After returning from the Fire Country's border, Hyuga Satoru slipped back into his quiet rhythm. The hunt for Ao had given him a clean read on his ceiling—and on everyone else's.
Ao was no slouch; in later years he would stand among the Mizukage's personal guard. But against the Flying Thunder God, he hadn't managed a meaningful exchange. Satoru's conclusion was simple: for most elite jōnin, instantaneous space-time was not something you "react" to—only something you prepare for. Very few in the shinobi world could threaten his life now.
With that certainty, Satoru chose patience. He would spend the next decade refining rather than gambling.
Beneath Konoha's calm surface, politics stirred, but Satoru's days remained steady and full. He trained, taught Hinata when she begged, visited Hanako and the newborn, and let the village slowly forget his shadow.
The Great Ninja War wound toward its final notes. Kumo, burned by a Two-Tails incident, saber-rattled at the border but never committed. Suna—bled dry and subdued—clung to Konoha's side; their new One-Tail host, Gaara, lost control too often for them to help anyone. Only the Mist front still burned, Orochimaru's banner needling Kiri day after day.
In that firelight, a younger Leaf generation stepped forward.
Uchiha Shisui—measured, bright, and deadly—was promoted to jōnin on the recommendation of Kakashi and Uchiha Fugaku. Minato pulled him from the Police Force and threw him to the borders. "Shisui of the Body Flicker" earned the name in months; as a jōnin, his missions stayed at one hundred percent. Pride swelled in the Uchiha compound. After years of policing instead of war, the clan finally had a blade the village could see.
Fugaku fanned that flame. If Shisui could become a bridge, more Uchiha could cross it—out of the Police cage, into wider service. And because one torch was never enough, Fugaku raised another: his son, Uchiha Itachi.
Autumn, Konoha Year 53.
At seven, Itachi graduated after a single year, promoted straight to genin. With Minato's and Fugaku's gentle push, "genius" stuck to his name like morning dew. Unlike most of his clan, he bypassed the Police and joined a standard four-man cell. Shisui and Itachi would walk a different road.
Time thinned into silk. Satoru's quiet began to stir.
Perhaps the battlefield had changed Hiashi; perhaps he simply learned to cherish what he still held. Either way, Hanako became pregnant again. In late March, Hyuga Hanabi was born.
Not long after, a question the branch elders had swallowed for years finally resurfaced:
When would Hinata be marked with the Caged Bird Seal?
Tradition said three years old. War postponed it: Hiashi and Hizashi were away, then Hiashi was wounded, then Satoru returned with the reclaimed Byakugan, and no one pressed. Now Satoru was ten, Hinata five, Hanabi an infant—and the elders brought the matter to the main hall.
Hiashi, a traditionalist, still loved his daughter. He had delayed as long as he dared. When the elders pressed, Satoru finally spoke.
"Isn't it too soon to mark Hinata?"
"Wait until the succession is settled. There's no need to rush."
By right of merit—Ao's head—Satoru sat in these meetings now. His voice carried. This was the first time he'd stepped directly against the old line.
"Satoru…" Elder Hyuga Shin, who treated him like a grandson, answered first—and stern. "The succession is decided. No one is more suited than you. Hinata must bear the seal. It is our rule."
"Grandfather, I'm not refusing the rule," Satoru replied, even and cool. "I'm refusing the timing. I'm still young. If something happens to me…"
Shin's palm cracked the table. "Nonsense! Nothing will happen to you. The clan will protect you."
His tone softened—weathered love beneath granite. "But Hinata is small; her spirit may not be ready. We can delay. Remember, Satoru, your choices bind more than yourself."
The elders glanced at one another. Delaying was not breaking; there was precedent. Hiashi inclined his head.
"Then settle it so: by your adulthood, Satoru, Hinata receives the seal—no later."
Six years. In six years, mountains can move.
The hall emptied. The child herself knew nothing. At five, Hinata was no longer a tremulous sprout; training had stiffened her spine. Adults credited Satoru's example. The truth was blonder.
Uzumaki Naruto.
Kushina's hand had already steadied the boy's chakra; Naruto ran ahead, laughing. Hinata ran harder to keep up. Hanako watched, amused. Hiashi never noticed. Satoru watched too—equal parts entertained and wary. A golden-haired future brother-in-law was hardly a crisis… provided possessiveness did not turn story to tragedy.
For now, a simpler milestone loomed: Hinata was nearly six. Academy waited.
Unlike Satoru, Hiashi wanted his daughter to taste ordinary days—to go to school, make friends, and be a child.
Late February.
Cherry blossoms shook themselves awake as the Academy opened its gates to a new class.
Hanako woke Hinata early, combed her hair twice, and dressed her thrice. For once Satoru skipped morning drills; he sat with Hiashi and waited, smiling despite himself. When the girls joined them, the five ate together—Hanako cradling Hanabi, Hiashi holding Hinata's hand, Satoru beside them like an older, watchful shadow.
On the street, villagers bowed to Hiashi. At the Academy gate, a sea of parents and children pressed in, full of first-day nerves. There stood Namikaze Minato and Uzumaki Kushina with Naruto, chatting with Uchiha Fugaku and Mikoto, who'd brought Sasuke.
While the adults exchanged pleasantries, the two boys looked up and met.
One, son of the Hokage.
The other, heir of the Uchiha.
From that single glance, each marked the other—not as enemy, not as friend, but as the rival who would shape the road ahead.
Satoru watched Hinata's face go bright as the morning. She tugged his sleeve.
"Brother, do I look cool?"
"You look terrifying," he whispered, deadpan.
Hinata puffed her cheeks. "Mom!"
Hanako laughed; Hiashi's mouth twitched. Satoru let his eyes soften—then turned them outward, over cherry petals and children and parents and quiet plots woven under silk.
War's last embers faded. New candles were being lit.
The opening ceremony began.
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