(On the grounds of his birth alone, the felines owed Sasuke their respect and reverence; but not the volatile Tigers, for it was their respect and dedication that he sought after. His eyes were set solely on one worthy companion—the Black Dread, Kurai.)

— The History of Sasuke The Magnificent.


When the flames abruptly died away with a sudden gust of wind, the tiger's words lingered in Sasuke's mind. "Take it," the tiger had promised. "Once you are worthy, summon me, and I shall answer, not before."

The tiger, however, was nowhere to be found as Sasuke whirled around, with the newly obtained Sharingan glowing in his eyes.

He felt numbness—a stinging disappointment—until he noticed something glowing in the darkness with weak chakra, a scroll—weathered by time itself—yet pristine, unaffected by the fires or the dampness that had wrecked all around it.

He abruptly noticed the ANBU approaching him, their sharp and strict footsteps echoing closer. In a frantic state, Sasuke shoved the scroll beneath a layer of soot-laden tapestries nearby.

He's not entirely sure why he kept the scroll away from ANBU; they had only declared him unwell and driven him back to his bed, keeping an eye on him despite Sasuke's spontaneous outburst.

In the wake of the accident, after almost two days on his own with only the company of cats, big felines prowled in the dark woods, and an unpleasant ANBU squad that was always nearby, watching him closely. Only Iruka-sensei had paid him a visit, asking how he was doing, giving him his homework and scolding him for being thoughtless before retiring again.

When Sasuke awoke from his nap, he spotted an odd book buried beneath a thick pile of untouched books and assignments, on top of which a white cat was passively sitting and dangling one of its limbs. He was taken aback by the abrupt apparition of the book and the cat, which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

They had been in his bedroom the entire time while he had been vacillating between states of sleepiness and consciousness.

The cat gently opens one of its eyes and purrs in the dimly lit bedroom. Its attention appears to be concentrated on a bird sitting on a nearby branch, but Sasuke feels it is an ANBU agent's spot. This belief is supported by the cat's purposeful behavior, which, curiously, points in a completely different direction.

It's a warning, he realizes, to not notify the ANBU about the book or that he was surprised by the cat's presence.

The cat gives him a glassily opaque stare.

Sasuke carefully gets out of bed and makes his way to the window, while straightening his numb limbs. The cat stretches out and revels in the cozy glow of the sun's rays with a sense of regularity. It falls away gracefully, revealing the book underneath it. Sasuke stops, looks out the window, before settling down and digging out the still-unfinished assignments. He pauses once more, drifts away to switch on the light, and then returns to his schoolwork. The cat's actions show a clear sense of satisfaction and approval. Finally, after a half-hour of stalling, pretending that everything is normal.

He reaches for the weighty book, its old pages wrinkled and yellowed with age. The once-dark brown leather binding has faded to a dingy gray, with wrinkles and nicks from years of use. It appears to be a history book. Sasuke hums faintly and tilts his head. The cat climbs onto his shoulder and leans towards his ear. Sasuke allows it, albeit grudgingly.

When he opens the book, the musty stink of ancient paper and ink, which has remained for centuries, hits them. The text is written in small, precise letters.

A closer look shows delicate typographic imprints on the reverse side of each sheet, demonstrating the remarkable skill of the artisan who handled the printing press. Sasuke checks, double-checks, and then blinks, "Is this a record?".

The cat only purrs.

The feline illustrations that accompany the book's contents are nothing short of spectacular. Each image is unequivocal and captures precise details with vibrant colors. Sasuke notices one image in particular: a familiar black tiger with the foreboding name, 'The Black Dread.' Its name is Kurai.

"That's him," says Sasuke. It was more of a confirmation than an inquiry. In agreement, the cat purrs against his ear.

The Uchiha can't help but become absorbed in the summon's history as he analyses it. The narrative's depth and complexity laid out an unambiguous overview of the tiger's legacy, displaying its existence in a hunting and awe-inspiring manner.

"It is an unwritten law that the Tigers of the Temple hold a significant position in the faith. They are revered as symbols of power and honor. In addition to their political weight, they are regarded as protectors, and their presence is believed to bring good fortune. The temple treats its tigers with utmost respect, and their care and well-being are of paramount importance." Sasuke pauses, sweeps his finger along the line, skipping over the paragraphs. "The tigers cannot sign a contract with any non-believer of the faith. This is a symbol of the high regard that the temple holds for its beliefs, traditions, and power. The honor of possessing a tiger is bestowed only upon those who have earned it, either through divine intervention or the approval of the Thirteen High Priests.."

He pauses once again, his gaze fixed on the text in front of him. The neatly penned words on the page seem to hum with an alluring force, promising a potent influx of power within his grasp. He stares closely, as motionless as a sculpture, his anticipation building like a storm on the horizon. All that remains is for him to act and reap the benefits that await him. He has to do it; therefore, he can do it. Why would he not?

(— bestowed only upon those who have earned it, either through divine intervention or the approval of the Thirteen High Priests )

( Once you are worthy, summon me, and I shall answer, not before.)

Trembling fingertips float over the end of the paragraph. Sasuke resumes his reading and adjusts the book closer to him. "Kurai, also referred to as 'The Black Dread,' is a revered successor of Byakko, famously known as 'The White Tiger' and the only summon used by Indra Ōtsutsuki. Representing righteousness, The Black Dread carries forth the legacy and will of his predecessor as his last living descendant. His age, shrouded in mystery, has been estimated by some historians to potentially span between 500 to 700 years."

Sasuke keeps a lowered look, flattens his palms on the table, and adopts a neutral expression that borders on a frown.

He takes a deep breath and runs his hands over the section that lists the several advantages of the Tiger Contract. The benefits included physical adjustments (with a caveat), chakra elements, increased senses from the tiger, and, if the summoner was a Uchiha with an unlocked Sharingan, the contract would give the tiger the Sharingan.

He purses his lips. He is unable to swallow the tightness that is squeezing his chest. It's like a serpent is coiled around his heart, squeezing with all of its might.

He raises his eyes, trying to relax the strain in his shoulders. But as the weight of unfairness bears down on him, he can't help but wonder what would have happened if he had gotten the scroll a year earlier.

Everything could have been avoided, and the kinslayer would have been held accountable for his heinous deed.

He leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath, his gaze locked on the cat curled up on the ledge. There's something in its green eyes that seems too knowing, too cruel, too mistrustful as if it knows something he doesn't. He realizes it's a summon, which explains why it arrives out of nowhere.

He gets to his feet gently, taking care not to alarm the cat or the ANBU who are both watching him with eyes that are all too keen.

Sasuke is aware of what has to be done. His father's study, which is soundproofed, is the sole private area in the home. That is where the cat has to go if it is seeking privacy.

He lifts up the cat, feeling its powerful body stiffen up just a bit beneath his fingertips. His footsteps are muffled by the thick carpet as he takes it around the house.

After reaching the study, he places the cat on the book's table, closes the door, and sets on the seals.

Outside, the sun is sinking, sending sweeping shadows over the room. He takes a long breath, attempting to dispel the uneasy sensation that had persisted all day. He closes the window, reseals it, and settles into his father's chair.

The sound protection seal hums to life, shutting them off from the rest of the house.

He waits for whatever happens next in the idyllic quiet of his study. He's not sure what he should expect. In his mouth, he recognizes a familiar flavor: impatience.

"Why?" he says, not wanting to hear a response because it is his anger that is speaking through his mouth. "How come they gave it to me now?" Why not the previous year? Why not earlier? Why wait until it's too late?".

The cat peers at him coolly, seeming indifferent with his suffering, and then it says, "The Holy Spirits have seen fit this way, little Uchiha. We don't have to ask why or even wonder."

Sasuke remarks with a joyless smile folding his arms over his chest, "Your spirits are cruel."

"That's what they are."

Sasuke is left with a hollow feeling within as an impact of the voice's pity-inflected tone.

He can now fully lean over the chair and observe everything around him. After the awful incidents that took place here a year and a half ago, the room has an unsettling silence that only comes from being vacated. The air is heavy with dust that hovers like a depressing shroud, and the dust has built up on every surface, left undisturbed for months.

The smell of his father also clings in the air, giving the room a ghostly presence that is thick and all-consuming, like a ghost from the past that won't let go.

He shuts his eyes, grinds his teeth, and flattens his palms on the dusty desk crafted from mahogany, his fingers dug into the aging wood. He grudgingly acknowledges with difficulty that blaming others has been simple, but it has merely served as a shield to avoid accepting responsibility for his own failures, his imperfections.

After all, isn't it the obligation of a son to exact revenge for his clan? Apart from the kinslayer, he is the last surviving Uchiha son, and that weight comes with the obligation and responsibility of retaliating against those who have wronged his family's honor.

Sasuke stands tall and straightens his shoulders, refusing to be controlled by fear or doubt. He won't avoid his role since doing so would be demeaning to the memories and struggles of those who came before him. He asks, "Why did you bring me this?" This time it is him speaking, not his rage. "I can only assume there's a reason, a valid excuse for bringing me this."

Acknowledgement appears in the penetrating reflection in the far-seeing, green eyes.

The cat makes a short, pleased sound. Then says calmly, "You must learn, little Uchiha," with strict honesty and no hint of malice. It adds after pausing, "You are not entitled to something just because it was handed to you. You're not yet worthy of it. Because in the eyes of many, it doesn't matter what you are; you are merely still trapped here, a non-sacrificial pawn in their games."

Sasuke is taken aback by the unexpected whisper, which causes his face to break. "What does that mean?"

"You decide. Either you become what you were intended to be, or you rot and let your clan's heritage slip away. Sage knows how dull it already is."


For him, the compound, with its bleak-colored roofs, courtyards, gated entrances, and his boyhood home nestled among them all — the clan head house that must always be accessible to his clansmen — is a home filled with bittersweet memories. It's a home he can only hold onto its past because he had been too weak to do anything.

As one approaches the shrine, the surreal isolation of the compound becomes increasingly apparent. The sunlight pouring through the trees provides a muted tint to the road, while the nearby river blasts with vigor. The fragrance of burning offerings leaking from the shrine fills the air. It's a strange and disturbing calm that lingers over this deserted land, paradoxically encapsulating its true nature.

The air within the wood near the shrine weighs heavily, carrying a distinct, iron-like scent. It triggers the memory of Shisui's ill-fated attempt to ignite the candle using fireball jutsu, resulting in melting the wax and delaying the ritual for three hours.

It had been a month since he had gone anywhere outside of his compound. Since then, he had spent his time reading historical and legal texts, scouring the tattered old archives, and at times he would use his Sharingan to copy if he discovered something important.

"It is to prepare you to be a predator, not prey," a lion once told him, stressing the significance of his scholarly pursuits. "A man who comprehends his forefathers' history is a man who comprehends the factors that shape his existence. By anticipating potential challenges, he can safeguard himself from their damaging effects. To be prepared is to have a plan, and to have a plan, you need knowledge and understanding. Knowledge is the key to empowerment."

He also established an unusual training routine. Like clockwork, every early morning he would find himself at the shrine, praying until the sun cast its warm glow on the towering Hashirama trees.

He would then jog for over an hour and nearly nine miles to exercise his above-average dynamism and stamina. He had signed scrolls from felines who had pledged their loyalty and allegiance to him.

Sasuke is pleased to have them, but there is only one scroll he desires. One scroll that he knows, if grudgingly, that he is unworthy of, but that he is also trying harder than ever to obtain.

The ANBU's new consistent presence had awakened a sense of caution within him, heightened by his cat's distrustful gaze. He understood that it was crucial to be wary, especially when something of paramount importance was at stake.

He realized the importance of hiding in plain sight after recalling the counsel of a panther. As a result, he tucked the Tiger's scroll within the walls of his father's study amid the many volumes that were left undisturbed. It remained inconspicuous and forgotten, building a thick layer of dust. The scroll was a treasure trove of enormous power, but he knew he wasn't ready to uncover it just yet.

He wants to be regarded as an equal, deserving of its legitimacy. But the other felines still think he's a naive weakling, and signing the contract without their permission will leave him unanswered because the tiger's only demand is to be worthy.

During the night, beneath the towering trees and among ferocious lions, long-forgotten and unknown tales of warriors are shown to him through genjutsu. Each day, he thoughtfully copied them with his own Sharingan, duplicating their sealless and half-seal hands gestures, postures, demeanor, their Chakra control, and manners.

He is convinced that their very nature must live within him, and this idea acts as his driving philosophy. Despite his body's underdevelopment, he has learned their martial arts and jutsu.

Within the depths of his own gaze, his forefathers sometimes stare down at him, yet Sasuke refuses to avert his eyes, meeting his own reflection head-on. He wants to convey that their suffering will not be forgotten or left unpunished; that he will carry their legacy forward and not be deemed a failure. Deep within him, the boy inside him, the very same boy that he actually is — or perhaps a tiny part of him that he is trying to dismiss, finds it very frightening.

Sasuke ignores it, as if it doesn't exist.

So he devotes himself to training, choosing a wooden sword from the armory and practicing merciless swings for hours on end every day. The flame burns from within his blood and bones, pulsing through his veins and infiltrating every fiber of his physical being. It gradually but satisfyingly soaks him, becoming an intrinsic part of who he is. Without hesitation, Sasuke lets it flow freely, finding an innate sense of kinship.

Uchiha are fire-made flesh, after all.

The power of fire, he knows, is immense. Fire, in essence, is not just a source of warmth, but also of devastation and chaos—a brutal force, a source of both life and death. Yet it is also ethereal, heavenly, and everlasting.

Under the soft, dawn-kissed glow, a stone path carved over the grass few feet ahead is visible to him, leading to the lake. The early morning light has not yet fully crept over the horizon.

Holding his hand aloft, a brilliant blue flame flickers in his grasp. With an assertive gesture, he directs the flames to soar towards the tree standing proudly across the tranquil waters. The vicious tendrils whirl with furious fury, their heat emitting pure malevolence, forcing the flames to writhe and dance in an angry display.

The air thickens impulsively as a scorching surge of steam engulfs everything around him, scalding his face. His unruly locks cling to his sweating skin, obstructing his eyesight as wetness saturates each strand. Reacting quickly, he activates his Sharingan, and via its penetrating sight, he detects the presence of the agent crouching near the tree. Their Chaka's veiled, barely-there spark reveals their interest, as seen by their ignorance of their unwittingly poorly disguised signature.

He looks back at the fire with a tight grimace. With a flick of his wrists, the relentless burst of blue flames that had engulfed the tree comes to an abrupt halt. As the flames subside, their vivid azure hue transitions into a more familiar orange-yellow color. Sasuke observes the scene, his thoughts beginning to unravel the enigmatic nature of the phenomenon. He muses contemplatively, "I think by stopping my chakra flow from effecting the fire, it made the flames weaker and turned them into regular fire.."

The intensity of the blue flames had been so consuming that they had voraciously devoured nearly half of the tree, leaving behind a harrowing trail of smoke in their destructive wake.

Charred trunks and smoky air surround him, bearing witness to the intense heat and destructive force that consumed the once-vibrant foliage. The leaves, now transformed into a magnificent display of flickering flames, dance wildly in the wind, their fiery essence captivating Sasuke's gaze. In this momentary pause, he finds an unexpected allure in the chaos he has wrought.

Like delicate butterflies caught in a firestorm, the burning leaves twirl gracefully through the air, their fiery glow casting an enchanting aura. However, their fate is fleeting. As they gently touch the ground, their brilliance fades, consumed by the relentless heat and reduced to nothing but ash.

A soft smile tugs at Sasuke's lips. There's a mysterious delight he finds within this raw and destructive beauty.


The Uchiha library, once a marvelous repository of information, has seen more favorable times. It stood as a vast library of knowledge, decorated with exquisitely forged masonry that displayed the Sharingan's architectural mastery. Even this impressive creation, however, could not withstand the unrelenting march of time.

The once-immaculate custodians of wisdom began to suffer from the strain of their age over time. The once-smooth and polished wooden shelves now bore visible signs of use, absent the valuable tomes and scrolls that had previously occupied their spots. Layers of dust settled upon their surfaces, obscuring the intricate carvings that once adorned their sides.

A musty odor permeated the room as the squeaking doors flung wide, combining with the stench of crumpled parchment. Gone were the days when Uchiha genin diligently dusted off each book and scroll, their actions guided by the watchful eyes of the wise elders. The thieves who had desecrated this sanctuary had no regard for the intricacy of the stonework or the countless hours spent crafting the shelves. Everything was reduced to mere objects to be stolen, with their significance diminished in the face of greed.

Sasuke wanders the dark library's labyrinthine passageways with his lynx, his companion for today, casting a keen eye on it.

The antique bookshelves tower above, their fading grandeur veiled by a year's worth of layers of dust and neglect.

His fixed gaze sweeps across the weathered spines, their titles scarcely readable beneath the filth. His fingertips brush against the cracked leather bindings as he makes his way through aisles of towering volumes until he arrives at his destination: a secluded enclave housing the archives.

He selects a heavy volume, its pages stuffed with an in-depth cataloged record of every scroll, book, and edition stored within the solemn confines of the library. His father's lectures ring in his head, reminding him of the need to constantly track these valuable assets.

His nimble fingers flick through the pages, his gaze scanning the information laid out before him in a blur of words and numbers.

A flood of emotions washes over him as he stands before the depleted shelves. His grip on the book tightens, knuckles turning white. His jaw clenches, muscles twitching in silent fury, as he takes in the sight of the once-thriving shelves now stripped bare.

How did this even happen? When did this happen!

Sasuke fumes inwardly. He is left with nothing but barren shelves before him, and he can feel the tension coiling within his muscles. Thoughts dart through his mind.

He is aware that creating a scene would just make things more difficult; right now, he is firm in his effort to keep his composure.

The lynx, ever perceptive, breaks the silence with a gentle query: "What is your plan, Sasuke-kun?"

Sasuke's mind is constantly working on ideas, strategies, and possible outcomes as his eyes focus on the horizon.

He breaks the quiet after a little pause, his voice firm and steadfast. "I must get them all. Each and every book, scroll, and priceless artifact that properly belongs to the Uchiha. It doesn't matter who's read 'em or how much knowledge they've got. They must return."

He takes the heavy volume in his arms after shutting it with a hard thud, feeling how vital it is. He strides over to the gate and shuts it firmly, without re-sealing it. It's a pointless measure to protect a vacant space.


The fragrance of burning incense wraps the air in the peaceful space of the mum dojo, providing a feeling of peace.

He dedicates a full month to the pursuit of 'enlightenment', as the leopard calls it. In his quest to understand the actual nature of the world around him, he views every sensitive interaction and nuanced moment as a chance for 'enlightenment'. Sasuke has immersed himself in the art of listening, observing, and analyzing everything that unfurls around him. He has engaged in thought-provoking discussions on politics and conflicts. The feline mentors have bestowed upon him a timeless lesson during his training – to entrust wisdom over knowledge, for wisdom is the culmination and integration of acquired knowledge.

Because of this, even though he had the ability to order a city to give back the scrolls and volumes they took from his library. He needs to do better and follow the rules and regulations that are laid down.

The mountain leopard, Taichi, looks into Sasuke's eyes with a demeanor that is both placid and calm. His pure white fur glistens in the soft moonlight, as they engage in an intense game of shogi.

"Have you ever pondered," Taichi begins, "why this game, and indeed any game, features only one king?"

Sasuke's gaze fixates on the game board, his tea languishing besides him, forgotten in the thick of the talk. He leans in attentively.

"No, I haven't," he admits idly. Sasuke taps his finger on the cup almost unconsciously, creating a little puff of steam from his tea. He's become so accustomed to his natural mastery of the flame that such whimsical manifestations are second nature to him.

Taichi, unrelenting in his contemplation, gracefully maneuvers a piece on the board, his gestures imbued with purpose and accuracy. "Imagine," the leopard goes on, "a world in which the concept of a single king is shattered. Where numerous kings and queens rule, each with their own set of strengths and visions. It'd be a frantic concerto of rivalry and power conflicts."

Sasuke grunts, noncommittal. He keeps staring. He then muses aloud. "Shouldn't the strongest be obeyed?"

The flicker of candlelight reflects in the depths of Taichi's eyes, which glisten with intelligence. In a measured tone, he offers an eye-opening response. "Strength alone does not guarantee true leadership. It is not just about physical power but also the ability to inspire and guide others towards a shared vision. Obedience is not solely born from fear, but from trust and respect. The strongest may command authority, yet it is the one who exudes wisdom and fairness that truly earns the loyalty of their subjects."

Sasuke's brows furrow as he absorbs Taichi's words, his gaze shifting purposefully from the tea cup to the shogi board.

His mind reaches a momentary clarity as the leopard continues, "Strength may be a factor in obedience, yes. But it alone cannot determine true leadership. It takes a combination of strength, wisdom, and the ability to command respect. A leader who embodies all these qualities will inspire loyalty, to the point where their soldiers will willingly follow their commands."

The leopard's piercing gaze intensifies, a flicker of curiosity mingling with its cold demeanor. Its voice cuts through the silence like a blade, demanding an answer. "Once more, I ask you," it challenges, its words hanging heavily in the air. What truly defines a good king? Others believe it's his brother. But why does no one ever mention Madara Uchiha? He is a great leader in his own right. Madara possesses all the necessary traits of a strong and just ruler. He has the name, the claim, and the purpose. He even gave up revenge for the sake of his own clan, putting their needs above his own desires. And yet, why does he not receive the same recognition?"

Sasuke gives up on the game, drying up his cup. He scoffs dismissively, "Because he's a traitor."

"I must admit, there is truth to that," the leopard concedes with ease. "Hashirama, undoubtedly, exemplified leadership within his clan, yet he failed Madara, his presumed friend, by turning a blind eye to his brother's ruthless methods. On the other hand, Tobirama possessed a brilliant mind, respected prowess on the battlefield, and unmatched intellect. However, his moral compass wavered when it came to upholding the fragile peace, clouded by an old grudge that consumed him. Fear, acting as his catalyst, drove him to actions that eventually led to the events you have come to know."

A solemn pause hangs in the air. Then the summon's next words cut through the silence, "Madara, notorious for his ferocity, madness, and treachery, has been unjustly overshadowed by history. His accomplishments as a devoted leader and a caring sibling have been ignored, while the darker aspects of his persona have been magnified and distorted. He is but a canvas colored by the impressions left by others, neglecting the depth of his character. Madara recognized the danger that lay within Tobirama's beliefs, his belief that the Uchiha were an inferior clan, prone to madness and violence. Desperate to rally support and challenge Tobirama's rule, Madara made a final attempt to save his people. But his efforts were in vain. Blinded by loyalty to the new leader, the Uchiha turned their backs on their patriarch, forsaking him completely, convinced that his intentions were to reignite the flames of war."

"Are you saying he was a good guy all along?" Sasuke asks, taking a sip of tea and flattening his hand on the board.

"There always exists a hidden part, concealed by the vectors to manipulate narrative in order to portray themselves as the just and righteous ones who vanquish evil. These self-proclaimed heroes tend to propagate falsehoods, half-truths, and assumptions, which are presented as incontrovertible truths or, worse, transformed into grandiose lies. The layers of deceit built upon these warped foundations endure, perpetuating a skewed understanding of past events and leading to further misconceptions and misinformation. It is an insidious pattern that you must recognise and challenge. The victor, in this case, Tobirama, had succeeded. He rewrote history and molded the narrative to his liking. If Madara's assumption is not based on truth, then why have none of the Uchiha ever risen to become Hokage?"

Sasuke's expression turns into a deep frown. His father was one of the strongest ones who got picked as a candidate for Hokage, but in the end, they didn't choose him.

The moonlight gently spills through the half-open doors, bringing with it the faint scent of fading sage. "So that's why I was labeled as 'a non-sacrificial pawn in their games'?"

The leopard nods in affirmation. "Precisely. Use your eyes Sasuke, for a Sharingan-user by blood, you are terribly blind."

Sasuke says dryly, "Do enlighten me."

"Put yourself in Madara's position," Taichi instructs. "What would you do to ensure the clan's safety? How would you be the victor in the story?"

Sasuke taps his fingers lightly on the wooden board, considering his options. He says tentatively. "I would confront him."

His summon's response is firm. "No. Uncertainty will not help you confront your adversaries. Think about and rethink your strategy. Use the laws and the rules. This is a clash of wits and tactics."

Sasuke pauses, his eyebrows arched in contemplation as he processes the situation. "So you're saying they've violated the peace treaty," he says, his voice carefully measured. "It only makes sense to threaten them with the consequences. Both sides agreed to certain provisions in the treaty, and breaking them should have repercussions."

The leopard lets out a satisfied hum, praising Sasuke's understanding. "Well done, Sasuke. The treaty consists of four main terms: Firstly, it seeks to cease all conflicts and establish a new era of peace, enabling the settlement of the merged land. Secondly, it aims to promote equality, freedom, and shared authority among the founding clans. Each clan holds a position of honor in the Hokage's council, allowing them to express their opinions. Thirdly, it aims to eradicate the theft of bloodlines. And finally, it strives to maintain respect and recognition for each clan's secrets and beliefs." The leopard briefly glances towards the open door before continuing, "There are also minor provisions, such as exempting the founding clan from land taxes due to their rightful ownership— It is irrelevant in this case.."

Silence falls between them both. Sasuke stops his tapping, gazing at his own hand.

"Whenever you set your sights on a goal, imagine it with utmost clarity," Taichi advises solemnly, "Consider every possible outcome, and expect every conceivable obstacle. Prepare a plan for your plan. It is a grave mistake—the failure of imagination. Do not become the Madara Uchiha of your own story, Sasuke."


In the midst of mourning his family back then, Sasuke's focus was not on material possessions. They held little significance to him, then and now. However, the urgency of recovering his clan's secrets has changed things.

Tora, one of the cats, had given him instructions through a series of orders, telling him to seek the assistance of a lawyer called Ryji Hijikata, whom Sasuke had yet to meet. Along with her advice, she had given him a gift that had remained unopened.

He immediately breaks the seal on the package and opens it without any hesitation as the anticipation rises.

He pulls out the present with care and interest. In his hands, a dark purple kimono unfolds, its beauty enhanced by the intricate embroidery of fine gold threads softly meandering down the sleeve.

He marvels at the sumptuous feel of the high-quality fabric as he runs his fingers down it—fit for a shinobi or nobility. The Uchiha crest is boldly emblazoned in vivid red and white over the back of the knee-length kimono. Like the priests, although his is Uchiha purple with a barely-there hint of gold, whereas theirs is white and gold.

"This particular Kimono is from Shirayuki city," Aiya explains, "and is exclusively worn by the noblest bloodlines. Sasuke-kun, you are noble and holy. Do not let this truth ever slip from your mind."

"I won't," he replies absentmindedly, his eyes lost. He was their honored one — he was holy, he was noble, he had to be…or.

He takes a big breath and proceeds to dress. Sasuke puts on his long, black, well-fitted slacks and a matching top. He slowly drapes the knee-length kimono over them, allowing one arm to slip through while keeping the other arm free, like the priests do; he then ties the shash tightly around his waist to keep the kimono in place.


During peak hours in Konoha's bustling center district, the pathways become heavily congested. This congestion intensifies as the much-awaited Summer Festival draws near. However, the Shinobi possess various alternatives to avoid the overcrowded main routes leading to the Hokage tower. Scaling rooftops is a common practice, allowing them to navigate the village with effortless grace. Yet, due to intersections with significant institutions and merchants, there are instances when they must tread on foot. Among these paths lies the hub of prosperous and accomplished firms, making it the ideal venue for acquiring essential tools. This location offers a convenient accessibility for Shinobi urgently in need of equipment, be it for immediate missions or long-term endeavors.

The region pulsates with flourishing businesses, offering a wide array of shops catered towards Shinobi equipment needs and eateries that welcome both civilians and Shinobi patrons. As the beating heart of the bustling village, the downtown area most of the year is a vibrant hub of activity, no matter the time of day.

"He's a questionable choice, Ayia," Sasuke says, glancing at her with doubt.

"Perhaps," she agrees nonchalantly. Sunlight dances playfully across her fur as she continues, "I don't adhere to the notion that merely offering something to someone who has lost everything will automatically earn their unwavering loyalty. However, I do believe in the power of mutual benefit. By providing him with a job, you rescue him from his poverty, and he, in turn, faithfully fulfills his responsibilities. You need loyal men by your side."

Continuing their leisurely stroll through the village, the duo meanders past busy buildings under the heavy stares of the locals.

Eventually, their path leads them to the outskirts of the village, where the anticipated legal adviser's office rests above a quaint bookshop.

Pausing outside the address, they stand side by side, taking in the sights.

The building has an intriguing peculiarity, boasting an unconventional design that sets it apart from its surroundings. Sasuke holds back any judgements, acutely aware of the irony that he still resides in the very house where his parents met their death.

The bookshop on the ground floor appears in a woeful state, cluttered with indistinguishable debris and a grimy front window. Cobwebs dangle from forgotten shelves, serving as a telltale sign that the dusty volumes have remained untouched by any curious readers.

Accessible only via a set of creaky stairs, the second floor houses his intended target's office. The street outside is sparsely populated, with a few individuals carrying shopping bags, engaged in conversation with their children.

Sasuke ponders over the man's choice of such an unwelcoming location for his business. The bustling village center would have been a more logical option, with a considerably larger pool of potential clients. However, Tora had emphasized that their target possessed a reputation for being cunning and formidable, often unnerving adversaries with his intellect and craftiness, despite being a divorced alcoholic.

Inhaling deeply, he suppresses the rising doubts in his chest and ascends the rickety stairs. As he reaches the top, he comes face-to-face with a shabby sign hanging over the entrance, bearing the name "Hijikata's Law Firm."

Sasuke pauses, then knocks on the door.

"Oi, you old hag! I told you I'd give you the cash once I made it. Quit nagging me, I ain't got no mone—"

The door swings open, Sasuke is met with the sight of a man who stands tall and sturdy. His plain appearance is marred by a noticeable scar etched across his cheek. A flicker of surprise passes through his eyes, freezing him momentarily mid-sentence, as if questioning Sasuke's presence. Weariness is evident in the heavy bags under his eyes, while the scent of coffee and cheap cigarettes hangs in the air around him. He licks his lips, his gaze fixed on Sasuke, before tentatively uttering, "Oh, are you lost, young one?"

"Ryūji Hijikata, isn't it? I'm Sasuke Uchiha, and I'm here to offer you a job. If you are interested."

Ryūji Hijikata finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from Sasuke, his mind scrambled with confusion. Meanwhile, Sasuke nonchalantly scans the cluttered, smoke-filled office, taking note of the absurd number of empty ramen cups and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. The disarray is further accentuated by the presence of discarded saki bottles. His lips flatten.

The sight makes Ryūji shift uneasily, uncertain of how to handle the unexpected situation. Finally, he nods, giving Sasuke permission to take a seat.

The room becomes thick with tension, practically filling the air, as Sasuke begins to speak. "I assume you are well-aware of the circumstances that led to the downfall of my clan; it isn't exactly a closely-guarded secret."

The subject makes many people uncomfortable, even Ryūji, who nods gravely to express his acknowledgment.

Balancing his blue-covered notebook atop a stack of papers, Ryūji deftly retrieves a pencil and begins to jot down some notes. Settling into the solitary chair, his unwavering gaze remains fixed on The Uchiha.

Sasuke takes a moment, his eyes narrowing as he contemplates his decision. "I am well-acquainted with Konoha's judgmental system," he utters slowly. "That is precisely why, as the leader of the Uchiha clan, I have made the definitive choice to disown the treacherous Itachi Uchiha once and for all."

A tight feeling constricts Sasuke's throat, as if someone is ruthlessly squeezing it. However, he remains steadfast, his expression hardened.

Although Ryūji notices the undercurrent of unease, he refrains from addressing it directly.

"Which means," Sasuke continues, "in the case of any forgiveness, he will not be acknowledged as an Uchiha. The clan holds no obligation towards him. Never."

"Of course… Uchiha-dono," Ryūji responds, his head nodding in both acknowledgement and agreement, his pen scratching across the page with urgency. He lifts his gaze once more to meet Sasuke's. "Is that everything?"

In that moment, Sasuke's eyes ignite with an intense fire, revealing the depths of his emotions. A glimmer of red flashes—a brief glimpse of the sharingan. "No, there is also the matter of my clan's secrets being taken from me, from the library" he grits his teeth, his words seething with frustration, "I demand their return. To keep them secluded from me violates the very essence of the peace treaty itself."

A chill races down Ryūji's spine at the sheer intensity of Sasuke's conviction. It is clear that this is no trivial matter to the Uchiha heir. With a steady hand, Ryūji turns to a fresh page and begins jotting down notes. He must remain composed, impartial, and logical. It is a daunting task, but one that is life-changing.

"And what about the business out of the compound?" Ryūji inquires. "Take into account the inheritance taxes."

Sasuke's brow furrows. His already stressful situation is made more stressful by the concept.

For a moment, the air between them remains heavy, only broken by the rather loud spin of the fan.

But then, a glint of curiosity dances in Ryūji's eyes, and Sasuke senses a shift in the atmosphere. Here is someone who genuinely seeks to understand him, not only merely to fulfill their own agenda.

Sasuke takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting Ryūji's. "There is more," he reveals, his voice laden with urgency. "I'm here for that reason. I need someone who can handle things for me. Some of the clan heirlooms have been stolen, and I need them to be returned. Are you following what I'm saying?."

"I see," Ryūji's lips parts, and he moistens them with a nervous lick. His hand traces swirling shapes on the notebook he clutches, trying to steady himself as he cautiously begins, "to hire me—we gotta get the Hokage's okay because of your position and my, you know, past. After that, I'll have to sort out the money situation with the clan and get your thumbs-up from not one, not two, but three government places. It's gonna be a long process, probably gonna take a few months."

Facing him, The Uchiha lad makes a deep, almost guttural noise. Ryūji is unable to take his eyes off of him as his face morphs into a maze of contradictory emotions. With his cold skin and sculpted features, he is unmistakably true Uchiha, but it is his eyes which hold an unfathomable energy.

There's something about him that commands respect and produces lasting tension, and it's not just because of his ancestry or background. It has an ethereal quality that demands he be treated differently, as if he were an outsider or maybe a dignitary.

The Uchiha experiences an incredible shift in such a brief amount of time. He used to be a frightened, lonely lad when his family was annihilated, but lately he exudes dignity and confidence, gazing down at others without flinching when they talk about him, even threatening to silence them altogether if they don't stop.

For a fleeting moment, Ryūji feels a stab of shame for merely seeing the Uchiha as an adult, identified purely by his renowned clan. He realizes that this boy is just that: a boy, much younger than his own child, who will bear the weight of his family name for the rest of his life.

After what seems like an interminable span, Ryūji summons the courage to lift his gaze from the meticulous notes splayed before him, meeting Sasuke's stare. With a deep sense of gratitude, he says, "I am truly honored by your trust, Uchiha-dono. Don't worry; I'll do everything I can to help you get back what's rightfully yours. I will begin the necessary paperwork immediately."

"Hn, good."

Ryūji watches the child rise from his seat, making his way towards the door in utter silence, the distinct Uchiwa crest boldly displayed on his back, is fanning with each step. A peculiar mix of envy and admiration floods his thoughts. The lad shines with convenience, honor, and all he wishes he were as he marches away.

With a casual wave of his hand, Sasuke mutters, "Have a great day, Hijikata-san."

Ryūji remains rooted in his chair, his gaze glued on the emblem adorning the boy's back. "You too," he manages to respond before muttering to himself, a bewildered expression crossing his face, "What the heck just happened?"