The Naka Shrine's meeting room was a space that had long been steeped in the weight of history, with walls adorned by traditional Uchiha banners and the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. Tonight, it felt like a battleground. The room was filled with over a hundred jōnin-level shinobi, their presence alone enough to fill the room with tension. These were the elites of the clan, the sharpest minds and most capable warriors, all assembled under one roof. But not all of them were Jonin. Several chūnin who had been on duty at the police office had trickled in, their uniforms still slightly disheveled from the long hours of patrol. The police force worked in shifts, so not everyone could always make it to the meetings, but tonight, it felt important that they most recognizable of them were all here.
Despite the impressive number of powerful ninja in attendance, the air was thick with something else: division.
The room was split between two factions, and it was obvious the moment you walked in. On one side, seated with rigid authority, were the members of the Hawk faction. They were led by Setsuna, the third elder, an old man whose harsh, sharp features were hardened by years of experience and an iron will. He was a hawk in every sense of the word, perched high, seeing threats from a mile away and striking with deadly precision. His faction was growing in strength, especially as the village's failures became more and more apparent. The Uchiha were beginning to feel that the village no longer saw them as anything other than tools, expendable in the face of the Hokage's vision for peace. Setsuna's rhetoric was biting and harsh, focusing on the strength and survival of the Uchiha above all else, even if that meant breaking from the village's ideals. He often spoke of the Uchiha's rightful place at the top, but he was the first to claim that the time for subtlety had passed.
On one side sat the Hawk faction, led by Setsuna, the third elder, his aged face etched with lines of disdain. His piercing gaze swept across the room like a bird of prey searching for weakness. A staunch advocate for the Uchiha's supremacy, he had long since abandoned the notion of diplomacy. To him, Konoha had made its position clear—the Uchiha were a threat to be contained, not allies to be respected. His faction had swelled in recent months, fed by the growing disillusionment among the clan's younger generation.
Opposing him, seated with a weary yet dignified air, was Nakamora, the fifth elder and the leader of the Dove faction. Where Setsuna's words struck like a blade, Nakamora's were measured, deliberate, meant to soothe rather than incite. He had long fought for peace, advocating for reconciliation with the village despite the increasing hostility. But his voice, once strong, was faltering. His faction was shrinking. Even now, he leaned slightly to his right, as if expecting a reassuring presence beside him.
But there was none.
The seat next to Nakamora remained empty.
The elder's gaze drifted to that spot once more, his lips pressing into a thin line. That was where Shisui had always sat. The young prodigy, the strongest of the Dove faction, the hope for those who still believed in peace. It was unnatural for him to be absent. The meeting hadn't even begun, yet Itachi could feel the silent questioning in Nakamora's expression. Where is Shisui?
And it wasn't just Nakamora. Others had noticed, too. The murmurings were hushed, but present. The subtle, searching glances. The furrowed brows. But no one dared to speak the question aloud—not yet.
Then, as if to break the building unease, the inevitable began.
Setsuna and Nakamora, as they always did, clashed.
"I refuse to sit here and listen to any more cowardly talk of restraint!" Setsuna's voice rang through the room, his aged but unyielding frame tense with frustration. "How long are we supposed to kneel before the Hokage? They have ostracized us, humiliated us, pushed us to the outskirts of this village like caged beasts! How much more will we take before we finally act?"
Nakamora, despite his years, still carried an air of quiet strength as he responded, his voice firm but not unkind. "And what would you have us do, Setsuna? Raise our weapons against Konoha? March through the streets as if we are conquerors? That path leads to war, and war leads to the destruction of everything we have built."
"A house built on sand deserves to collapse," Setsuna spat, his voice sharp as a blade. "The Uchiha are the rightful rulers of this village! Not some senile old man who throws us scraps while keeping us chained like dogs!"
The shouting match was expected. It always was. But tonight, the weight of Shisui's absence made it feel different.
Nakamora, normally unshaken in these debates, glanced again at the empty seat beside him, a flicker of something uncertain crossing his face. Usually, it was Shisui who would step in here, his words carrying enough weight to break through the noise. But Shisui wasn't here. And that silence was deafening.
Itachi stood still, observing.
'What a mess,' he thought bitterly. 'A room full of warriors, yet none of them see the battlefield clearly. What would they do if they knew? If they knew their strongest peacekeeper was already dead, drowned beneath the cold waters of the Naka River?'
He could almost laugh. He was watching the slow-motion destruction of a people too blind to realize they were running headfirst toward ruin.
Finally, Fugaku stood, his very presence commanding attention. The room fell silent almost instantly.
"Itachi," his father's voice was steady, but there was a note of expectation beneath it. "You've returned from your mission. I trust you have something to report."
Itachi's face remained unreadable. "Yes," he replied simply.
Fugaku studied him for a long moment, then his eyes narrowed slightly. "And where is Shisui?"
The air in the room tensed. There it was. The question.
Itachi felt the weight of a hundred gazes pressing down on him, waiting. Anticipating.
He could lie, say he didn't know. He could deflect, shift the topic. But the truth would unravel soon enough, whether he wanted it to or not.
Instead, he'd rather rip the bandage off this bleeding wound and put mud on it and say it builds character.
"He's dead."
The words hung in the air, heavy with implications.
The words hung in the air, sucking the oxygen from the room. For a fraction of a second, there was nothing but silence—raw, stunned, disbelieving. Then, like a match tossed into dry grass, the chamber erupted.
A hundred voices rose at once, a cacophony of rage, disbelief, and sorrow. Nearly every single Uchiha in the room activated their Sharingan in unison, a sea of spinning red, their gazes cutting through the dim torchlight like a blood-drenched constellation.
"What did you just say?" one voice snarled, barely above a growl.
"You're lying!" another accused.
"Where is his body?" a third demanded.
Setsuna stood so fast his seat nearly toppled over, his wrinkled face contorted in fury. "You expect us to believe this?! That Shisui, of all people, is dead, and you just say it like you're discussing the weather?!"
The pressure in the room spiked to the point that Itachi felt it physically pressing against his skin. Bloodlust, raw and undiluted, pulsed through the air like an electrical charge. Some of them were a second away from lunging at him, and if they did, well… he'd have to kill them.
He remained still. Expression unreadable. Voice level.
"You want the truth?" Itachi said, letting the words cut through the chaos. "Fine. I'll give it to you."
The room quieted just enough for him to speak.
"Danzo," he began, letting the name hang in the air like a curse, "stole Shisui's eye."
That stopped them. For a moment, no one spoke. The shock ran so deep that even the most hot-headed among them hesitated.
He continued.
"Shisui was targeted for his Mangekyō Sharingan. Our clan's dojutsu. Danzo feared what it could do. Feared what Shisui could do. So he took his eye. And after that…" Itachi let his gaze sweep across the gathered clan members, meeting their furious, grief-stricken stares head-on. "Shisui took his own life."
A sharp intake of breath. A few gasps. A strangled curse from one of the younger jōnin.
Setsuna's fingers curled into a fist so tight they shook. "You mean to tell me that the village—that the Hokage's own lapdog—has taken one of our strongest warriors, stolen his gift, and killed him?"
It wasn't a question. It was an accusation laced with fire.
Itachi met his gaze evenly. "Yes."
Another explosion of noise. Anger, raw and consuming, clawed through the room like a wild beast finally unleashed from its cage. They had been seething for years, feeling their oppression grow, feeling the village's leash tighten around their throats, but this—this was a declaration of war in everything but name.
Nakamora's face was pale, his hand gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. He turned slightly, just enough to glance at that empty seat beside him once more.
Shisui was gone. Their brightest star, their bridge to peace, was gone.
Fugaku, still seated, was unreadable. The way his jaw was set, the way his eyes flickered dangerously—it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. But when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of an executioner's decree.
"This cannot go unanswered."
It was not a question. Not a suggestion.
The clan roared in agreement.
-----
The uproar that had filled the chamber moments ago was cut cleanly in half.
"No."
It wasn't a shout. It wasn't a demand. It was a single word, spoken softly, but the power behind it was undeniable. A ripple of shock spread through the room. Even Fugaku stiffened, his dark eyes locking onto his son's face with newfound scrutiny.
Itachi stepped forward, the torchlight flickering across his face. "I will not allow you to plunge the Uchiha into a civil war that would end in our defeat."
His voice was sharp, cutting through the thick tension like a finely honed blade. For the first time, there was defiance in his words. Not subtle, not masked beneath layers of vague reasoning—this was a direct challenge.
The clan fell silent.
Fugaku straightened, his posture exuding both authority and warning. He did not react with anger or outrage, but the weight of his presence pressed down on the room. He met his son's gaze, and for the first time, their standoff wasn't one of obedience and expectation. It was a clash between two men standing on different paths.
Itachi turned, shifting his attention to Nakamora, the fifth elder, the leader of the so-called Dove Faction. The man had been quiet, his expression unreadable, but the slight tremble of his fingers on the table betrayed his emotions.
"Tell me, Elder Nakamora," Itachi said, voice steady, carrying across the room. "Is this truly what you want? For the Uchiha to continue bowing at the feet of those who suppress us? To accept the weight of our chains and call it peace?"
Every eye in the room turned to the old man.
Nakamora remained still, his lips pressing into a thin line. He was a man who had tried for years to maintain the peace, to uphold negotiations, to avoid the inevitable bloodshed—but at what cost? His strongest supporter, his greatest hope, was gone.
Itachi didn't let him answer. Instead, he pressed forward.
"We talk of rebellion. We talk of peace. We call ourselves Hawks and Doves as if the name itself carries meaning. But it is meaningless. A house divided cannot stand, yet we have divided ourselves over the illusion of choice."
Some of the younger Uchiha stirred, their eyes flickering with uncertainty. The older ones frowned, but they listened.
"The Will of Fire," Itachi continued, and at this, the room collectively bristled. "I believe in it."
That sent another shockwave through the gathered clansmen. Itachi's voice did not waver.
"But the Will of Fire has been tainted—twisted into something it was never meant to be. It has become a tool of the old dogs who sit atop the village, using it to mislead the people, to brainwash our children, and to sow discord within our own home."
Murmurs spread through the crowd, uncertain but growing.
"We are not Hawks or Doves," Itachi declared, his voice rising. "We are Uchiha. Proud warriors, the strongest of all shinobi. We do not settle our disputes with fiery discussions and empty rhetoric. Words do not dictate our fate. Power does."
The chamber fell into dead silence.
Itachi exhaled.
"I am Itachi Uchiha, first son of the main family." His gaze snapped back to Fugaku, his father, his patriarch. "And I challenge you, Fugaku Uchiha, for head of the clan in an Agni Kai."
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
Fugaku's eyes widened, just a fraction. It was the closest thing to shock anyone had seen from the man in years.
An Agni Kai. A battle for leadership. A trial by fire.
Fugaku slowly rose from his seat. The air in the room became suffocating.
"…You understand what you are asking?" His voice was measured, but there was a dangerous undertone beneath it.
Itachi didn't blink. "I do."
Fugaku's gaze bore into him, searching, weighing. Then, for the first time in years, he smiled.
"Very well."
Itachi closed his eyes in then in a dramatic show opened them.
The chamber, already drowning in tension, fell into utter disbelief as Itachi's eyes changed.
From the standard crimson of the Sharingan, the black tomoe twisted and spun—morphing, reshaping—until a new pattern emerged. A pattern that had only ever been spoken of in hushed whispers.
The Mangekyō Sharingan.
Gasps rang out. The elders stiffened, their faces etched with shock. Several Uchiha instinctively took a step back, as if the sheer presence of those eyes held a force that could not be ignored.
"That… that's impossible," one of the older jonin muttered. "Only Madara… and Shisui…"
Nakamora's mouth parted, but no words came. Even Setsuna, the fiercest of the Hawks, seemed rattled.
Fugaku, however, remained silent. His dark gaze remained locked onto his son's new eyes, a storm of unreadable emotion swirling beneath the surface. He was not a man easily caught off guard, but in this moment, even he could not mask his surprise.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, measured—but there was no mistaking the intensity behind it.
"…When?"
Itachi tilted his head slightly.
"When do you think?"
Understanding dawned in the minds of the gathered Uchiha.
Shisui was missing. Shisui was dead.
And now Itachi had the Mangekyō.
A heavy silence fell, one that no one dared to break. Some looked at Itachi in awe. Others in fear.
Fugaku's eyes narrowed. His mind was already calculating, dissecting the implications of this moment. And yet, even with all his experience, all his authority, he had not foreseen this.
"…Very well," he finally said. His voice was quieter now, but no less commanding.
The challenge had been set. The clan had witnessed it.
An Agni Kai between father and son. Between the present and the future.
And Itachi, standing at the center of it all, only felt the embers of something far greater begin to burn.