Two weeks had passed since the announcement of victory at the Kannabi Bridge when Fugaku returned to Konoha. His stride was steady, yet the invisible weight of war could be seen in the rigidity of his shoulders and the severity in his eyes. His uniform was still stained with dirt and dried blood; there was no rest for leaders, not even upon returning home.
The homecoming was far from joyous. Within days, a memorial ceremony was held at Konoha's cemetery of heroes, where entire families gathered. Endless rows of fresh tombstones bore witness to the magnitude of sacrifice.
Itachi, dressed in formal clothes, walked silently beside his mother. Renji, timid and quiet, stayed close, clutching a white flower he barely managed not to crush in his small fingers.
At the center, standing tall and solemn, was Minato Namikaze—the hero of the war, the man everyone already looked upon as the future Hokage. His presence radiated calm, but also a firmness that commanded respect.
—"We will honor the fallen," Minato said, his voice clear and sharp as a kunai. The murmurs died instantly.
Itachi studied him closely. He had heard the stories—his unmatched speed, his brilliance, how he had turned the tide at Kannabi… yet what struck him most now was the serenity with which Minato bore the sorrow of an entire village.
Still, one detail did not escape the young Uchiha: too many names carved on the tombstones belonged to his clan. Too many. As though they had been sent to the most dangerous fronts—deliberately chosen to bleed first.
The suspicion lodged itself in his mind like an invisible thorn.
That night, Fugaku's silence at the dinner table spoke louder than any words. He didn't speak of the war, nor of the dead. He simply clenched his jaw and stared at his plate.
—"Itachi," Mikoto's gentle voice broke the tension, "in two weeks it's your birthday."
The boy looked up, startled.—"Yes…"—"We want to throw you a small party. Nothing big, but some family will come. What would you like as a gift?"
The question unsettled him. After all he had seen and felt in those months, the idea of a birthday felt like a childish luxury. He looked at his hands, hardened by training, then at his mother, who smiled at him with tenderness despite the shadows of war.
Part of him wanted to ask for scrolls—more knowledge, hidden jutsu secrets. Another, quieter part longed for something simpler: a warm memory in the midst of the cold to come.
—"I just… want us to be together that day," he finally said.
Mikoto caressed his face with a sweetness that, for an instant, made him feel like a child again.
But from the other side of the table, Fugaku watched in silence—as though sensing that his son, soon to celebrate another year, no longer truly belonged to childhood.
Later that evening, after a day consumed by duties and meetings that weighed heavily upon his brow, Fugaku forced himself to spend time with his son. When he entered Itachi's room, he found him seated on the tatami, surrounded by fragments of metal spinning around him in a hypnotic orbit.
The boy closed his eyes, chakra flowing like an orderly river. Suddenly, an invisible barrier repelled the fragments, which ricocheted through the air with an electric hum.
Fugaku froze. This was no genjutsu, nor any fire or water technique he knew. This was something entirely different.
—"What is this, Itachi?" he asked, his voice grave but restrained.
The boy opened his eyes, and a bluish spark still danced within his pupils.—"I call it a magnetic shield. I've also been working on something else I'd like to show you… but it's better if we go outside."
Fugaku followed, curiosity burning within him, yet also wondering if the child before him was still his son—or something else altogether.
Once they were far enough from the house, Itachi raised his hand and gathered electrical chakra into the air. A sphere took shape, vibrant and alive, surrounded by arcs of lightning pulsing outward.
When the sphere stabilized, it suddenly narrowed, forming a luminous conduit. In an instant, the searing energy shot forward, burning and piercing through trees for dozens of meters, leaving only heat and a residual glow behind.
Fugaku stepped back in shock. For a brief moment, all the burdens of war and clan vanished from his face. What remained was the expression of a father, genuinely awed by his son's talent.
He knelt before him, gripping his shoulders.—"Itachi… never show this to anyone. Not your friends, not your teachers. This power is too much… and the clan already bears too many suspicions."
Itachi nodded silently. He understood that his father was not speaking as the clan leader, but as a man desperate to protect him.
Yet peace was fleeting. Fugaku sighed, leaning back against the wall.—"The clan elders won't stop pressing me. They speak of injustice, of the blood spilled at Kannabi… many are eager to rebel against Konoha. And I…" he rubbed his forehead, "…I don't know how to quell their resentment."
Itachi, still young but sharp beyond his years, watched him silently. Finally, he said:—"If the clan wants power, there is a way—not by fighting Konoha, but… by seizing control from within, by taking it away from the one who has his claws sunk deepest into us."
Fugaku stared at him in disbelief.—"What are you suggesting?"
—"To fight fire with a stronger fire. It's no mystery… I've often heard the name Danzō in your talks with other leaders."
—"Father, I've made some deductions. Danzō has three main weapons: Root, the support of the Third Hokage, and public opinion.
Take the case of Hatake Sakumo's so-called suicide. Something doesn't add up. Why would the entire village suddenly scorn and gossip about a hero of Kage-level strength? There's no explanation other than manipulation—bought and spread by envy."
—"To fight fire with fire, we should expose Danzō's corruption, using the same tools of defamation he wields. Fabricate evidence if necessary—anything to incriminate him and cut his hands, so the Hokage can no longer grant him such freedom.
To fight fire with fire—if the Hokage won't hear us, then why not leave? Let's form our own village. We may be weak at first, but Konoha? Once the other villages learn the most powerful clan has departed, they'll come knocking at their gates. That's something the Third cannot allow.
To fight fire with fire—let's eliminate every Root operative we encounter. But do it gradually, leaving no trace. Soon enough, Danzō will be left without cannon fodder."
The words were chilling, especially from a child so young—but Fugaku knew they were sincere. In his son, he no longer saw only an heir, but perhaps a bridge between two worlds teetering on the edge of conflict.