Chapter 70 — Uchiha? Uchiha!
The past few days had been nothing short of blissful for Minamoto Ren.
Mornings were spent studying ninjutsu, reading, or practicing whenever inspiration struck. By afternoon, he would drag Minato out for a couple of drinks, then stumble home drunk in the middle of the night—where Tsunade waited for him beneath the covers.
Ah, Ren, how could you allow yourself such indulgence? Weren't you supposed to seize the Hokage's seat and bring down Shimura Danzō?
…Well, guilty thoughts aside, he hadn't spent the whole time idle. He had already drawn up training plans for Nawaki and Hyūga Haining, and he'd even discussed redecorating the house with Tsunade.
Living alone, her place was fine as it was—but with him planning to move in, some remodeling was only natural. Which was why, today, Ren was out on the street, buying paint, speaking with contractors, and making arrangements.
But fate had other plans.
The red-and-white fan emblazoned across a dark blue robe left no room for doubt—the Uchiha clan crest. And whenever that crest appeared in public, street vendors scattered into their shops like frightened birds.
The Uchiha—aloof, heavy-handed, and feared. As the heads of Konoha's police force, they were notorious for their harsh methods in handling civilian disputes. The resentment simmering in the villagers' hearts was no secret.
They had lost the people's trust, lost political standing, and yet still wielded terrifying power. Truly, the Uchiha downfall had been inevitable.
"Lord Hannya."
An Uchiha ninja approached Ren, bowing respectfully.
Ren narrowed his eyes, removing the pencil tucked behind his ear. The contractor he had been chatting with only moments before now looked pale, terror written across his face at the sight of the Uchiha.
"Here's the address," Ren told the man, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "Do the work today—I'll settle the bill tomorrow."
Only then did he turn, his expression cooling as he faced the Uchiha.
"Uchiha? What business do you have with me?"
The ninja sensed his impatience and bowed even lower. For one of the Uchiha—so notoriously proud—to humble himself like this spoke volumes. But he wasn't from the hardliners. No, this was a dove among hawks.
And Ren? To the doves, he wasn't just an ally—he was an investment.
Yes, after surviving countless battles and crises, Ren had become a force within Konoha too significant to ignore.
"Lord Ren," the Uchiha said cautiously, "our young clan head wishes to meet with you—to discuss certain… important matters."
Ren could tell immediately—the man represented a weak hand.
The young clan head? That would be Uchiha Fugaku. And what, exactly, did he think he could accomplish with Ren?
"Not interested." Ren flatly refused, forming a seal as if to leave on the spot.
"Please, wait! Lord Ren, I beg you—this truly concerns something of great importance. And… and only you and Lord Minato can help us!"
The Uchiha's composure cracked as he reached forward, almost desperate enough to grab Ren's hand.
At the mention of Minato's name, Ren's interest flickered. The original timeline hadn't offered much detail about ties between the Uchiha and Minato. So why now?
"You've got thirty seconds," Ren said at last, though his body remained angled toward the street, foot poised as though ready to walk away at any moment.
Ren truly had no desire to get involved with the Uchiha at this point in time.
Since the loss of Uchiha Kagami, the clan had grown increasingly volatile and reckless—yet they still possessed terrifying power. Aligning with them now would only hand Danzō an excuse to attack him, which could easily lead to his own marginalization.
After all, when it came to the Sealed Scroll, the Hokage's direct line could peruse its techniques freely. But if you bore the name Uchiha? Forget it—you wouldn't even be allowed a single page.
The Uchiha messenger swallowed hard, sweat trickling down his forehead. He gathered his courage and blurted out:
"During the clan assembly, the Eighth Elder said things he shouldn't have… and those words reached the Hokage's ears. We were hoping you—or Lord Minato—could step forward and clarify that not all voices within the Uchiha are so extreme. That there are still—"
"Time's up. I'm leaving. Go ask Minato." Ren waved him off.
What a joke. Some hawk within the clan had given a fiery speech, Sarutobi Hiruzen overheard it, and now they wanted him to smooth things over? To play the righteous middleman?
What was he supposed to say? That there are good Uchiha, just… not many?
Ridiculous. He'd sooner run than get dragged into this mess.
Forming a seal, Ren vanished in a flicker, bucket of paint in hand, leaving the Uchiha no chance to speak further.
---
"So… they all refused."
Uchiha Fugaku sat cross-legged, listening to the report with a long, weary sigh.
Both Ren and Minato had turned him down.
Why was it that every time the Uchiha extended an olive branch, others recoiled as though it were a venomous snake? Was the problem truly with the Uchiha… or had the village already decided to shut them out?
He couldn't make sense of it. Fugaku was still young, not yet the clan head. Expecting someone his age to unravel the deep contradictions between the Uchiha and the village was far too much.
"If they refuse, then so be it. As for how the Hokage chooses to deal with the Eighth Elder… let him discuss it with Father."
After pondering for so long, Fugaku could only offer such a lukewarm, noncommittal answer.
The doves of the Uchiha—outnumbered and powerless—were frustrated, but helpless. They were used to being squeezed from both sides: ignored within the clan, distrusted outside it. Over time, they had grown accustomed to swallowing their pride and enduring.
Orders from above were never questioned. And Fugaku himself… he was stubborn in the worst way. Even on the night of the massacre, he still hadn't awakened to reality.
For the Uchiha, there were only two paths: rise in rebellion, or kneel in submission.
What did Fugaku choose? Neither. He refused to rebel, refused to kneel, refused to defect or surrender. He simply dragged things out—until his own son, Uchiha Itachi, raised a blade against the clan.
"It's late. Everyone, go home and rest."
Fugaku rose, his sharp, weathered features cast in harsh relief under the oil lamp's glow. He looked harsher than he felt.
One by one, the clan members filed out, their dissatisfaction plain. To them, punishment for the Eighth Elder was acceptable—but it should have been directed by the clan itself, after reconciliation with the Hokage.
Such hopes were never going to be realized.
Night fell over Konoha. Within the secluded Uchiha compound, watchmen beat their gongs and called out warnings about spring floods, their voices echoing through the darkness.
Fugaku watched the last clansman depart, then returned to his room with heavy steps. From a drawer, he pulled out a portrait of Uchiha Mikoto and whispered prayers under his breath.
"Mikoto… Mikoto…"
In the shadows, a pitcher plant slowly closed, concealing a hidden figure.
Black Zetsu could hardly stand to watch any longer.
Damn it. Are all of Madara's descendants like this? No resolve, no decisiveness—yet when it comes to lust, they're unmatched. And from this pitiful bunch, I'm supposed to find a successor for Madara's grand design?
Headache didn't begin to cover it.