A few minutes had passed since Sōta's first report when a measured knock echoed softly from the wooden doorframe.
"Clan Head," came Sōta's calm voice, "as you commanded, we are here."
"Enter," I said without lifting my eyes immediately from the scrolls before me.
I had been deep in the archives again, not merely rereading the earlier records, but combing through every entry that detailed the earliest cases of Byakugan activation and control. My goal was to compare Hinata's development to that of any prodigy before her. The conclusion was unavoidable—and unsettling.
In all documented cases I uncovered—some dating back centuries—no child had ever achieved conscious activation and deactivation in less than three full weeks of focused effort. Even the most gifted prodigies, whose Byakugan had manifested naturally at an early age—triggered by instinct or a sudden rush of chakra—still required weeks, often stretching into months, before they could will it closed and opened again with precision. These were not mediocre talents but the shining stars of our clan's long history, their names etched into record with reverence.
Worse—or perhaps better, depending on one's perspective—the records revealed a consistent truth: the younger the child at first activation, the longer the adjustment period tended to be. Some journal entries described children wincing and clutching at their temples for days, complaining of splitting headaches, waves of dizziness, lingering fatigue, and, in some cases, a sharp drain on their chakra reserves. Trainers of the past had learned to avoid such strain, refining a method that began with months of basic chakra control exercises before ever allowing the Byakugan to be triggered and suppressed. Only when a child could channel and restrain their chakra at will were they introduced to the more demanding art of manipulating the dōjutsu's activation.
Yet my daughter… had bypassed that entirely.
I closed the scroll slowly and looked up as Sōta and Sōka stepped into the room. They moved with the quiet precision of veteran shinobi, their posture straight, their eyes downcast in formal respect. Without a word, both dropped to one knee before me.
I studied them for a moment in silence. These two were among the most capable jōnin the branch family had to offer—disciplined, loyal, and possessed of a keen instinct for reading a situation before it turned dangerous. I would need that now more than ever.
"Sōta. Sōka." My voice was even, deliberate. "I have summoned you because you are two of the most skilled jōnin in our clan. From this moment forward, you will serve exclusively as Hinata's personal guards. You will answer only to her and to me."
Their heads lowered further. "Yes, Clan Head. We will give our lives for Lady Hinata," they said in unison.
"You will disregard any orders from others—even the elders—unless they come through my authority or Hinata's direct word. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Clan Head."
I let the weight of the moment settle before continuing. "You will provide me with regular reports on Hinata's development and on her surroundings. I expect you to note not only her progress but also any irregularities—any threats, any unusual attention."
Again, they answered, "Yes, Clan Head."
"And most importantly," I said, my tone sharpening just slightly, "you will maintain absolute silence about Hinata's abilities. No one within the clan is to learn of her progress unless I decide it. If anyone outside the clan so much as hints at knowing, you will… remove that problem. Quietly. Permanently, if necessary."
There was no hesitation. "Yes, Clan Head."
I inclined my head. "Good. You have my gratitude. You are dismissed."
The siblings rose smoothly, offered deep bows, and departed as silently as they had come. The paper door slid shut behind them with a whisper.
I leaned back slightly, exhaling. With them in place, Hinata will be safe.
Still, the thoughts swirled in an unrelenting tide, dragging me into deeper currents the longer I dwelled on them. I would have to keep a watchful, unblinking eye on these developments—not just observing, but cataloging every small change, revisiting them from every angle, and crafting contingencies I prayed I would never have to enact. Every scenario, from internal whispers to external threats, had to be mapped and countered before it could ever take shape. The elders, with their deep-seated pride, political ambitions, and unpredictable tempers, could react in ways that might fracture the clan's unity if they learned the full truth, perhaps even forcing my hand in ways I'd rather avoid. And beyond them loomed the leadership of Konoha—calculating eyes behind courteous masks—especially certain figures in the shadows whose curiosity was as dangerous as their reach and whose influence could reach into every corridor of this village. Their ignorance was not simply preferable; it was a necessity, a strategic shield as vital and irreplaceable as any guard stationed at her door, perhaps even more so, for once that barrier fell, it could never be raised again.
It was fortunate I had ordered those present at Hinata's birth to speak of the Byakugan incident to no one. The Caged Bird Seal was a mark I loathed, a chain I wished I could remove from all branch family members. But in this case, it ensured my orders could not be disobeyed or betrayed.
I rested my hands on the desk and let my gaze drift briefly toward the darkened courtyard outside. Somewhere beyond those walls, my daughter slept—unaware of the waves she was already sending through the quiet waters of the clan's history.
I will protect you, my little princess.
I hoped the world would allow her to grow in peace, to become a healthy, strong kunoichi on her own terms… but experience had taught me to prepare for the opposite.
Author's Note:I have to say, I didn't expect so many people to be interested in this fanfiction. I hope you're enjoying it!If you can, please leave as much feedback as possible — I'd love to hear it.