Chapter 3: Return to Konoha — Showing Strength Before the Clan
A few seconds later, the Cloud ambush squad lay dead.
Standing amidst the corpses, Uchiha Yujiro sighed:
"So this is the power of the three-tomoe Sharingan… strong, unbelievably strong. Compared to the two-tomoe, it's another world entirely.
Just a bit more, and I'll reach elite jōnin level—finally earning a seat at the table."
Power up—good news in theory. But Yujiro wasn't in the mood to celebrate.
Because Urui had mentioned White Fang of Konoha.
Even as an enemy, even after years had passed, people still remembered Hatake Sakumo. They remembered the gentle yet powerful man.
If his foes respected him this much, why had his own village, his comrades, and his so-called allies treated him so harshly?
Yujiro murmured, "There are people you never met who still honor your name, Master. Would that make you happy? 'Ninja as mere tools,' 'Will of Fire'… heh, what a joke."
Shaking his head, Yujiro dumped his newly earned free attribute point into Strength.
His stat page now looked like this:
Ninjutsu: 5 Taijutsu: 9 Genjutsu: 7 Intelligence: 8
Strength: 9 Speed: 10 Stamina: 5 Seals: 5
Total: 56
Looking at the pitifully low Ninjutsu and Seals, plus the embarrassing-for-an-Uchiha Genjutsu and Stamina, it was no wonder he'd been nicknamed "Flame-Claw of Konoha."
Unlike the official databooks, the system didn't cap stats at 10. Which made sense—if you gave Hashirama, Madara, or late-stage Naruto and Sasuke nothing but 10s, the whole scale became laughable.
Some shinobi reached 10 because they barely scraped the ceiling. Madara and Hashirama had 10s because the author's scale maxed there.
Yujiro glanced at his sheet again and smirked. If "handsomeness" were a stat, mine would be at least 32.
He indulged in self-satisfaction for two seconds, then spat out a Great Fireball, burning Urui's corpse to ash. Out of respect, he dug a grave and buried the man—a warrior's honor for a fellow swordsman.
The rest of the Cloud shinobi weren't so lucky. Yujiro didn't even bother cutting off their heads to cash in the bounties. Out of mercy, he sealed their bodies into scrolls instead—proof for Konoha to demand reparations.
Not that it mattered. With the Third Hokage's spinelessness, the most likely outcome was sweeping it all under the rug.
"Tch. Better to count on a stray dog than to count on that old man. At least he doesn't treat me like a Hyūga branch house."
Grumbling, Yujiro turned toward the village.
As the sun rose, the monumental Hokage Rock came into view. Under the stone gaze of his predecessors, the grandest shinobi village in the world spread out across the valley.
Konoha, built along the mountain in a fan-shaped sprawl, was a city in all but name. The Ninja Academy, hospital, and Hokage Tower dominated the central district. The Police Force and prison sat to one side.
Space was precious, so most buildings rose several stories high. Broad streets bustled with shops and markets, giving Konoha the feel of a thriving metropolis rather than a hidden village.
War had dulled its luster, but the foundation was strong. Konoha was, in truth, the greatest autonomous city-state in the world. Its scale, its construction, its wealth—unmatched.
Konoha shinobi and civilians carried pride in their bones. They believed they lived in the best place on earth. Looking down on other villages and even the great nations' cities came naturally—foreigners were little more than beggars passing through.
Most were satisfied with what they had. Even the "ambitious" Uchiha simply wanted the Hokage's chair, to rule Konoha itself.
But Yujiro? He wanted more.
---
Walking down the broad streets, he was greeted at every turn:
"Yo, Yujiro, you're back!"
"Lord Yujiro!"
"Victorious again, eh?"
Yujiro responded with his usual gentle smile.
For an Uchiha, he was oddly approachable—not arrogant, not condescending, but warm, almost like Aizen if he'd never used hair gel. Combined with his 32-point handsomeness stat, it made him surprisingly popular.
He'd once tried to spread his philosophy of "smile while enforcing the law," hoping to turn the Clan of Maniacal Laughs into a Clan of Gentle Smiles.
The idea had flopped spectacularly. Everyone thought it shameful. Only Shisui, the hopeless fool, supported him.
The lesson was clear: without power, no one would listen.
Public opinion wasn't something you could change overnight. Fortunately, there was still time.
Right now, the Uchiha's reputation was merely "arrogant and unapproachable."
It wouldn't be until after the Nine-Tails' Rampage—when Konoha's upper brass cranked up the propaganda machine and dumped all the blame onto the clan—that the Uchiha name would truly rot beyond repair.
Then Yujiro paused. Wait a second… damn it, wasn't that really the Uchiha's fault?
Damn you, Obito. You ruined us all. Can I still scrub him from the family records?
The thought killed his smile. Muttering a curse about "that bastard Obito," Yujiro hurried toward the Police Force headquarters to meet with his fellow clansmen.
"Yujiro, back from your mission?" one of them greeted.
The man was Uchiha Tekka. Like most young Uchiha, he was proud to the point of arrogance, with his nose in the air—yet brimming with clan loyalty, always putting the Uchiha name above all else.
He, like many others, didn't always approve of Yujiro's actions, but he still acknowledged him as one of their own. Their exchanges, at least, weren't hostile.
Yujiro nodded. "Yeah, I'm back. Where's the clan head? There are things I need to discuss."
"The clan head? He's at the compound," Tekka replied, puzzled. Normally, after a mission, a shinobi went to the Hokage Tower to file the report and collect payment. Why was Yujiro heading straight for the clan leader?
"Something happened." Yujiro lowered his voice. "On my way back, I was ambushed—by the Cloud."
"What? The Cloud? But we're at peace right now! You're not hurt—? Forget it, I'll take you to the clan head immediately."
Tekka's expression hardened. Without wasting another word, he led Yujiro back to the Uchiha compound and informed Fugaku of what had happened.
The more Yujiro explained, the darker Fugaku's face grew.
By the end, the clan leader slammed the table and roared:
"Those bastards from the Cloud! They dare try to kill one of mine?!"
Fury rolled off him in waves—then he growled, "Come, Yujiro. We'll take this to the Hokage!"
He looked utterly serious, as if that would actually solve anything.
"Hokage, yes, we'll go," Yujiro said evenly. "But, Clan Head… do you really think it will help? Even now, real power still lies with the Third and his council. And even if the Fourth were fully in control, do you truly believe he'd stick his neck out for the Uchiha?"
Fugaku's eyes flickered. The mask of rage slipped, replaced by calm calculation. His gaze sharpened, probing Yujiro instead.
"Then what do you propose?" he asked quietly.
"It's not about what I want," Yujiro replied, his Sharingan spinning open with a crimson gleam. "It's about what the Uchiha want, Clan Head."
No threat. No arrogance. Just a display of strength—proof that his words carried weight.