'Father?'
Renjiro's body went still. The weight of that single word crashed over him like a thunderclap. It was subtle, but the world seemed to pause — the wind slowed, the trees seemed to hush their rustling, and even the faint echo of distant village life dimmed into silence. His Sharingan flickered — a twitch, a spark of confusion, then clarity — his mind spinning faster than any kunai thrown in combat.
That single word unravelled the veil she had worn throughout the entire fight.
His voice was low, barely a whisper, but it cracked like thunder in the quiet twilight. "You're… Daichi's daughter. Nakada."
The girl's crimson eyes gleamed, her lips curled in a smile both amused and predatory. She tilted her head, letting her long, raven-black hair sway like a silk curtain.
"Finally figured it out," she said, the smirk deepening. Her voice was light — almost playful — but there was an undertone to it, something dark and simmering beneath the surface.
Renjiro didn't move. He was still holding his Bō points loosely in both hands, its ends gleaming faintly with residual chakra, the remnants of their spar still fresh in the air. His chest rose and fell slowly, controlled — but his thoughts raced.
'Daichi's daughter. I've never actually crossed paths with her mostly because she was never mentioned in the original plot...'
Nakada lowered her saber, not fully sheathing it, but allowing the blade to dip slightly. Her Sharingan didn't deactivate. They spun slowly in the half-light, each tomoe gleaming like blood-red crescent moons. "You're quieter than I expected. I thought you'd have more to say. Especially after that little display," she said, gesturing loosely at the scuffed earth and shattered dummy behind him.
Renjiro narrowed his eyes. "You were testing me."
She nodded. "Mm. Father said some… things about you." Her voice dripped with amusement. "But you know how it is. I had to see for myself. Can't let just anyone start thinking they're worthy of my admiration."
Renjiro's jaw tightened. "Your Admiration?" he echoed, his voice flat. "Is that what this was about? An ambush, an impromptu duel, then a surprise revelation? Very theatrical."
Nakada shrugged, "Well, it worked, didn't it? You're rattled."
"I'm annoyed," Renjiro corrected. "There's a difference."
Her smile returned — too quick, too knowing. "And you're cute when you're annoyed."
That caught him off guard. His Sharingan flickered again as he blinked. "...Excuse me?"
Nakada took a few slow steps toward him, her sandals brushing the cracked dirt with a whisper. "Tell me something, Renjiro," she said, her voice lowering, "Do you always like to be the one in control? Or is it just with me?"
His eyebrows raised. "What are you talking about?"
She leaned in just a little. "You're so tense. So focused. So… rigid. It's like you're always on the edge of a battlefield. I just wondered if you ever let someone else take the lead."
Renjiro stepped back, straightening. "You need to leave."
Nakada's eyes widened slightly, then she giggled — an odd, musical sound that didn't suit the tension still thick between them. "Are you sure that's the way to talk to your future wife?"
That made him freeze. "Future what now?"
"My father's adopted you. Technically, that makes you my… clan brother," she said, teasing the word. "But you're not blood. And besides, the clan council already came to an agreement, future husband."
"I don't care what the clan council whispers," Renjiro said, voice sharp now.
She tilted her head, mock-pouting. "Oh? Not even a little?"
"No." He looked away, jaw clenched. "I don't even know if we'll live long enough to see life after this war."
Nakada raised an eyebrow and then made a soft sound. "That's the most romantic thing you've said all night." She stepped back, brushing nonexistent dust off her sleeves. "Maybe you're right. Maybe none of us make it. But if we do… just imagine what our kids would be like."
Renjiro turned, deadpan. "You are insufferable."
"And you're very fun to tease," she replied, grinning.
They stood there in silence for a moment, the twilight deepened, stretching over the rooftops of Konoha like a veil. Fireflies were beginning to flicker in the trees at the edge of the field. The air held that soft, cool hush of the coming night.
"I should go," Nakada said suddenly, her tone changing — softer, more introspective. "I saw what I needed to see."
Renjiro didn't stop her. He watched her step away, lithe and graceful, the breeze tugging gently at her long hair. Her scent — lavender and iron — lingered in the air even as she faded into the shadows beyond the edge of the field.
Once she was gone, Renjiro finally allowed himself to exhale. He turned away from the training grounds' border and walked toward one of the cracked dummies. He placed a hand on it, steadying himself as his mind reeled from the encounter.
'Nakada...'
He joined his bo back to its original form and brought it back to rest across his shoulders, the cool wood pressing against his sweat-slicked neck. His tank top was damp with exertion, sticking to his back. The thin metallic bangles on his wrists glinted again in the dying light, catching the last rays of the sun.
'She was holding back. That much is obvious.'
She was fast, sure. Skilled with a sabre, which was rare even among the Uchiha. Her movements were refined — honed, deliberate — but there was still something missing. Something that didn't quite align with what he knew of Daichi's lineage.
'There's no way Daichi's daughter is that weak. Fugaku awakened his Sharingan young even awakening his Mangekyo. His children, even Sasuke, were geniuses. There's too much bloodline talent there for her to be anything less than exceptional.'
He closed his eyes, feeling the chakra still ebbing in his body — still wound tight from the fight.
'She was toying with me. Just like I was with her.'
That unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. It meant there were games being played — subtle ones, political ones. Ones where Daichi Uchiha, the clan head, didn't mind throwing his daughter into the mix if it meant testing the boy he'd adopted into the clan.
Renjiro ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the strands that clung to his forehead. He was still glistening with sweat. The cool night air prickled against his skin. He glanced at the floating weapon seal carved into the centre of his Bō — a faint, glowing script of his own design. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat.
'This war is coming fast. And everyone's already making their moves. Clan heads. Councils. Spies and saboteurs. Even daughters...'
He sighed, then let out a chuckle — dry, humourless. "Future husband," he muttered under his breath.
He shook his head, spinning the staff once before jabbing it into the dirt beside him. He gazed up toward the darkening sky.
No, he didn't have time to be thinking about girls right now.
But still... he couldn't quite shake the image of her Sharingan gleaming in the twilight. Or the way she had looked at him — like she already knew how the pieces of the board were set.
And with that thought heavy in his mind, Renjiro stood alone in the fading light, his figure framed by the soft glow of fireflies and the darkening shadows of Konoha — a lone shinobi in a village that was already preparing for war, yet caught in a web of something far more delicate and dangerous than any battlefield:
Politics. Family. Legacy.
And perhaps… something like fate.
=====
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