"Yes, speaking for the dumb is wonderful, but how hard to speak before the deaf!"
© Victor Hugo
Fugaku sat in his room, legs crossed, eyes closed. Today his eldest son turned twelve. The day had long ceased being a family holiday. Six or seven years ago, he and Mikoto noticed Itachi's indifference to feasts and congratulations, and it all faded. For Uchiha Itachi, his own birthday meant nothing. The boy had matured too early.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor; the paper door slid aside.
"You called me, Father?" Itachi asked coldly.
"Yes. Sit."
Fugaku opened his eyes and watched his eldest enter and sit opposite.
He'd changed over the last year. Last summer, Itachi was a naive boy with a firm, faith-filled gaze. Fugaku had never pondered faith in what? He had no idea what went on in his son's soul: not then, not now. But now before him sat no boy. Itachi had shot up; his gaze dimmed, youthful fire replaced by weight. An old man's icy stare, not a twelve-year-old's. And those under-eye lines—they'd deepened too.
How kids grow so fast...
"I have business in town," his son said in a low voice. "Make it quick."
"Today is your birthday," Fugaku tried smiling. "Congratulations. Twelve years..."
He'd last smiled long ago. It wasn't his style. He looked at his impassive son and realized he couldn't recall Itachi smiling—this kid never did either. Strange satisfaction stirred in Fugaku's soul.
*We're alike. Me and my son.*
But not parental pride in an inherited trait. No, Fugaku rejoiced not that Itachi resembled him, but that he resembled Itachi.
His son was a genius. First Uchiha in Anbu... Uchiha Itachi was a magnificent ninja, and Fugaku suspected his son took the shinobi concept far more strictly and responsibly than he did. As a parent, he should be proud—but instead, he envied fiercely. Envying, he grew rougher toward Itachi. The reaction was swift. A deep gulf of misunderstanding—even enmity—grew between them. Fugaku knew it wrong. He loathed himself, but wounded male pride overpowered fatherly instinct, nearly impossible to overcome.
Fugaku realized too late what his son had tried to tell him all along. He'd never truly listened, delved in. Itachi's words seemed youthful idealistic nonsense; he'd shut him up with: "You're tired from missions. It'll pass" or "Apologize, Itachi." Only before the decisive meeting—where they'd finally set the uprising date—did Fugaku suddenly understand.
Walking the road to the shrine with Mikoto, musing on the coming events' importance, Fugaku abruptly realized he'd been wrong all along. Snippets of talks with Itachi; his son, Sharingan blazing, trying to reach deaf clansmen at every meeting... It all lined up logically. Climbing that ladder, at the top Fugaku found no footing. He plunged headlong into revelation: he was leading the clan to ruin. Uprising mustn't happen.
Pity he grasped it too late. Pressing Yashiro and subordinates yelling for a coup, Fugaku first felt what his firstborn must have all along. Helpless rage. No matter what he said—they didn't hear. Whatever he said—they didn't listen. The Uchiha postponed uprising to better times under recognized authority's pressure, but not for long. Scheming in dark corners, clansmen conspired and... simply removed him. And he could do—nothing. And never would. Because no one would listen.
"How's Anbu service?" Fugaku asked, still forcing a smile.
"Stable."
Itachi spoke to him as a clansman, ex-leader who'd made him a spy—not as a father.
"Itachi, I'm your father. You're my son," at those words, an unpleasant pang hit his heart: comparing himself to Itachi again. "No one else in this room. No Yashiro, no Inabi. No one."
"Truth is, since joining Anbu—nothing's changed."
"They don't give you tough assignments?"
"A few," Itachi muttered, face down, then met Fugaku's eyes directly. "But I'm Anbu now. I can't show weakness."
Words slipped out before Fugaku could stop them.
"As expected of my son."
His favorite phrase, praising Itachi. Really, praising himself. Emphasizing kinship with his son, Fugaku classed himself among the greats too.
"Itachi... Clan members think differently."
His son looked surprised.
"You don't have to accept their views. I always hoped you'd embrace clan aspirations and be with everyone. But... I was wrong. I admit—you were right."
Fugaku smiled weakly again.
"I'm probably not a father to be proud of. I didn't support you, didn't give you a chance. And now I'm nobody—they even ousted me as head."
"Father..." Itachi murmured, bewildered.
"But it's not too late for you yet. You can still stop the Uchiha and guide them down the right path. There aren't many people in the world who make their own decisions and see them through to the end. Most prefer to entrust the right to choose to someone else and absolve themselves of responsibility. You mustn't do that. Walk your own path in life. Make your own decisions."
His eyes stung. Fugaku Uchiha did everything he could to suppress the surging emotions so his son wouldn't notice them.
"I understand," Itachi raised his head and looked him in the eyes. "I won't let anyone make decisions for me."
That spark reignited in his gaze—the one Fugaku had seen long ago, when his boy was still a boy and not a child with the eyes of an old man. Or maybe it had never gone away? Maybe Itachi had simply learned to hide his feelings masterfully?
"That's my son!"
Fugaku didn't feel any pain saying the familiar phrase. Because for the first time in a long while, it rang true and right.
"We're forming a new team. There are too many missions, and Anbu can't keep up. A new team needs a new leader, and you've been approved for the position," Danzou stated impassively.
Hovering behind his shoulder like a pale spot was the white tiger mask—Suguru.
"I'll give this team some of my people from Root. Hiruzen doesn't object."
"Does that mean I'll belong to Root?"
"No. But you won't report directly to the Hokage either. Let's just say it's a separate team with no ties to any organization: neither Anbu nor Root."
"I'm not entirely sure I understand," Itachi said.
Danzo smiled almost imperceptibly.
"We've decided to create a new team to give you complete freedom of action. No rookies, the same faces. I think I can give you a few people. Just like Uchiha Shisui worked for Hiruzen—you'll now work for me."
Itachi was silent.
"You've already figured it out, haven't you?"
"Shut up," Itachi exhaled sharply, ignoring all rules of decorum.
"How can you protect peace in the village..."
"I told you to shut up," Itachi hissed.
But Danzou continued as if he hadn't heard the rude words:
"...and who will do it... what needs to be done."
"Or maybe I should just kill you?" Itachi tilted his head, looking curiously at Danzou's bandaged head.
The Sharingan activated. Itachi couldn't contain his indignation, and his chakra triggered the dojutsu on its own.
"Hm. That could work," the Root leader replied completely calmly. "But killing a Council member would make you an exile, and you wouldn't be able to help the village or your loved ones anymore. Admit it, it's not very convenient to guard peace in Konoha without ever entering Konoha? But if you want to take that foolish path, go ahead. Kill me."
Itachi didn't move. It was all a game. Danzou clearly had no intention of dying. Even though only he and Suguru were in his office, Root Anbu members were hidden everywhere. Taking them all out alone, without knowing their positions, was impossible. Even if he killed Danzou, Itachi wouldn't escape the Root underground alive.
"If you're going to kill me, better hurry. With every second, your chances of successfully finishing me off drop sharply. You don't have time for questions or second thoughts. A ninja decides—a ninja acts."
Itachi remained silent and motionless. Killing Danzou solved nothing. This man controlled the Darkness accumulating in Konoha and kept it from flooding the village and disrupting its well-being. And he was right.
Damn...
"Can I take your silence as a yes?"
Dying stupidly in the Root underground trying to kill Danzou... It went against Itachi's ambitions. He had too many grand plans to allow himself such recklessness.
"Fine then, shall we return to where we left off?"
"I'm leaving."
Itachi turned his back and headed for the door.
"You don't want to hear the rest. Looks like you see it too—this is the only way. Isn't it?"
Ignoring Danzou's words, he kept walking toward the exit.
"It has to be someone from the clan. An insane young genius. Only if everyone believes it will peace come to Konoha."
With a trembling hand, Itachi grabbed the door handle and glanced at him over his shoulder. The blazing Sharingan made the whole room seem crimson.
"You're the only one who fits the role," Danzou added.
Itachi slammed the door behind him, as if definitively rejecting the offer.
The path home from the clan district gates to the doorstep had become a trial for Sarada lately. She really didn't want to run into anyone. She remembered how Michi's gang with the bitchy Nekone had cornered her—and that was even before Grandpa was removed from his position as clan head, when she wasn't really in any danger yet. Was she now? Who knew.
Sasuke shuffled along beside her, sullen: he still couldn't accept that a girl was picking him up from the academy at his big age. Sarada tried to slip past fellow clansmen without meeting their eyes, to avoid drawing extra attention. Just a little further. Turn the corner—and the familiar street, Grandpa's house. Keeping her gaze down, she didn't immediately notice the two police officers blocking her path.
"Oh, look, Fugaku's brood," one of them sneered.
Sarada glanced at Sasuke—he frowned even harder. Papa already knew Grandpa was no longer Uchiha head, but of course they hadn't filled him in on the details.
"That girl."
"Yeah, I almost forgot about her. Wasn't it the former leader who gave you access to meetings before you even became a genin? And what he said back then... 'I won't wait for handouts.' Old idiot."
He spat on the pavement in disgust.
Sarada watched the emotions shift on Sasuke's face in panic. Insulting his father in front of his six-year-old son—that was low... She remembered Shisui's words: that she was the face of her family, that she absolutely couldn't get into fights. But these weren't Michi's gang; these were grown men, and what if they could freely use Sharingan? She couldn't handle them.
One of the guys with his sweater sleeves rolled up accordion-style reached for Sarada. A familiar gesture... Her father had once reached for her the same way, not recognizing her as his daughter. But this wasn't Papa. Foreign fingers roughly grabbed her chin and turned her face first one cheek, then the other. The guy scrutinized her features intently.
Shisui-san... Why can't I? Grandpa's no longer clan head. Maybe I can? I don't care if they have Sharingan. I'd rather fight them and lose than endure this humiliation, shannaro!
The guy holding Sarada's chin yanked his hand back with a yell. A kunai stuck out of his bare forearm just below the elbow, driven halfway into the flesh. Blood trickled down his pale skin.
Who did that?
She whipped around to Sasuke. He stared at the two strangers with the gaze of a wild wolf cub.
Papa?!
"You little pup!"
A sudden powerful blow from the second Police patrolman sent Sasuke flying into the wall. He hit his head and slumped to the ground. He hadn't lost consciousness, but couldn't get up on his own. Fury boiled in Sarada's chest. The injured stranger with rolled-up sleeves, grimacing, pulled the bloody kunai from his arm and gripped it in his left fist, as if preparing for battle.
Suddenly, someone's back appeared right in front of Sarada.
"Enough," a familiar voice, just hoarse for some reason. "Let them go. Don't touch them."
No way.
Sarada's eyes flew wide in surprise.
"You?" the injured one said in astonishment. "What are you doing here?"
The back didn't retreat. Thin black hair covering the nape...
"Damn it, Michi!" the officer exclaimed irritably. "You're Yashiro's nephew—what the hell are you doing defending these bastards!"
Michi didn't budge.
"Nanadaime, were you right after all?" Sarada realized in shock. "He really likes me? Why else would he..."
"Get out of the way!"
"No."
The man's eyes flashed red with Sharingan. Michi flinched but didn't back down. The injured one didn't stand on ceremony. With one strong motion, he shoved Michi aside, and he lost his balance, falling onto the pavement.
"What's going on here," a cold low voice rang out.
And time seemed to freeze.
Michi froze, not trying to get up. The guys faced Sarada rigidly. The injured one with rolled-up sleeves grinned maliciously and turned.
"What do you know!"
The second followed suit.
"Uchiha Itachi."
Uncle. They knew he was nearby.
Michi propped himself on one hand but didn't hurry to stand. Holding his breath, he watched what would happen next. Sarada seized the moment and rushed to Papa. Sasuke, his gaze wandering dazedly down the street, clutched his head. The blow from an adult man was too strong for a child. Sasuke was so stunned he didn't even try to break free and let Sarada help him to his feet.
Uchiha Itachi stood a bit further away, at the street corner. No longer a boy—a young man, thin and somewhat worn from lack of sleep and endless missions. But his gaze at that moment was terrifying.
"What. Is. Happening here," Itachi repeated in an icy tone.
Sarada grew afraid. Nothing good came from that tone. And Shisui had told them not to stir trouble. Was it only her, not Itachi?
"Now the brood's all here," another man stepped out from around the corner.
All three—the injured one with rolled-up sleeves, his companion, and the newcomer—wore Military Police symbols on their clothes.
Patrolmen causing chaos. Now I get why Shisui-san spoke of the Police with such contempt.
"What the hell do you want with my brother... and my sister?" Itachi's even voice was like a taut string.
"You bonded quick with the village girl, Uchiha Itachi."
They spoke to him as an equal. Grown men in their twenties and a confident twelve-year-old boy. Michi stood up and quietly stepped aside, as if it didn't concern him. Uncle slowly approached Sarada and Sasuke and looked closely at his little brother.
"Sasuke, you okay?"
He still hadn't fully recovered. He swayed, holding Sarada's hand, staring blankly at Itachi. Sharingan flashed in Uncle's eyes.
"How dare you touch my brother?"
"D... Itachi-san, don't," Sarada tried to stop him.
She knew if it involved Sasuke, Itachi wouldn't hold back. But the police guys knew that too. They were deliberately provoking the deposed leader's eldest son. Who knew why? And really, harassing her, hitting a six-year-old kid so hard—that was wrong, unmanly. Scum needed punishing, and Sarada's sense of justice screamed: "Go on, Uncle! Hit them, shannaro!" But she knew Shisui was right. At stake wasn't just her parent's concussion—the whole village and Uchiha clan were. To preserve peace, she had to stay silent, not give in to provocateurs...
The injured one demonstratively raised his bloody arm.
"He got what he deserved. See what this brat did to my arm?"
"You got what you deserved. Don't touch our sister."
Uncle called her sister: his and Sasuke's. It was strange to hear and realize that to everyone around, she really wasn't a niece or daughter, but Itachi and Sasuke's sister.
"Village pet," the third approached closer and spat on the pavement.
Sarada felt like she'd go mad soon. From the spits tickling her pedantry. From the injustice of grown men, Military Police patrolmen, grabbing defenseless girls' faces and beating first-graders. From not being able to respond without provoking conflict and civil war... She was stuck, unable to move either way.
But Uncle felt differently.
"What did you say?" he clarified quietly.
"I said you're a traitor," the third repeated. "Your whole family—you betrayed the clan. Your worthless parent, you, and these..."
He wanted to say something about Sarada and Sasuke but didn't get the chance. Itachi's movements were lightning-fast. Three quick whipping strikes, and the patrolmen sprawled on the ground. Itachi struck vital points—excruciatingly painful and terrifyingly effective.
Uncle, hunched, lowered his face hidden by strands of hair. His relaxed hands hung freely along his body.
"You think my patience is limitless, but it's not."
The injured one with rolled-up sleeves tried to rise, but Itachi's sharp elbow strike sent him back down.
"You betrayed... the clan..." one patrolman squeezed out haltingly.
"The clan... clan..." Itachi muttered like in a delirium. "The clan holds you back. You submit to it, think with one brain for all. You have no heads of your own—none of you. You see nothing beyond the word 'clan.' You hate—and can't even understand why. Sometimes I think you don't even need reasons to hate."
"Stop it, Itachi!"
Yashiro stood at the corner with his entourage. Frightened Michi quickly slipped to him and hid behind. Uchiha Yashiro—this was the one his assembly had appointed new Uchiha clan and Leaf Military Police head. Grandpa's subordinate, radicals' leader—it wasn't hard to guess the path the clan would take under him.
"He's completely lost his fear," long-haired Inabi blurted.
He stood to the new leader's right. Tekka silently nodded to the left. The patrolmen writhed in pain, crawling and trying to get on all fours.
How pathetic they are.
The moment her uncle laid out three grown Sharingan-wielding men, Sarada's soul, forgetting all Shisui's advice, rejoiced. But Yashiro's appearance extinguished her joy. Her heart sank.
New leader... Uncle...
Sarada now wondered how deeply the provocation was planned. What if Yashiro himself brewed this mess to dramatically appear during Itachi's beating and put Fugaku's eldest in his place? But something went wrong. If it involved Uncle—something always went wrong. Uchiha Itachi changed reality's flow with his mere presence, directing it into a new channel. His channel. He acted as he saw fit. Where did his unshakeable confidence in his decisions come from?
"You're openly admitting you betrayed us?" Yashiro asked warily.
In response, Uncle suddenly drew a kunai and hurled it into the wall. The blade sank into the plaster right at the Uchiha crest, cracking the fan pattern.
"I've lost faith in this pathetic clan."
"Captain," Inabi said. "He attacked police on duty and openly confessed to treason. Issue a warrant for his arrest."
"I can't. Anbu answers to the Hokage personally. Without a special order, we can't touch him," Yashiro hissed and turned a unkind gaze on Sarada and her young father. "But these..."
But Itachi didn't let him finish.
"Sarada, Sasuke," he said. "Let's go home."
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan