The birthing chamber was steeped in the hush of early dawn. Shadows clung to the corners, softened only by the muted glow of lanterns that flickered against pale walls. The scent of antiseptic herbs hung thick in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the faint perfume of the lavender compresses used to soothe the mother's pain.
Hana Uchiha lay exhausted on the bedding, her dark hair plastered to her face with sweat. Her arms were wrapped protectively around the swaddled infant at her chest, the steady rhythm of her breathing broken by sharp, instinctive whispers whenever the baby stirred.
Beside her, Satoru Uchiha stood tall, though fatigue dragged at his shoulders. His eyes—hard and watchful—remained fixed on the door, as though he expected someone to arrive at any moment.
And arrived, they did.
The door slid open with a whisper, but the sound was enough to silence the room. Every nurse froze mid-step, heads lowering automatically in deference. Even the crackle of the lanterns seemed to hush as a single figure entered.
Fugaku Uchiha.
The Clan Head's presence filled the chamber like an iron weight pressing down on every chest. His dark eyes, sharp as tempered steel, swept over the scene—mother, father, child, nurses, and elders. His posture was rigid, his expression carved into the cold mask of authority that rarely betrayed emotion. The faintest crease of disappointment or approval in his brow could seal a man's fate, and every person in the room knew it.
Satoru straightened instantly, bowing low, though his jaw clenched tight. Hana held her son tighter to her chest, her instincts spiking with sudden unease. She had expected the elders to send word. She had not expected Fugaku to come himself, not so soon.
"Clan Head," Satoru greeted formally, his voice controlled but edged with tension.
Fugaku's gaze shifted to him, unreadable. "Satoru. Hana." His tone was not congratulatory, nor dismissive. It was measured—precisely balanced between acknowledgment and the reminder of duty. "I have been told the child has shown… promise."
The nurses, still bent low, did not breathe. Hana stiffened, her arms tightening again around the bundle of cloth.
The room shifted, everyone waiting for his judgment.
Fugaku's gaze fell on the swaddled infant. "An unusual display. One Tomoe at birth." His tone carried no warmth, no pride. Only the weight of calculation. "The clan will have high expectations for him."
Satoru's jaw and fists clenched as he spoke in a measured tone. "With all due respect, Fugaku-sama, he is still only a new born. He is my son who isn't even a day old yet."
Fugaku turned his head slightly, his gaze fixing on them. Not cruel, not kind—simply the stare of a man who spoke for the will of the clan itself. "Children born with power," he said, his voice as firm and final as a decree, "are not given the luxury of innocence."
The words cut through Hana like a blade. She looked down at her son, pressing a trembling kiss against his forehead as if to shield him from the meaning.
Hana's breath hitched. She clutched Kaien tighter, as though the words alone could strip him from her arms. "Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "He's still just a baby. He hasn't even said his first word, hasn't even begun to live his life yet. Please Don't—don't take this from him."
Satoru stepped forward, careful but firm. "My son is still human. He bleeds, cries, and laughs as any child does. Should the clan strip that from him before he has even learned to speak?"
Fugaku regarded his words, expressionless, though his silence was more cutting than cruelty. At last he spoke. "If he carries such potential, he will not be raised in ignorance. The clan cannot risk it." His eyes finally looked at Satoru's, hard as tempered steel. "You understand what is at stake."
Satoru back straightened, meeting the clan head's gaze despite the tension gnawing at his chest. "I understand duty, Fugaku-sama. But duty does not erase blood. He is our son first. Do not demand we give him up as if he were a weapon forged by your hand."
The faintest crease formed at Fugaku's brow, not of anger but of cold dismissal. "You speak as though they are separate. However, Blood, duty, and weapons are one. That is the Uchiha way."
The words left the room silent, like the echo of a blade being sheathed.
Then Fugaku stepped closer.
"Show him to me."
Hana hesitated, her grip instinctively tightening. Her entire being screamed no. But the clan head's request was not one that could be refused—not without consequences. Slowly, reluctantly, she extended her arms, laying the child across the crook of her elbows so Fugaku could look upon him.
Kaien stirred.
Inside the infant body, Michael's mind remained restless. The void of warmth he had clung to earlier was gone, replaced by a suffocating awareness. A pressure in the air, thick and heavy, coiled around him. His instincts sharpened, honed by six years of combat in another world.
Something about the man standing above him was wrong—predatory. The way a wolf stares at a deer, or a general weighs whether a soldier is a tool worth keeping.
He tried to keep still, but the pressure pressed down harder, suffocating him. Against his better judgment, his eyes fluttered open.
Pain.
It ripped through his skull like molten glass. His vision blurred, then sharpened unnaturally. Shapes became sharper than they should be. Colours bled into something more vivid, more alive. And then—blue. Faint currents of chakra threaded through the bodies around him, pulsing with life.
Kaien's eyes—Michael's eyes—burned.
The faint swirl of a Sharingan flickered to life. Just one Tomoe, incomplete and raw, but there nonetheless.
Gasps echoed through the chamber. Nurses shrank back, wide-eyed. The elders stiffened, their breaths catching as if struck. Hana froze, horror and awe warring on her face. Satoru's lips parted in shock.
But Fugaku… Fugaku only looked.
His face betrayed nothing, not even the faintest flicker of surprise. Yet the aura around him deepened, thickened, like a storm gathering beneath the surface of a calm sea.
Kaien felt it—felt him. That crushing chakra presence pressing down on him like a hand over his throat. His soldier's instincts screamed: predator. Predator. Predator. His heart thudded painfully against his tiny chest.
Fugaku's eyes narrowed slightly, just enough for those with the courage to notice. He had seen enough.
"The clan will train him carefully," Fugaku said finally, his voice even, unwavering.
Satoru's hand curled into a fist, but he remained silent. Hana looked down at her baby, whispering silent prayers into his dark hair.
Fugaku straightened, his decision as cold and final as stone. "At age four, his training will begin. Earlier than tradition, yes. But necessary. The clan cannot ignore what has manifested here today."
The declaration struck like thunder.
Hana flinched back, clutching Kaien tighter to her chest. Her face crumpled, tears spilling unbidden as she shook her head in horror. "No—please, don't do this! He's still a baby. He hasn't even said his first word. Don't take him from me so soon—please!"
Her voice cracked, desperation raw and trembling.
Satoru's lips trembled. "Four? He's still—he'll still be a child."
Fugaku did not soften, nor did he raise his voice. "Your son belongs to the clan before he belongs to you. He carries the eyes of our ancestors. That gift will not be squandered."
Hana's sobs broke the heavy silence, each one cutting deeper than a blade.
Satoru's fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to shout, to defy—but he knew the futility of it. One glance at Fugaku's cold, unflinching eyes was enough.
Satoru then looked over to his wife, sorrow shadowing his expression. He understood. They both did. Their son was no longer fully theirs. He had been claimed by something larger, colder, unyielding.
Suddenly, Fugaku turned to leave, the silence left in his wake was suffocating. His footsteps echoed like the march of fate itself. Yet at the doorway, he paused, his voice drifting back into the room.
"We will let you keep him for now"
"But remember"
"The clan has high expectations for him and they will watch him closely."
"You will do well not to forget it."
And with that, he was gone.
The moment his presence vanished, the air seemed to lighten, though the weight of his words lingered like a shadow. The nurses began to breathe again, elders muttered uneasily among themselves, but Hana and Satoru heard none of it.
Hana held Kaien close, her lips pressed fiercely to his forehead, whispering through her tears. "You're my son before you're theirs. Don't forget that."
Michael—Kaien—listened in silence, his tiny hand curling unconsciously against her chest. And behind his seemingly innocent, infant gaze Michael's mind simmered.
Every word, every threat, every desperate plea from his mother etched itself into him like fire on steel.
His mind, sharp and bitter, finally made up his mind: 'They see me as theirs already. A tool. A weapon, A puppet. Just like they tried with Itachi.'
His heart pounded, not with fear, but with a quiet, simmering resolve.
'They want a tool, a weapon'
'But that will never happen because'
'I won't be their tool'
'I won't be their weapon'
'I'll be my own, stronger than any of them could imagine'
And with that vow, the game had begun.
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Hey everyone! I just wanted everyone to know that this is my first fanfic / novel and it may not be of the best quality. However, I will put my full effort into this fanfic!
I plan on working on it for as long as I can before my exams start.
And if you have any ideas about my story, or want some things in it Comment it and let me know and ill see what I can do because any feedback is greatly appreciated and it will only help me from here on out!
So please add this to your collection because I will be adding 2 chapters every 2 - 3 days
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