"You're back?"
In the Hokage's office, Hiruzen Sarutobi slowly placed the shogi piece in his hand onto the board. Taking a deep puff from his pipe, he closed his eyes in thought, letting the smoke swirl around him as he exhaled with a sigh.
To be honest, the Third Hokage was astonished. He never expected a nondescript Uchiha boy to accomplish so much, so quickly.
If it weren't for the mission reports and the intelligence gathered from multiple sources—including those he personally reviewed—he would've thought the data was falsified.
Hatake Kakashi was undoubtedly a prodigy. From graduating the Academy at age 5, to becoming Chūnin at 6, and Jōnin at 12, his record was nothing short of legendary. Yet, compared to this Uchiha, even Kakashi seemed… ordinary.
The most startling detail: this boy had awakened a fully matured three-tomoe Sharingan—on his first known activation. Not even among the Uchiha, with their long and proud history, had such a thing been documented. And Hiruzen, who had guided Konoha through war and peace, had never heard of such a case.
How far this boy might go, the Third could not say. But he had other concerns—chief among them, Kakashi.
The Uchiha were always difficult to deal with. And now, on top of this exceptional boy, there was Uchiha Obito—Kakashi's late teammate—who had awakened his Sharingan in the heat of battle… only to die shortly after.
From a purely strategic point of view, Obito's death was one less volatile Uchiha to worry about. Hiruzen hated that such thoughts even crossed his mind—but it was wartime, and the village came first.
Still, why had Obito given his Sharingan to Kakashi?
Was it sentiment? A final gift to a comrade?
Did this mean any Jōnin in Konoha could now "receive" a Sharingan from a dying Uchiha? What precedent did that set?
What troubled him more was that Minato Namikaze—Jiraiya's prized pupil and Kakashi's team leader—had allowed it without protest. Even Hiruzen couldn't fully blame him, but the Uchiha clan certainly wouldn't let it go so easily.
All of this gave Hiruzen a constant headache. It was part of why he had dispatched Jiraiya to the Iwagakure front in the Land of Grass so quickly. His idiot disciple had grown strong—but his absence gave Hiruzen room to breathe.
"I just hope the Uchiha don't start making noise over this," Hiruzen muttered, biting down on the pipe's stem and tugging his hat lower. "The war's almost over. With Minato and Jiraiya handling negotiations in Heiyan, there shouldn't be any major problems... unless Orochimaru gets involved."
Thinking of Orochimaru only made his mood worse. The unsettling rumors, the hidden experiments, the subtle distancing—it all pointed to a darkness Hiruzen feared he could no longer control.
Was it Danzo? Or something else entirely?
Either way, trouble was brewing.
Meanwhile, Uchiha Kai had returned to the clan compound. Along the way, Uchiha Shun—one of the older clan attendants—chatted nonstop, trying to gauge Kai's mood. Kai, for his part, answered politely but distantly.
He understood the game.
Despite his disdain for clan politics, Kai knew he needed the Uchiha's support. Resources, protection, information—all things he couldn't do without. So he tolerated the chatter and played along.
When they reached the compound gates, the escorts bowed and left. No doubt they were rushing to report back to their respective factions.
"Were they testing my loyalty?" Kai murmured once they were gone. He shook his head, not caring enough to dwell on it.
Their questions had been transparent—thinly veiled probes laced with subtle promises. Kei responded with vague nods, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
He knew he needed to appear proud. He had just returned from a dangerous mission. His Sharingan had evolved to three tomoe. If he wasn't a little arrogant and resentful, it would be unnatural.
Kei detested this snake-like communication style. But he had no illusions—his return from the battlefield didn't mean safety. The clan was another battlefield altogether, one filled with traps and silent assassins in the form of ambition and politics.
Many heroes of war had fallen to internal strife. Kai wouldn't be one of them.
Following familiar paths, Kai made his way back home.
The Uchiha house he returned to was modest—enough for three people. When he opened the sliding door, he saw them.
His parents.
Ryoko Uchiha, his mother, was the first to rise with a smile. "Kai-kun, you're back."
Kai nodded. "Yeah. I'm back."
His gaze drifted from her over to the man seated on the tatami mat—his father, Keisuke Uchiha. Though his expression was calm, the faint crinkle at the corner of his eyes betrayed his emotions.
Keisuke had once been a capable Chūnin, but a grievous injury in the Second Shinobi World War had ended his combat career. Since then, he'd relied on clan connections and small trade work to support his family.
He spoke little and rarely smiled—but he had trained Kai with what strength he had left. Kai owed much of his early survival to the solid foundation his father had laid.
Ryoko, on the other hand, had served in the Konoha Military Police Force. A civilian-born kunoichi of Genin rank, her duties were mostly administrative, and her career had little room to grow. Still, she had always been present, always observant.
"You're still so cold. That temper of yours hasn't changed," she said with a chuckle. "I heard you were hurt. Are you alright? Should we go to the hospital?"
"I'm fine," Kai replied. "I just need some rest."
Parents are the same everywhere. Kai could tell—of all the people in the clan—his were among the few who genuinely cared more about his health than his eyes.
Still, after all this time, it remained hard for Kai to fully accept them as his parents. The bond was there, but it hadn't grown deep enough to feel natural.
Not yet.