The air in the Uchiha clan hall was thick with the scent of aged wood, incense, and simmering tension. The room hummed with a low, formal energy. Rows of clansmen and women sat in precise seiza, their postures ramrod straight, dark eyes sharp and attentive.
At the head of the room, behind a low lacquered dais, sat Fugaku. Flanking him on slightly raised platforms were the clan elders, their faces etched with the lines of time and authority, their expressions ranging from contemplative to quietly severe.
Fugaku's voice, deep and resonant, cut through the murmurs following a report on training ground maintenance. "The next issue." It was not a question, but a command.
From the elders' platform, Uchiha Kiyomori, a man with silver hair swept back in a severe knot, and a beard trimmed to a sharp point, stood. He moved with a brittle, precise economy. He unfurled a scroll with a soft snap of paper.
"We have compiled a report," Kiyomori began, "regarding criminal enterprises operating within the village, specifically within the entertainment and warehouse districts. These elements have grown bolder. Their method is of particular… irritation."
He paused, letting the word hang. "They are using clan affiliations as a shield. Establishing fronts under the names of respected clans, laundering revenue through legitimate-seeming shops, and storing contraband in storerooms leased under borrowed prestige. They operate on the assumption that the Police Force will hesitate to investigate too deeply where clan honour is publicly concerned."
A ripple went through the room, a stiffening of shoulders, a tightening of jaws. The insult was clear: their authority, their very identity, was being used as camouflage by vermin.
Fugaku did not hesitate. "The law is the foundation of order. It applies to all, without exception. There are no shields, only consequences."
A wave of nods and low murmurs of approval followed. This, at least, was solid ground. The Uchiha's pride in their role as Konoha's police was absolute; any challenge to the law was a challenge to their purpose.
"Which clans are being exploited?" Fugaku asked, his eyes narrowing.
Kiyomori glanced at the scroll. "The Hyūga main family's name has been used to license several high-end tea houses that are, in fact, fronts for gambling and information brokering. Additionally, the lesser clans of Ōtsuka and Kamiya have had their insignias forged on shipment manifests for stolen weapon seals and regulated medicinal herbs."
Fugaku's expression did not flicker. "Execute raids on the Ōtsuka and Kamiya-linked operations. Full confiscation, public arrests. Make the examples clear and clean."
He then leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled. "The Hyūga… leave that to me."
The elder to his right, Uchiha Masato, a man with a face like a weathered cliff, spoke. "There are no other pressing issues from the administrative council."
A collective, subtle exhalation seemed to pass through the hall. Postures relaxed a fraction. The meeting was, for all intents and purposes, over. People began to shift, preparing to stand, the rustle of fabric and the soft shuff of mats filling the air.
"Remain seated."
Fugaku's command, quiet yet absolute, froze all movement.
"There is one final matter," Fugaku said, his gaze sweeping the room, lingering on key faces.
"For too long, this clan has been outside the rooms where the village's future is decided. That ends now." He paused, letting the declaration sink in.
Murmurs began again, this time tinged with excitement and anxiety.
"The Hokage has confirmed the Jonin Commander position, vacant since Commander Nara Shikaku's impending retirement, will be formally filled. It is a seat on the Hokage's advisory council. A seat at the table."
The murmurs grew louder. Hope, sharp and desperate, flashed in many eyes. The clan's relationship with the village had been a slow, cold erosion since before the war. This led to fewer high-profile missions assigned to Uchiha teams, reduced funding for clan-centric projects, a subtle sidelining in strategic discussions.
It was a feedback loop of stagnation—fewer missions meant less field experience, fewer chances for glory and promotion, which led to younger shinobi being overlooked, which reinforced the perception of the Uchiha as insular and untrustworthy. The clan was slowly being strangled by politeness and procedure.
"We will put forward a candidate," Fugaku announced. "A candidate of such undeniable skill and accomplishment that the village cannot, in good conscience, overlook him. A candidate who will force open that door and hold it for the rest of us to follow."
He paused again, his eyes finding a specific figure sitting slightly apart, near the back. Renjiro, who had been observing the proceedings with a detached, analytical calm, felt the attention of the entire room pivot toward him like a single, massive weapon.
"That candidate," Fugaku declared, "is Renjiro."
The reaction was not unified. A surge of excited chatter burst from the younger members, those who knew of Renjiro's terrifying exploits in the Third War.
But from the elders and the more traditionalist middle-aged members came a wave of stunned silence and frowned disapproval.
Fugaku continued, "His record in the Great War is exemplary. His strength is… considerable."
A masterful understatement.
"I am confident in stating that, Sharingan to Sharingan, very few in this hall could best him in combat, regardless of his age."
The subtext was a velvet-wrapped bludgeon: 'This is not a request for your opinion on his suitability. This is a statement of fact. Challenge this at your peril.'
Renjiro felt the tonal shift in the room like a change in barometric pressure. The hope curdled into something more complex—jealousy, resentment, awe, and sharp political calculation.
'Well…' he thought, a weary anticipation settling in his bones. 'This is going to be a hassle.'
"Therefore," Fugaku said, his demeanour opening slightly, a strategist inviting critique, he already has an answer for.
"Does anyone here oppose this nomination? Speak now."
Renjiro's internal confusion was immediate. 'Why phrase it like that? Why invite public opposition?'
He knew Fugaku was not a man who enjoyed having his decisions questioned in an open forum. This was a trap, or a purge, or both.
After a heavy moment, a hand rose near the centre of the room. A young man in his mid-twenties stood, his posture respectful but his chin held high. He had sharp features and the intense dark eyes common to the clan, but Renjiro scanned his memory and came up blank.
"Fugaku-sama," Raiko began, his tone carefully neutral. "With respect, I, and others I have spoken with, cannot in good conscience support Renjiro's nomination to represent the Uchiha clan."
Fugaku's expression was impassive. "State your reasoning, Raiko."
"It is a matter of identity," Raiko said, "The candidate you name… he does not carry our name. He calls himself 'Uzumaki.' How can a man who turns away from our name be trusted to champion our cause?"
The murmur that followed was one of agreement, a low, resonant hum from a significant portion of the hall. It was the oldest, simplest grievance.
Fugaku leaned forward. "Is the name the only issue?"
"It is the foundational issue, sir," Raiko confirmed, bowing slightly before sitting.
Renjiro remained still. 'I always knew this would come,' he reflected, a familiar hollow feeling echoing inside him. He had lived among them for years, more than a decade, fought alongside them, bled for Konoha with them.
Yet, in their most sacred space, he was still the outsider, the cuckoo in the nest, defined by the name he chose to honour a different, slaughtered family.
Then, another hand rose.
This one, Renjiro recognised instantly. A young, growing woman with intelligent eyes and a haircut in a practical bob. Uchiha Sora. A former academy classmate. She stood, her voice clear and firm, cutting through the murmurs.
"With permission," she said, addressing Fugaku but speaking to the room. "Raiko's point mistakes symbolism for substance. Renjiro uses 'Uzumaki' because the Uzumaki were his clan, and they were erased from the world. Is it dishonour to remember the dead? We all know he is Uchiha. His power, the very power that makes him a viable candidate, flows from the Sharingan. It is our heritage he wields. Denying him over a name does not strengthen our clan; it weakens us by discarding one of our strongest pieces over a matter of prideful semantics."
The hall divided audibly. Supportive calls of "Well said!" mixed with dismissive scoffs. The fracture lines were now visible in the set of shoulders, the direction of glances.
Before Fugaku could respond, Elder Masato raised a gnarled hand. Fugaku gave a slight nod, granting the floor.
Masato stood slowly, "The concerns of the young are heartfelt, but they orbit the wrong point," he began, his old eyes sharp as flint.
"The issue is not what we here in this hall think of him. The issue is what the village thinks, and how they will use him." He held up a bent finger. "First: The village hierarchy trusts 'Renjiro Uzumaki.' They do not trust the 'Uchiha' as an entity. He is, to them, a safe anomaly. A powerful weapon without the tainted holster."
A second finger joined the first. "Second: If he becomes the Jonin Commander, the clan gains influence, yes. But we lose narrative control. He becomes Konoha's Jonin Commander, who happens to be Uchiha, not the Uchiha Clan's representative on the council. His loyalties will be scrutinised, and he will be forced to publicly prioritise the village over the clan, time and again, to prove his impartiality."
A third finger. "Finally, and most crucially: The Hokage and his advisors are not fools. They may see this very nomination as a solution to their 'Uchiha problem.' They elevate our shinobi, but in doing so, they separate him from us. They make him a symbol of a modern, loyal shinobi, using his success to argue the clan itself is the issue, not the village's treatment of it."
Masato let his words sink in, "The goal, as stated, is to improve the clan's standing. Not an individual's. So I put the only question that matters to this council:"
His gaze, ancient and weary, swept over Fugaku and then across the silent, tense faces before him.
"Will Renjiro's nomination truly help the clan? Or will it ultimately be used to further isolate us?"
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