The dying embers of twilight bled through the open shoji screen of Fugaku Uchiha's tent, painting the austere place in long, melancholic shadows.
Dust motes danced lazily in the fading orange light, settling on meticulously organized scroll racks and the polished surface of a low, dark wood desk.
The air hung still, thick with the scent of ink, aged paper, and the faint, lingering aroma of pine from the tatami mats. Fugaku sat rigidly behind the desk, his sharp features etched in concentration as he reviewed clan patrol rosters, the scratch of his brush the only sound breaking the silence.
Their front had been silent for the last few days, so the Uchiha clan heir was cherishing these few moments of peace his life as a shinobi could afford.
"Squeee!"
A sudden, sharp cry shattered the quietude. A small, swift messenger bird, its feathers ruffled from flight, landed with a soft thump on the windowsill of the tent. Its beady black eyes darted around the room before fixing on Fugaku, letting out another insistent squeal.
Fugaku's head snapped up, his obsidian eyes narrowing with immediate focus. He set his brush down with deliberate precision, the click of wood on ceramic unnaturally loud.
He rose, his movements fluid and silent despite the formal robes he wore, the Uchiha fan stark on his back. Crossing the room, he approached the window. The bird tilted its head, chirping softly now. Fugaku extended a hand, not with gentleness, but with efficient authority.
His fingers deftly untied the tiny scroll capsule attached to the bird's leg. The moment the capsule was free, he gave the bird's head a single, perfunctory pat.
"Tap."
It needed no further encouragement. With a flutter of wings and a final chirp, it launched itself back into the deepening twilight, vanishing towards the clan communications hub.
Fugaku turned away from the window, the small scroll capsule cold and heavy in his palm. The twilight gloom seemed to deepen within the study as he moved to the corner, away from the desk and the fading light.
He unfurled the tiny scroll, its crisp parchment crackling faintly. His Sharingan activated instinctively, the crimson glow casting an eerie light on the hastily written characters. As he read, the rigid lines of his face slackened. His brows, usually drawn together in stern focus, shot upwards.
A subtle tremor ran through his hand, causing the scroll to flutter minutely. His lips parted slightly, a silent intake of breath the only sign of the shockwave rippling through him. The crimson light of his Sharingan reflected in his widened eyes, illuminating disbelief, rapidly followed by a dawning, icy apprehension.
"What is it?"
The voice, feminine and laced with a familiar, sharp curiosity, came from the doorway. Nakada Uchiha leaned against the frame, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the hallway lantern. She wore simple training gear, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, a half-peeled apple in one hand, a small knife in the other.
Her own Sharingan was inactive, but her dark eyes missed nothing, instantly noting her brother's uncharacteristic stillness, the tension radiating from his frame.
Fugaku didn't answer immediately. He stared at the scroll, the characters seeming to burn into his retinas. The news it contained – the scale of it – was staggering. He slowly lowered the scroll, his knuckles white where he gripped it. He took a deliberate, deep breath, his chest expanding slowly, then releasing.
The tremor in his hand stilled.
The initial shock was forcibly reined in, compressed beneath the weight of his position, his pride, and his ingrained control. The mask of the Uchiha Clan heir slid back into place, though a fissure of unease remained in his eyes.
"Well?"
Nakada pushed off the frame, taking a step into the room. The crunch of her boot on the tatami was sharp.
"Are you not going to tell me what it is that's shocking you like that? You look like you've seen a ghost. Or maybe just someone actually living up to their potential?"
She huffed, a sound of impatience mixed with a hint of knowing amusement.
Fugaku finally lifted his gaze, the crimson Sharingan fading back to black, leaving his eyes dark and unreadable, save for the lingering intensity.
"It is about the battlefield," he stated, his voice low and gravelly, stripped of inflexion.
"In the no-man's land."
"Ooh," Nakada breathed, a half-chuckle escaping her lips.
She resumed peeling her apple, the blade flashing in the dim light, the crisp snick-snick of the knife against the fruit's skin punctuating the heavy air.
Fugaku's gaze sharpened, pinning her. "You seem remarkably unsurprised, sister."
Nakada paused her peeling, meeting his stare head-on, a defiant arch to her eyebrow. "Why the look, Brother? It's hardly classified gossip. News travels fast, especially when it involves… spectacular displays."
She took a deliberate, loud bite of the apple."Crunch!"
"Mm. These are good. Truly worthy of the Land of Apples. Sweet, crisp… resilient." She smiled, a touch too brightly.
"Much like certain individuals, wouldn't you say?"
Fugaku remained silent, his expression hardening. He simply continued to watch her, the pressure of his gaze demanding an explanation for her nonchalance.
Nakada sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Yes, brother. Everyone with ears in the compound, and probably half the village by now, knows about Renjiro's little adventure." She waved the half-eaten apple vaguely. "Holding the line against overwhelming Kumo forces? Protecting that stranded unit? Facing down Killer Bee himself and that lightning rod Ayy? Quite the debut performance."
She took another bite, watching him closely. "What's got your chakra in a twist? Afraid his little light show is going to eclipse your own illustrious wartime achievements? Worried the village will forget the glorious Wicked Eye Fugaku Uchiha?"
A nerve twitched visibly near Fugaku's temple. His jaw clenched. "Do not be absurd, Nakada," he snapped, the controlled facade cracking slightly. "My merits stand on their own. That is not what concerns me."
"Oh?" Nakada leaned against the desk now, her posture deliberately casual, a stark contrast to his rigid tension.
"Enlighten me, then, oh wise future Clan Head. What does concern you about our young kinsman single-handedly saving dozens of Konoha shinobi and repelling two of Kumo's heaviest hitters?"
Fugaku's eyes burned. "The implications, Nakada! The implications for the clan!"
He slammed the scroll down onto the desk with a soft thud. "This… this unrestrained display of power! Do you understand what this looks like? What whispers it will start?"
"Implications?" Nakada feigned ignorance, tilting her head. "Such as?"
"Such as putting the Uchiha name under a magnifying glass hotter than Amaterasu!" Fugaku hissed, leaning forward.
"The village… Danzo, the Council, even the Hokage… they are not ready for an Uchiha wielding power on that scale. Not now. Not with the memories still fresh, the suspicions still simmering beneath the surface!" He paced a short, tight circle, the fabric of his robes whispering against itself.
"He will be compared to him, Nakada. Immediately. Relentlessly. To Madara. Every move he makes, every flicker of his chakra, will be scrutinized for signs of… ambition. Of danger. This stunt hasn't earned us gratitude; it's painted a target on our backs!"
Nakada's playful facade vanished. Her eyes narrowed, flashing with sudden, cold fury. "So what should he have done, Fugaku?!" Her voice was low, dangerous.
"Held back? Like you and Father always do? Like Father did when he counselled against sending reinforcements to that unit in the first place? Calculating the political cost of saving Konoha's lives, especially our clansmen?" She pushed off the desk, stepping towards him, the uneaten apple forgotten in her tightening grip.
"You and Father… you may squabble over tactics, over how much to grovel before the Hokage Tower, but deep down? You're two sides of the same rusted coin. Both obsessed with power and control. Father seeks it through alliances and influence, manoeuvring me like a pawn towards Renjiro to secure his legacy. And you?" She jabbed a finger at him.
"You seek it through suppression! Through making the Uchiha small, quiet, unthreatening enough to be tolerated! You're both despicable! At least Father's ambition is honest!"