Early morning.
Uchiha Jinzō yawned, still half-asleep, when a sharp knock rattled his door.
Dragging himself over, he squinted. Who the hell is disturbing my dreams at this hour?
The door swung open—revealing Uchiha Fugaku's perpetually grim face.
Jinzō blinked once, twice.
Bang! He slammed the door shut.
"...Why the hell is Fugaku at my door?" he muttered, frowning. "Maybe I opened the wrong one?"
Curious, he cracked it open again.
This time Fugaku was clutching his nose, clearly flattened by the door. He quickly dropped his hand, straightening with forced dignity—though the bright red mark on his face ruined the effect.
Just as he was about to speak—
Boom! Jinzō shut the door again.
"What is wrong with this world? Why is Fugaku's sour mug showing up at my doorstep!?"
He rubbed his temples. This guy hadn't come sniffing around him for ages—why now, right after Jinzō returned?
Steeling himself, he opened the door one more time.
Fugaku stood there, face flushed crimson, with a perfect door-print stamped across his cheek. Jinzō winced. Okay… maybe I slammed a little too hard that last time.
"That's enough!" Fugaku barked, cutting him off before another door slam. "It's really me!"
Jinzō gave him a long, exaggerated once-over, like he'd stumbled across some rare animal.
"The sun rise in the west? You—what, didn't sneak into my house for once?"
Typical Fugaku expression: stone-cold, unamused. The man had no sense of humor.
"The Great Elder wants to see you," Fugaku said flatly.
"Again?" Jinzō curled his lip. He'd never had much love for the clan elders, and the last time they practically lined him up for a sacrifice offering… whatever scraps of goodwill remained had gone up in flames.
"You're still Uchiha," Fugaku reminded him in that deep, self-righteous voice.
That cursed surname—one he could never shake off.
Jinzō glanced past Fugaku. The other clansmen in the distance were laughing, chatting, living ordinary lives. But Uchiha? In Konoha, their fate was already written: tragedy.
He sighed. "Fine. Lead the way."
They wound through the compound to a quiet annex, where clansmen busied themselves with chores. In the backyard sat the Great Elder, Uchiha Huohe, fishing by a pond in loose robes.
Jinzō's eyes flicked to the pond. Red goldfish swam in circles. Do those even have any edible value?
"Great Elder," Fugaku said formally, kneeling.
Jinzō, on the other hand, plopped right down beside Huohe as if it were his own porch, staring at the unmoving fishing rod.
"Air Force geezer," he said lazily.
A vein twitched on Huohe's forehead. He hated that nickname. Fugaku winced, wanting to tell Jinzō to cut it out, but knew better.
The elder exhaled slowly. "Jinzō… what do you think of the village?"
"Don't act friendly. We're not close." Jinzō gave him a sidelong glance, disappointed not to see even a twitch of annoyance.
Instead, Huohe just watched the fish. "I know you resent us—and you're right. We wronged you first."
He'd underestimated Jinzō before. The boy's creation of the clan's internal energy technique, and then awakening the Sharingan on the battlefield—those reports forced him to accept that Jinzō was the real deal, a genius born of Uchiha blood. Too late for regret.
"I don't blame you," Jinzō said evenly. Then he smirked. "After all, why waste anger on fools?"
Snap! The fishing rod splintered in Huohe's hands.
He forced his temper down. Jinzō was no ordinary brat—his talent rivaled even the Senju. Losing his cool now would only prove Jinzō right.
"But," Jinzō continued, gaze fixed on the rippling pond, expression cold, "the village itself? It's nothing more than a leash on shinobi."
That piqued Huohe's interest. "Explain."
Jinzō flicked his eyes at Fugaku still standing nearby, then shrugged. Not like either of them would spread his words.
"The world's huge. Beyond the compound is the village. Beyond the village, the Land of Fire. Beyond that, the whole shinobi world. Beyond that? Stars upon stars. But the village—Konoha—wants to clip our wings. The so-called 'Will of Fire'? Just a leash, a trick to make shinobi sacrifice themselves while forgetting that a village without its people is nothing but an empty husk."
He gestured at Fugaku. "Idiots like him? That's what the village breeds."
"You're wrong!" Fugaku snapped, unable to stay quiet. "The Will of Fire is the foundation of Konoha! Because the village exists, we exist!"
"Shut up!" Huohe barked, silencing him.
Jinzō chuckled, pointing at Fugaku like he'd just proved his point with a trained monkey. "See? Exhibit A."
Huohe rubbed his brow. He disagreed—he'd lived through the Warring States and knew the village brought stability. But he also understood that young people dreamed of more, questioned things. It wasn't worthless.
"Still," the elder sighed, "the village is your root, and Uchiha will always be your home."
"What are you actually trying to say?" Jinzō asked sharply.
"I can feel my life nearing its end," Huohe admitted, voice heavy.
Jinzō's eyes narrowed. If he had learned internal energy, he'd live as long as the Uzumaki. Waste of talent.
"I want you to assist Fugaku," Huohe continued. "Help him carry Uchiha's glory into the future." His voice softened—no longer an order, but a plea.
Jinzō tilted his head, glancing between the elder and Fugaku's unchanging expression. Then he looked skyward.
A white dove flew overhead—only to be caught mid-flight by a net, dragged down.
Pity. I'm no dove.
"Tell me something, Elder." Jinzō's voice cut through the silence, slow but sharp as thunder. "Why must Fugaku be clan head? …Why can't it be me?"