Dawn bled through the Hyūga compound's paper lanterns, casting long shadows over stone corridors. The air smelled of burning wax and iron—a scent Tsukihiko had come to associate with ritual. Today, the Caged Bird Seal would be branded onto the branch family's children.
He stood beside Hizashi in the main hall, his pale eyes detached. Across the room, Elder Noboru presided over the ceremony, his hawk-like gaze scanning the assembled branch members. A boy no older than five knelt before him, trembling. His fists clenched the wooden floorboards, knuckles white.
"You will serve as a shield," Noboru intoned, pressing the cursed seal to the child's forehead. The boy stifled a scream as chakra burned into his skin.
Tsukihiko's vision sharpened. The seal's chakra turbulence coiled like barbed wire, constricting the boy's tenketsu pathways. A prison disguised as protection , he thought, tracing 抗 in his mind. Almost an obsession now.
The boy's breath hitched. His Byakugan veins bulged, not from activation but from the strain of holding back tears. Tsukihiko saw it clearly—the seal's chakra was not just a barrier; it was a leash , a chain forged from clan doctrine and fear.
One by one, the children were called forward.
A girl with braided hair, no older than four, knelt next. Her lips moved in silent prayer as Noboru branded her. The smell of scorched flesh thickened. She didn't cry—her face went slack, as if her soul had already withdrawn.
Tsukihiko's Byakugan flickered. He saw the seal's chakra spread like ink in water, seeping into the girl's neural pathways. It wasn't just a lock; it was a filter , distorting her perception of self. They'll never feel whole again , he realized. The seal doesn't just control—it erases.
抗
Another boy, barely three, was dragged forward by his trembling mother. His wails pierced the hall. "I don't want to!" he screamed. Noboru's hand snapped to the child's forehead, chakra flaring. The boy's scream cut off mid-breath—a gasp, then silence. His small body slumped, eyes wide and glassy.
Tsukihiko's stomach twisted. Three years old. Just like me.
Hiashi's voice cut through the hall: "Tsukihiko. My office."
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The study reeked of ink and cedar. Hiashi closed the door, his gaze sharp as a kunai's edge. "You watched the ceremony. What are your thoughts on the Caged Bird Seal?"
Tsukihiko met his father's eyes. "It is a tool to protect the clan. To safeguard the Byakugan from those who would exploit it." His voice was flat, rehearsed.
Hiashi's lips curled. "That's what you'd say to a councilor. Not to me." He stepped closer, his chakra turbulence a cold, precise lattice. "Tell me your true thoughts."
Silence stretched. Tsukihiko's Byakugan pulsed, mapping the tension in Hiashi's posture. He already knows I hate it. But he wants me to admit it aloud.
"Why the hesitation?" Hiashi pressed. "Do you think me blind to the hypocrisy? The seal was born from necessity, not cruelty." He turned to the window, where dawn's light bled through the shutters. "Centuries ago, our enemies hunted the Hyūga like beasts. They tore out our eyes, stole our secrets. The Byakugan became a prize for warlords and thieves."
Tsukihiko remained still, but his mind raced. Necessity. Always necessity.
Hiashi continued, "The clan leader of that era created the Caged Bird Seal to prevent this. If a branch member died, their Byakugan would vanish—a final safeguard. But more than that, it ensured the branch could never betray the main house. The seal became their chains… and their shield."
Tsukihiko's fingers twitched. "And now?"
Hiashi's gaze darkened. "Now, many see it as a tool of control. And they're not wrong." He fixed Tsukihiko with a stare that cut deeper than the Gentle Fist. "Tell me—why do you think the main/branch clan distinction exists?"
"To safeguard the interests of the Hyūga clan as a whole and continue the bloodline," Tsukihiko recited, voice devoid of emotion.
Hiashi shook his head. "A textbook answer. But shallow." He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing Tsukihiko whole. "The truth is this: the main clan bears the greatest risk. Our unmarked foreheads make us targets. Those who covet the Byakugan know they must kill a main family member to claim it. This protects the branch—they are the ones who live. The seal shields them from annihilation, from kidnapping, from the horrors that once ravaged our lineage."
Tsukihiko's breath hitched. A sacrifice. A shield. But still a cage.
Hiashi's voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "The seal was never meant to enslave. It was meant to preserve. But over generations, its purpose warped. Clan elders used it to maintain power, to secure personal interests. That is the rot I seek to root out." He paused, studying Tsukihiko's blank expression. "You'll grow to be different from those before you. You'll become a figure the entire clan trusts and follows."
Tsukihiko blinked. "How?"
"By seeing beyond these walls." Hiashi turned to the door, his silhouette sharp against the morning light. "Contrary to main clan traditions, you will attend the Konoha Ninja Academy. Broaden your horizons. Learn from those outside the clan. you are a perceptive and smart child, thats the only reason i'm telling you the purpose of this arangement" His tone hardened. "The young Uchiha patriarch will be in your class. Do not disgrace the name of the Hyūga."
The door slid open. Morning air spilled inside, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms and antiseptic.
Tsukihiko stepped into the hall, his Byakugan flickering. The Caged Bird Seal's chakra turbulence lingered in his vision—a haze of suffering and submission. A tool. A shield. A chain.
抗
Behind him, Hiashi's voice echoed: "Resist, Tsukihiko. But resist with purpose."
抗
The kanji burned behind his eyes, but the letters were faint now, like embers drowning in ash.
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The Hyūga district's stone walls faded behind Tsukihiko as he stepped into Konoha's bustling main streets. The village hummed with life—a cacophony of laughter, clinking tools, and the scent of grilled fish mingling with sweet bean paste. For the first time in weeks, the air didn't reek of antiseptic or blood.
He paused, tilting his head to let the afternoon sun warm his face. A breeze tousled his bangs, carrying the faintest trace of cherry blossoms. Peace , he thought. Not the fragile ceasefire of the battlefield, but the stubborn, irrepressible vitality of ordinary people. A vendor haggled over tomatoes. A toddler chased a wobbling puppy. A pair of genin stumbled past, arms laden with scrolls and arguing about the best ramen stand.
How do they stay so… light? Tsukihiko wondered. His Byakugan flickered, scanning the crowd. Chakra turbulence here was soft—golden ripples of joy, silver threads of worry, the occasional burst of crimson frustration. No jagged edges of trauma. No lingering echoes of death.
He flexed his small fingers, remembering the Gentle Fist strikes that had ended two lives. They don't know. They don't have to.
A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision—a shadow slipping between rooftops. Tail. He didn't turn. The Hyūga guard's presence was predictable, almost comforting. A leash, yes, but one looser than Hiashi's chains.
His feet carried him toward a narrow alley where the scent of roasted meat thickened. A sign swayed overhead: DANGO SHOP . The shop's windows glowed amber, and inside, a pair of figures occupied a corner booth, their voices rising in theatrical debate.
"—plain is the only real dango!" a woman with spiky purple hair declared, jabbing a skewer at her companion. "It's pure! It's elegant! It's—"
"—boring ," interrupted a broad-shouldered man, his forehead band wrapped askew. "You need flavor! Cinnamon, honey, spicy miso —"
Tsukihiko's lips twitched upward, a light chuckle slipping from them. He pushed open the door, the chime drowning Anko's indignant squawk.
"Plain is tradition !"
"Tradition's for old men who can't taste!"
The shopkeeper glanced up, then did a double-take at Tsukihiko's Hyūga eyes. " Ts-Tsukihiko sama! Welcome!"
it seemed like this shopkeeper is a retired shinobi, a recently retired one at that, thought tsukihko while observing the man's missing right arm. The fact that he recognizes him means he must've seen him on the frontline.
Anko froze mid-gesture, skewer poised like a kunai. Her gaze narrowed. "Wait. You're the Hyūga kid?" word about the genuis hyuga heir who killed two genin on his first battlefield at merely 3 years of age has already circulated around the village. Many comparing him to Hatake Kakashi and Namikaze Minato.
Tsukihiko tilted his head, mimicking the curious innocence of a stray cat. "I've heard of dango… but never tried it."
Anko's eyes lit up like a predator spotting prey. "Excellent! We'll fix that." She waved the shopkeeper over. "Two of every kind! All the flavors!"
The man paled. "All… all ten ?"
"Yes!"
Tsukihiko's eyebrow twitched imperceptibly. How am I supposed to eat that much? He glanced at Anko's teammate, who shrugged fatalistically.
Ten skewers later, Tsukihiko sat poised, nibbling each dango with the solemnity of a scholar dissecting a scroll. Anko hovered like a hawk, while her teammate muttered, "He's doomed."
"Cinnamon's too sweet," Tsukihiko pronounced after the fifth. "Spicy miso… interesting, but overpowering." He paused at the plain dango, its simplicity stark against the array. "This one lets the rice flour speak for itself."
Anko deflated like a punctured balloon. "Traitor," she muttered, slumping back in her seat. "Next you'll tell me clouds are just clouds."
Tsukihiko blinked. "They're water vapor and sunlight. But yes."
She groaned, tossing a coin pouch onto the table. "Take the rest. Share with your family. Or feed them to a raccoon. I don't care anymore."
He bowed politely, gathering the remaining skewers. "Thank you for the introduction… Lady Anko."
"Lady?" She snorted. "Kid, I'm still youthful girl . Remember that."
As he stepped back into the street, the dango box balanced in one hand, a shadow shifted atop a nearby roof. Tail still there.
The sun dipped lower, painting Konoha in amber. Tsukihiko wandered past the Hokage Monument, the stone faces looming like silent sentinels. Absolute strength , he mused, recalling Anko's sharp edges and brittle bravado. She'd been Orochimaru's pawn once—a life without dreams, without choice.
Not me.
His grip tightened on the dango box. Strength wasn't just fists or jutsu. It was seeing through the lies, bending the system without breaking. Becoming someone no one could brand.
A breeze stirred the leaves. Somewhere, a child laughed.
Tsukihiko kept walking.
抗
抗
抗
Resist.
But this time, with a plan