Hokuto remained where he stood, the smile on his face growing brighter as the cheers swelled around him.
He enjoyed it—thoroughly.
"Tetsuka. Schedule the clan assembly for tomorrow afternoon. Same place as always—Naka Shrine."
"Yes!"
Tetsuka nodded without the slightest hesitation.
With a casual wave of Hokuto's hand, the crowd finally dispersed.
In the span of a single morning, Hokuto's actions detonated inside the Uchiha like a bomb. The shockwaves were so violent they even began to overshadow the news of Tobirama's death.
Uchiha Hokuto intended to overthrow Clan Head Futada—and seize the seat for himself.
One massive scandal after another.
The Uchiha hadn't had gossip this satisfying in years.
Delicious.
Absolutely delicious.
—
At that very moment…
Inside Futada's residence, the spacious, brightly lit sitting room felt uncomfortably cramped.
More than a dozen Uchiha were packed together, their gazes burning as they stared at the man seated upright at the head of the room.
Uchiha Miyame—Futada's wife—moved between them with a tea tray, pouring cup after cup. The snacks prepared for ordinary guests had already run out, and her expression tightened faintly.
So many people had arrived at once. There simply hadn't been time to prepare.
But no one was here to sip tea and enjoy pastries.
These were Futada's loyalists—men who had long supported him—and right now, they were rattled.
First, Senju Tobirama had been killed during peace negotiations.
They still hadn't fully digested that nightmare of a headline.
And then, as if that weren't enough, Hokuto—Konoha's Police Force captain, the clan's so-called "good Uchiha"—had shattered everyone's expectations and openly launched a challenge for the clan head seat.
Rumor even said the news of Tobirama's death had been spread by Hokuto himself.
They knew Hokuto.
They knew him far too well.
If it weren't for the Sharingan, you could've told people he was a Senju and they'd believe it without blinking.
Futada held a long pipe in his hand, drawing on it steadily—one slow pull after another—trying to soothe the unease grinding at his chest.
It wasn't just his subordinates who were unsettled.
He couldn't make sense of it either.
In barely two days, the world had shifted so violently it felt as if a decade had passed.
Fast enough that Futada caught himself wondering whether he'd grown old.
Was he already falling behind the times?
Just two days ago, he'd been calculating how to squeeze more compensation out of Tobirama once the peace treaty was signed.
This war had drained the clan dry.
Even the privately trained shinobi the clan maintained had been pulled into the battlefield.
Their weapons workshops had supplied Konoha with endless kunai and shuriken—equipment worth staggering sums.
Soldier pills had been consumed by the crate.
All of it was money.
Shinobi fought with their lives hanging off their belts for one simple reason:
Money.
Compensation, reimbursements, long-term contracts—Futada had been preparing for a ruthless negotiation.
And then—
Snap.
Everything vanished.
Tobirama died.
Suddenly. Without warning. Without even giving the village time to adjust.
And the captain Futada himself had nurtured—Uchiha Hokuto—seemed to go mad overnight, tossing aside his usual mild demeanor and attempting to overturn the clan head seat as if it were nothing more than a chair in the road.
The room slowly filled with smoke.
Half of the Uchiha present were old hands at smoking. They'd originally intended to hold back out of courtesy—wait until they left the clan head's home.
But once Futada lit up, restraint collapsed.
If the clan head was smoking, then everyone would smoke.
Tap… inhale…
One Uchiha exhaled a ring of smoke, then finally couldn't endure the silence any longer.
"Clan Head… what do we do about tomorrow's assembly?"
Once one man spoke, the rest piled in immediately.
"Yeah, Clan Head. Hokuto… he looks like he's been planning this for a long time."
"He got Tobirama's death news first. That alone is suspicious."
Futada's eyes narrowed slightly as he recalled Hokuto's past—how starkly different it was from the man now making open threats.
Years of leadership sharpened a man's instincts. After more than a decade as clan head, Futada understood people.
And he understood this:
He hadn't seen Hokuto clearly at all.
Disguise.
Someone really could wear a mask for that long.
That realization sent a faint, chilling admiration through Futada's mind.
So this is what you are, Hokuto.
He didn't bare his fangs until Tobirama died.
He'd been waiting for the moment the Hokage's seat drifted closest within reach.
And it was true—this was the closest the Uchiha had ever come.
Yet Futada still couldn't understand one thing.
On what basis does Hokuto think he can pull this off?
If he was honest, Hokuto was strong.
Terrifyingly strong.
That morning, he'd defeated Kagami with humiliating ease. Within the clan, only a handful could even claim to stand near his level.
Even Futada couldn't say with certainty that he would win against Hokuto.
In terms of raw combat ability…
Hokuto might already be the strongest Uchiha in the village.
But did strength alone make a clan head?
Futada's gaze swept across the room.
Nearly everyone present had awakened the three-tomoe Sharingan.
All were Uchiha jōnin.
A hardened elite core—led by Futada himself.
If they truly wanted to, they could even kill Tobirama.
The price would simply be unbearable—far more than the clan could ever accept.
So what?
What does being able to fight actually prove?
In this world, you didn't survive by strength alone.
You survived through influence.
Through networks.
Through power behind the power.
Futada exhaled slowly.
Without Mangekyō, no Uchiha possessed an overwhelming qualitative advantage over the others. Hokuto wasn't some divine anomaly.
"So," Futada said at last, his voice calm, cutting cleanly through the noise. "Enough. Stop whining."
"Hokuto is a genius of our clan. He's just returned from the battlefield. Pride comes naturally."
"We're family. I'm the clan head you chose after Lord Madara left Konoha."
"If Hokuto believes he's better suited to lead, and he's the one demanding a clan assembly…"
"Then we'll discuss it at the assembly."
He lifted his eyes, the faint chill in them freezing the room.
"We'll let the clan see clearly who is truly fit to sit in the clan head seat."
The Uchiha present felt that cold edge immediately.
This wasn't calm acceptance.
This was Futada's patience sharpening into a blade.
Hokuto was about to suffer.
"Clan Head, you know me. I'll support you no matter what!"
"Same here!"
"That brat Hokuto is far too arrogant. He has no idea how much you've done for the clan."
"He must pay a price!"
Voices rose in rapid, heated vows of loyalty.
Futada raised a hand.
"Enough."
"No matter what, Hokuto is still a genius of the clan. Still a contributor to Konoha. It's youth—recklessness."
He paused, gaze steady, emotions tightly reined in.
"If any of you were his age, with his strength, you'd likely have been even more arrogant."
That was Futada's judgment on how Hokuto should be treated:
Firm—but not crude.
Geniuses earned tolerance. Everywhere.
And in truth… Futada had already considered the future.
When he grew older, when Fugaku matured a little more—
If Fugaku couldn't shoulder the clan's burden, then Hokuto might not be a bad successor.
But not like this.
Not now.
Because there was one line Futada would never allow to be crossed.
He could step down on his own terms.
But he would never tolerate being pushed off the seat.
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