes meeting Mitsuro's unwavering gaze. Fear shone in the shopkeeper's face. He immediately handed over the packs, trembling as he took the money.
"Take it and go. And don't come back here!"
Mitsuro exhaled deeply and returned to the street. The milk would be enough for at least four months, but his mind was far from calm. Looking up at the sky, his heart sank—he realized his time was running out. Every second brought him closer to disaster. Without hesitation, he started heading back to the clan.
Three hours until the Uchiha massacre.