The atmosphere in the circular arena felt brazen, as if someone had dropped the temperature by twenty degrees.Kyojiro's black, dull eyes looked up—unimpressed, uninterested in the man before him. The Third Raikage… so what? With the way my body feels right now, I doubt I can do anything.
He tried to sense inward, to confirm whether the man's words were true. Chakra cuffs… they exist. High-level tech, but they do.And just as he feared, he couldn't feel even a flicker of chakra within. It was as if someone had drained his sprawling lake, leaving behind an endless abyss.
His eyes narrowed, his heart heavy."What do you want?" he asked, his voice gruff and low.
He swallowed again—his throat felt like sandpaper. How many days has it been since my loss?
The Third Raikage, unfazed by Kyojiro's defiance, spoke."I see, you're a man of few words, huh? Good for me."
He crouched down, his rugged face meeting the fiery-haired ninja at eye level."My boys vouched for you. Said you were an honorable warrior. So here's my offer—" he extended a massive hand, his tone steady, "come to Kumo, boy. Become one of our own."
The Raikage wasn't a simple man. His sharp eyes flicked between Kyojiro's worn figure and the hopeful gaze of his son, A. A quiet sigh escaped his chest.This is such a goldmine of an opportunity. The Uchiha bloodline… in our hands.
Yet he shook his head. But if my naive son wishes for him to be treated with respect, I might as well try.Perhaps it was his greatest mistake as a leader—but at that moment, he wasn't just the Raikage of Kumo. He was a father.
Besides, his actions weren't driven solely by sentiment. If Konoha learns of this, they'll pour their full firepower on us.The Third Great Ninja War was built on balance—each village holding its ground with equal might. That was why Konoha defended rather than conquered: because they were simply that strong.
The Uchiha clan was one of the village's pillars. If anything happened to one of them, the consequences would be catastrophic.
If it were me, the Raikage mused, I'd make sure the Lightning Art of Kumo never left this land.
His gaze returned to Kyojiro. The young man looked rugged, his face pale and eyes sunken. Not broken—but tired.
The Raikage knew instantly what kind of man he was dealing with. That look in his eyes said it all.
"I refuse," Kyojiro said flatly.
No declaration of revenge. No shouting. No struggle. Just quiet resolve.
Kyojiro held a confident facade, but deep down, the wound of defeat still ached.
The Raikage's deep voice rumbled again."It seems my sons were right about one thing… your eyes—they tell me that no matter what we offer, you won't bend."
Wisdom filled his tone as he continued, "You do realize what comes next, don't you? You are in Kumo. And you are our prisoner."
Kyojiro stayed silent for a moment, then raised his head defiantly."Bring whatever you can," he said—a challenge, sharp and deliberate.
The Raikage turned toward his assistant. "Throw him in the cell."
The next few moments blurred together. As the guards dragged Kyojiro away, the Raikage's eyes lingered on the young man. A quiet acceptance settled over him.You seem like a fine shinobi… unfortunately, you'll spend the rest of your life in our cells.
Turning to his son, he said, "I told you he wouldn't agree."
A grimaced. "You were right, Father. He doesn't seem the type to switch allegiances." His tone softened, hopeful. "But… I would still ask you not to mistreat him. He deserves that much respect."
The Raikage nodded. "I agree. But remember this, son—one day, when you are Raikage, you can't afford to make decisions based on respect alone. As your father, I've heeded your words. Kumo will not make use of Uchiha blood. We don't need those freaks in the first place."
His voice was a low thrum in the air—cold but heavy with meaning.
And yet, behind those words, his eyes hardened. Unfortunately, we'll still take something from him.
…..
Kyojiro looked around his cell. It was far worse than he imagined. Damp walls with peeling paint, air so stale it felt like the place hadn't seen life in years.
Every sound he made came back to him, echoing faintly. It felt as if the world itself had been cut off.
He could barely feel his hands or feet—they'd gone numb long ago. And even if he could move, he suspected something was wrong with his chakra pathways.
Alone at last, he decided to test it—his trump card. The one thing that had always given him strength beyond measure.Full Concentration Breathing.
He inhaled—and instantly broke into a violent coughing fit. His lungs screamed, burning from the effort. His eyes watered, his chest tightened.
He gritted his teeth. I see… it's not exactly a chakra issue.
Nobody told him—but deep down, he already knew. His instincts whispered the truth. If I had total concentration breathing active… these cuffs wouldn't have been able to hold me.
Before he could think further, a dull sound rang through the cell.It echoed across the stone walls, warping the space around him. The darkness let him see barely a meter ahead, yet his ears perked up.
The cell door creaked open—light spilling into the dark.
And with it, a voice entered.
"So these are the eyes granted to me."
....