The room stayed silent.
Several pairs of eyes shifted at once, turning toward Uchiha Jōan. They weren't looking at Kuroha anymore. They wanted confirmation.
Jōan inhaled, then spoke carefully. "What my son said is accurate. I asked you here because I need capable shinobi. Rather than hire outsiders, I would prefer to work with people from our own clan."
Uchiha Omura's expression hardened.
"You want Uchiha shinobi," he said slowly, "to work for a merchant?"
The word merchant landed like an insult.
"We are not hired muscle," Omura continued. "We serve the village. We take missions. We don't escort goods for profit."
Jōan raised his hands slightly. "That's not what I meant. I'm not asking you to be employees. I'm asking you to act as contracted guardians. Only when necessary. Emergency response. Escort duty."
Different words. Same meaning.
"No," Omura said flatly. "We can help you privately if you're in trouble. But joining your trade organization is out of the question."
The others nodded.
They knew the cost.
Uchiha who worked for merchants were ridiculed. Quietly sidelined. Treated as lesser.
Jōan didn't interrupt. He waited until the responses ended, then asked a single question.
"Can any of you still receive village missions?"
No one answered.
The silence stretched.
The truth sat heavy in the room.
Since the Second Hokage's reforms, the Uchiha had been pushed further from the center of power. After the Fourth Hokage's death, that pressure only sharpened. Now, most Uchiha were confined to the Military Police, isolated from both authority and trust.
Even high-ranking shinobi sat idle.
"Omura," Jōan said quietly, "you have children. If you don't receive assignments, do you plan to live off clan subsidies forever?"
Omura clenched his jaw.
"And you," Jōan continued, turning slightly, "your child was just born. How long can savings last?"
No one spoke.
They didn't need to argue the point. Everyone there knew how thin things had become.
"If the village no longer uses us," Jōan said, voice firm now, "why should we continue to wait for approval that will never come?"
His words settled, then pressed deeper.
"They restrict us. Distrust us. Still expect us to risk our lives when it suits them."
He exhaled slowly.
"I'm offering paid work. Clean contracts. Real compensation. No politics. No loyalty tests."
Omura hesitated.
Then the shinobi beside him slammed a fist softly against his thigh.
"I'm done," Uchiha Kai said. "I won't keep waiting."
He looked around the room. "We handled the village's worst missions. We lost people. We were called useful when it benefited them, dangerous when it didn't."
His voice tightened. "If that's how it is, I'd rather choose my own work."
"Kai," Omura said sharply, but the protest lacked force.
Another shinobi nodded. "He's not wrong."
Then another.
"We're not abandoning the village," one said quietly. "The village abandoned us first."
No one said the words Will of Fire.
They didn't need to.
The concept had already failed them.
Omura closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, his resistance had softened, replaced by something heavier.
"Let's hear the terms," he said.
Kuroha, who had remained silent the entire time, finally relaxed his grip on the chopsticks.
That was enough.