Uchiha Fugaku's killing intent erupted like a breaking dam, threatening to drown the entire compound in violence. The situation teetered on the edge of chaos. Yet, at that critical moment, several figures appeared as if from the shadows, materializing on the periphery of the scene.
Sandaime Hokage Hiruzen Sarutobi. The Sannin: Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Orochimaru. Hatake Sakumo. The Jonin Commander, Namikaze Minato. Even the ever-shadowy Danzō Shimura, along with the heads of the Aburame and Akimichi clans.
A formidable audience had assembled.
"Fugaku, what is the meaning of this?"
Naturally, the elder Hiruzen spoke first, his voice carrying the weight of his office. He looked from the circle of armed Uchiha to the lone boy standing in the wreckage of the patriarch's home. His gaze settled on Fugaku, demanding an explanation.
"Sandaime-sama," Fugaku replied, his voice cutting like ice. "This is an internal matter of the Uchiha clan. No outsider's intervention is required." He pointed a rigid finger at Mikami. "As for this treacherous wretch…"
He turned his full, frigid attention back to Mikami. "I will ask you one last time. Will you take up arms for Konoha in this war?"
"No."
The answer was flat, absolute, and echoed in the sudden silence.
"A fitting answer." A cold, mirthless smile touched Fugaku's lips. "Then I shall execute you for the crime of defying a direct order from your clan head."
In a flash of motion, a storm of shuriken and kunai was unleashed from his sleeves, arcing toward Mikami with lethal precision. The intent was clear: to turn the boy into a pincushion. The method was brutally efficient.
Such a dark clan. Fugaku is no simple man, Hiruzen thought, his eyes narrowing behind his Hokage hat. He signaled subtly to the Sannin and Minato. If Mikami's life was truly in danger, they were to intervene immediately.
To the untrained eye, this was a father punishing a disobedient son. To Hiruzen, it was something far more sinister. He knew the dark secrets of the Uchiha's Kekkei Genkai, the Sharingan. He knew of the two known paths to awakening its ultimate form, the Mangekyō Sharingan: to kill one's closest bond… or to witness that bond's death.
Does he intend to kill his own son to open his eyes? Madness!
A flicker of contempt crossed Hiruzen's wise old eyes. A man like Fugaku, so cold and ambitious, was dangerous regardless. If he believed awakening the Mangekyō required the death of a loved one… what atrocity wouldn't he commit? He could even create an army of such monsters.
The Sannin and Minato caught Hiruzen's meaningful glance and gave nearly imperceptible nods.
---
"What use do I have for this scrap metal?" Mikami's voice rang out, laced with icy mockery. He hadn't moved. "Are you an idiot, Uchiha Fugaku?"
"You—!"
Fugaku's face contorted with rage. The sheer, dismissive insult in the boy's tone—What are you, stupid?—was more infuriating than any curse. He couldn't even retort in kind without sounding like a petulant child. A wave of bitter, suffocating frustration welled up inside him, fueling his murderous intent until it was all-consuming. All his resentment had a single target.
"Since you are so eager to die, I shall oblige you!"
His mind, clouded by fury, focused on one thing only: eradicating this thorn in his side, this living embodiment of his shame. The heat of his anger manifested literally.
Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu! (Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique)
A colossal sphere of searing flame roared from his mouth, scorching the very air as it hurtled toward Mikami.
"Such parlor tricks are useless against me! Kusanagi no Tsurugi!"
A flash of gold.
SCHIIIING!
The legendary sword swept forward in a perfect arc. The overwhelming fireball met the divine blade and was cleanly, effortlessly bisected, the two halves dissipating into harmless embers on either side of Mikami.
Silence.
Absolute, stunned silence.
Deflecting a Gōkakyū was one thing. Slicing it in half like overripe fruit was something else entirely. It was a stark, brutal lesson in the face of overwhelming power: all technique is futile.
"Uchiha Fugaku," Mikami's voice cut through the quiet, cold and clear. He raised the Kusanagi Sword, its golden light casting his youthful features in an ethereal, intimidating glow. "Let me be clear. I came here today for one purpose: to shatter your pride. To grind your dignity into the dirt."
A terrifying, palpable aura began to emanate from him. It was overbearing, domineering, and carried the sharp, metallic scent of bloodshed. Though his body was young, the aura was that of a seasoned, war-tempered blade, finally unsheathed. It forced the onlookers to avert their eyes, as if staring directly at a naked sun.
"This boy…" Jiraiya murmured, his usual levity gone, replaced by a deep, serious awe. "He will never be a mere fish in Konoha's pond. These waters cannot hold him."
A decade of scorn and suffering had allowed Mikami to see the ugly truth of the world, to understand its cold, merciless nature. He had grasped the true essence of the shinobi path. In this world, only absolute power commanded respect and obedience.
Everything else was just noise.