As Tahara Rokuro's understanding of sealing techniques deepened, he found that many jutsu once thought usable only by those with special bloodlines could now be invoked through the use of incantations alone.
Among them, sealing arts were the simplest to master.
Using his own coding-like logic, Rokuro could simplify and reconstruct the base structure of traditional seals. Ninjutsu, on the other hand, had to be built from scratch—far more complex and demanding.
The Adamantine Sealing Chains, for instance, were the signature art of the Uzumaki Clan—renowned for their destructive power and their ability to restrain even Tailed Beasts.
It wasn't an exaggeration to say that, during the Nine-Tails' Rampage, had there been a single healthy member of the Uzumaki Clan present, the crisis could have been easily contained. They could have subdued the beast and resealed it within Kushina's body, sparing her life entirely.
So when Rokuro used this same sealing art on a mere Akimichi Chūnin, it was beyond overkill—it was like slaughtering a pig with a tank.
Four golden chains of chakra erupted from the scroll in Rokuro's hand, surging forward and binding Akimichi Teimon in midair.
Teimon struggled with his enlarged arms, trying to break free, but the chains wouldn't budge. After several desperate attempts, his chakra was nearly drained dry. His arms shrank back to normal, and even his Multi-Size Jutsu collapsed.
With a heavy thud, Teimon crashed to the ground, gasping for breath, his chakra almost completely depleted. He couldn't even stand anymore.
"Stop! That's enough! You've already won!"
The proctor rushed forward to halt the exam.
Rokuro flicked his wrist, and the golden chains dissolved into sparks of light. Teimon lay flat on his back, unable to rise.
"Quickly! Get him to the Konoha Hospital!"
Several teachers hurried over to lift Teimon onto a stretcher. The proctor, however, stared gravely at the scroll in Rokuro's hand.
The once-glowing scroll had turned completely blank.
Unlike chakra-metal tools, these chakra-paper scrolls functioned more like talismans in a ghost story—single-use only. Once activated, the script vanished. To reuse it, one had to rewrite the seal from scratch.
Still, they had their advantages. The cost of making them was far lower than that of ninja tools—both in materials and labor.
Given Rokuro's limited finances, sealing scrolls were naturally his first choice.
"Rokuro, that jutsu just now—what was it?" the proctor asked, still uneasy.
"That was the Adamantine Sealing Chains—a technique of the Uzumaki Clan.
Anyone caught by it will have their chakra rapidly drained. The Akimichi-senpai just now passed out because of chakra exhaustion. Don't worry—I held back. He'll be fine after resting in the hospital for two or three days."
Rokuro tilted his head with a small smile. "So, sensei, does that mean I passed?"
Hearing that Teimon would recover in a few days, the proctor finally exhaled in relief and officially declared Rokuro's graduation.
The moment the words left his mouth, Uchiha Kei was already sprinting over, eyes bright with joy as she congratulated him.
Meanwhile, Daikōshi turned away, his expression cold and unreadable.
He knew Rokuro's mother had been a sealing master. To him, Rokuro's victory was nothing more than a borrowed triumph—relying on a powerful heirloom, not his own strength.
In his mind, it didn't count.
Rokuro, of course, had no idea what Daikōshi was thinking. Even if he did, he wouldn't care—in fact, he'd be pleased.
Let the man underestimate him; it only made things easier. Daikōshi was his greatest rival for now, and the more his opponent misjudged him, the better.
While Rokuro was stepping into the ranks of shinobi, a far graver scene was unfolding within the Hokage Building—a council meeting that would determine the fate of the Uchiha Clan itself.
Present were not only Konoha's F4 but also the heads of every major clan, along with several elite jōnin. In short, every powerhouse not currently on a mission was gathered in one room.
The combined strength in that chamber alone could obliterate a small hidden village—and even the other Great Nations would hesitate to challenge it.
Yet all that power was now being directed against a single clan—Konoha's greatest and most feared: the Uchiha.
"On the night of the Nine-Tails' attack, many witnesses saw a reflection of a three-tomoe Sharingan in the Nine-Tails' eyes.
Uchiha Fugaku—how do you explain that?"
The one leading the charge was none other than Shimura Danzō, his face twisted with resentment. After losing his bid for Hokage once again—thanks to the fiasco with the stolen Wood Release shinobi—he had found the perfect outlet for his fury: the Uchiha.
"Danzō," Fugaku replied coldly, "on the night of the Nine-Tails' rampage, every member of our clan remained within the compound. It was your Root forces who sealed off the gates. And now you demand an explanation from us? How absurd."
"Hmph! If I hadn't sealed the gates, the entire village might have been destroyed by you traitors!"
Danzō's tone dripped with venom.
Fugaku's expression darkened.
"So that's it—you've already decided the Nine-Tails was released by one of us? Just because its eyes showed the Sharingan?
Isn't it possible that someone used genjutsu?"
"Genjutsu?" Danzō sneered. "And who in this village is more skilled in genjutsu than the Uchiha? Don't try to twist the truth."
Their voices grew louder and sharper, but no matter how heated Fugaku became, Danzō always held the upper hand. The head of the Uchiha Clan could only grit his teeth as he realized he was being cornered.
Finally, he turned to the Hokage's seat for help.
"Sandaime-sama, surely you don't believe the Nine-Tails incident was our doing?"
Sarutobi Hiruzen inhaled from his pipe, shrouding his face in smoke. His tone was calm, measured—too calm.
"I know the Uchiha have served Konoha with loyalty," he said slowly. "I don't believe you would deliberately betray the village. However… the Sharingan reflected in the Nine-Tails' eyes is an undeniable fact.
This must be investigated. We owe the fallen of that night an explanation."
The first part was polite nonsense. The last sentence was what truly mattered.
Fugaku wasn't a fool—just cowardly. And he could hear the truth hidden beneath Hiruzen's diplomatic phrasing.
He looked around the room. Not a single clan head spoke in his defense. In fact, most had come here to pressure him.
Danzō pounced on the silence, spreading a map of Konoha across the table and pointing to the far edge of the village.
"In summary," he declared, "the Uchiha Clan is now the primary suspect. Therefore, you are to relocate to the outskirts of Konoha until the investigation is complete. Only then may you return."
Fugaku's face flushed purple with rage.
The designated area lay right beside Konoha Prison—a cruel irony.
If the Uchiha moved there, it would be as if they had built their own cage. Every clan member would be a prisoner in all but name.
And that wasn't even counting the economic fallout: the costs of moving, rebuilding, and the collapse of Uchiha businesses.
Their current compound sat at the very heart of Konoha.
Relocating to the village's edge—near a prison, no less—was commercial suicide. Many of their enterprises would be crippled overnight.
And of course, Konoha would offer no compensation.
Just as Rokuro had once said—the Uchiha were being bled dry by the village's politics.
Their morale and prestige had been gutted in one calculated strike.