The Uchiha clan registry was more like a death list. Aside from Uchiha Sasuke, who was still alive, every name in that book belonged to the dead.
Even those who managed to survive for a time—didn't they all perish eventually?
Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Obito, Uchiha Madara… all were powerful, all were once alive, and now, all were gone. In the end, the only one who remained was Sasuke.
Uchiha Kai had little interest in what was "inscribed in history." But since these words came from Uchiha Fugaku himself, Kai could only nod silently, making no comment.
After that, silence fell between them. Only the sound of water flowing in the nearby pond and the rhythmic clack of a bamboo fountain filled the quiet air.
Kai turned his head to watch the fish swimming beneath the surface. Fugaku, seated across from him, sipped his tea with measured calm. After a long pause, Fugaku finally set down his cup, his eyes now fixed on Kai.
"Kai-kun, let me ask you—what do you think of Kakashi Hatake's eye?"
Fugaku's tone was neutral, almost indifferent, though his gaze was sharp.
Kakashi's eye?
Kai glanced sideways at him and instantly understood what he meant. Another test.
From the beginning, Fugaku had been probing him. Kai had to admit—he may have slipped slightly, but what of it?
As Uchiha Kai once said: if you possess a Sharingan, why not use it? With it, one could change fate, evade danger, gain strength. So long as Fugaku couldn't see into his heart, Kai could afford to reveal a few superficial cracks. As long as he never confirmed anything directly, there would be no real consequences.
Besides, Kai didn't even fully understand the path to the Mangekyō Sharingan. Could Fugaku claim he did?
Fugaku's line of questioning was clear: earlier, he probed Kai's loyalty to the clan. Now, through the subject of Kakashi, he was testing his stance toward the village.
Kai understood this thoroughly. His response had likely left Fugaku with the impression that he wasn't devoted to the clan. And that made sense—he had never been nurtured by it. If Kai had grown up fanatically devoted to the clan's honor, that would have been more suspicious. Not everyone was like Obito.
"I'm afraid that's for the patriarch to decide," Kai said quietly. "After all, I'm just a Chūnin."
He didn't need to overthink this.
"Is that so? I heard Obito gave his Sharingan to Kakashi of his own will." Fugaku tilted his head slightly, observing Kai. "How do you think that should be handled?"
"I'm just a Chūnin, Patriarch," Kai replied again, tone calm and firm. He made it clear—this wasn't his concern.
"Hah… seems like you bear some resentment toward both the clan and the village," Fugaku chuckled softly, then sighed. "I see. Since Kai-kun has no opinion on the matter, I won't press further."
A shinobi who didn't value the clan and didn't align with its ideals was a poor investment—unless the clan had invested in them in the first place.
No family would nurture a traitor. But if you never nurtured someone at all, could you expect undying loyalty in return? It was foolish to think so.
Kai's attitude made Fugaku believe he was such a person—realistic, not sycophantic. He never expressed sentiments like "there is no me without the clan." That was fine. In truth, Fugaku found it more reassuring.
After all, Kai had received no training from the clan—just a brief period under his father's care, and then he was thrust onto the battlefield. Everything he'd achieved, he'd earned on his own. Why should he feel indebted?
But it was precisely that kind of realist who was worth cultivating. A little resentment was acceptable. It made a person more grounded. And if Kai had no pride in the Uchiha, then that idea could always be instilled later.
Uchiha like Kai weren't rare. The clan had many such marginal figures. Had he not awakened his Sharingan, Fugaku might never have heard of him.
"You may have potential, but from today on, your mindset must change," Fugaku said after another sip of tea. "You may not value the clan—but you cannot survive without it. You need the clan's recognition."
"Because of these eyes?" Kai asked, meeting Fugaku's gaze. His Sharingan had quietly activated, glowing crimson.
"Yes. I don't like it either, but that's how things are in this clan."
Fugaku nodded, his tone blunt. "Strength and the Sharingan are the primary standards for potential. Your father wasn't exceptional. He was reclusive. So, you were never given much attention. Not every Uchiha awakens the Sharingan—but every Uchiha who does has the potential to become a true powerhouse. I hope you understand that, Kei-kun."
He wasn't fazed by Kai's Sharingan at all. Though disrespectful, Fugaku paid it no mind. Calmly, he took another sip and looked back at the fish gliding freely through the pond's water.
Then he sighed again.
Kai Uchiha was one of those fish—and the pond was the Uchiha clan. None could escape the boundaries of that water.
And even if one day they left the "family" pond, they'd only find themselves in a bigger one—the village. Everyone seemed free, but they were always swimming within invisible walls.
Only those who truly controlled the pond could sit by its edge, in the shade of a gazebo, sipping tea while watching the others swim.
But that was easier said than done.
"I understand, Patriarch," Kai said at last. He deactivated his Sharingan and continued, calm and composed, "Then what do I get?"
"The clan's attention, its resources, and its support," Fugaku replied, smiling slightly. "All the things you never had—now, you'll have them."
A fish, after all, must make itself visible—especially in a pond like this.