The office door clicked shut, muffling sounds from the Police Force headquarters.
Hiko didn't sit behind his desk. He moved to the window, eyes fixed on Konoha below—the village he aimed to dismantle and rebuild.
Shisui stood near the center, shoulders tense, silence heavy with unspoken truths.
"You look like hell, Shisui," Hiko said without turning. "The 'Will of Fire' doesn't seem to care about your sleep."
Shisui's jaw tightened. "Being a bridge isn't supposed to be easy. But it's necessary."
"A bridge is just something both sides walk on," Hiko countered, eyes cold as steel. "Eventually, it collapses. So let's skip the pleasantries. The Hokage sent you because of my breakfast habits, didn't he?"
Shisui's gaze hardened. "He's concerned. And frankly, so am I. Six months you've haunted the Academy gates. You're an Uchiha Captain. Every move you make is political."
"Why Naruto? Why now?" Shisui pressed.
Hiko shrugged. "Because I like the miso soup at that shop."
Shisui's lips twitched, but he caught himself. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not," Hiko said, stepping closer. The air grew tense. "I'm giving you an answer the village can't punish. But the truth? The village has been hunting for an excuse since the Nine-Tails attack. Breakfast. A glance. A nod. Anything. They want me to hide, to shrink, to apologize for existing. I won't."
Shisui clenched his fists. "It's about survival, Hiko! One mistake—just one—and the fire will spread beyond control. I'm asking you to be cautious—for Sasuke, for Naruto."
Hiko's gaze sharpened. He thought of Sasuke's potential, of the looming massacre. "Survival isn't about begging trust from those who see you as a monster. If you want to save the Uchiha, stop acting like a double agent. Start acting like a member of this clan."
Shisui recoiled slightly. "I do everything for this clan."
"No," Hiko said, voice cold as steel. "You do what the village demands, for peace that doesn't exist. You're balancing a house of cards already on fire. If your message is delivered, I have a department to run."
Shisui opened his mouth, but Hiko's piercing eyes—full of pity and iron—made him swallow.
He left, heavy with dread.
That evening, Shisui visited their old training ground. Sitting on a scarred tree stump, lost in thought, he rubbed the worn wood.
"He's changing, Itachi," he whispered.
From the shadows of a cedar, Itachi stepped forward, calm and unreadable, a faint furrow between his brows.
"He isn't the only one. The clan's a pressure cooker. Hiko just decided to stop pretending it isn't."
Shisui exhaled, rubbing his neck. "He told me to stop being a messenger. He thinks the table's already broken."
Itachi looked toward Hokage Rock. "Maybe it is. But if Hiko's planning to flip it… we need to know if it's to save us—or to lead us into the fire."
Shisui's hands trembled. "I don't know if I can bear what's coming."
"It's not just about bearing," Itachi said softly. "It's about choosing. And we've already lost the luxury of ignorance."
Back in his office, Hiko studied a map of Konoha—icons marking the Hokage's office, the council chambers, the Academy, the Police Force. Three years. Three years until the night everything changes.
Time wasn't just running out. He was going to make it run his way.