Inside the Uchiha clan head's study.
Police-force reports were stacked like mini mountains, throwing crooked shadows under the lamp. The charcoal brazier popped every few seconds, lighting Fugaku's face in flickering orange.
He was twirling a patrol roster between his fingers, looking dead serious. With Kumo coming to sign the ceasefire soon, the police force was swamped.
Outside, heavy snow kept falling. The compound's lanterns stretched out like a sleepy fire dragon. Fugaku's eyes landed on Makoto.
"It's been over six months since the Hokage Rock thing…" He rubbed the stubble on his chin, doing mental math. "No matter how you slice it, Lord Danzo's still the Hokage's advisor."
"He can't possibly be petty enough to stay mad at a kid this long… right?"
Just as Fugaku was about to lift the grounding order, he caught sight of the little gremlin sprawled across the chair like he owned the place.
Pure white haori, clan fan crest glinting gold at the collar, faint smirk, eyes way too smart for a toddler. Total "I fear neither heaven nor earth" energy.
And, of course, cuddling a puppy in his lap—the same puppy Fugaku had explicitly banned from the house. Makoto's response? "Fine, then you move out, Clan Head."
When Fugaku remembered every insane stunt this kid had pulled, his gut did a backflip. The pen he'd just picked up clattered back into the inkstone.
Nope. Hard pass. Kid stays locked in the compound.
Inside the district, most clansmen would just sigh and let him get away with murder. If something big did blow up, Fugaku could clean it up. Outside? Nobody's covering for him, and Fugaku's pull with the village brass is basically zero.
Decision made. He slammed the report shut. "No. End of discussion."
Makoto opened his mouth. Fugaku instantly smacked the desk so hard the lamp wobbled. Preemptive strike.
"I said no, and I won't change my mind!"
"And I'm the clan head of the Uchiha!!!!"
This time his tone was sharp—no trace of the usual calm dad vibe. Last time this brat roasted him into silence; no way he's losing the aura battle tonight.
Makoto just blinked. "?????"
I literally haven't said anything yet. Dude's acting like he's in a stage play. Guess the usual moves don't faze him anymore.
A wicked grin crept across Makoto's face. Time for the ultimate weapon.
He sauntered over, elbows on the desk, voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper:
"Clan Head… you wouldn't want the Clan Head's wife to find out you've been secretly reading Make-Out Paradise in here, would you?"
Plop. The brush slipped straight out of Fugaku's hand and splattered ink all over his sleeve.
For one glorious split-second the perpetual stern face cracked—pure embarrassment flashed across it. He jerked his head up, saw Makoto winking like a little demon, then immediately stared at the floor.
Deep breath. Forced calm. If this had been Sasuke, the kid would've been sweating bullets by now.
Fugaku went full serious mode: "Make-Out… what? There's no book like that in my study."
"Oh?" Makoto tilted his head, tapping the desk with one finger. "Should I go ask Mom and see who she believes?"
"You know I've got zero shame. I'll absolutely do it."
"You little—" Fugaku shot to his feet, chair screeching across the floor, then deflated like a popped balloon. "…Fine. You can leave the compound."
He added real fast: "But I'm telling you right now—I've never read that book, and you are never, ever bringing it up again. Got it?"
"Deal." Makoto straightened up, folded his hands politely in front of him, and bowed like a perfect little gentleman. "Actually, Clan Head sir, there's one more tiny thing…"
The second "sir" hit Fugaku's ears and he saw that fake-respectful posture, every hair on the back of his neck stood up.
This kid had never once called him anything nicer than "hey you" since he learned to talk. Now he's pulling out full keigo and bowing? Whatever's coming is huge. And probably evil.
Fugaku's hand shot up like a stop sign, ink sloshing in the stone. "I'm busy with police business. Come back never."
Instant rejection.
"No problem, I'll wait till you're free, sir."
Makoto plopped onto the short stool, reached into the hidden corner of the bookshelf, and pulled out Fugaku's super-worn, yellowed copy of Make-Out Paradise (the limited gold-foil edition, no less).
He flipped it open with a dramatic flap flap flap, smacking his lips at the "good parts" like he was analyzing forbidden jutsu scrolls. Zero embarrassment. His life philosophy: if I'm not awkward, the awkwardness belongs to everybody else.
Technically he's three. Add his past-life age and he's been legally adult for years.
Fugaku's brush literally bent in half with a snap.
He'd been wondering why this brat camped in the study all day. Of course it was to read porn.
Fugaku's knuckles went white around the broken brush. He couldn't even yell—he's the one with the dirty secret here. Can't exactly admit he owns the thing.
So he just sat there steaming, veins popping, temple throbbing like a drum.
Three deep breaths later he hissed through clenched teeth: "Spit. It. Out."
Makoto slapped the book shut and slid it across the desk, cover up. The golden Make-Out Paradise title gleamed under the lamp like a taunt.
He flashed an innocent smile. "It's nothing big."
"I just wanna contribute a little to the future prosperity of the clan."
"Quit beating around the bush and speak human!" Fugaku's eyebrows were knotted so tight they could've held water. Even his sideburns were shaking…