"What does the Grand Elder think he's doing?"Kazuto's voice was sharp, barely restrained, as Tsuma finished his report.
Unlike the others, Kazuto had not been shocked at first.
After Fugaku departed for the front lines and the Grand Elder assumed command of the guard forces, stricter enforcement was inevitable. That much was expected. The hawks within the clan had always believed discipline should be absolute.
But this—
This went far beyond order.
Granting Uchiha guard ninja the authority to apprehend and punish civilians and criminals on the spot was not enforcement. It was domination.
Kazuto's fists tightened.
He had never imagined the Grand Elder would cross such a line.
If the Uchiha start acting like executioners…The thought chilled him.
The clan's reputation was already fragile—balanced on a knife's edge between fear and respect. Even battlefield merits, even sacrifices made during the war, would not be enough to cleanse the stain if civilian blood followed.
War achievements could be celebrated.
Civilian resentment could not be erased.
"No…" Kazuto muttered. "This cannot be allowed."
His concern was not for himself.
It was for the clan.
And for Fugaku.
If this continued, Fugaku would return not as a hero, but as the leader of a clan the village feared.
"I won't let this happen," Kazuto said firmly.
Without another word, he turned and strode out, Tsuma and Toki following closely behind as he headed straight for the Grand Elder's residence.
At the same time, fear was spreading through the village faster than any official announcement.
In a small shop along one of Konoha's main streets, two civilians spoke in low, hurried voices.
"Did you hear?" a man whispered, glancing toward the street before leaning closer to the counter. "The Uchiha guards… they've changed the rules."
The shop owner's face was pale. He nodded stiffly."They don't need permission anymore. If they think you're interfering—or spreading rumours—they can take you. Punish you. Right there."
The man swallowed. "So now we can't even talk?"
His hands shook as he clenched them.
"Yesterday, a Uchiha woman accused civilians of killing the White Fang. As if we marched into his house and murdered him ourselves."
His voice cracked with anger.
"We mourned for him, too. And now we're being blamed for a shinobi's death?"
The shop owner didn't answer immediately.
He stared at the floor, then said quietly, "People are scared. And when people are scared… they stop trusting."
The man slammed his hand onto the counter."They think no one can stop them. That they can do whatever they want."
His eyes burned with resentment.
"We should go to the Hokage-sama. All of us. Make the Uchiha apologise—to every villager in Konoha."
Outside the shop, footsteps passed.
The conversation died instantly.
Both men fell silent, hearts pounding, listening until the sound faded.
Only then did the shop owner whisper, almost to himself—
"If this continues… it won't end with complaints."
The two men were still frozen behind the counter when shadows fell across the shop entrance.
Two Uchiha guards stood there.
Their cloaks bore the clan crest. Their eyes moved slowly across the shelves, the counter, the faces—measuring, judging.
"Who owns this shop?" one of them asked.
The shop owner swallowed. He stepped forward quickly, forcing a polite smile onto his face.
"I—I am the owner, Guard-sama," he said, bowing slightly. "Do you wish to buy something?"
One of the guards—a young genin—did not return the courtesy.
"This block is now under the jurisdiction of the Grand Elder's faction," he said flatly. "All shops in this area are required to provide weekly security contributions to the Uchiha guard force."
The words landed heavily.
The shop owner stared at him, stunned.
A full breath passed.
Then another.
"Security… money?" he repeated slowly. "That isn't a Konoha rule. Why should I pay the Uchiha for doing their duty?"
The man beside him stiffened and spoke up immediately.
"Yes. There's no such law. We won't give you anything."
The guards listened without interrupting.
Then the second Uchiha stepped forward.
His voice was calm.
"That's fine," he said. "The contribution is optional."
Both men exhaled slightly—
"But," the guard continued, "if you choose not to participate, then any incidents involving this shop will no longer fall under guard responsibility."
The shop owner's breath caught.
"Incidents?" he asked cautiously.
"Robbery," the guard replied. "Vandalism. Fire. Accidents happen."
The owner clenched his teeth. "Get out. I don't need your protection. I can take care of my own shop."
The first guard glanced sideways at his partner.
"Note it down," he said.
He then turned back to the counter, smiling faintly.
"And if something unfortunate happens tonight or tomorrow," he added lightly, "you won't be filing any complaints with the Uchiha guard force. After all… we won't be responsible."
His eyes locked onto the shop owner's.
"Isn't that right, shop owner?"
The meaning was unmistakable.
The owner felt his stomach twist as images flashed through his mind—broken shelves, stolen goods, smashed doors, silence from the guards when he cried for help.
Beside him, the other man shouted, trying to sound brave.
"We don't need you! Get lost!"
The guards turned and walked out, their footsteps slow, unhurried.
The door slid shut behind them.
The shop owner stood frozen, staring at their backs as fear crept into his chest.
Just before they stepped out of sight, he broke.
"W–Wait!" he called out."Guard-sama…!"
The two Uchiha genin stopped.
They turned back slowly.
One of them studied the shopkeeper for a long moment before smiling. His mission was already accomplished, but courtesy demanded one last step.
"Did you want to say something?" he asked mildly.
The shopkeeper wiped the sweat from his brow and bowed repeatedly.
"G–Guard-sama, please don't take my words the wrong way," he said quickly. "I meant no disrespect. I only spoke out of ignorance. I feared being cheated, and I panicked. I apologise for my rudeness."
The man beside him stiffened."What are you doing?" he hissed. "Why are you apologising to them?"
The shopkeeper didn't look at him.
"Please," he muttered under his breath, "be quiet for a moment. Don't make this harder."
The genin exchanged glances.
Both smiled.
The second one spoke, his tone relaxed. "It's fine. We understand. Ignorance happens."
He tilted his head slightly. "So? What do you want to ask?"
The shopkeeper raised his head just enough to meet their eyes.
"Uchiha-sama," he said carefully, forcing humility into every word, "may I know how much the weekly security contribution is? So that I can prepare properly."
The genin nodded as if this were the most normal question in the world.
"For shops that comply from today," he said, "the amount is fifteen thousand ryō per week."
The shopkeeper's breath hitched—but the genin wasn't finished.
"Those who refuse initially and decide to cooperate later will pay a penalty," he continued casually. "Five thousand ryō added to the base amount."
He smiled faintly.
"So that comes to twenty thousand ryō per week."
The shopkeeper's face drained of colour.
"And this arrangement," the genin added, "will remain in effect for the rest of the year."
Silence filled the shop.
The guards turned to leave once more, satisfied.
Behind them, the shopkeeper stood frozen—no longer wondering if something would happen to his shop, but when.
The shopkeeper swallowed hard.
"U–Uchiha-sama," he said hurriedly, before courage could fail him, "I wish to pay today. Please… tell me the procedure."
The two genin exchanged a glance.
One of them reached into his pouch and produced a receipt book.
The other stepped forward, quill already in hand.
Neither seemed surprised.
They took down the shop's details methodically—name, location, amount—then stamped the receipt with practised ease.
When they were finished, the paper was placed on the counter.
"Payment acknowledged," one of them said flatly.
They turned and left without another word.
The moment the door slid shut, the man beside the shopkeeper rounded on him.
"Why did you agree?" he demanded. "We could have gone to the Hokage! This is extortion!"
The shopkeeper looked at him as if he were a child.
"Do you really think," he said quietly, "that if I refused today, my shop would still be standing tomorrow?"
The man hesitated.
"They would rob it. Smash it. Or worse," the shopkeeper continued. "And when I complained, no one would come, as they say it was a thief."
"But they're abusing civilians!" the man protested. "We can't just accept this!"
The shopkeeper fell silent for a moment.
Then he spoke carefully.
"No," he said. "We will complain. But not openly."
He lowered his voice.
"If they find out I complained, they will make my life unbearable. This is how things work in capital cities—I've seen it before. Samurai. Guards. Different uniforms, same methods."
He clenched his fist around the receipt.
"But if the Hokage-sama intervenes," he continued, "and declares this illegal… then we will demand refunds. With proof."
The man said nothing.
Across the block—and many others—the same scenes played out.
Some shopkeepers paid immediately, fear trembling in their hands.
Others refused outright.
Nothing happened to them.
Not yet.
Only their shop numbers were quietly recorded.
And with each passing hour, fear of the Uchiha grew—not from rumours, not from exaggeration—but from experience.
There were no riots.
No screams.
No blood on the streets.
Just silence.
And the understanding that, for now, no civilian could do anything at all.