Chapter 15: Mourning the Death of His Parents — A Performance to Remember
Note: The Byakugan, or "White Eye," is one of the Three Great Dōjutsu in the shinobi world, alongside the Sharingan and the Rinnegan.
Two days later, the shinobi on the frontlines returned home. First order of business: bury the dead.
Under Hokage Sarutobi Hiruzen's command, the Uchiha Clan alone made up a third of the casualties in the war against Kirigakure. The rest were an unlucky mix of support nin and—let's be honest—cannon fodder. Shinobi whose names would fade from memory the second their bodies hit the ground.
Now, those corpses lay still beneath white burial cloths, lined up neatly on the field. Relatives poured in to say their final goodbyes.
"Father, please don't go!"
"Big brother, wake up!"
"…Rest easy. I'll take good care of your wife—no, seriously."
Gut-wrenching wails filled the air, but none were louder than the silence of grief.
Tonan tied a white mourning cloth around his forehead and kneeled quietly in front of his parents' remains. His face wore a muted expression, eyes downcast.
The secret to pulling off a legendary funeral cry? It wasn't tears. Anyone could sob. You had to look like sorrow itself. Like your soul was bleeding beneath a composed mask. Weeping wildly wouldn't make him stand out. No—he needed restrained heartbreak. The kind that pulled hearts in.
He laid out the two cups he'd brought: one filled with strong tea, the other with fragrant sake. Immediately, the aroma wafted through the crowd. Tonan didn't need a loud entrance. He used scent like a summoning jutsu—drawing eyes and whispers to his side.
"Father… you were sharp-tongued," Tonan began, voice soft and steady, "but I knew you had a soft heart."
"You never said a kind word to me, but you gave up everything for my sake."
He looked toward the covered bodies of Kotoura and Nanako, a nostalgic light flickering in his eyes.
"I remember the day of the Academy entrance exam. You called me worthless. Told me not to shame the clan."
"But your palms were sweating."
"The sun was brutal that day. I was inside taking the test while you stood outside the whole time, waiting."
"When I passed, all you said was, 'Not bad.' But that night, you downed three jars of sake. You—who always said shinobi should stay sober."
Laughter crept into Tonan's voice, and for a moment, it almost sounded genuine. Almost.
"My grades were terrible. You scolded me every day. But at night, you'd still hold my hand and teach me how to refine chakra and throw kunai."
"You had a stable job with the Uchiha Police Force, but you left it… went to the front lines just to set an example for your 'good-for-nothing' son."
"You said, 'If your skills aren't the worst when I come back, I'll teach you the Phoenix Sage Fire Technique.'"
A stiff smile formed on Tonan's lips. He looked down at his parents' remains.
"Well… not only did I unlock the three-tomoe Sharingan," he said, voice cracking, "I even mastered the Phoenix Sage Fire Technique. I wanted to surprise you when you came home."
The smile froze. Tears welled in his eyes as he bit his lower lip. He wiped them away quickly, refusing to let grief ruin the performance.
Then, he stood.
He began forming hand seals—fast and flawless, like a seasoned jōnin. His hands blurred, leaving afterimages.
"Katon: Hōsenka no Jutsu!"
With a hoarse shout, a burst of fireballs erupted from his mouth. The blazing chakra serpents arced into the sky, colliding and blooming like crimson chrysanthemums. All heads turned.
The technique ended, smoke trailing behind him. Tonan stood still, arms limp, expression hollow.
"I guess… I'll never get to hear you call me trash again," he whispered.
He lifted the sake bottle, raised it toward the sky, and downed it all in one go. The tears and alcohol streamed down his chin, mixing and soaking into his shirt.
The mourners around him, even those who'd been bawling their eyes out moments ago, fell silent. Compared to Tonan, their grief felt small.
In the crowd, Uchiha Fugaku watched solemnly.
"…To think the clan produced someone like this," he murmured. "A genius who still values family. He should've been nurtured by the clan… but his heart went to the Hokage."
His jaw tightened, displeased with the clan elders.
Beside him, the Great Elder watched Tonan with a deep gaze.
"Don't be blinded by his looks," he said quietly. "That child's talent… it's beyond anything ordinary. If he's cultivated well, he could lead the Uchiha back to the glory of the Warring States Era."
Fugaku turned to the Elder in surprise, then looked back at Tonan with renewed scrutiny.
"But… when I returned, I heard the others say he—"
The Elder placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled.
"Don't mind the rumors, Fugaku. Time will reveal the truth."
Fugaku nodded. The Elder's judgment had always been reliable.
But Tonan wasn't finished yet.
He took a deep breath and turned to his mother's body.
"Mother… you were always…"
He began another round of heartfelt reminiscence.
At a distance, Hatake Sakumo and Kakashi watched quietly.
"Kakashi," Sakumo said softly, "Tonan is someone worth trusting. Don't take that lightly."
Kakashi said nothing, arms crossed and eyes unreadable behind his mask. But his gaze lingered on Tonan.
Ding! Acquired: Hatake Kakashi's acknowledgment.
Tonan, still mid-performance, twitched at the notification. Kakashi?
He lives long, but his power plateaued. Barely cracked the top 10. Is he even worth the effort?
He shook his head mentally. Plain rice. No flavor. Not worth seconds. Sakumo, though… when will he take the bait?
Meanwhile, far off from the crowd, Hyūga Chiryo knelt before a lone body. Her father—a throwaway scout—had died early in the war. No one had even bothered to tell her.
The Hyūga didn't send elites to minor skirmishes like this. No, they sent cannon fodder like her dad. A branch house shinobi, disposable and forgotten.
"The main house gets comfort," she muttered, head lowered. "And the branch house gets graves."
Her fingers brushed the cage seal on her forehead beneath her bangs. Her once gentle eyes sharpened into a frenzied glint.
Blue veins bulged as her Byakugan silently activated—but the crowd's view of her was blocked.
No one noticed.
The ceremony shifted to the memorial stone. All who had lost family stood together. At the front, Hiruzen, clad in full Hokage regalia, began his speech.
"Where leaves flutter, the will of fire continues to burn…"
The crowd bowed their heads. The words were old. Tired. Everyone had heard them a hundred times—but for appearances, they listened.
Midway through, Hiruzen switched gears.
"Since Konoha's founding, three Hokage have carried forward the Will of Fire. And though the times change, its core remains: to love and protect the village. But each era interprets it differently…"
He paused for dramatic effect, then continued.
"I've summarized the three eras' focus. The First Hokage emphasized unity…"
At the back, behind the Uchiha contingent, Tonan stood ramrod straight, watching Hiruzen with shining eyes.
That bastard. His admiration was real—but not for the speech.
He ripped that word-for-word from my diary. Even the transitions. He didn't just plagiarize—he stole the footnotes.
Still, the crowd listened. Because even if the Will of Fire had become an overused catchphrase, the delivery was flawless.
And Tonan? He'd just stolen the show.