The Uchiha clan compound sat on the eastern edge of Konoha, walled off more by politics than architecture.
To most, it was a symbol of proud bloodline history.
To Arashi, it was a pressure cooker—sealed, simmering, and moments from exploding.
And he was walking straight into it.
The guards at the main gate didn't question him. His surname—and the Hatake crest at his shoulder—were enough to get him through.
But that didn't mean they trusted him.
Eyes followed every step.
From rooftops.
From behind garden walls.
Even the wind seemed to carry suspicion.
It wasn't personal.
It was clan protocol.
Outsiders were always watched.
And Arashi wasn't just an outsider.
He was the son of the White Fang—a man the elders respected, but whose fall from grace haunted even the most hardened war veterans.
Arashi made no pretense. He walked with purpose through the courtyard until a tall figure in dark robes intercepted him.
Sharp cheekbones. Cleanly tied hair. Eyes that didn't blink unless necessary.
Fugaku Uchiha.
"State your reason for entering," he said, voice calm but steel-edged.
Arashi didn't bow. "I'm not here on official business."
"Then you're trespassing."
"I have information."
"About?"
"Root. And your son's future."
That made Fugaku blink.
Only once.
Then he turned. "Walk with me."
They passed through the inner compound in silence.
The training field was empty. Too empty.
Arashi realized the Uchiha had cleared it in advance.
For privacy.
He respected that.
Fugaku stopped at a small wooden pavilion. "Sit."
They sat opposite each other. No tea. No guards. Just wind and wood.
"I'll say this once," Fugaku began. "If this is political bait, or some attempt at leverage—"
"I have proof Root is targeting clan children," Arashi interrupted.
Fugaku's face didn't change, but his hand—resting on the table—tightened slightly.
"I've tracked instructor replacements. Seals implanted into academy chairs. Chakra tests masked as routine evaluations. They're filtering young genin for compatibility."
"With what?"
"With indoctrination. Conditioning. Genjutsu-resistant obedience programming."
Fugaku's jaw clenched.
"Your cousin, Shisui—he's being groomed."
Arashi reached into his cloak and slid a scroll across the table.
Unsealed.
Inside: time-stamped records of Root surveillance teams near the academy. Diagrams of experimental chakra suppression seals. A list of academy children flagged for 'deep potential.'
Shisui's name was fourth.
"They think he's malleable," Arashi said. "Impressionable. The perfect subject."
Fugaku didn't touch the scroll.
He just stared at it.
Then, finally: "And what do you want in return?"
Arashi didn't hesitate.
"Protection."
Fugaku frowned. "For whom?"
"For my brother. For the Hyuga girl they're testing. For any child marked by Root."
Fugaku's gaze sharpened. "You want the Uchiha to shield non-Uchiha?"
"I want the Uchiha to remember that when Root's done using the smaller clans, they'll come for you too."
A pause.
Then: "You assume we fear Root."
"I assume you fear losing your children."
That landed.
Fugaku's silence stretched long. Measured. Like a blade being drawn slowly from a scabbard.
Finally, he said, "And you? What do you offer, Hatake son?"
"My name doesn't mean much anymore," Arashi said. "But I have one thing Root doesn't."
Fugaku waited.
"I leave people alive."
The clan head nodded slowly.
"That might be more dangerous than killing them."
"Exactly."
Another long silence.
Then Fugaku picked up the scroll, rolled it, and tucked it into his sleeve.
"If I agree, this alliance remains in shadow."
"Agreed."
"We don't speak. We don't meet in public."
"Fine."
"And if one of us falls, the other erases the trail."
"Done."
Fugaku stood.
"So it begins."
Arashi rose too. "It's already begun."
—
He left the compound as quietly as he came.
No one stopped him.
But someone watched him.
From the rooftops, a masked figure knelt behind a dormer.
Small frame.
Short blade.
Breathing too controlled.
Young.
Root was watching.
Of course they were.
But this time, Arashi let himself be seen.
He looked up, locked eyes for just a second.
And smiled.
Not wide.
Not warm.
Just enough to say: You're already too late.
The figure vanished.
—
That night, in the mental realm, Arashi didn't summon an enemy.
He summoned Shisui.
Not the boy from the academy—but the man he'd once heard described: the Flicker Blade. The genjutsu ghost.
The simulation appeared with a faint smile.
"You're tampering," the projection said.
"I'm protecting."
"Same thing, sometimes."
They fought in silence—no powers, just movement.
Blades and feet and breath.
Arashi lost.
Twice.
But the third time, he adapted. Found the rhythm. Matched the flicker.
And landed a clean strike to the throat.
The simulation faded, nodding as it vanished.
Maybe it was approval.
Or maybe just programming.
Either way, Arashi felt something shift.
Not power.
Resolve.
—
The next morning, Shikaku Nara arrived at Arashi's doorstep.
Uninvited.
As always.
He sat on the porch, drinking something from a thermos that smelled suspiciously like burnt herbs.
"You've been busy," he said.
"I prefer efficient."
"Uchiha alliance. Scroll theft. Child tracking. You know people might mistake you for the enemy, right?"
"I am the enemy," Arashi replied. "Just not theirs."
Shikaku smirked. "Careful, Hatake. You're starting to sound like a Hokage."
Arashi raised an eyebrow. "You think I want that title?"
"I think you're doing the job without the hat."
He stood up.
Tossed something onto the porch.
A file.
Thicker than Root's.
Labeled: "Candidate List – Clan Restructure Directive"
Arashi opened it.
He didn't say anything for a long time.
Then: "Who gave you this?"
Shikaku shrugged. "You're not the only one who hates shadows."
And with that, he left.
Leaving Arashi to stare at a list of over seventy names.
Half of them children.
All of them targets.
To be continued.