Uchiha District — Rukawa's House
When Rukawa walked through the door, Fugaku's expression was still dark.
But he wasn't entirely sure—was this really Rukawa, or the impostor who humiliated him at the clan meeting?
He asked in a low voice, "Are you really Rukawa?"
Rukawa glanced at him and casually replied, "Obviously. I'm the real deal—accept no substitutes."
Fugaku's eye twitched. That tone confirmed it—this was definitely the same impostor who mocked him in public.
"What exactly is your purpose here?"
Fugaku's eyes narrowed sharply, chakra surging quietly beneath the surface—ready to strike at any moment.
"Oh, no big reason."
Rukawa shrugged, his tone nonchalant and dismissive.
Fugaku gritted his teeth. "Even if you're powerful, and I might not be your match, I won't let you do whatever you want. Don't push me, or I will fight you to the death!"
"Tch. You? Worthless."
Rukawa flicked nonexistent dust from his fingers, eyes full of contempt.
"You bastard! You think I'm just gonna take this?!"
Fugaku immediately activated his Mangekyō Sharingan—killing intent filling the air.
The atmosphere became razor-sharp, like a single word could ignite a full-on battle.
But at that moment, a warm voice broke through the tension:
"You two, what are you doing out here? If you're both back, then come inside! Can't you talk like normal people?"
Mikoto emerged, still wearing her apron and holding a spatula—clearly just interrupted from cooking.
"What are you two doing?" she asked suspiciously.
"Nothing, Mom," Rukawa replied, brushing it off as he stepped past Fugaku and changed shoes, entering like he owned the place. "Just someone getting a little too full of himself."
Mikoto looked at Fugaku and asked, "Don't you think Rukawa's acting weird today?"
Of course he's acting weird. That's not even Rukawa.
Fugaku thought silently. He deactivated his Sharingan and gave a stiff answer.
"There's something off here, but don't worry. I'll handle it."
Dinner time.
At the table, Fugaku sat with a stiff face, his eyes locked on the boy across from him devouring food like a starving beast.
This guy… what the hell does he want?
A suspected Eternal Mangekyō wielder, impersonating his son, and now having dinner like it's no big deal?
Fugaku's mind was chaos. If he could take him in and interrogate him, he would—but he knew he wasn't strong enough.
"Honey, you're not eating. Is the food not to your liking? Or is the stress getting to you?" Mikoto asked gently.
Fugaku just nodded and picked up his chopsticks to keep up appearances.
Meanwhile, Rukawa was fully focused on clearing the table.
No thoughts, only food.
Mikoto's cooking? Top-tier.
Frankly, it could rival any five-star chef from his previous life.
With a mom this skilled, kind, and elegant—itachi still went through with the massacre?
Unforgivable.
For the sake of these meals, this tragedy must not be repeated.
That was Rukawa's heartfelt resolve—as a man of the Great Nation of Food.
Fugaku barely ate a few bites before putting down his utensils.
He simply couldn't eat with this dangerous weirdo sitting across from him.
"Honey, what's going on today? You seem really off too."
Mikoto noticed the tension and asked again.
Fugaku shook his head. "It's nothing."
He looked at Rukawa. "Come to my study after dinner. We have something very important to discuss."
With that, he stood and left.
Rukawa, without missing a beat, cleared his bowl and calmly said, "You come to my room. I've got something important to discuss with you."
He got up and walked to his room.
Fugaku froze mid-step. Right—this isn't his son.
This imposter couldn't care less about respecting him.
Mikoto frowned. "Rukawa! That's no way to speak to your father!"
Rukawa glanced back with a smirk.
"He doesn't deserve it."
SLAM!
The bedroom door shut behind him.
"Ugh, what's gotten into that boy?" Mikoto huffed, standing up as if to go scold him.
But Fugaku held up a hand to stop her.
"No need. I'll talk to him myself."
Face dark as night, he walked into Rukawa's room.
There, he saw the boy had already cleared a space, with a tea table neatly placed in the center.
Clearly prepared.
Rukawa sat casually on one side and pointed at the seat across from him.
"Come, have a seat. No need to stand on ceremony—make yourself at home."
Deep breaths. Calm down. Don't lose it. You can't win a fight with him.
Fugaku took several moments to steady his nerves.
After about a minute, he finally sat down, though the tension was still palpable.
Not bad, old man. You've got some self-control. No wonder they called you "Konoha's Ninja Tortoise" in the previous life…
Rukawa chuckled inwardly.
Fugaku got straight to the point, unleashing a barrage of questions:
"Who are you? Why impersonate my son? Where is the real Rukawa? What are you after? What's up with that eye of yours? Is my son alive or not? Did you—?"
"Hold up! Way too many questions—one at a time," Rukawa cut him off.
Fugaku frowned, but waited.
"First question—who am I? That doesn't matter."
"It does matter," Fugaku said immediately.
"It doesn't," Rukawa insisted.
"It matters."
"It doesn't."
"It matters."
"It. Doesn't."
"..."
In the end, it was Fugaku who broke the awkward loop.
Because let's be honest—he was the one more desperate for answers.