A few weeks had passed since Renji's birth, and though the village was still rebuilding from the Kyuubi's devastation, life within the Hyūga compound had fallen into an uneasy rhythm.
Hota had been moved to a secluded chamber on the eastern side of the compound, far from the bustle of training grounds and main hall meetings. The elders claimed it was for privacy, but she knew better. It was isolation. Containment. Surveillance.
She didn't care.
So long as she had Renji.
Renji, the pale-haired branch house infant, had become a symbol of unease, of something unnatural.
Hota, his mother, knew it.
She had spent nearly every night awake, watching over her son with a gaze sharpened by fear. Sleep was a luxury she dared not afford. Too many glances lingered too long on Renji. Too many footsteps passed her chamber when there should have been none.
But tonight was different.
Exhaustion had finally won. Her body, worn thin by sleepless nights and tension, gave way to rest. Hota lay curled on her futon, arms wrapped around Renji, her breathing slow and steady. The child had slipped from her arms and now rested peacefully nearby on a folded blanket atop the wooden curb between the mat and the doorframe, his tiny frame illuminated by soft moonlight.
And that was when he came.
His footsteps made no sound on the tatami floor. In his hand, he held a thin blade, nothing fancy, but sharp and clean. It would be over in one slash, clean through the neck. Swift. Merciful, if one believed in such things.
The man moved like a shadow, silent and precise. An elder of the clan, one who had long argued that Renji was a threat to the Hyūga bloodline. A defilement. Hiashi's hesitation had frustrated him. The child should have been "dealt with" the night he was born. Now he would correct that mistake.
He had watched from afar for weeks, his anger simmering beneath the surface. Hiashi had failed the clan. That child, that thing, was no Hyūga. The Byakugan was sacred, unchanging, and pure. And yet the clan head had allowed an unknown power to take root within their walls.
"It must end here," he whispered to himself. "For the good of the Hyūga."
He moved toward the infant, lifting the blade in silence. Renji's small chest rose and fell peacefully, his otherworldly eyes closed.
But as the elder knelt to strike, he froze.
His hand refused to move. His lungs locked.
A crushing pressure, invisible and immense, slammed down on him like the weight of a thousand mountains. His knees buckled. The blade clattered uselessly to the floor.
He gasped, but no air filled his lungs. It was as if the very fabric of the room had turned against him.
"What… is this?" he rasped.
And then he looked into Renji's eyes.
The child had awakened.
Two glowing cerulean spheres stared up at him, calm, unblinking. They did not rage. They did not hate. But within them swirled a silent judgment, as if the heavens themselves had gazed upon the elder's soul and found it wanting.
The elder collapsed fully to the floor, his body trembling. He could feel it, his bones creaking, cracking, straining under a pressure far beyond chakra. It was presence, raw and primal. He could no longer see a child. In that moment, all he saw was a god.
"No," he whimpered, tears stinging his eyes. "This… This shouldn't be…"
But the weight did not relent.
Hota stirred. Her eyes blinked open, and she gasped at the sight: an elder crushed to the floor, twitching, his mouth bleeding from clenched teeth, and her son wide awake, glowing in the pale moonlight.
"Renji…" she breathed.
The pressure lifted the moment her hand touched the boy. The elder collapsed fully, coughing violently, the bones in his arm clearly fractured.
Hiashi was summoned within the hour.
When he arrived, he did not speak for a long time. He merely stood in the doorway, observing the elder being carried out on a stretcher and the child resting peacefully in his mother's lap.
"He is awakening rapidly," Hizashi murmured.
Hiashi spoke in a low, icy tone. "He is outside of our control."
Hizashi turned to him, brows furrowed. "Then what do we do?"
Within a secluded chamber far from the prying eyes of the Hyūga elders, three men sat in solemn discussion.
The candlelight flickered gently against the walls, illuminating three faces, each marked by age, power, and the burden of leadership. Hiashi Hyūga, ever stoic, sat with hands folded before him. Beside him was his twin, Hizashi, quiet yet alert, his branch seal concealed beneath his headband. And across from them, seated beneath the carved symbol of Konoha, was Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage.
The silence was long. It had taken days to arrange this meeting in secrecy. The attempted assassination of Renji had unsettled many within the clan, but the truth, the real truth, was far more dangerous than any internal scandal.
Hiruzen exhaled slowly through his pipe. "So… the elders don't know?"
"They know something is wrong," Hiashi answered, his voice low and firm. "But not the truth. I've ensured it stays that way. Only Hizashi and I have seen the full extent of what the child's eyes are becoming."
"And you attempted the Caged Bird Seal," Hiruzen stated more than asked. "What happened?"
Hiashi didn't hesitate. "It failed."
Even Hizashi's face darkened at the memory. "No pain. No paralysis. The seal activated… and then simply unraveled. The chakra markings burned away the moment they touched his skin. I've never seen anything like it."
Hiruzen tapped his pipe against the ashtray, the faint clink echoing through the chamber.
Hiashi remained silent. Rather, he extracted a lengthy scroll bound in dark blue silk from his robes. Its exterior was etched with intricate warding characters, ancient chakra symbols that glistened dimly in the candlelight. The craftsmanship caused Hiruzen to raise a brow.
"They are called the Tenseigan," Hiashi stated. "Eyes said to rival the Rinnegan, the eye of the Sage of Six Paths himself. However, neither their origin nor its manifestation is addressed."
Hiruzen leaned forward. "And you believe that's what this boy possesses?"
Hiashi's eyes sharpened. "I know it is. I saw what he did to the elder who tried to kill him. The Tenseigan supposedly has control over gravity. When the elder attacked him, the man was crushed under pressure."
Hiruzen's silence grew heavier. He understood too well the weight of myths. But this… this was unknown. A power long forgotten, untouched even in the oldest Konoha records.
"Have you considered sealing the boy's eyes?" the Hokage asked, reluctant but realistic. "Jiraiya has the ability to craft seals strong enough to suppress even tailed beast chakra. If this power becomes unstable…"
"I've considered it," Hiashi said. "But if this power resists the branch seal, it may also reject suppression. We don't understand it enough to predict the consequences."
"Perhaps if Minato were still alive," Hiruzen muttered, the weight of regret tightening his voice, "we might have stood a chance at sealing those eyes. His mastery of sealing arts, his speed, his mind, he could have done what none of us can now." He paused, the silence thick. "But without him, we're grasping in the dark, hoping ink and chakra can bind something born from legend."
Hiruzen stood, pacing slowly. "This isn't just a Hyuga matter anymore, Hiashi. What you've shown me… it has far-reaching consequences. If word of this spreads beyond trusted ears, if Danzo finds out, he'll act without hesitation. He'll tear the boy from your clan and place him under Root's control, claiming it's for the village's protection."
He paused, casting a glance out the nearby window.
"And worse, if foreign nations caught even a whisper of this power, they wouldn't wait for diplomacy. They'd strike while we're vulnerable."
Hiashi's voice grew cold. "Which is why you will keep this quiet, Lord Third."
Hiruzen met his gaze. After a long pause, he nodded.
"Until we know more, I'll ensure this stays under wraps."
"But promise me this: if the child's power ever grows beyond control, you won't hesitate; you must act."
Hiashi's eyes flickered to the scroll, then to his brother.
"…I will."