In the hushed gloom of the Naka Shrine, Uchiha Jin's words hung in the air, leaving a palpable void of stunned disbelief.
The assembled Uchiha, across all factions, were momentarily speechless. Such outright, brazen denial was beyond their expectations. In their world of black-and-white convictions and fiery pride, matters of clan honor and covert war were not typically buried under layers of plausible deniability. The logic was simple: who else but the Radical Faction, with their recent surge in aggression, would dare such a thing? Evidence was a formality; the truth was felt, not forensically proven. Yet here was their new radical leader, playing a game they barely understood.
Shisui, his face a mask of righteous frustration, was the first to break the silence. "Uchiha Jin!" he exclaimed, his voice sharp with accusation. "You dare to act, yet you lack the courage to admit your deeds?"
Jin merely offered an infuriatingly casual shrug. "If I had done it, I would own it. The problem is, I didn't. Why would I confess to a crime I didn't commit? Are we in the Torture and Interrogation Unit now?"
His tone shifted to one of mock solemnity. "Tell you what—I'll swear an oath. If this act was committed by any member of my Radical Faction, then may the Six Paths Sage himself strike me down with divine lightning where I stand!"
A deeper, more profound silence descended upon the shrine. Even the flickering torchlight seemed to steady in shock. To invoke the name of the mythical progenitor of chakra was no small matter, even for skeptical shinobi. It was a rhetorical nuclear option, and it worked flawlessly. The Compromise and Neutral faction members, who had prepared countless arguments about responsibility and sacrifice, found themselves utterly disarmed. Their mental playbook had no counter for this. They were ready for defiance, for negotiation, even for a furious walkout—but not for this bald-faced, oath-sworn negation.
Even the members of Jin's own Radical Faction had to school their features into neutrality, battling a mix of awe and secondhand shame at their leader's audaciousness. By the Sage, that's bold, one thought, his eyelid twitching with the effort to maintain a stern expression.
A faint, cold smirk touched the corner of Jin's mouth as he pressed his advantage. "You all bear witness. No lightning from the heavens. The Sage's judgment is clear—I speak the truth." He looked upon the room with a gaze that was almost pitying. Dealing with these straightforward, honor-bound Uchiha and their village-indoctrinated mindsets, after a lifetime steeped in a culture of nuanced debate and strategic misdirection, felt almost unfair. If he couldn't outmaneuver the likes of Fugaku and the idealistic Shisui in a war of words, he might as well find the nearest block of tofu and end his transmigrator's journey in disgrace.
As for the oath itself, Jin felt no tremor of fear. The Six Paths Sage was a historical figure of immense power, yes, but not an omnipresent deity governing cosmic justice. This world had no Heavenly Dao, no karmic scorekeeper in the sky. It was a world of chakra, politics, and bloodshed—rules he was learning to rewrite.
"Jin, you… this is…" Shisui stammered, his moral certainty crumbling against Jin's stonewall of denial. A pure soul who believed in transparency and honor, he was completely unequipped to handle such tactical shamelessness.
Seeing the discussion spiral into absurdity, Fugaku finally rose to his feet, his clan head's haori seeming to weigh heavily upon him.
"Jin, enough of this," he intoned, his voice a blend of stern authority and weary entreaty. "I know the clan has suffered. I feel every insult, every suspicious glance as keenly as you do. Shisui and I are working, tirelessly, to find a path forward for all of us."
His eyes locked onto Jin's, and in their depths, a flicker of something dangerous glimmered for the briefest instant—a cold, assessing glint of genuine killing intent. "Please. Give us time."
It was an emotional appeal, a leader's plea for unity. But Jin heard the unspoken threat beneath it. Fugaku understood the grievances but was paralyzed by his assessment of the clan's weakness. His strategy was one of endless patience, of hoping assimilation would come before annihilation. To him, a genius like Jin who refused to bow to this logic was not an asset but a catastrophic liability.
Uchiha Jin's expression did not thaw. He met Fugaku's gaze with imperturbable calm. "My sympathies for the fallen of Root and Anbu are genuine, Clan Head-sama. But sympathy is not admission of guilt. If you wish to lay this at my faction's door, I suggest you return with evidence. If there is nothing else of substance to discuss, I will take my leave."
He offered no explanation, no defense, no counter-proposal. He had no interest in winning over the other factions. He understood that the prejudices hardening their hearts—both against the village and against their own 'troublesome' radicals—were mountains that could not be moved with words. They required the seismic shock of catastrophic failure or the purifying fire of survival. That opportunity, he knew, was hurtling toward them all.
With a curt nod to Setsuna, Jin turned and strode from the Naka Shrine without a backward glance. His departure was a silent command. Every member of the Radical Faction stood as one and followed him out, their footsteps echoing in the tense silence. Their loyalty was not to the title of clan head, but to the man who promised action, not appeasement. Fugaku's authority, in that moment, was shown to be a hollow shell within his own clan grounds.
"Jin, wait!" Shisui moved to intercept, but Fugaku's hand shot out, gripping his shoulder firmly.
"Let them go, Shisui," Fugaku said, his voice low and defeated. "Coercion here is pointless." Once the shrine doors had slid shut, he turned to the younger Uchiha, his expression grave. "The scene of the incident. Tell me truthfully. Did the village's investigation truly yield nothing?"
Shisui hesitated, the Anbu's code of secrecy warring with his clan loyalties. Finally, he sighed. "The site was subjected to extreme incendiary techniques. The remains are ash. No physical evidence survives." His jaw tightened. "But there is no doubt in my mind. The Radical Faction is responsible. Uchiha Jin orchestrated it."
A bitter smile touched Fugaku's lips. That much was obvious. Before Jin's rise, the radicals were loud but largely contained. Now, they were a shadow war unto themselves. For every Uchiha who quietly disappeared—likely into Root's dungeons—a team of Konoha's black ops would soon follow. The correlation was a grim, unspoken truth. But truth without proof was just suspicion.
After a long pause, Fugaku made his decision. "I cannot act on suspicion alone, especially against a clan elder and Mangekyo wielder. Report the facts, just as they are, to the Hokage-sama. The village must decide its own response."
Shisui's shoulders slumped slightly. "It seems that is all we can do." In a shunshin flicker, he was gone, leaving Fugaku alone in the dim shrine.
The meeting was, for all intents and purposes, over. Fugaku dismissed the remaining, shell-shocked members and returned to the relative sanctuary of his home.
The matter concluded not with a resolution, but with a deliberate punt. Neither he nor Shisui had given a single thought to investigating the disappearances of the Uchiha clansmen that had precipitated this violence. This omission, this prioritization of village peace over clan justice, was the very rot that was eating away at his legitimacy.
In the family tea room, his wife Mikoto served him a steaming bowl of tea. "Is it settled? Did the radicals stand down?" she asked softly.
"No," Fugaku replied, accepting the bowl with a tired hand. "It has become more complex. Uchiha Jin has consolidated his power. A Mangekyo wielder leads the radicals now. They will be far harder to control."
Mikoto's brows knitted in concern. "How will you explain this to the Hokage?"
Fugaku took a slow sip, his mind working through the political calculus. After a moment, he set the bowl down with a soft click.
"I will offer no explanation. I will take no side," he stated, his voice devoid of its earlier public emotion. "Let the Hokage and Uchiha Jin confront one another directly. This… conflict will serve as a perfect test. It will reveal the village's true tolerance for the Uchiha. If the village moves to crush Jin, then we sacrifice a problematic piece and reaffirm our loyalty. If the village backs down… then perhaps we have more room to maneuver than I thought. Either outcome is… acceptable."
Mikoto understood. Her husband was not trying to save the clan; he was trying to manage its decline, using Jin as a disposable probe to test the waters of Konoha's hostility. She felt a pang of sorrow, both for the clan and for the young man being set up as a pawn, but she remained silent. Family loyalty, and the desperate hope for her own children's safety, sealed her lips.
Unnoticed by either, a small, dark-haired figure lingered just beyond the paper-thin shoji screen of the tea room. Uchiha Itachi, having overheard every coldly pragmatic word, clenched his small fists until his knuckles turned white. A profound, disillusioned anger burned in his heart.
Clan. Always the clan! he thought, his young mind warping the scene into a confirmation of his deepest fears. Why can you only see this from the clan's selfish perspective? Why can't you understand the village's peace? What a foolish, obstinate, hopeless clan!