Chương 18: The Choice

Evening had settled over the Uchiha district, soft and unhurried.

"I'm home." Sasuke pushed open the front door and called into the house.

"Welcome back, Sasuke." Mikoto appeared from the inner room, smiling as she took his bag from his hands.

"Is Nii-san home?" He glanced at the shoes by the entrance, then looked up at her.

"Mm. He's in the back room talking with your father." She said it gently, but her eyes drifted toward the closed door—and stayed there a moment too long. I see, Sasuke thought. He didn't say anything else. The distance between his father and his brother had been growing for a while now. He could feel it at the dinner table, in the silences, in the way his father's jaw tightened sometimes when Itachi's name came up. His brother was home less and less. He wasn't sure he understood why. But he felt it.......

"You've been taking missions with Shisui again." Fugaku sat with his arms crossed, back straight, the tatami beneath him as still as the man himself. Across the room, Itachi knelt with his head lowered.

"... Yes. Father."

"You're not in the same division." The silence that followed had a shape to it.

"And Shisui is assigned to ROOT now," Fugaku continued. His voice didn't rise. It never rose.

"You're an ANBU squad captain. Your paths shouldn't cross on mission assignments." Itachi said nothing.

"There are classified operations," he said at last.

"Are there." The corner of Fugaku's mouth moved—not quite a smile. Something colder.

"Itachi." He let the name sit for a moment.

"You are my son. The weight of this clan's future rests on you. Shisui has already become someone else's instrument." He paused.

"You understand which matters more." Itachi didn't look up. A long silence passed. Then, slowly, he spoke.

"Father."

"... What do you think of the village?" Fugaku's eyes narrowed slightly. He studied his son.

"The village," he said finally, "is a legacy left by our ancestors. It is our home. Naturally, it is worth protecting."

"Is that so."

"Itachi." Fugaku's voice was measured, unhurried.

"There is no conflict between the clan and the village—not unless someone has manufactured one. This tension you seem to feel? It's a tool. The ones in power see us growing strong, and they reach for the oldest trick they know." His tone didn't shift.

"The Hidden Leaf was built with Uchiha blood. If they think they can push us out now, they are mistaken. What we want is simple. Coexistence. Harmony." He looked at his son.

"Do you understand?" Itachi remained kneeling, head still bowed. He didn't answer. After a long moment, he rose—slow and deliberate—and pressed into a low bow. Then he left. Fugaku watched the shape of his son disappear through the door. The corner of his mouth curled. The Will of Fire. You disappoint me, Itachi. He closed his eyes. When they opened again, they had turned red—deep crimson, three black tomoe floating in each iris.

The tomoe began to spin, faster and faster, until they blurred and resolved into something else: a single dark point, with three black, tomoe-shaped lines radiating out from its center. Remnants of the Second, he thought. Let's see how long you can keep dancing. Itachi stepped out of the back room and nearly walked into his brother. Sasuke was sitting in the chair just outside the door, waiting—and the moment he saw Itachi's face, his own lit up completely.

"Nii-san!" Something in Itachi's chest loosened. He couldn't have stopped the smile if he'd tried.

"Sasuke."

"What were you and Dad talking about? You were in there forever." Sasuke's lower lip pushed forward, the faintest edge of complaint in his voice.

"Work things. Nothing interesting."

"Hmm." Sasuke didn't look entirely convinced, but he let it go.

"Oh—hey, at school today they tested Clone Jutsu, and Shin only got second." Itachi raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so."

"Yeah! He barely beat me though—" Sasuke caught himself.

"I mean, I was close."

"Shin is still a beginner," Itachi said.

"Placing second at this stage is already impressive. Don't let him catch up to you." Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

"I know, I know. My ninjutsu is definitely going to surpass his. And my taijutsu." Sasuke straightened his shoulders slightly.

"And shuriken." He hesitated.

"Nii-san. When do you have time to train with me again? Last time you—""I'm sorry, Sasuke." Itachi's voice was quiet.

"It's been a difficult stretch."

"... Okay." The word came out small. Itachi watched his little brother's face cycle through disappointment and acceptance, the way it always did—Sasuke refusing to push, not wanting to ask for too much. He kept talking then, jumping to something else, something from school, some small funny thing that happened in the hallway, voice picking up speed the way it did when he was trying to fill a silence he didn't understand. Itachi listened. The clan. The village. I want both.

The smell of grilling meat filled the restaurant.

"Hey. You've been staring at nothing for five minutes." Ryoto Ninomiya looked up from his overloaded plate—cheeks stuffed, oil on his chin—and fixed Hana with the expression of someone who had been waiting patiently and felt it was time to say something. Hana blinked back to the present.

"What? Sorry."

"You went somewhere else," said Zeri, setting down his chopsticks.

"It's nothing." She glanced at him, then away. Zeri had the particular kind of stillness that made silences comfortable rather than awkward. She appreciated that. She looked at Ryoto—who had resumed eating with the focused energy of someone completing a mission—and looked away again.

"Hey, Zeri."

"Mm."

"If someone wanted to buy a decent blade..." She thought about how to phrase it.

"What would that cost?" Zeri paused. He set down his chopsticks again.

"A blade."

"You're buying a sword?" Ryoto looked up, interested.

"Not for me." She shook her head.

"For my little brother."

"Shin?" Zeri said. She nodded. The image came back to her easily—Shin stopping in front of that weapon shop window, not saying anything, just looking, the way he so rarely looked at anything. He never asked for things. She'd been thinking about it ever since.

"He wouldn't even tell me he wanted it," she said.

"That's the first time I've seen him want something." Zeri was quiet for a moment.

"What kind of blade are you thinking?"

"Is there more than one kind?"

"..." He looked at her.

"Long sword or short sword?"

"... Those are types?" Zeri exhaled through his nose. He picked up his chopsticks.

"If it's just for interest—for a child who thinks blades look cool—a standard katana would do. But if he's serious about the path..." He turned the thought over.

"A kodachi. Something well-made. Quality kodachi start around several hundred thousand ryō." Hana stared at him." Several hundred thousand?"

"That's not particularly expensive, for good steel."

"That's my entire year's salary."

"Were you planning to buy it yourself?" Zeri asked, something flickering in his expression that might have been surprise.

"Of course." He looked at her for a moment.

"That's... considerate of you." Hana fell quiet. She stared at the table. The numbers sat in her chest like a stone. Then she slapped both palms flat on the table. Ryoto flinched. Zeri didn't.

"I've made a decision," she announced.

"About what?" Ryoto asked, still chewing.

"Our squad. Starting now—" she pointed at each of them, "—we are taking every mission we can get. All of us. Starting tonight."" Tonight?"

"Tonight." She pushed back her chair and stood.

"Stop eating. Let's go to the mission desk."

"Hana, we're in the middle of—"" Now." She reached over, grabbed Ryoto's arm, and pulled.

"Wait— Hana —I haven't finished—the meat —" She was already moving. Ryoto stumbled after her, half-turned toward the table, grief written plainly across his face.

"Zeri, pay the bill." Zeri watched them go. He picked up his cup, took a slow sip, and set it back down. Then he got up and walked to the counter. The izakaya was dim and warm and smelled of cedar and sake. Tsume Inuzuka leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed, a cup halfway to her lips. Shibi Aburame sat across from her, dressed as he always was—long coat, dark glasses—as though he'd come straight from a surveillance op and couldn't be bothered to change. He probably hadn't.

"I heard," Shibi said, "that Kiba helped Naruto Uzumaki paint the Academy wall." Tsume choked. She coughed three times into her sleeve, thumping her chest.

"Don't—" she managed, "—don't lead with that." He picked up his cup. Tsume set hers down and leaned back again, dragging air in slowly.

"That little idiot. Every week it's something new."

"Sounds like you, when you were his age."

"That's different."

"How."

"It just is." She crossed her arms.

"Kiba acts tough, but he's actually a coward. If he were more like me, he'd be fine. I had nerve." Shibi said nothing. He was not certain what the central point of that observation was.

"At least Shin's easy," Tsume said, almost to herself. A different kind of warmth edged into her voice.

"Never causes trouble. Never asks for anything. First in his class—and I never even managed that." She laughed, short and sharp.

"Both of them together and they still can't match him."

"..." Shibi set his cup down. You never came close to first in your class. He did not say this.

"When they graduate," Tsume continued, "I don't know if they'll end up on the same team. Kiba and Shino are both specialization students—tracking, sensory. Shin's more..." she waved a hand, "balanced. And teams always need a girl."

"Composition," Shibi said.

"Inuzuka and Aburame share reconnaissance ability. The natural third would be a Hyuga."

"A tracking squad. That's what we used to be."

"Different era."

"Peace versus war," Tsume agreed. She tilted her head.

"Which Hyuga is in their year again? Hizashi's kid?"

"Neji is a year above them." Shibi paused.

"It's the main branch's eldest daughter."

"Neji's top of his class too, isn't he? I thought—""Different year. The main branch girl is Hiashi's daughter."

"Oh." Tsume processed this.

"Hiashi's daughter. Good bloodline. Whether Kiba can handle that..." She snorted.

"If he can't, she can always just move in. Ha." Shibi looked at his cup. A moment passed.

"Time moves strangely," Tsume said. Her voice had gone somewhere quieter.

"I turn around and they're almost shinobi." Shibi didn't respond. The shift in tone was unusual. He waited.

"I got married too young," she announced.

"You were the one who—""I know what I did." He closed his mouth.

"I panicked. Thought good men were finite resources." She drained the last of her cup.

"Should've waited. Maybe I would've had a kid like Shin instead." She laughed again, louder.

"Can you imagine the chakra control on that child?" Shibi looked at the table. What are we talking about.

"Shino's nine now, isn't he," Tsume said. The shift was subtle, but it landed. Shibi was quiet. Tsume lowered her cup.

"You haven't done it yet."

"... He's almost nine."

"Soft," she said, not unkindly.

"Not like you."

"His ability is strong." Shibi's voice was level.

"There's no urgency in waiting one more year."

"You say that. But you haven't asked him." She studied the side of his face.

"You're assuming he'll resist. What if he won't?"

"..."

"Your call." She refilled her cup and leaned back.

"You decide." Shibi exhaled—so quietly it barely registered. They let the subject go.

"The thing with the Military Police," he said.

"What happened?"

"A few officers throwing their weight around. I corrected them."

"Fugaku Uchiha personally came to apologize."

"Mm." Her expression shifted—amusement and something cooler underneath.

"The clan is walking on eggshells right now. Fugaku can't afford a new enemy, not at this moment."

"Not an enemy," Shibi said.

"But not an ally either."

"Definitely not." She paused. Something crossed her face.

"He saw Shin."

"..."

"Fugaku. When he came to the house. He noticed him—more than he should have."

"He tried to pursue custody, after Tsukasa died." Tsume said nothing to that. She looked at the ceiling.

"I told Shin to stay away from the Uchiha," she said instead. Shibi was quiet for a moment.

"You're worried about what happened with Tsukasa."

"People are different." He shook his head slightly.

"Shin's temperament is nothing like Tsukasa's."

"I know." She exhaled.

"I know." Neither of them spoke. Then Shibi said, "There's something you should know." Tsume looked at him.

"Shin was seen with Shisui Uchiha. Two days ago. A dumpling shop, and then an izakaya." His voice was even.

"A name like Shisui's doesn't get misidentified. And there were witnesses." Tsume went very still.

"I assumed you knew," Shibi said. She hadn't moved. Her eyes had gone flat, the warmth from a moment ago erased cleanly.

"A name like his," Shibi continued, "attached to a clan in the situation the Uchiha are currently in—""I heard you." She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. Her gaze had turned inward, and there was something in it—not quite anger, but adjacent to it, the kind of stillness that came right before something sharp. Shisui Uchiha. She set her cup down on the table.