Roshi didn't respond right away.
Instead, he wandered until he found a quiet park, sat down on a swing, and began to sway gently, his toes brushing the ground.
Itachi followed in silence, taking a seat on a nearby bench.
For a long while, neither spoke. Roshi's thoughts drifted—not to the present, but to his origins.
An old clan. Old blood. Once proud, now diminished.
He'd seen the same story unfold countless times in his previous life—families and corporations clinging to fading glory, hollow inside but still unwilling to let go.
The Senju's situation, however, was even more tangled. The clan head had once voluntarily split—dividing both movable and immovable property, with one condition: those who left had to change their surname. The ones who stayed kept the ancestral home and whatever assets remained.
Had the two Senju brothers lived longer, the clan would have completely scattered. But after their deaths, those who had changed their names—no longer shielded by the authority of a Hokage—grew uneasy. Inevitably, they drifted back toward the only remnant of the old Senju estate, rallying around the last surviving elder.
Roshi had only begun to understand the full picture after receiving that recommendation letter, and from Fugaku's probing words during his meeting in the Uchiha district.
Then came Tsunade—her attitude, her words, and the Shikkotsu Forest summoning contract she'd given him. Together, they confirmed one thing beyond doubt: in the eyes of others, he might—no, probably did—represent the current Senju.
But could he really bear that title?
He'd never even met the others. Grandma Momoka's stance had been clear: stay out of clan affairs.
Yet… could he truly remain uninvolved?
Perhaps not.
Ever since Senju Hashirama, nothing symbolized the clan's power more than Wood Release. Yamato's abilities came from an outside experiment, but Roshi was a genuine Senju. If he displayed his strength—and revealed Wood Release—he could become the clan's new representative.
Should he, though?
That question had already been answered at Deai Port. Circumstances left him no room for idleness.
The swing's slow creak filled the air before Roshi finally broke the silence.
"Itachi," he said, voice cutting through the stillness, "what do you think the Uchiha's biggest problem is right now?"
"Arrogance," Itachi answered instantly.
Roshi chuckled—a quiet, almost out-of-place sound in the empty park.
"Arrogance has never been the problem."
He stopped swinging and planted his feet firmly on the ground. "Let's look at it from another angle, Itachi. How many departments does Konoha actually have?"
Itachi frowned slightly but answered without hesitation. "The Administration Department, the Anbu, the Medical Department, the Education Department, the Interrogation Department, and the Military Police Force. Below those, the Analysis Squad and the Sealing Squad report directly to the Hokage's Office."
"And your ninja registration number?" Roshi asked.
"012110."
"Then, up to your generation, Konoha has registered 12,110 ninja." Roshi's tone was almost conversational. "Six departments, Itachi. Out of more than twelve thousand ninja across all clans and decades of history, only six institutions hold direct political power in the village."
His gaze turned sharp. "And the Uchiha control one of them—the Military Police Force."
"The Military Police Force is no small thing, Itachi. It's one-sixth of Konoha's core authority."
The realization struck Itachi like silent thunder.
He had never seen it that way.
Until now, he'd always blamed the Uchiha's arrogance for their isolation—the reason they had no allies in the village, the reason they'd been pushed to the outskirts after the Nine-Tails' attack. He'd despised their blindness, their pride in the face of crisis.
"But… that was all because of the Second Hokage…" he murmured, his voice rough.
"The Military Police Force was both reward and punishment," Roshi said softly. "A gift of glory for the clan that helped found the village but could never claim the Hokage's seat. It immortalized their pride—and their cage."
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "Since the Second Great Ninja War, tell me—who have been Konoha's shining heroes?"
Itachi didn't even need to think. "The Third Hokage, the Sannin, White Fang, and the Yellow Flash."
"Exactly." Roshi's tone was mild, but his words cut deep. "And among the Uchiha? Aside from Shisui of the Body Flicker and Obito, who died at Kannabi Bridge before his name spread… there's been no one."
He paused. "When Fugaku finally led the Military Police to the front lines against Iwagakure, the war was already ending—thanks to Minato Namikaze."
Itachi's eyes dimmed as understanding set in.
"The Uchiha's glory has long faded," Roshi continued. "Dimmed by generations of new heroes—and sealed further by the incident three years ago."
Seeing the flicker of pain cross Itachi's face, Roshi offered a small, almost gentle smile.
"It's natural, really. The Military Police's duty is to maintain order within the village. They're not meant for the battlefield. The Second Hokage didn't just restrict them—he built them a cage of gold and called it honor."
He exhaled softly. "And the Uchiha accepted it. They took pride in it."
He glanced toward the night sky. "During the Second Hokage's reign, Uchiha Setsuna attempted rebellion and was subdued by the Anbu. But instead of punishment, Tobirama strengthened their autonomy—expanded the Police Force, gave them jurisdiction, power… and walls."
Bound by those walls, the Uchiha became both enforcers and outcasts—tasked with policing other ninja, inevitably earning resentment. And with their naturally proud temperament, such hostility only hardened their arrogance and isolation further.
It was a perfect trap—a cycle impossible to break.
So when the Uchiha fell, few clans mourned.
Itachi's voice trembled faintly. "Then… is there really no way left?"
Roshi turned toward him, eyes steady.
"Of course there is."
"Tobirama didn't design a prison without an exit. The Police Force itself is a form of political capital—a ready-made platform. The key lies in whether the Uchiha have the will to reclaim it."
A small spark lit in Itachi's gaze.
Roshi placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. "The Uchiha's path isn't a dead end, Itachi. Their opportunity has always been in their own hands. No outsider can dictate it."
He withdrew his hand, voice lowering. "How the Uchiha survive—or transform—that's for the Uchiha themselves to decide."
He smiled faintly. "So to answer your question, Itachi… I have no opinion about your clan. Because the only opinions that matter must come from within it."
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