Training ground. Makoto Uchiha raised an eyebrow, strolled over, and crouched down next to Sasuke—who was currently sprawled out like roadkill, snoring like a damn baby.
"Told your dumb ass not to get all hyped up and lose your shit. But nah, you never listen."
Izumi Uchiha came jogging up, the breeze kicking up that gardenia scent off her clothes.
She knelt, checked Sasuke real quick (kid was fine, just knocked the hell out), then looked up—and bam, locked eyes with Makoto.
Sunlight hit his pupils just right, making those twin-tomoe Sharingan look straight-up demonic. Eyes sparkling like someone dipped 'em in starlight. Dude's face? Top-tier Uchiha hotness. Even Izumi, who'd seen plenty of pretty boys in the clan, blanked out for a second.
"Girl, you good? You're staring like I just grew a second head."
Izumi snapped out of it, ears going nuclear red. "I-I wasn't!"
Makoto just smirked, scooped Sasuke up, and slung the kid across his back like a sack of potatoes. Little dude was heavier than he looked. Makoto hitched Sasuke's legs higher so the kid wasn't choking him.
Sasuke's head lolled onto Makoto's shoulder, still mumbling in his sleep: "Gotta… make Makoto turn good again… no girls in his heart… drawing the blade makes you a god… his own damn words…"
Tiny fists still clenched like he was ready to throw hands in dreamland.
Izumi walked beside them, sneaking glances at Makoto's back—straight as a board, now carrying his little brother without even being asked. That crimson Sharingan he'd flexed earlier was gone, tucked away again.
The same punk who used to cling to her like a koala was… growing up. Kinda snuck up on her.
Makoto waved off the rest of the clan, threw out a lazy "see ya," and headed home with Sasuke bouncing on his back. Sunset stretched their shadows stupid long across the stone path.
He wasn't rushing. Every few steps he'd pause, free up one hand, and hike Sasuke back up before the kid slid down to his ass.
Breeze carried dust and flower petals past them, pushing their shadows deeper into Uchiha turf.
…
Back home, Makoto yeeted Sasuke onto his bed, dusted his hands off, and bounced. Itachi would deal with the little gremlin when he got back.
Not even five minutes later some clan dude came sprinting up, bowing so low his forehead nearly scraped the porch.
"Lord Makoto, the Great Elder requests your presence. Like, yesterday."
Man was bent over like a damn longbow, voice shaking with straight worship. All because Makoto was a freakin' prodigy. Uchiha don't play—the strong eat, the weak shut the hell up. Bloodline means jack if you're trash. (Looking at you, Hyuga, with your caste system bullshit.)
Makoto stood up slow, stretching. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."
He yelled a quick "headed out" to Mikoto in the kitchen, then followed the guy deeper into clan central.
The closer they got to the elders' zone, the thicker the sandalwood incense got—mixed with that old-wood smell that screams "ancient and pissed off."
Great Elder's place looked basic as hell, same as everyone else's. Just a fat old sophora tree out front throwing shade like it had beef with the sun.
Makoto pushed the door open—creeeak—and the room went dead silent. Bunch of white-haired geezers sitting around sipping tea shut up the second he walked in.
The Great Elder—oldest of the old—looked like he was about to cry happy tears.
This was the same geezer who, half a year ago, tried to strong-arm the clan into making three-year-old Makoto the damn clan head. Motion got shot down hard (because obviously that's insane), but the old man still hadn't let it go.
Clan meetings? Dogshit efficiency. Same topic still being argued six months later. Makoto stopped showing up—they're allergic to progress.
He didn't bother with pleasantries. Dropped straight into the empty seat next to the main spot, kicked one leg over the other, damn near kicked the Third Elder in the shin.
Third Elder's eyebrow twitched, but the Great Elder glare-beamed him into silence.
"Makoto," the old man rasped, "word is… you awakened the two-tomoe Sharingan?"
Fingers rubbed his knee like he was praying.
Makoto didn't answer right away. Just looked down, and boom—crimson flooded his eyes. Two tomoe spun lazy, dripping bad-boy energy.
Lamplight danced on the hooks, making the red look like fresh blood on black silk. Even the side of his face looked sharper, dangerous, stupidly pretty.
"Lucky break," Makoto said, shrugging like it was nothing.
"Good! GOOD! GOOD!" The Great Elder slapped his knee so hard the couch cried.
"Makoto's got Hokage written all over him!"
Room lost its damn mind.
Second Elder stroked his beard, grinning like he just won the lottery. "Hokage" is the Uchiha wet dream. Ever since Madara and Hashirama founded the village, the clan's been dying for one of their own to sit in that hat. Decades of cope—zero results.
Now they had a kid with two-tomoe at this age, who'd already told Danzo to eat shit in public. Hope was sprouting like weeds after rain.
"Anything you need from the clan, name it!" Second Elder leaned in.
Great Elder nodded hard. "Pick any elite you want—bodyguards, teachers, whatever."
Makoto smirked inside. Here it comes.
He leaned back, chair creaking. Cheap-ass tea on the table—same bargain-bin stuff the elder always drank because he gave his whole stipend to struggling clan members. Real one.
Makoto took a sip. Bitter as hell.
"Look, I'm a simple guy. I like money. Lots of it."
He let that hang.
Second Elder blinked, then laughed awkwardly. "All clan funds and tribute go through Fugaku. Just… ask him. If he says yes, we're good."
Makoto's face scrunched like he smelled shit.
He'd asked Fugaku. Multiple times. Every time: "You're too young, you don't need that much money." Man acted like Makoto was gonna blow it all at a strip club the second he turned ten.
So yeah, first order of business when Makoto took over? Demote Fugaku to Chief Toilet Scrubber.
"He's stingy as hell," Makoto muttered. "Won't give me a single ryō."
Room went awkward as fuck.
Second Elder's smile froze. Third Elder opened his mouth, then thought better of privately funding a kid's shopping spree.
Third Elder cleared his throat like a judgmental Karen. "Now see here, young man—money is one of the three ninja taboos! You should be focusing on training, not—"
Makoto tuned him out. You and Fugaku can scrub toilets together, old man. Or I ship you to Amegakure as a spy. Your choice.
Second Elder started yammering to smooth things over. Makoto zoned out, said peace to the Great Elder, and bounced.
Night breeze smelled like sophora flowers. Moonlight spilled over his open palm.
He grinned.
Y'all didn't wanna water the plant when it was small—just gave lip service. Now it's growing and you want the fruit?
Cute.
Better this way—no favors owed. When he burns this place down (figuratively or literally), he won't owe these fossils shit.
Honestly? He was one riot away from packing his bags and ghosting the whole damn village.
Days crawled by lazy, like the old tree by the training ground.
Makoto kept hitting up Izumi for taijutsu lessons—mastered the Big Wood Elbow Drop and the Uchiha Suplex real quick.
Then one morning—dawn barely cracking—boots pounding on stone woke his ass up.
Police force running around the district like headless chickens.
Makoto poked his head out.
"The Cloud Village delegation just rolled in to sign the ceasefire."