Uchiha Shisui found more and more about Kirigakure impossible to understand.
After Mikazuki Eri was tossed to the Ninja Academy as a temporary fix, Shisui had thought his own end was near.
Maybe Kaguya Ren would take him straight to some inhuman experiment.
Maybe, at minimum, Ren would strengthen the toxins used on him—ensure he couldn't move even a thread of chakra—
Instead, Ren simply kept him at his side.
Like some kind of automatic-follow pet. A tagalong.
And then Ren began moving through Kirigakure, dealing with the very real problems the village faced after the war ended—one after another:
Compensation payouts for fallen and disabled shinobi.
Reassigning manpower to the missions that had piled up during wartime.
Promoting young shinobi with merit and battle records to fill the mid-to-upper gaps left by casualties.
Meeting with the Academy principal and instructors to revise graduation exams and steer new students toward the two fields Kirigakure needed most: medical-nin and sensor-nin.
Coordinating with craftsmen on the construction of a war memorial for the fallen—
…
Shisui had never truly watched a Hokage handle village affairs up close, nor had he been formally educated as a ruler.
Yet simply watching Ren work—methodical, calm, never flustered—Shisui couldn't help feeling that this was what a competent Kage was supposed to look like.
Rational. Composed. Unyielding when necessary, patient when needed. Able to explain his thinking again and again to people who couldn't keep up, yet decisive enough to cut through nonsense with a single command.
And, above all—
Strong enough to make everyone obey.
If Shisui had been born in Kirigakure, watching his Mizukage rebuild the village from war's ruin, he would probably have admired him from the heart. He would probably have dreamed, with his entire life, of becoming an excellent shinobi who could be of use to that man.
He saw it in the eyes of the younger kids—little brats barely old enough for the Academy—staring at Ren with open awe.
And then those same eyes turned to Shisui with a mix of anger and jealousy.
Shisui sighed.
He felt nothing but dread for Konoha's future.
"Ugh—haa…"
As night descended, Ren stretched hard, rubbing his brow with visible fatigue.
"I'm jealous of you Konoha people," he said, sounding almost sincere. "You've got the Nara. Whole clan of people good at thinking, and lazy as a personality trait. Must be nice."
He shoved the day's documents into a scroll and pulled Shisui into a sweets shop he clearly frequented. After ordering several extra-sweet items, he glanced at Shisui and slid the menu over.
"Want anything?"
"I don't care."
"Then we'll take one of everything that isn't sweet too."
"Certainly—thank you for your patronage!"
The shop owner's warm, ordinary voice sounded no different than the merchants on Konoha's main street.
For a moment, Shisui's expression went distant—like he'd been yanked back into childhood memories of strolling the village with his parents.
Then he returned to himself.
Ren sat across from him, fingers steepled, wearing that faintly amused, unreadable smile.
And Shisui's mood sank even lower.
"Before the food arrives," Ren said lightly, "ask whatever you've been holding in. Keeping it bottled up gives you insomnia. And you'll stop growing."
Shisui had to take several deep breaths just to calm himself enough to speak.
He lowered his head, staring at the tabletop that was so clean it was obvious the owner polished it daily, and asked softly:
"Why take me out like this?"
"If you kept me locked up, ground down my will, reshaped me slowly—or even forcefully—into what you want… wouldn't that be easier?"
"Oh?" Ren widened his eyes with theatrical delight. "Shisui, you're still this young and you've already got the heart of a fearless cart driver?"
"If you wanted the job that badly you should've said so. I didn't assign you work yet because I thought you were too small to endure it. But if you're volunteering—starting tomorrow, you'll be a glorious driver of the great cart."
Shisui didn't know what a "great cart driver" even meant, but instinct screamed that it was not a good thing.
He snapped his head up, cheeks flushing, voice still childish with frustration.
"You know that's not what I meant!"
"And you're not some worthless idiot who's given up," Ren countered smoothly, all humor fading from his face. "So why say something that brainless?"
Shisui choked.
"I… I…"
Ren dipped a finger into his cup and drew a small circle on the table, marking it with the Hyuga crest. Then he drew a much larger circle beside it and marked it with the Uchiha fan.
"You and Hyuga Makoto aren't the same."
"He has Hyuga main-family blood, but his talent is mediocre. Stuck between special jōnin and jōnin. Not enough to climb, too much to fall. And his way of thinking is already set."
"Even if I turned him into a stud who never has to think for the rest of his life, it wouldn't matter. There's no real loss."
Ren's smile returned—thin and sharp.
"But you are different."
"In Uchiha Fugaku's Mangekyō—one that can reflect fragments of the future—you are a genius almost certain to awaken Mangekyō."
"You're the future star he's pinned two dreams on."
"One: defeating me."
"Two: becoming Hokage."
Shisui's face tightened.
Ren waved away the first point as if it were dust.
"Defeating me is nonsense. Becoming Hokage, though… that's a real ambition."
"It requires power. And it requires something even harder: making most of Konoha support you in spite of their prejudice against the Uchiha."
"That's not something you learn by obeying orders and killing people, Shisui."
Shisui covered his face with both hands, shoulders trembling.
"…What's the point of saying that?"
"I'm Kirigakure's prisoner now. Konoha's already recognized Kirigakure's ownership of me."
"With this kind of past… how could I ever even dream of becoming Hokage?"
"Why not?" Ren asked quietly.
His voice carried a strange pull—like a snake's tongue tasting the air.
"Why can't you become Hokage, Shisui?"
"As long as you don't waste your body or your mind. As long as you keep your hunger to learn and your will to grow strong."
"And as long as you stay by my side and learn how to govern a shinobi village in a new era, under new circumstances…"
"Why wouldn't you have the chance… to become the Fifth Hokage?"
Shisui's blood ran cold.
He sprang backward, eyes wide, staring at Ren like he'd just seen an abyss open beneath his feet.
"Don't—don't be ridiculous! Fourth-sama—Konoha's high-ups, the people who protect the village—they'd never let someone like me become Hokage!"
"A 'washed' suspect? No one would accept that!"
Ren's smile didn't waver.
"So you'd rather a shinobi from Kirigakure—someone who knows nothing about Konoha's internal affairs, has no love for its residents, and has no reason to hold back—take over Konoha after the war ends?"
"Someone who'd 'reform' its rot without mercy."
"Someone who wouldn't mind using violence to crush dissent."
Shisui clenched his fists, trying to gather the courage his words demanded.
"Konoha won't lose."
"Sounds like you mean yes." Ren flicked his hand dismissively, as if the conversation bored him. "Well. I hope their conviction is as hard as your mouth."
"Because when they see a thousand shinobi with Sharingan—and other bloodline limits—standing on Konoha's walls… alongside a thousand taijutsu shinobi with Byakugan…"
"I hope they keep that same spirit."
Shisui's stomach lurched.
He didn't even process the implication that those Sharingan bearers would be his descendants. His mind latched onto something worse—
The sheer, casual horror of Ren's idea.
"You—you can't… you can't do that…!"
His skin crawled with the chill of a nightmare more vivid than any dream.
Do you have no concept of scarcity?
Bloodline limits were the foundation of clan superiority—the core reason they were special—
If you made them common…
If you made them cheap…
Then what were they even?
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