Fugaku's mood darkened as he listened to Zankuro's rant.
There was truth in what he said—
Fugaku couldn't deny that.
But saying it out loud, here of all places, in front of wounded shinobi and exhausted civilians, would only crush what little morale remained in the camp.
He tried to keep his temper in check.
But he failed.
"What do you think we should do?" Fugaku asked, his voice slow and sharp, each word clear as he spoke.
"And if you don't have a solution, then keep your mouth shut, Zankuro."
Silence followed.
No one had an answer.
No one could fix the situation they were trapped in.
Zankuro stiffened.
Setsuri's earlier treatment had already left him irritated, and Fugaku's words pushed him over the edge.
He looked straight at the clan head.
"Clan head," Zankuro said, his tone tight, "who said I don't have a solution?"
Fugaku turned his attention fully toward him. Uzuku did the same, surprise flashing across his face.
"And what is it?" Uzuku asked, watching Zankuro closely, unsure whether to expect a sensible reply or madness in rage.
Zankuro met their eyes, his gaze sharp.
"Leave the battlefield. Go back to the village."
For a moment, no one reacted.
Then the camp erupted into stunned silence.
Fugaku stared at Zankuro, mouth slightly open, wondering if he'd misheard—
Or if exhaustion was finally playing tricks on him.
Setsuri froze mid-movement, her eyes locked on Zankuro as if she couldn't believe he was serious.
"Zankuro, have you lost your mind?" Uzuku shouted.
He turned, his anger spilling out as he gestured around the camp—toward the injured Uchiha, the civilians, the exhausted shinobi listening to every word.
"Do you want the whole ninja world to call the Uchiha clan cowards? Refugees who ran away from the battlefield?"
A shinobi leaving the battlefield was unheard of.
You either won.
Or you died.
Or you lost everything.
Zankuro didn't look away.
He met Uzuku's furious stare, seeing another side of the usually easygoing captain that people never saw.
"Captain," Zankuro said quietly, "we're not leaving the battlefield willingly."
He paused.
"The situation is forcing us out. The village is forcing us out. Can't you see that?"
His voice lowered, heavy with exhaustion.
"Or should we stay here and wait to die… praying the village will send reinforcements?"
A bitter smile crossed his face.
"They haven't even sent us supplies. Not after all this time."
"And you still have hope," Zankuro said loudly, as if daring anyone to deny it.
Uzuku and Fugaku both felt the weight of his words.
They made sense.
Even so, neither of them could accept it.
"The Uchiha will never leave the battlefield," Fugaku said, his gaze steady on Zankuro.
After a moment, he added, "I'll send more messages to the village. I'll pressure them for reinforcements."
He glanced at Uzuku.
The captain gave a short nod.
Zankuro's expression hardened.
The irritation he'd been holding back finally showed.
"And what exactly will you say?" he snapped.
" Oh, dear Hokage-sama, our clan is dying a little faster than expected. Please take pity on us.'"
His lips twisted into a mocking smile.
"'Your ever-grateful Fugaku Uchiha, loyal clan head of your obedient Uchiha clan.' Like that?"
A strange reaction rippled through the camp.
Some of the Uchiha standing nearby looked uncomfortable.
A few let out a quiet, surprised look before quickly controlling themselves.
Setsuri, standing beside Zankuro, let out a brief laugh as well, then covered her mouth, regaining control.
Even Uzuku felt it—
awkward, sharp, and wrong—
But the mockery still landed.
Fugaku's face slowly flushed red.
Embarrassment burned first, then anger, hot and sharp, rising behind his ears.
"Zankuro," Uzuku said firmly, stepping in, "watch your tone."
"Captain," Zankuro said, his voice lower now, strained but steady, "we're begging."
He looked straight at Uzuku.
"We're begging the village for our own rights. We're fighting for the village, aren't we? And yet we have to ask—
again and again—
for basic supplies. Things we need to survive on the battlefield."
His words settled heavily over the camp.
No one spoke.
People listened.
And thought.
"Clan head," Setsuri said, stepping forward, "Zankuro's tone is wrong. The way he speaks is wrong."
She paused, then continued.
"But what he's saying… isn't."
She met Fugaku's eyes without backing down.
"We are not beggars. We shouldn't have to ask every time for what's necessary."
Zankuro glanced at her, surprised—for just a moment.
"Yes, clan head," someone said.
"She's right."
"We're not wrong."
Voices rose one by one.
The Uchiha around them began to speak up, frustration spilling out now that it had a shape.
They all knew it.
The village wasn't helping.
It was delaying the resource and letting things rot.
"Enough."
Fugaku's shout cut through the noise.
The camp fell silent.
"I am the commander here," he said, anger tight in his voice.
"And I will decide what is right… and what is wrong."
Fugaku stood up, his chest rising a little faster than before from anger.
For a moment, no one spoke.
But the silence didn't calm him.
It pressed in as the crowd stared at him.
He could feel them watching—waiting.
His jaw tightened.
One hand curled slowly at his side, nails biting into his palm.
"You think I don't know that?" Fugaku said, his voice low, rougher than he intended.
"I don't need to be reminded of what we need to do?"
No one answered.
Setsuri noticed it then—
the way his gaze wavered, just for a second, before fixing itself again—
The way he avoided looking at the wounded shinobi lying nearby.
"I have written to the village," Fugaku continued.
"More times than I can count."
His voice rose, sharp, then dipped again as he forced it back under control.
"I have asked, argued, threatened. I have done everything that can be done myself."
A breath.
Slow.
Measured.
"But abandoning the battlefield?" His eyes snapped back to Zankuro.
"That is not an option."
Zankuro opened his mouth.
Fugaku raised a hand sharply.
"Enough," he said again—
But this time, it wasn't a command alone. It was a restraint.
For a brief instant, something flickered across his face.
Doubt.
Then it was gone.
"We hold the line," Fugaku said, turning away."That is my order."
Silence followed.
It was the first time many of them had seen Fugaku like this—
no argument, no justification.
He hadn't tried to explain himself.
He had used his authority to crush the discussion.
Uzuku watched as Fugaku turned and left the medical camp, his steps sharp with anger.
But Uzuku understood.
Fugaku wasn't walking away in victory. He was walking away because he had no other option left.
Uzuku let out a slow sigh, then spoke, his voice raised just enough for everyone to hear.
"I know," he said.
"What's happening isn't just a small mistake by the village."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"There's a chance the higher-ups are ignoring us."
The camp stirred at that.
"Captain," Zankuro said, looking straight at him, "so what now? Do we ignore our people getting sacrificed here because of a lack of resources and people?"
Uzuku shook his head.
"No."
He looked around at the gathered Uchiha.
"But for now, we stay united. We wait for the village's reply."
His tone hardened slightly.
"And I promise you—if the next message brings no answer… then we'll decide what to do next."
Uzuku looked at Zankuro.
Zankuro gave a small nod as Uzuku turned and left the medical camp.
The shinobi inside began to talk among themselves.
Some argued quietly, while others thought deeply about what had just happened, wondering if there was truth in what had been said.
The civilian shinobi felt it too.
Remembering the village's past attitude toward the Uchiha, they couldn't ignore the possibility that the Mist battlefield was being overlooked by the village's higher-ups knowingly.
A troubling thought began to form.
Does that mean we're being ignored as well?
Are we being sacrificed for nothing?
Some civilians' faces grew grave as the idea settled in.
A seed of doubt had been planted inside their heart—
about the village leadership, the higher-ups, and even the Hokage.
Zankuro, still being treated by Setsuri, quietly watched the expressions around the camp.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
Setsuri noticed.
She glanced at him, a hint of suspicion in her eyes.
Zankuro felt her gaze and quickly let the smile fade, his face twisting into pain.
"Ss—Setsuri," he hissed, "can't you use a little less force?"
She blinked, coming back to herself.
"Sorry," Setsuri said, and continued using her healing jutsu.
Uzuku paused after leaving the camp.
He looked back once—
at the medical tents—
then toward Fugaku's camp.
He let out a quiet sigh.
"The future of the clan depends on this," Uzuku said, staring up at the night sky and its scattered stars.
His voice dropped, barely more than a breath.
"…depends on them."
Far from the camp, several figures moved swiftly through the darkness.
Their eyes glowed red—
Sharingan active—
as they raced toward an unknown destination.
There was only one clear difference.
None of them wore the headband of any village.
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