Hyuga Main House | Council Chamber
Rain lashed the ancient cedar beams as Hiashi knelt at the head of the low black table, knuckles white around his steaming teacup. Across from him, his twin Hizashi sat rigidly - branch family leader, yet separated by an ocean of tradition. Four elders completed the circle, their faces carved from the same stone as the Hyuga statues lining the courtyard.
Elder Noboru in his 70s, a scar bisecting his Byakugan-less left eye, slammed a fist on the table, making teacups jump. "Kirigakure dogs tore Renjiro's eye from its socket while he drew breath! My grandson's corpse came home with empty sockets!" Spittle flew with his fury. "Will we wait until they butcher our children in their beds?"
Elder Kimiko with her silver hair a perfect coil set down her cup with glacial control. "To brand toddlers like cattle? This seal twists the soul as much as it protects the eye."
Elder Takashi his fingers steepled, and voice like rustling scrolls countered coldly:
"The Caged Bird stabilizes the Clan. Without it, our civilian cousins would be hunted like pigs. The seal is armor for the vulnerable."
Hizashi flinched almost imperceptibly - as the head of the branch family he better than all understands that the caged bird is both a prison and a protection.
Elder Haruto the youngest at 60, smelling of medicinal herbs added quietly: "In war, kindness is suicide. My medics report three theft attempts at the Byakugan this month alone."
Were it not for the caged bird seal activating the moment each theft is attempted, their prized Kekkei Genkai, namely the Byakugan would've become a commodity to be owned and traded at will.
Hiashi's teacup cracked. "Enough." Silence fell like a blade. "At dawn, all branch children aged three and above receive the seal. Including future heirs of the Elder lines." His gaze locked with Hizashi's. "You will be responsible for the proceedings."
Hizashi's jaw muscle jumped like a trapped bird. "Understood... brother."
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Antechamber | Moments Later
Three-year-old Tsukihiko knelt in perfect seiza outside the council chamber, tiny back straight as a kunai. Rainwater snaked down the shoji screens, blurring the amber light within. He didn't need Byakugan to feel the tension - it seeped through the paper like poison.
Thump. A fist hitting wood. Muffled shouts. He didn't flinch.
Inner Monologue
Three years. Three years since banking meetings and traffic jams dissolved into milk-scented darkness and this gilded cage. His tiny fingers curled against silk robes.
In the anime, the Caged Bird was Neji's tragic backstory. Here? The air itself reeks of fear-sweat and iron resolve. Real war isn't heroic montages - it's Elder Noboru's trembling hands after burying his grandson.
He'd dreamed of saving them all - Hinata's shy smile, Neji's unbroken pride, the Uchihas impending doom. Now? He couldn't even reach the doorknob without a stool. Reincarnation isn't power. It's drowning in honey.
The shoji slid open. Hiashi loomed, silhouette sharp as a drawn blade. Rainwater glistened on his forehead protector like frozen tears.
"You move well for three years of age," Hiashi stated, eyes dissecting Tsukihiko's posture. "No child of mine kneels without purpose."
Tsukihiko stood up and kept his gaze lowered. "I await the council's wisdom, Father."
A beat. Hiashi's calloused hand gripped his chin, forcing eye contact. "Wisdom? They voted to brand children like livestock." His thumb pressed painfully below Tsukihiko's unmarked brow. "You will never wear that seal. But freedom demands blood payment." he stated as he observed testingly, inwardly satisfied by his son's display of perfect ettiquete.
Hiashi leaned close, breath smelling of bitter tea and battlefield mud:
"In 7 months, you come to the Kome (land of rice) front. War doesn't count birthdays. It counts corpses."
Tsukihiko's stomach turned to ice. Front lines. Where Renjiro, the elder cousin that used to take care of him died screaming. But he only nodded, the movement stiff. "Yes, Father."
As Hiashi strode away, Tsukihiko's tiny hands trembled in his lap. Outside, predawn light bled gray over the compound. Somewhere, branch family toddlers slept unaware of the brand awaiting their sunrise.
Tsukihiko rose on unsteady legs. Through the rain-smeared window, he watched Hiashi cross the courtyard - a stark figure moving toward the branch family quarters. Toward Hizashi. Toward futures not yet born who would bear the mark.
In another life, he thought, I worried about stock prices. A hollow laugh died in his throat. Now? He'd see children die in muddy trenches.
His gaze dropped to the tatami. With one small finger, he traced a single kanji in the dust:
抗
Resist.
The rain beat down like distant war drums. Three years old. Heir. Soldier.
First lesson of rebirth, he knew now. Adapt or break.