Chapter 75 – Spring Uniform
After giving his oath to Sarutobi Hiruzen, Minamoto Ren waited patiently.
Over the next few days, he questioned ANBU who had previously been assigned to monitor the Uchiha, combed through stacks of classified reports, and gradually pieced together a clearer picture of the clan's inner workings.
Currently, the Uchiha clan head was Uchiha Toyo—Fugaku's father. A man never mentioned in the original timeline, and for good reason: his contributions were, at best, negligible. Not absent, but never enough to change anything.
It made sense. If every generation of Uchiha leaders hadn't simply "trusted the wisdom of their successors," how could the burden of the clan's eventual downfall have landed squarely on Fugaku's shoulders?
Fugaku, in this analogy, was little more than a doomed emperor—cornered by circumstance, left with nothing but the option to hang himself on the nearest crooked tree. Powerless to change the grand tide of fate.
With such a mediocre clan head, it was no surprise that dissent brewed beneath him. The Uchiha had fractured into three factions:
The Hawks, led by Uchiha Hachidai—radical, aggressive, and backed by the strongest fighters.
The Doves, under Uchiha Fugaku, who advocated for restraint.
The Turtles, led by Toyo himself, urging patience and endurance above all.
In reality, the Hawks were the true backbone. With most of the elite shinobi rallying behind Hachidai, Fugaku and Toyo combined could barely maintain control.
And the worst part—Fugaku and Toyo had no sway over the Hawks at all. Hachidai had erred gravely, but he stubbornly refused to admit fault, dragging the entire clan onto the chopping block with him.
Ren's reading of the records revealed nothing new in Hachidai's speeches—just the same hawkish rhetoric. Except for one fatal line.
"We should rally all Uchiha stationed abroad and raise our banners in open defiance. Let Sarutobi Hiruzen witness our true strength!"
Such words could not be ignored.
Especially since the Uchiha did have many stationed in the field—powerful shinobi with ambiguous loyalties. Like Uchiha Shōka, who had recently died on the western front. Their allegiance to Konoha had always been in flux, wavering in a gray zone.
Hiruzen could not afford to gamble on their loyalty. Which meant one thing—Hachidai had to be dealt with.
---
"What are you staring at so intently?"
Fresh from the bath, Tsunade stepped into the room, wrapped in a robe, damp hair clinging to her shoulders. She slid behind Ren, arms draping around his neck, her breath warm and fragrant against his ear.
"Tomorrow's briefing files," Ren said, unbothered. "If you're done, get into bed first. I'll join you soon."
He didn't bother hiding his notes. At this stage of their relationship, what was the point?
But instead of moving, Tsunade pressed down, pinning him to the chair, eyes flicking over his handwriting in the lamplight.
His script, like his face, was clear and elegant, yet carried strength. She found herself smiling at it, then leaned in to kiss his cheek.
For more than twenty years she had repressed herself. Now, suddenly indulging, she found she could not stop.
"You're planning to confront Hachidai tomorrow?" she murmured, nestled in his arms.
Ren's hand wandered idly as he gazed at her flushed cheeks. Words slipped from his mouth as easily as thoughts.
"Toyo and Fugaku are useless. Talking with them won't yield results. I've already sent ANBU to test the waters… Tomorrow, it'll all come down to how they respond to me."
"The Uchiha are proud," Tsunade said, locking eyes with him. "Their humility hides inside that pride. If you want them to follow you, you'll need to start soft, then go hard—just like my grandfather did."
Ren froze for a second, then grinned, kissing her deeply.
"Don't worry. I have my own way of handling things. The old methods don't always work on new problems… Shall I turn off the light?"
"Quickly…"
---
The next morning, after washing up, Ren left the Senju compound, absently scratching at the faint nail marks Tsunade had left on his back.
Ahead, the Uchiha compound was already in uproar. ANBU had deliberately leaked word that the Hokage was preparing to deal with Hachidai, and the entire clan was bracing itself for what was to come.
Uchiha Toyo proposed waiting it out. Uchiha Fugaku suggested that the elders and clan head lead a delegation to petition the Hokage directly. Uchiha Hachidai, however, had the simplest stance—just one word: fight!
What did they mean by "handling Hachidai's case"? What mistake had he even made? Where was the fault?
If there was any mistake at all, it lay with Sarutobi Hiruzen and that dead-weight Advisory Council of his—especially Shimura Danzō, with that cursed cleft chin of his. Nothing but bad luck followed that man!
Different voices argued, but the Hokage still hadn't issued a ruling. Perhaps they should wait—see what attitude the investigator would bring? Word was that "Hannya," the celebrated war hero of the ANBU, had been assigned to the case. Someone like that… would he be hostile to the Uchiha, or fair?
Amid these conflicting thoughts, Uchiha Toyo, Fugaku, and Hachidai gathered together. Their supporters stood outside the compound, their factions sharply divided, lines drawn as clear as day.
It was early spring—still a chill in the air despite the season's promise. Uchiha shinobi wore their fur-lined fan-crested robes. On the branches, forsythia buds hesitated to bloom, birds flitted back to their perches, and the last of the melting snow dripped from the tips.
At that very moment, the scarlet gates of the Uchiha compound swung open under the hands of two ANBU. As the gates parted, a pair of black shinobi sandals stepped inside.
"Yo. Everyone's here, huh?"
The figure halted at the entrance. The Uchiha raised their eyes from his feet upward.
His shins were wrapped in black bindings, paired with mid-length black-and-white trousers that emphasized the long, lean build common among shinobi—one he embodied perfectly.
On his torso was a new spring-issue ANBU vest, light gray with black arm and neck guards that heightened its austere, cold aesthetic.
He wore no mask. His face, framed by a slender neck, was strikingly handsome, his cheeks faintly flushed from the chill. When he spoke, the flash of clean, white teeth only added to the impact.
This was Minamoto Ren. For this task, he hadn't bothered with a mask. There was no need—everyone knew who he was.
The uniform he wore was one of the rare designs he openly praised for ANBU's sense of style. It was tailored to accentuate the sleek lines of a shinobi's physique. He'd heard it was designed by a failed art student who, thanks to this set, had made a name in Konoha as a tailor. Judging from the reactions of Uchiha kunoichi, the design had done its job well. He'd have to request that ANBU commission from the same designer again.
Among the pacifist faction stood Uchiha Mikoto, her eyes fixed on him. This boy embodied her vision of a white knight—strong, untainted by scandal, and strikingly handsome. The only flaw was that he wasn't Uchiha.
The clan prized keeping the Sharingan bloodline pure, arranging marriages within their ranks. Her father, for one, had been actively pushing her toward Uchiha Fugaku.
But Mikoto didn't like Fugaku. His sharp, severe features intimidated her, and his gaze always felt predatory, suffocating. What girl in the bloom of youth could love such a man?
If only he were Fugaku instead…
Hiding slightly behind her companions, Mikoto stole glances at Ren. With her mix of longing and disappointment shimmering in her gaze, Ren strode boldly into the Uchiha compound.