Konoha, dead of night, thick as tar.
After splitting from Uchiha Shisui, Uchiwa Itachi trudges alone down empty streets. Fresh off the Sarutobi compound, a stubborn fog of confusion clings to his brow.
That gaping rift between village and clan? Thanks to Uchiha Makoto's slick maneuvering—and a little help from him and Shisui—the brass finally looked the other way.
Leaf top dogs are now laser-focused on the Hyuga. Gives the Uchiha a breather, a rare damn second to suck in air.
The boot's still on our necks, just stomping someone else for now. Band-Aid on a gut wound—doesn't fix shit.
But the real fire under Itachi's ass? His baby brother, Uchiha Makoto, snatched by Cloud.
Hoping the village elite ride to the rescue? That pipe dream's dust.
Never thought he'd pin hopes on the clan he always wrote off as narrow-minded hotheads.
He gets home, paces the living room till his feet ache, then plants himself outside Uchiha Fugaku's study.
Deep breath. Door creaks open.
Inside, a lone lamp flickers. Fugaku's hunched over a mountain of scrolls—Konoha MP paperwork plus clan bullshit stacked to the ceiling.
Cloud spies tore the village a new one; cleanup's a nightmare. Every sheet feels like a cinder block on the old man's back.
Fugaku's brow is knotted tight, eyes bloodshot, whole vibe screaming "running on fumes."
What guts Itachi? Those hawk-sharp eyes—Uchiha pride and joy—are going blurry. Dude's squinting like a grandpa reading the menu at Denny's, face pale as printer paper under the light. Looks like he just crawled out of chemo.
Itachi freezes in the doorway, words dying in his throat.
Room's so thick you could slice it. Only sounds: lamp popping, pen scratching.
Minutes bleed into hours. Finally, Itachi croaks, voice like sandpaper: "Dad… please. Save Makoto."
(Author's note: Updates ain't easy—share 101 Book Net!)
Fugaku's pen stops cold. He clocked Itachi the second he walked in, knew exactly why he was here, so he played statue.
Slowly lifts his head. Those once-razor eyes now foggy, locking on his eldest. Voice low, final, no room for debate:
"This ends here. Makoto will come back on his own."
"But Dad—Cloud's a meat grinder—"
"No buts!" Fugaku snaps, patriarch steel cutting clean through. "Out."
Itachi goes ghost-white, staring like he's meeting his father for the first time. Inside he's screaming: Makoto's your damn son too—are you just tossing him in the trash?
Air's a lead blanket. Heavy hopes crash into ice-cold reality.
Father-son dynamic, classic edition: Dad sucks at feelings, Itachi's stubborn as concrete. Neither says another word.
Fugaku drops back into the scrolls, squinting and grinding through each stroke like it's anesthesia for whatever's eating him alive.
Itachi turns to stone in the doorway, just another shadow.
Time crawls. Outside, black bleeds to gray.
...…
Dark and light blur at dawn. Deepest night means sunrise is cocky-close.
First weak ray punches through the clouds; Konoha still snoring.
But deep in Uchiha turf, murder-vibes are brewing. Great Elder's crib is packed—silent silhouettes everywhere.
No chatter, no drama. Just heart-pounding quiet.
Every hawk hardliner is here, standing like coiled wolves, dripping that "I've bathed in blood" aura.
Front and center: the Great Elder in scuffed-but-polished battle armor, gray hair slicked tighter than a drill sergeant. Gone is the kindly grandpa act; dude's radiating "I've ended dynasties."
His old eyes flash open—crimson, three-tomoe Sharingan spinning slow. Cold sweep over every face.
No pep talk needed. One by one, blood-red Sharingan ignite. The combined eye-juice damn near warps the air.
Uchiha swagger floods the block—solemn, locked-down, straight-up gangster. Feels like the Warring States crew just time-traveled back.
Elder steps forward. Armor clinks crisp. Hawks fall in silent, boots in perfect sync—like a black river of bad news rolling straight to Clan Head Fugaku's pad.
Thud. Thud. Thud. House is awake now.
Fugaku's at the front gate, dawn light making his sick-pale skin look corpse-level. Itachi's planted beside him, eyes on the kill squad. Behind the porch, Mikoto's hugging a clueless Sasuke so tight the kid's eyes are red from her tears.
Hawk column halts.
Great Elder strides up, crowd parting like the Red Sea. Eyes burn into Fugaku, voice dropping like a gavel at 5 a.m.:
"Clan Head!"
Deep breath, then he roars, shaking the morning:
"Are you ready to lead us to Cloud and drag back the future of the Uchiha?!"