9:00 a.m.
Uchiha Mo stepped into the Third Squad office of the Police Force.
The moment the door opened—
He already knew what he would see.
Uchiha Yashiro stood behind his desk, buried in paperwork.
His brows were tightly furrowed.
Irritation—barely concealed.
No need to guess why.
Complaints.
From Konoha's civilians.
Again.
"Good morning, Captain."
Yashiro glanced up briefly.
"…Mm."
A simple acknowledgment.
Then his attention returned to the documents.
Uchiha Mo didn't mind.
He turned, greeting the others.
Most nodded.
A few forced polite smiles.
"Morning, Mo."
Familiar.
Routine.
Forgettable.
This—
Was the life of a nobody.
You greet people.
They recognize your face—
But not your name.
And that was exactly how he liked it.
But—
That was before.
Because no one—
No Uchiha—
Could live their entire life without ambition.
Not you.
Not me.
Not even gods.
And that empty throne at the top—
That unreachable summit—
Was about to be claimed.
Uchiha Mo's eyes flickered.
System… activate.
Deep within his consciousness—
The shattered platform trembled.
Cold information surfaced.
[Low-energy coordinate signal detected… decaying]
[Estimated window: 71 hours]
[Warning: signal unstable. Collapse imminent]
Time.
Was running out.
For the Uchiha.
And for him.
Mo walked to his seat.
His gaze swept across the room.
Yashiro.
Izumi.
Tekka.
Yakumi.
Hideki.
Inabi.
Seven members.
Four hardliners.
One moderate.
One fence-sitter.
One hidden variable.
The conclusion was obvious—
The hardliners had already taken control.
But—
Did it matter?
What did they actually have?
Nothing.
"Mo. Why are you spacing out?"
Yashiro's voice snapped through the air.
Mo immediately straightened, a faint embarrassed smile appearing perfectly on cue.
"Sorry, Captain. Stayed up late organizing reports."
Inside—
He cursed himself.
Thinking about rising to the top…
And I still act like this?
This broken system really ruined me.
Yashiro didn't pursue it.
He picked up a mission ledger.
Tapped it lightly.
"Izumi. Hideki."
"You two—team up with Mo."
"Patrol Area Seven."
"Yes, Captain."
Izumi stood instantly.
Crisp. Decisive.
Hideki nodded quietly.
As always—
Unnoticed.
Yashiro's tone grew heavier.
"The situation has changed."
"If you encounter provocation—endure it."
"Do not act like before."
A warning.
Directed at Izumi.
And Mo.
The former—
A hardliner.
Force was her answer to everything.
The latter—
Had adapted.
Within the clan—submissive.
Outside—ruthless.
A simple rule:
Pick on whoever is easier.
"Understood."
Mo responded without hesitation.
Orders were orders.
"Dismissed."
The three left together.
———
Area Seven.
Between the commercial and residential districts.
Crowded.
Chaotic.
A breeding ground for conflict.
Izumi led.
Back straight.
The Uchiha crest on her back—
Impossible to ignore.
Mo walked behind her.
Calm.
Expressionless.
Hideki trailed at the rear.
Like a shadow.
Eyes followed them.
Disgust.
Fear.
Resentment.
Barely hidden.
"Tch… Uchiha again."
"Lower your voice."
"What are you afraid of?"
"They can't arrest people for nothing."
Whispers buzzed like flies.
Izumi's fists clenched.
But—
She endured.
Mo?
Didn't care.
To him—
They were already dead.
The patrol continued.
Minor disputes.
Routine inspections.
Paperwork.
Everything smooth.
And yet—
The distance remained.
Like an invisible wall.
———
Noon.
Ichiraku Ramen.
The three sat on a bench.
Izumi bit into her rice ball.
Frustration written all over her face.
"They look at us like criminals."
"What did we even do wrong?"
"Nothing."
Mo opened his lunchbox calmly.
"Or maybe…"
"Everything."
Izumi frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Mo didn't look at her.
"Once people decide you're guilty—"
"Even breathing becomes a crime."
Silence.
"The clan's current approach…"
"Is only making that wall thicker."
"It solves nothing."
Izumi wanted to argue.
But—
She couldn't.
Because he wasn't wrong.
She turned.
"Hideki?"
Caught off guard—
Hideki adjusted his glasses.
"I… think Mo is right."
"But… the elders must have their reasons…"
A perfect—
Fence-sitter answer.
Mo fell silent.
His gaze lingered on Hideki.
Observing.
Analyzing.
Too perfect.
Too balanced.
Too… controlled.
In a clan of extremes—
Such mediocrity—
Was suspicious.
Was it real?
Or—
A mask?