After leaving Yamanaka Inoichi's flower shop, Uchiha Douhuan did not return home immediately. Instead, he made his way to the mansion of Uchiha Fugaku.
Fugaku was surprised to see him arrive so late, but he still welcomed the young clan leader inside.
Mikoto quietly served tea for the two men before withdrawing from the room, leaving them alone. Fugaku's gaze lingered on Douhuan—the man who had wrested the title of clan head from him. Yet, instead of resentment, there was only a strange sense of relief. For years, the burden of leadership had weighed heavily on his shoulders, and deep down, he had wished for someone capable enough to take it from him.
Since taking charge, Douhuan had united the clan swiftly, quelled the calls for armed rebellion, and restored order with remarkable efficiency. Even Fugaku, with all his pride, could not deny the brilliance of his methods.
"Douhuan, as you instructed, the Security Department has posted notices to recruit civilian shinobi," Fugaku reported. "But most are still hesitant. Only a handful came forward today, and all of them were newly graduated genin."
"A genin is more than enough for petty thieves and street patrols," Douhuan replied smoothly. "Besides, with the jutsu we've provided, more applicants will come soon enough."
Fugaku gave a slow nod. "That eases my mind. But… I ran the numbers today. If we continue with the standards you set yesterday, our treasury will be dry in three months at most. After that, the clan will have no choice but to sell off ancestral property."
"As I said before—leave the money to me," Douhuan answered casually, sipping his tea. "Funds will arrive within a few days."
Fugaku frowned slightly. "Then why come here so late tonight? Surely not just for tea."
"I'm here about Itachi," Douhuan said.
The name weighed heavy in the air. Fugaku sighed deeply. "I heard about what happened at the Shimura compound today. I should never have sent him to the ANBU so young…"
"At first, sending him to the ANBU wasn't wrong," Douhuan said evenly. "But pushing him onto the battlefield so soon—that was reckless."
Fugaku's lips tightened. "You truly think so?"
"Itachi has always been precocious," Douhuan explained. "But you've exposed him to the world's darkness far too early. He thinks deeply, yes, but without the wisdom to support that depth, it will only lead him astray. As a wise man once said: 'Learning without thought is useless. Thinking without learning is dangerous.' That is the path you've placed him on."
Fugaku let out another heavy sigh. "Then it's my failure as a father." His eyes shifted to the door. "Since you're here, come in."
The door slid open. Uchiha Itachi entered, clad still in his ANBU uniform.
"Father. Clan Leader." He bowed respectfully to each.
"No need to be so formal when we're off duty," Douhuan waved him off with a smile.
"Brother Douhuan," Itachi corrected with a nod.
"You heard what I told your brother just now, didn't you?" Fugaku asked.
Itachi lowered his head silently. Fugaku could only sigh. He was never skilled at speaking to his son; the boy's convictions were already shaped, and words alone would not change them.
At last, Itachi broke the silence. "Brother Douhuan, may I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"If one day the clan and the village are forced into war," Itachi said, raising his gaze to meet Douhuan's, "what will you do?"
"With me here, that day will never come," Douhuan answered calmly.
"And if it does?" Itachi pressed.
"Itachi, that's enough!" Fugaku snapped, his voice taut with anger.
But Douhuan remained calm, even smiling. "When I was nine years old, the village sent me to the battlefield. It was only the clan's bloodline that allowed me to survive."
Itachi's eyes hardened. "If that day comes, I will do everything in my power to stop you."
Fugaku's anger boiled over. "Itachi! You dare—" He had long suspected his son's loyalties wavered toward the village, but hearing it so plainly left him shaken.
"It's fine," Douhuan said lightly, raising a hand to ease Fugaku's temper. He turned to Itachi with a knowing smile.
"Itachi, you are the clan's genius. One day, I believe your eyes will awaken the same power as mine. But even you cannot resist the tide of fate. Perhaps you don't yet understand what I mean by that. When you do, you won't trouble yourself with such questions."
With that, Douhuan rose to his feet. "Elder Fugaku, I'll leave you for tonight. Please continue to oversee the Security Department."
He departed into the night. By the time he returned to his own small home, dawn was breaking.
The new residence prepared for the clan leader was still under construction, so for now, Douhuan lived in a cramped thirty-square-meter house. Lighting a lamp, he sat down to carefully maintain his treasured blade.
The weapon was his pride—a chakra-forged sword named Thunderbolt. Every ryo he had saved over the years had gone into its creation, its edge alive with faint arcs of lightning whenever it was drawn.
Without looking up, Douhuan spoke softly into the silence. "Since you're here, why not come out?"
No answer.
He chuckled. "I wonder if one strike would kill you. If it does, you'd better compensate me for the cost of this house." Sparks crackled along his sword's edge.
A figure dropped silently from the rafters—silver hair disheveled, one eye hidden behind a mask and slanted forehead protector.
"Ah, so it's Kakashi-senpai," Douhuan said warmly, sheathing his blade. "I half expected you'd return before long. Come, sit."
He gestured to the opposite side of the table, setting out a neat row of tea cups as the water boiled.
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