The Hyūga had always been a delicate clan.
Not just because of their power, but because of what that power implied.
How could a village ever feel at ease knowing that someone could watch them from miles away, through walls, through layers of stone and secrecy?
How would the village leadership ever sleep comfortably with that hanging over them?
That was why the Hyūga had always been restrained.
Their Byakugan was officially discouraged from heavy use inside the village.
Sensitive areas, the Hokage building, council chambers, and archives, were constructed from special materials that distorted perception.
In some cases, seals were layered in as well.
Danzo knew this better than anyone.
Root's underground chambers were a prime example.
But no man lived entirely underground.
Danzo occasionally had to surface. Meetings with elders. Administrative pressure points.
Moments that required visibility.
And while the cumbersome concealment seal he wore did an excellent job of hiding his arm from most eyes, his face was another matter entirely.
An arm could be explained away. An exotic injury. A failed experiment. Some strange power with unfortunate side effects. Rumors could be managed.
An eye was different.
Anyone walking around with that level of suppression and concealment layered onto their eye was advertising exactly one thing he wanted to prevent the most in the first place. A stolen dōjutsu. And there weren't many of those in existence. The source would be obvious. A secret never meant to be displayed.
Which was precisely why placing similar concealment there would have been stupid.
But that created a problem.
So, he didn't wear one.
One might ask why he didn't simply remove Shisui's eye whenever he left Root.
And that was the problem.
Removing it meant losing access to its ability. And that ability was too useful.
Too central to how he maintained influence, nudged networks, and stabilized certain arrangements within the village.
Not on Hiruzen. Not on the elders. That would have been suicidal, especially with Hyūga guards embedded in ANBU around them.
But elsewhere?
On lesser figures. On mid-level power brokers. On people whose movements shaped the village quietly but meaningfully.
He used it. Sparingly. Carefully.
And even when closed, even when starved of chakra, an implanted eye could leave traces.
Subtle irregularities. Small distortions in flow and structure.
They wouldn't be able to guess what was there, but that it was there.
Enough for a trained Byakugan, a random Hyuga from the village viewing from the wrong angle at the wrong time, to notice that something was off.
Which brought the question back, sharper than before.
So why had the Hyūga never reported him?
As if they collectively decided not to do so?
Because at the time, Danzo's authority had been second only to the Hokage.
Especially after word spread to them, quietly but unmistakably, of what he had mostly single-handedly done to the Uchiha.
The purge. The massacre. The efficiency.
What were the Hyūga supposed to do?
Report him to Hiruzen?
And then what?
Wait patiently for their own eyes to start disappearing as well in retaliation?
That, at least, had been Danzo's assumption.
But now, he wasn't so sure.
The Hyūga's historical passivity, their neutrality, their avoidance of confrontation, it suddenly looked less like fear and more like something else. Something older. Something structural.
A survival strategy rooted in reasons no one else fully understood.
Not Madara. Not Hashirama. Not even Tobirama.
And now that they had revealed their power openly, that old strategy was breaking down.
Danzo could no longer assume they would remain silent.
Nor could he simply coerce them anymore.
Which meant something uncomfortable.
They were now worth negotiating with.
On something closer to an equal footing.
Even if they were becoming the next Uchiha in terms of attention and danger, Danzo had no choice. If he wanted to exploit this window of opportunity, he needed the Hyūga neutral, or better, aligned.
He could deal with them later, once he had grown stronger and fully unraveled their secrets.
Besides, they were nothing like the Uchiha.
The Uchiha had always screamed their superiority into the world. Flaunted the Sharingan.
Let their emotions spiral while claiming restraint. Their power thrived on excess.
The Hyūga were the opposite. Polite. Reserved. Controlled. Quiet to a fault.
That difference alone was why they had survived untouched for so long.
Once Danzo secured Koharu and Homura, access to the village's complete archives would follow. Funding. Resources. Root rebuilt properly.
Research uninterrupted by Hiruzen's hesitation. He could work without pause, converting stored knowledge of the village into real power for him.
And once he crossed that threshold, he wouldn't need the Hyūga anymore.
Danzo muttered under his breath, a thin sound that barely qualified as a chuckle.
As for why he was certain the Hyūga would agree, the answer was simple.
They had already entered the game.
By inadvertently revealing their strength, they had forfeited the luxury of passivity.
If they didn't act now, they would be targeted, dissected, and eventually stripped of what made them dangerous.
Working with him offered immediate benefits. Protection. Influence. A buffer against the chaos about to engulf the village.
And more importantly, Danzo could deliver on conditions no one else could.
He only needed a clean path through Koharu, Homura, and the daimyō first.
Unobstructed.
Danzo straightened slightly.
Yes.
It was time to pay them a visit.
...
Hiashi did not sleep.
Not once since night had fallen.
He moved through the Hyūga compound in silence, the soft sound of reconstruction following him everywhere.
Cracked stone being reset.
Barriers reforged.
Courtyards scrubbed of blood that refused to come out cleanly.
The clan was still breathing, but it was the shallow, careful kind.
He checked on his daughters first.
Hinata was awake when he entered, sitting upright on her futon, back straight despite the bandages around her eyes.
She flinched when the door slid open, then relaxed the moment she sensed him.
"Father," she said softly.
Her voice was steady. Too steady.
She didn't cry. She hadn't screamed. She hadn't asked why.
That worried him more than anything else.
Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers tight, as if she were holding herself together through sheer politeness.
"I'm… sorry," she added after a moment, the words automatic, conditioned.
Hiashi felt something twist sharply in his chest.
"You have nothing to apologize for," he said, and for once, there was no edge to it.
She nodded, accepting the correction without comment. Hinata always did.
"I will find you new eyes," he said.
Hinata froze.
Real, complete stillness. Even her breathing faltered.
"Byakugan," he continued, his voice firm, allowing no doubt. "And they will not be weaker than the ones you lost, even if you yourself never realized how powerful they truly were."
For a heartbeat, she didn't react at all.
Then her hands began to tremble.
"N-no," she said quickly, the word tumbling out before she could stop it. "I don't need— I mean, I can still— I can train. I can still serve the clan. I won't slow anyone down, I promise."
The words came too fast. Defensive. Afraid.
Hiashi knelt in front of her.
That alone made her stiffen in shock.
"This is not a condition," he said. "It is a promise."
Her lips parted, confusion washing over her carefully maintained composure.
"But… those eyes…" she whispered. "They would have to come from someone else."
"Yes."
Her shoulders tightened.
"Then I don't want them," she said, voice small but resolute. "I don't want someone else to lose their eyes because of me."
There it was.
Not pride. Not ambition.
Compassion.
Hiashi closed his eyes briefly.
"No one will be harmed for this," he said. "I swear it on the Hyuga name."
Hinata hesitated. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves, searching for certainty she couldn't see.
"…You promise?"
"I promise."
The silence that followed was fragile, stretched thin. Then, slowly, her posture sagged.
Just a little. As if she'd been holding herself upright by will alone and finally let it go.
"I was scared," she admitted softly.
Not of blindness.
Of being useless.
Hiashi reached out, resting his hand over hers. His touch was steady, unyielding.
"You are my daughter," he said. "Before anything else."
Her breath hitched.
For the first time that night, tears spilled freely down her cheeks, soundless, unrestrained.
She bowed her head, shoulders shaking, all that carefully maintained control finally breaking.
"I… I'll try harder," she whispered, like a reflex she couldn't unlearn.
Hiashi tightened his grip gently.
"You've tried enough," he said. "Now let me."
She nodded, still crying, but something in her expression eased. Not healed. Not yet.
But no longer alone.
He stayed even longer than required there before moving to visit his second daughter.
Hanabi was different.
She was furious.
Not outwardly, not loudly, but it sat in her posture, in the way her eyes snapped up when he entered, sharp and burning. She had been kept sealed away, protected, untouched by the worst of it, and she knew it now.
"You should have let me fight," she said immediately.
Hiashi didn't rebuke her.
"You would have died," he replied.
Hanabi clenched her jaw. "So did others."
That one landed.
He saw it clearly then.
Pride cracked by helplessness.
Fear disguised as anger.
The realization that strength had existed in their clan that she had never been told about, and that it had taken a catastrophe to reveal it.
"You will have your time," he said quietly. "But not like this."
She looked away, unconvinced, but she didn't argue further. That, too, worried him.
When he left their rooms, the compound felt heavier.
By dawn, the funerals would begin.
A large ceremonial one, not just for the fallen main branch, but for the side branch as well.
No separation this time. No quiet disposal. No minimization. The dead had been seen.
Their loss could not be hidden behind walls and doctrine anymore.
He would also have to choose the replacements carefully for those Main Branch members who had their eyes just stolen, drawing from the old eye vault hidden deep underground, the most heavily guarded and sealed repository the clan possessed, linked to an ancient conversion chamber far away from the compound.
It wouldn't be only for Hinata.
She would have priority, of course.
She would receive the strongest pair he could secure, not as compensation, but as an attempt, however insufficient, to correct his failure.
And then there was the other problem.
The power itself, and everything that came with it.
Too many eyes had seen it.
Not just the side branch, but even most of the main branch of this era, aside from a few elders who knew about it in traces, hadn't even known such a thing existed at all.
The pressure. The containment. The ancient engine beneath the clan finally stirring.
Secrets that had been kept for generations had been dragged into the open in a single day.
If he mishandled this, doubt would spread.
Fear.
Resentment.
Questions that could fracture the clan from within.
So Hiashi prepared.
That funeral would not be only a funeral.
He would speak of survival.
Of responsibility.
Of restraint, not as weakness, but as a burden.
He would frame the power not as a privilege hoarded, but as a weight borne for all of them.
A last wall, not a throne.
He would speak of unity.
Not the hollow kind enforced by seals and hierarchy, but the kind born when people understood what was at stake.
It would be difficult.
But he would not fail again.
By dawn, he would be a patriarch again.
Tonight, he was simply a father trying to hold what remained together.
Yet before he could dwell on it further, the quiet was shattered again.
His lead attendant entered with unusual haste, sliding the door shut behind him a fraction harder than protocol allowed.
The man was composed by training, but urgency bled through regardless.
"Patriarch," he said, bowing quickly, "there is a group waiting outside the compound."
Hiashi turned slightly. "At this hour?"
"Yes." The attendant hesitated, then continued. "Their leader is requesting a personal meeting. He gave his name."
A pause.
"Danzō Shimura."
The attendant watched Hiashi closely as he spoke the name.
As chief aide, he knew who Danzo was.
Everyone at that level did. Root.
The shadow that never quite disappeared.
The man who never came without purpose.
Hiashi did not react outwardly.
Inside, everything aligned at once.
So. He moves now.
"How many?" Hiashi asked.
"A small escort," the attendant replied. "Highly disciplined. Masked. They did not cross the perimeter. They are… being very correct."
That, more than anything, confirmed it.
Danzo never wasted correctness unless it served him.
Hiashi closed his eyes briefly, exhaled, then opened them again.
"He knows timing," Hiashi said quietly. "I'll grant him that."
The attendant lowered his head. "Your orders?"
Hiashi thought for a single measured breath.
"Not inside," he said. "And not in public view."
He turned fully now, posture straightening, the patriarch settling back into place.
"Prepare the eastern reception hall," he continued. "No clan members beyond inner security. No Byakugan active unless I order it. Barriers standard, nothing provocative."
"Yes, Patriarch."
Hiashi rose.
Danzo Shimura did not come to offer condolences.
He came to count pieces, test boundaries, and see whether the Hyūga were still something to be maneuvered, or something to be reckoned with.
Given what had happened today, Hiashi suspected Danzo was no longer sure.
Good.
"Escort him in," Hiashi said at last. "Alone."
The attendant bowed deeply and moved at once.
As Hiashi stepped toward the hall, his expression remained calm, composed, unreadable.
But behind it, his thoughts were already sharp and moving.
This was not a courtesy call.
It was the opening of negotiations that neither of them had planned to have this soon.