The midday sun over the Hyūga compound was a diffused, gentle thing, filtered through the meticulously pruned branches of ancient pines and the sheer, white paper of countless shōji screens.
An atmosphere of profound, practised calm permeated the space, a silence so deep it felt less like an absence of sound and more like a tangible presence. The air was cool and carried the faint, clean scents of sandalwood, tatami, and distant incense.
A young Hyūga maiden, her kimono rustling with a sound like falling leaves, entered a receiving room, her eyes downcast in the prescribed manner. She placed a lacquered tray upon a low, polished tea table set close to the tatami floor, the click of the ceramic on wood startlingly loud in the hush.
Two steaming cups of pale green tea sent up delicate, aromatic spirals of vapour. She bowed, a perfect, seamless dip from the waist, and retreated backwards without a word, the sliding door whispering shut behind her with a soft shick.
The room was a portrait of austere elegance. Sunlight fell in sharp, rectangular blocks across the matted floor, illuminating the dancing dust motes. Cushions were arranged for formal seiza.
At the head of the table, Hiashi Hyūga knelt with impeccable posture, his white eyes—the legendary Byakugan currently dormant—as pale and unreadable as moonstones. He was a young man carved from marble and tradition, his hair falling in severe lines around a face that betrayed nothing.
"Fugaku-sama," Hiashi intoned, his voice a low, measured baritone that matched the room's serenity. "You honour our home. It is rare that we receive guests of such stature. Especially in these early days of my own… tenure."
The reference to his recent ascension as Clan Head, similar to Fugaku's, following his father's retirement after the war's strain, was subtle, a mere brushstroke of context. The rarity of such visits as Hiashi implied was a facade both of them understood.
Fugaku Uchiha, kneeling on the opposite cushion, offered a shallow nod. Internally, he scoffed. 'You think you are sidelined? You have no idea what sidelined looks like, Hiashi.'
The Hyūga, for all their internal strife and brutal hierarchy, remained Konoha's unparalleled scouts and close-combat specialists. Their influence was woven into the village's security apparatus, unchallenged. The Uchiha's Police Force, by contrast, was a gilded cage, a symbol of trust that functioned as a cordon sanitaire. Hiashi's welcome felt less like hospitality and more like a curator acknowledging a visitor to a museum that the Hyūga had built.
Fugaku lifted his cup, the porcelain faintly warm against his skin. He took a deliberate sip, the tea bitter and bracing on his tongue. He then offered a smile that didn't reach his eyes, a practised flex of facial muscles.
"The honour is mine, Hiashi-sama. We find ourselves in similar positions, do we not? Stewards of our clans in the fragile peace that follows the storm. It binds us, in a way."
His tone was polite, measured, and each word placed with the care of a shogi piece. The camaraderie was as false as the smile, a thin veneer over deep-seated historical rivalry.
Hiashi's pale eyes watched him over the rim of his own cup. He saw through the act instantly. The Uchiha's infamous superiority complex, their belief in the Sharingan's destiny, was a scent in the air to him, subtle but unmistakable.
Fugaku was trying to frame them as equals, comrades-in-arms of leadership. The presumption was irritating, a fly buzzing against the windowpane of Hyūga decorum. Hiashi resisted the urge to let his Byakugan veins flare, keeping his expression as smooth as the table's lacquer.
Adopting a tone of false, gentle friendliness, Hiashi set his cup down with a soft clink. "Indeed. The burdens are… considerable. Which makes your visit all the more noteworthy. What matter brings the busy head of the Uchiha clan to my quiet courtyard today?"
The politeness was a needle sheathed in silk.
Fugaku mirrored the action, placing his cup on the tray with a more definitive tap. The pleasantries had reached their limit.
"A matter of mutual advantage. I have come to ask for your help, Hiashi-sama."
A flicker of genuine interest, sharp and quick, passed behind Hiashi's milky eyes. Help? From a Uchiha? It was unprecedented.
"My help? In what regard?"
"Regarding Uzumaki Renjiro."
The name landed in the tranquil room, disrupting its carefully maintained equilibrium. Fugaku let it hang for a moment before continuing.
"His contributions during the war were… significant. I assume you are aware."
Hiashi's nod was slow, deliberate. "Aware? He saved the lives of several Hyūga branch members during the retreat from the Stone border. His intervention was decisive." He paused, his next words chosen to cut. "Many in my clan believed, given his power and his unique heritage, that he was being groomed as the next Uchiha clan head. A natural successor."
A tiny, throbbing vein appeared at Fugaku's temple, a betrayal of the fury that spiked within him. It was a direct insult. A reminder that Fugaku's ascension was not the only path.
'This bastard.'
Fugaku forced a low, rough chuckle, swallowing the anger like bitter medicine. "His talents on the battlefield are indeed undeniable. Were he a decade older, with more experience in clan governance, such a discussion might have merit. The Uchiha, as you know, value proven merit and powerful talent. Bloodline purity alone does not dictate our leadership." The jab was deliberate, aimed straight at the heart of the Hyūga's rigid Main and Branch family system, a system that had recently torn Hiashi's own family apart.
Hiashi's face darkened. The placid mask cracked. The implication was not just an insult; it was an ideological attack. The Byakugan's veins, tracers of powerful chakra, pulsed to life around his eyes with a faint, electric fizz, etching stark blue pathways against his skin. The serene atmosphere was shattered.
"You dare," Hiashi's voice dropped, losing all pretence of courtesy, becoming as cold and hard as river stone. "You sit in my house, drink my tea, and preach to me about merit while your clan hoards its kekkei genkai behind walls of suspicion? Your 'valuing of talent' is a convenient fiction when it suits you, bastard. Do not insult my intelligence with your hypocritical lectures."
Fugaku didn't flinch. Instead, a small, cold smirk touched his lips. The veined Byakugan staring him down was a more honest reaction than any polite deflection.
"There it is. I wondered how long the performance would last. Very well. Let us speak plainly, then." He leaned forward slightly, the ceremonial pretence fully discarded.
"I am proposing Renjiro for the position of Jonin Commander of Konoha."
Hiashi's activated Byakugan didn't waver, but his anger was momentarily supplanted by sceptical calculation. "Jonin Commander? And how, precisely, does this concern the Hyūga?"
"Do not play coy," Fugaku shot back, his own voice gaining an edge. "It concerns the balance of power within the village, which concerns every clan. A strong, young dojutsu user in a position of military authority benefits all of us who rely on our hereditary gifts. It checks the influence of those who would see such gifts as merely… tools, or threats."
He was speaking of the village's more conservative, anti-clan factions, and they both knew it.
Hiashi let out a soft, humourless chuckle. He reached for his tea again, the Byakugan's veins receding as he regained his icy composure. He took a slow, deliberate sip.
"You claim he is too young, too untethered by his Uzumaki ties, for the responsibility of leading your own clan. Yet now you say he is suitable to lead all of Konoha's jonin? Your logic is inconsistent, Fugaku. It smells of desperation."
Fugaku's expression shifted into one of cold, ruthless pragmatism. The smirk vanished. "As clan head, his loyalties would be divided, his unusual heritage a constant source of internal debate. As Jonin Commander, his loyalty is to the village, and his power is a demonstrable asset for all. The Hokage controls the leash. It is a more… stable arrangement. And it places a dojutsu user one step from the village's highest council. That is a precedent that serves the Hyūga as much as the Uchiha."
"The Uchiha and the Hyūga have never walked the same path," Hiashi countered, his tone frigid. "Our politics diverge. Our histories are separate. Even our eyes see the world in fundamentally different ways. You seek an alliance that has no foundation."
Fugaku's smirk returned, wider now, carrying a note of finality. He leaned back, his dark Uchiha eyes meeting Hiashi's pale Hyūga gaze across the steam of their forgotten tea.
"On that, you are mistaken, Hiashi-sama," Fugaku said, his voice calm, clear, and utterly sure. "We do share a common enemy. One who sees both our dojutsu not as blessings, but as threats to be controlled, harvested, or eliminated."
"And who is that unfortunate person?" Hiashi inquired.
Fugaku was silent, letting the silence gather for one beat, two before he finally said," One Danzō Shimura."
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