Uchiha Kaoru's face had gone pale, while Fugaku stayed silent.
To Elder Huohe, Jinzō's words were nothing less than treason. Claiming the clan head position for himself? That was spitting in the face of centuries of Uchiha tradition. The role was set in stone—passed down one bloodline.
But Fugaku… unexpectedly, he felt a flicker of relief.
If I'm not clan head…
He lowered his gaze quickly, burying the thought before it could breathe. Since childhood, he'd been groomed as the heir, burdened with expectations from both clan and village. It was a weight he'd never been able to cast off. Everything was predestined, unavoidable.
"Uchiha Jinzō! Do you even know what you're saying!?"
The elder's mask of composure finally cracked, anger sharpening his voice.
"I know exactly what I'm saying," Jinzō shot back coolly. "The real question is—do you know what you're doing?"
Huohe froze. In Jinzō's eyes, dark and unmoving like stagnant water, he saw his own reflection—and behind it, something unfathomable.
The files described Jinzō as strong-willed, sharp-tongued, protective of his comrades, a little selfish at times. But the boy standing before him? He looked more like a monster from outside this world, jaws open to swallow not only Uchiha, but Konoha itself.
Before the elder could speak again, Jinzō pressed forward.
"You're always saying Konoha targets Uchiha. That the Hokage's line never gives us a chance. That the higher-ups are bloodsuckers who chew people up and spit out nothing. Fine. Maybe that's true.
But what about us? Uchiha plays the same game. Blind clansmen, no matter how talented, are pawns to be sacrificed. Geniuses who awaken their Sharingan are chained to serve the clan without question. Even the position of clan head is locked to one line.
So tell me, if you won't change yourselves, why demand Konoha change for you?"
The elder's face darkened. Years of calm cultivation almost failed him.
"This is Uchiha tradition. Konoha's Hokage can be anyone—it's not the same."
The words rang hollow. In truth, the Hokage seat had always rotated within the same circles of power. Sarutobi, Senju, the same clans. But to the elder, that didn't matter—tradition was survival.
Jinzō sneered. "Tradition? Don't make me laugh. Real tradition died with Madara's line. That was the true bloodline of leaders. Fugaku's branch is just the closest substitute, nothing more."
Huohe clenched his fists. He knew now—this boy wasn't someone who could be swayed with words. His very outlook was alien.
"You'll destroy the Uchiha, Jinzō."
"Then try to stop me."
Jinzō flicked a shuriken into the pond. Ripples spread across the water, scattering the fish.
"Great Elder." His tone dripped with sarcasm. Then he stood and left.
Huohe closed his eyes, sighing deeply. He'd hoped to draw Jinzō closer, to make him see Uchiha as his home, to guide him into supporting Fugaku. Instead, he found only distance. No respect for the clan name. No loyalty to Konoha. Jinzō's mindset wasn't that of a shinobi at all—it was something else entirely.
"Fugaku."
"I'm here, Great Elder."
"Be wary of Uchiha Jinzō. He could raise this clan to new heights… but he could also be the one to destroy it."
Fugaku stiffened. He already knew that truth. Jinzō was a blade—one that cut both ways.
"If you get the chance," Huohe's voice grew heavy, conflicted, "kill him."
Fugaku's pupils shrank. Kill his own clansman? Even one who constantly opposed him?
"Uchiha cannot endure a storm too great," Huohe murmured, as though convincing himself. "If Jinzō bends toward Konoha, all is well. But if not…"
Fugaku looked into the lake. Beneath the ripples lay a fish struck dead by Jinzō's golden shuriken. It hadn't even been able to resist.
The elder's voice droned on, but Fugaku wasn't listening anymore.
Outside, Jinzō wandered the compound and spotted Yashiro trying to calm a bawling little girl.
"Oi, Brother Yashiro! You babysitting now?" Jinzō called out with a grin. "Want me to help?"
Yashiro gave him a dark look. "The last thing I need is you making it worse."
Jinzō just smirked, watching with mild amusement as Yashiro patiently coaxed the child until she finally quieted down. She bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Uncle Yashiro." Then she scampered off.
"…Uncle? I'm not even old," Yashiro muttered, rubbing his cheek.
"What's her story?" Jinzō asked.
Yashiro's face softened with helpless sorrow. "Her parents were killed by Kirigakure shinobi. Just like yours."
Jinzō blinked. "Mist-nin started a war?"
"No. Just a small strike team. They ran into her parents' squad by chance—none survived. But Mist isn't quiet right now. In two days, I'll be heading with the young patriarch to the Kirigakure front line."
The war in the Land of Rain had overshadowed Mist's movements. The higher-ups in Konoha were deliberately suppressing the news. After all, the Mist battlefield was Uchiha's responsibility.
Jinzō shook his head, then formed a quick seal. A puff of smoke, and a scroll appeared in his hand. He tossed it to Yashiro.
"Here. For you. Try not to die out there."
Yashiro unrolled it curiously. "Breath of the Rock…?"
"You've got Earth release and sword skills. That scroll's tailored for you."
Since childhood, Yashiro had been one of those who looked out for him. He did it for all the orphans, sure, but for Jinzō, it was still a debt. And Uchiha Jinzō always repaid debts—whether in kindness or revenge. The only question was when.
"…I'll accept it." Yashiro smiled faintly and ruffled Jinzō's hair.
"Oi! Quit treating me like a kid, Yashiro-nii."
"Alright, alright. Jinzō's a fine ninja now."
The words sounded genuine—but the tone still felt like he was humoring a child.
Jinzō scowled. Damn it!