Compared to most other clans in Konoha—Hyuga Clan included—the Uchiha Clan had a unique structure. Within the clan, only about half of their members were officially registered with the Village for active duty. The rest remained off the books, handling internal clan matters or operating behind the scenes.
This structure granted the Uchiha a distinct advantage. While others sacrificed all their strength for the Village, the Uchiha retained the freedom to preserve power and pursue their own goals.
On the surface, this was one reason why the Uchiha stood tall as Konoha's most powerful shinobi clan.
...
Back at the construction site, the battle was over.
The dozen or so Uchiha members who had stormed the area lay defeated and humiliated. Their chakra networks had been completely sealed by Yun Nai, rendering them no different from ordinary civilians.
The masked fox-like ninja—cold and fierce—stepped beside Jaxon, her voice laced with deadly intent.
"Young Master Jaxon, what should we do with them?"
Her tone was casual, but her eyes gleamed with murder. The message was clear: eliminate them, and no one would say a word. After all, this entire site—workers, guards, supervisors—was under Jaxon's control.
The only time Konoha ninja had set foot here was during the early groundwork, and even then, they had been hired as outside labor. Everything else belonged to Jaxon.
Even if dozens of people saw the Uchiha slaughtered here, not a single voice would report it.
But Jaxon raised a hand calmly.
"No. Don't do anything reckless," he said, voice steady. "Send them back to the Uchiha compound. And make sure their clan leader receives word. I expect an explanation."
His tone was not one of pleading or courtesy—but dominance. This was a warning.
Then he turned and raised his voice toward the gathered workers.
"You've all worked hard today! As a reward, every one of you will receive 5,000 ryo. Take a break. Eat, drink, enjoy yourselves in Konoha!"
Cheers erupted immediately.
"Young Master Jaxon is too kind!"
"Back then, it was because I followed him that my life turned around!"
"Long live Young Master Jaxon!"
Laughter, shouting, and even sobs filled the air.
Most of the workers weren't born from noble clans or ninja lineages. Many came from poverty, some were once orphans or vagrants. Yet here, under Jaxon's banner, they found not only stability—but respect.
Jaxon's subordinates had recruited them from all over the Land of Fire. And though Konoha was known for its strength, it was men like Jaxon who gave them hope for a better life.
...
Just then, a loud thud interrupted the celebration.
Maito Dai was on his knees, tears streaming down his face as his forehead smashed into the ground. The marble under him cracked.
Many workers winced just watching him.
"Dai? What are you doing?" Jaxon asked, blinking in confusion.
The watermelon-haired man sobbed, his voice thick with guilt. "I'm sorry! You trusted me as security captain… gave me a salary I never imagined. But I failed. When the Uchiha showed up, I couldn't stop them. I… I failed in my duty!"
He clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms trembling.
But Jaxon only let out a soft sigh. "Being security captain doesn't mean I expect you to fight every enemy alone. You were never meant to die for this place. There's no need to feel ashamed."
He waved a hand, and two workers hurried forward to help Maito Dai up.
The scene left a warm silence in its wake—one man's sincerity, and another's understanding.
...
Later that evening, Jaxon stood alone atop Hokage Rock, specifically on the carved head of the First Hokage. The night wind howled around him, carrying with it the scent of pine, stone, and distant snow.
From this height, the entire Village stretched below like a tapestry of lights and shadows.
He stared out silently, then let out a breath.
"Only 5.544%…"
That was the replication progress reported by the system in his mind.
Much lower than he had hoped.
But then again, it had only been three months since he entered Konoha. In that time, the progress bar had risen by more than half a percent, which—by old standards—would've taken him a full year.
Slowly, the corners of his mouth curved upward.
So it's working… just not as fast as I want.
He let his legs dangle over the edge, 50 meters above solid ground.
Most people would feel dizzy just standing here. But Jaxon felt nothing.
No fear. No hesitation. Just cold wind and the vast night sky.
The truth was, he didn't care much for Konoha's beauty. The people, the architecture, the nostalgia that others clung to—it all meant little to him.
What he enjoyed most… was perspective.
From here, he could look down on it all. The power games, the bloodlines, the conspiracies—they were nothing more than distant flickers.
Here, he found peace.
The sky above was pitch black, like a curtain of silk pulled across the heavens. No stars, no moon—only darkness and falling snow.
Tiny snowflakes drifted quietly around him. Without wind, they descended vertically, each one unique, delicate, silently blanketing the world in white.
To Jaxon, the snowfall felt symbolic.
As if the heavens themselves wanted to cleanse this Village—scrub away the bloodshed, betrayal, and secrets embedded deep in its foundations.
The snow was light for now, barely sticking to the stone. But soon, it would cover everything in a pristine blanket of white. A new layer to hide old sins.
...
Down below, Konoha was bustling.
Unlike most nights, the streets teemed with activity. Many shinobi had returned home. The Second Ninja World War had finally ended, and the waves of returning soldiers filled the Village with noise and life.
Jaxon could sense it.
The war had ended over a month ago, but the aftershocks remained.
New faces poured in, some carrying the stink of blood and battlefield trauma. Old faces had disappeared—some lost to the war, others lost to the politics surrounding it.
But most troubling of all… was the silence.
Because although the Second Shinobi World War had officially ended, its seeds were still deeply planted.
The blood spilled had not washed away resentment. The hatred, the mistrust—none of it had disappeared.
If anything, it had only burrowed deeper, waiting to resurface.
An undercurrent swirled beneath the surface of peace, invisible to most. But Jaxon saw it clearly.
That's why, when the Third Ninja World War eventually came, it would feel less like a new war—and more like a continuation of the last.
History didn't move in straight lines. It looped.
It stumbled in circles, repeating its sins with new names and younger faces.
...
But for Jaxon?
This wasn't his concern.
He had no interest in fighting for a nation, or bleeding for flags.
He was not bound by the Will of Fire.
He was an observer—one who watched quietly from the mountaintop.
Let others wage their wars.
Let others chase legacy and titles.
He would savor the rise and fall of empires… like someone enjoying a fine drink at sunset.
A different kind of life.
A better kind of life.
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