Death Battle
Fugaku's instincts told him—it was time to act.
"Elder Setsuna," he said calmly, "why haven't the families of our fallen clan members received the pensions owed to them by the village and the clan?"
Uchiha Setsuna hesitated.
How did Fugaku find out?
The clan's finances were currently under the control of other elders. Pensions were a sensitive topic, and it was true—many voices within the clan were already demanding severe punishment for whoever had embezzled or withheld funds. He couldn't defend such a person, even if he wanted to. Deep down, he too was angry.
Setsuna may have once vied for control of the clan, hoping to reduce the leader to a figurehead, but he was still Uchiha to the core—arrogant, proud, and devoted to the strength and honor of his bloodline.
To sully that honor was unforgivable.
"I... don't know," Setsuna finally said, his three-tomoe Sharingan spinning to emphasize his conviction. "But if someone has shamed the Uchiha, I'll rip them apart myself!"
A murmur passed through the room.
Fugaku gave a small smile. "Elder Setsuna, you're old. You shouldn't need to fight yourself. The man in question is a powerful jōnin of our clan, after all. If anyone should handle this, it should be me. As clan head, this is my duty."
He turned slowly, gaze locking onto an elder sitting at the far end of the front row.
"Isn't that right... Elder Qing?"
Gasps spread like wildfire through the assembled Uchiha.
One by one, Sharingan eyes activated across the crowd. Crimson eyes filled with suspicion and fury now bore down on Uchiha Qing.
Under so many glares, even a seasoned jōnin would feel pressure.
"Fugaku... are you accusing me?" Qing asked, voice tight.
But Fugaku didn't answer directly. Instead, he began naming names.
"Uchiha Chiji. Uchiha Rinna. Uchiha Han. Uchiha Hanhuo. Uchiha Junshu…"
He looked back at Qing. "Interesting pattern, Elder. Each of them came from weaker branches of the family. Few had unlocked their Sharingan. Low status. You must have thought they were beneath notice. That even if they tried to report it, the word would never reach me. That I—clan head in name—was blind to what went on beneath my feet."
Fugaku's voice grew louder, more forceful. His presence expanded like a storm building on the horizon.
"But Uchiha isn't yours to control with one hand over the sky. Uchiha belongs to every one of us!"
As he shouted, he unstrapped the clan's Flame Fan from his back and pointed his war sickle directly at Qing.
Around the hall, Setsuna and the other elders exchanged dark, conflicted glances. Fugaku's accusations hit close to home—too close. His words carried double meaning, accusing not only Qing but all of them for consolidating power.
"You're right," Qing snapped back. "Uchiha belongs to all of us—not just your bloodline!"
He stood, red-faced and furious.
"And what gives you the right to be clan head?! Merit? Seniority? You're just riding on your father's coattails!"
That was always the thorn in Fugaku's side. He was strong—stronger than most—but not the strongest. Not like Madara, or Izuna, or even Tajima. He didn't have the Mangekyō. Among the proud Uchiha, many elders believed only power could determine leadership.
"You may be right," Fugaku replied solemnly. "Maybe I've failed as a leader. But my greatest failure was letting someone like you tarnish our clan's honor."
He turned to the crowd.
"Today, I'll wash the Uchiha clan emblem clean with my own blood if I must!"
Among the Uchiha, strength speaks loudest. Honor, pride, power—they were the currency of their bloodline. Qing knew, deep down, he wouldn't walk away alive. Even if he somehow defeated Fugaku, the rest of the clan would tear him apart.
The two men stepped outside to the open space in front of Naka Shrine.
The place was sacred—where Uchiha made critical decisions in secret, away from Konoha's eyes. The gathered clan members surrounded the field, preventing Qing's escape.
There would be no Seal of Confrontation. No Seal of Reconciliation. This wasn't a spar.
This was war.
From the crowd, Uchiha Yu appeared at Mingjing's side.
"Watch closely," Yu whispered. "You might learn something. This level of battle between jōnin with fully developed Sharingan is rare and important."
Mingjing activated his three-tomoe Sharingan. Still, the fight was fast. Too fast. Even with his eyes, he could barely track it—Fire Release techniques, feints, counters, and subtle chakra shifts.
Yu began offering commentary in a low voice, pointing out tactical choices and weaknesses only a veteran jōnin would notice.
After a few minutes, Yu nodded.
"Fugaku will win. Qing's fire style is impressive, but Fugaku has mastered both nature and form manipulation. He's younger, stronger, and has more chakra. Qing's techniques are sharp, but his age is catching up. He knows he's going to die—this is just the death throes of a trapped beast."
Mingjing nodded slowly. But inside, he had doubts.
Fugaku might win, but would that win earn him the respect he needed? The Uchiha clan didn't follow words—they followed overwhelming strength.
And Fugaku… didn't have Mangekyō.
His jōnin-level skill wasn't enough to truly dominate the clan. Not with old wolves like Setsuna and Qing around. Not with the elders who remembered the power of Madara.
Without Mangekyō Sharingan or strength equal to a Kage, Fugaku could never completely unite the Uchiha.
Qing lost. But not without wounding Fugaku.
The damage dimmed the victory, and Fugaku's attempt to establish authority didn't have the impact he'd hoped for.
Publicly, Fugaku took Qing's Sharingan eyes, stripping him of power and legacy.
But the fallout was just beginning.
Now, a new problem emerged—how to redistribute Qing's former power. And who among Fugaku and Setsuna would gain the upper hand.
---
Later that day, after helping clean dishes at Uchiha Yu's home, Mingjing returned to find a familiar face waiting outside.
An old servant of Fugaku bowed respectfully.
"Excuse me… Uchiha Mingjing. This is your pension from the village: 500,000 ryō. Additionally, the clan is providing a 300,000 ryō subsidy. And lastly, 100,000 ryō directly from the clan head."
He handed over three bulging envelopes.
"The clan head sends his regards. He hopes you'll awaken your potential soon and serve the Uchiha with pride."
Mingjing accepted the money with a bow. "Please thank the clan head for his kindness. Mingjing will never forget this favor."
After seeing the servant off, Mingjing sat down with a sigh, thumbing through the cash.
"Tch. Fugaku's really investing in me…"
It was obvious.
Fugaku saw promise in him. He'd opened his Sharingan at ten—a rarity—and had the potential to be molded into a loyal supporter. Someone to parade as an example of a wise, generous leader.
But Mingjing wasn't so easily convinced.
Fugaku was capable, yes. Smart. Cautious. But that same caution was his weakness. He lacked decisiveness. The ability to act boldly when it mattered most. In times of peace, he might be fine. But in a storm…
He would falter.
And Konoha's leadership? They'd never allow a unified, powerful Uchiha clan to rise.
Still, Mingjing thought, looking at the money, Fugaku has been good to me. If I gain power one day, I'll repay this debt.
---
Two days passed quickly.
Mingjing trained, practiced jutsu, and sought out Uchiha Yu for guidance.
On the third day, it was time for team assignments. The new generation of Genin—both fourth and fifth-year graduates—would be split into squads.
Just like in the original Naruto timeline, the stronger students, those with backgrounds or potential, would be hand-picked by elite jōnin instructors. Out of many, only a few would become true candidates for greatness.
Mingjing suspected the same logic applied now.
Just like Kakashi's team in the original story—only 27 Genin, carefully selected. The rest? Left behind or led by lesser instructors.
Mingjing could only hope he'd be chosen.
Because for someone like him, with ambition, power, and dreams...
Being average was never an option.