Ryusei finally broke the silence between them. His tone stayed calm, but his words carried purpose now.

“I didn’t come here to trade blows with anyone,” he said, “I came to offer something that benefits both of us.”

Fugaku’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And what would that be?”

“A secret alliance,” Ryusei replied simply. “Between me and your Uchiha clan.”

Fugaku didn’t move, but his chakra rippled faintly, the sign of restrained scorn.

Ryusei could feel it, the disbelief radiating off him, a thirteen-year-old boy proposing an alliance to one of Konoha’s most powerful clans.

Despite the strength and potential he had demonstrated so far, it was clear he still wasn’t anywhere near enough.

Ryusei smiled faintly, the kind that walked the edge between teasing and challenge.

“Don’t look at me like that, Commander. I’m not coming alone. With me comes Tsunade Senju… and Orochimaru as well.”

That caught Fugaku’s full attention.

Ryusei continued, voice even but laced with quiet satisfaction.

“You’ve probably wondered why the Hokage faction suddenly stopped trying to eliminate me. The answer’s simple. I hold the Daimyō hostage, a living insurance policy. They can’t touch me, not without collapsing the political spine of the Fire Country itself.”

Fugaku’s expression didn’t change, but his mind sharpened instantly.

‘So that’s it. That explains everything. Why Danzo’s men stopped moving against him. Why Hiruzen pretends not to see him. They can’t risk it.’

He had already suspected Ryusei’s lineage, already pieced together fragments of his true identity, but he had been curious why someone the Hokage faction once marked for death was now being left untouched. Now the reason was clear.

Still, one detail didn’t fit.

“Tsunade… I can believe,” Fugaku said coldly. “There are enough rumors of your closeness. But Orochimaru?”

Ryusei’s grin widened slightly. “Well, he and I were also much closer than what everyone sees. Orochimaru wants to be Hokage. But he doesn’t want to rely solely on Danzo to reach it. He needs to keep a secret counterbalance for later, something powerful enough to keep Root in check. That’s where you can come in.”

Fugaku didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes sharpened. The logic was clean.

Orochimaru was ambitious, not loyal; he would never trust anyone completely.

And if he could use the Uchiha to balance Danzo’s weight, it would give him leverage.

“It sounds appealing,” Fugaku said finally. “But words are wind. What proof do you have?”

Ryusei reached into his cloak and withdrew a small sealed scroll, tossing it lightly toward him. “Orochimaru gave me this. Some field logs, intercepted directives, and correspondence from Danzo himself. Every line shows his interference with your clan’s assignments and promotions, on the other fronts. Consider it proof of how deeply he’s been sabotaging you.”

Fugaku caught the scroll, opened it, and scanned the first few lines.

His face didn’t change, but the faint flare in his chakra betrayed the quiet fury brewing inside him. “Interesting, it’s much worse than I thought on other fronts…” he said, voice low.

Ryusei took a step closer. “You see now? All of us have the same enemy. The Hokage’s faction, Hiruzen, Danzo, and the elders, they’ve been tightening their grip on everyone. Senju, Uchiha, and even Orochimaru. We form a new faction in the shadows, one that strikes together when the moment comes.”

Fugaku stayed silent. His expression was calm again, but doubt still lingered in his eyes.

Ryusei could see it. He pressed on.

“Tell me, Commander, do you still think integration will save you? That playing loyal will make them trust the Uchiha again? It’s a fantasy. You’ll never sit in the Hokage’s chair, no matter how many merits you pile up.”

That hit a nerve. Fugaku’s eyes narrowed, Sharingan spinning once more, the faintest trace of anger surfacing.

Ryusei didn’t flinch. “I’m not insulting you, I’m warning you. You’re the frog in the pot. The water’s been warming for decades, and your clan still believes it’s a bath. The roles you once held, that made you both feared and hated, the intelligence and security, have all been stripped away slowly, piece by piece. Even your Police Force is being swallowed by the ANBU. How long before there’s nothing left?”

He let the silence stretch for a few seconds before finishing.

“Your loyalty won’t buy you peace. Your submission won’t buy safety. The only thing that will save your clan now is something extraordinary, something the village can’t predict or control. If you keep chasing this fantasy of becoming Hokage to prove yourself, they’ll let you chase it right into extinction.”

Fugaku’s eyes burned faintly again, but his anger was quiet now, restrained.

He looked at Ryusei long and hard, the weight of his words settling like lead.

The boy stood calmly before him, half his age, yet speaking with the cold clarity of someone who’d already seen the future written in blood.

Ryusei lowered his voice slightly. “I’m not asking you to bow or believe. I’m telling you what’s coming. The only question is whether you want to stand against it alone, or beside the right people who already know the enemy’s face.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Only the faint whisper of the forest filled the gap between them.

Fugaku’s eyes finally dimmed, the Sharingan fading back to black. “Keep talking,” he said quietly. “I’m listening now.”

Fugaku listened without interruption, but his silence hid a storm of thoughts.

Much of what Ryusei said, he already knew.

He didn’t need a child to tell him how the village treated his clan. Every Uchiha knew.

For decades, the injustice had festered under polite silence.

Once one of the two founding pillars of Konoha, the Uchiha had been reduced to a convenient footnote, a weapon kept on a leash.

Their name still carried fear and awe, but within the village, it had become something spoken of in passing, never celebrated, never honored.

That was why the hardliner faction inside the clan had grown so powerful; anger had become their unity.

The dove faction, once preaching reconciliation and loyalty, had all but vanished, swallowed by despair and quiet resentment.

Only Fugaku’s neutral faction, which tried to merge the broken doves and weary pragmatists, had kept the clan from doing something reckless.

He had spent years balancing that contradiction, trying to protect them from both sides, the hotheads within and the wolves outside.

Internally, he’d barely held them together; externally, he’d achieved nothing.

The Mangekyō he had awakened in secret was his only real advantage.

He thought the war was his chance to change everything, to finally earn the clan undeniable merit.

In war, even the Hokage couldn’t ignore the Uchiha. You couldn’t wage large-scale battles without your best weapons.

But now, with what Ryusei said, and with the evidence Orochimaru had provided, the truth was darker than he had expected.

The suppression wasn’t just neglect; it was deliberate.

Even here, on the front, the Uchiha were being quietly sacrificed.

The dangerous missions, the impossible assignments, they weren’t coincidences.

He felt his jaw tighten.

If even Orochimaru, with his connections, knowledge, ambition, and even recent achievements, doubted his own chance to reach the Hokage’s seat, like that, then what right did Fugaku have to dream of the same?

He realized how politically blind the Uchiha truly were.

They were powerful, proud, but completely isolated.

They saw the world through their own clan’s eyes, not the village’s structure above it.

Ryusei’s words, and the proof in that scroll, had struck deeper than he wanted to admit.

For the first time in years, Fugaku felt something like clarity.

The old path was a dead end.

The only question now was not whether to change, but which direction to turn, and which ally to trust in doing it, on which person to bet on.

There wasn’t only Orochimaru to consider.

Fugaku knew that well.

There was also that younger, golden prodigy, the Hokage and his council adored, Minato Namikaze, the rising star of the northwestern front.

Much more supported among the Third’s central faction, the perfect loyalist, loved by civilians, respected by shinobi, and seen as the clean successor to Hiruzen’s ideals.

Orochimaru’s ambition had made him controversial, but Minato was the opposite: pure, bright, and convenient.

Fugaku’s thoughts turned quietly.

‘Danzo is the only one from the central faction that supports Orochimaru in the shadows, but he’s the clan’s worst enemy. Trusting Orochimaru while he existed isn’t a very smart idea.’

He frowned slightly. ‘Minato might be safer. His jinchūriki girlfriend, Kushina, and my wife Mikoto… weren’t they close? Maybe I can approach him from her at some point later?’

Ryusei’s faint smirk cut through the silence.

He’d already guessed where Fugaku’s thoughts had gone.

“You’re thinking of Minato, aren’t you?” he said smoothly.

Fugaku’s eyes flicked toward him, a trace of surprise breaking his stoic face.

Ryusei didn’t wait for an answer.

“Don’t waste your hopes there. Minato isn’t salvation. He’s a puppet in training.”

Fugaku’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Listen,” Ryusei continued, voice steady but sharp. “Minato’s strong and talented, yes. Flying Raijin, great technique for stacking infinite merits, fine ideals. But he has zero external power that he could truly call his own. No faction, no infrastructure, no direct allies beyond his woman. It is all borrowed from Hiruzen Sarutobi. Orochimaru, for all his madness, built his own support inside Root and carved out an independent network, including some shinobi on his front lately. Minato has nothing like that. Hiruzen made him, and Hiruzen will own him.”

Ryusei’s tone hardened, almost cold. “The Third Hokage is just grooming him to inherit a ruined stage, someone clean enough to calm the civilians after this war, but weak enough to stay under his thumb. Once Hiruzen’s popularity dips, he’ll plant Minato in the chair, rule through him from behind, and when Minato fails, he’ll say ‘the boy wasn’t ready’ and reclaim control himself. That’s the plan.”

Fugaku’s first instinct was to deny it. “You’re underestimating him. Minato isn’t like that.”

“Isn’t he?” Ryusei asked. “Does he look like a man who’ll ever rebel against the system that built him from the ground up? He’s loyal to Konoha, to his closest people that are tied to the current structure, not to justice, not to change. That’s why Hiruzen chose him. He’s safe. Minato can never reverse the course regarding the Uchiha, and to be honest, I doubt that someone like him could even understand it. He’s not a complete fool, but his understanding of human nature and politics is near zero.”

Fugaku said nothing. His mind, however, turned quickly.

He knew Minato only through missions and reputation, talented, calm, polite.

But he also knew how carefully Hiruzen picked his favorites.

The old man never gambled on someone he couldn’t control.

Ryusei’s words landed harder than he wanted to admit.

Hiruzen would never invest that much faith in a man who could threaten his hold.

The realization came quietly, unpleasantly, but logically.

When Fugaku finally spoke, his voice was lower. “You might be right.”

Ryusei nodded slightly, satisfied.

“Then we understand each other. Minato’s path leads nowhere for your clan. If you want survival, you’ll need allies who can move outside Hiruzen’s shadow, not inside it.”

Fugaku gave a short, slow nod. “Agreed.”

Ryusei’s grin returned, faint but sharp. “Then one last thing, Commander. I trust the Uchiha will stop interfering with my relationship with Kiyomi.”

Fugaku’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of restrained irritation surfacing.

Ryusei’s tone wasn’t loud, but the meaning behind it was clear and deliberate.

After a long pause, Fugaku answered curtly, “Fine. I’ll see to it personally.”

He didn’t add that the way the boy said it sounded almost mocking, like a reminder that Ryusei already knew more than he should.

The connection hit him immediately, one of the missing elite brothers, the one the elders had pushed as Kiyomi’s next partner.

It made too much sense now. If Ryusei really had been involved in that disappearance, this was his way of warning them not to repeat the mistake.

Still, Fugaku held his composure. The boy had already shown more than enough strength and cunning to earn caution.

Better to drop the matter quietly than invite unnecessary risk. He would make sure the elders stopped pressing that issue, no more arranged matches, no more interference.

“Good,” Ryusei said with an easy smile. “In fact, she could serve as a convenient bridge between our two sides, something to symbolize goodwill and sincerity, if you catch my meaning.”

“Anyhow, we’ll stay in contact. I’ll send clones when needed, and you’ll know where to find them. Keep this between us for now. No one else, not even your lieutenants.”

Fugaku understood immediately. “Of course.”

The forest had gone quiet again.

They stood there for a few minutes more, the Uchiha head and the Senju heir who shouldn’t exist, two ghosts planning the village’s next fracture.

Then Fugaku turned away, his chakra dimming as he vanished into the dark, silent and unreadable once more.

Ryusei watched him go, the faintest trace of a grin on his face.

“One more piece placed,” he murmured. “And the board’s almost ready for the future.”

As Ryusei made his way north through the forest, his thoughts lingered on Fugaku.

In his eyes, the man was nothing exceptional.

Competent, yes, disciplined, intelligent enough to lead a clan, but not fit for the kind of era he was born into.

Fugaku was a man built for stability, not for the edge of extinction.

A decent patriarch in peaceful times, a disaster when his people were facing genocide.

History itself proved it.

Fugaku had failed to prevent the fall of his clan, failed to control his own son, and ultimately watched everything he led burn.

Worse, the weapon that should have been his clan’s salvation, the eldest son of the patriarch lineage, Itachi, had become the blade held against their throats.

Ryusei didn’t believe nurture explained everything.

Nature played its part.

Some people were simply born strange, wired differently, like Itachi.

But that didn’t excuse Fugaku’s failures as a father or as a leader.

He’d dragged a child to the battlefield to “teach” him the truth of war, and then left him to interpret that trauma alone.

He never guided Itachi’s mind, never steered his vision, or tempered his obsession with ideals.

Instead of shaping him into his greatest shield, Fugaku raised the very hand that wiped out his own clan.

Some people, in his past world, said there was nothing Fugaku could have done that the Uchiha were doomed no matter what at that point.

Ryusei disagreed completely.

There were always moves left, always cards to play.

The man had two Mangekyō-level shinobi under his roof, on top of his own eyes, all capable of matching a Kage, yet both turned against him.

That wasn’t fate. That was a failure.

Fugaku had seen the trap closing too late.

When he finally decided to rebel, it wasn’t a revolution; it was desperation.

He hadn’t prepared, hadn’t built alliances, hadn’t laid the groundwork years in advance.

The rebellion only accelerated the clan’s destruction instead of saving it.

Ryusei would have done it differently; he was sure of it.

Planning, infiltration, propaganda, slow accumulation of leverage, and creative uses of their Mangekyo abilities.

Not a sudden, emotional uprising but a silent reclamation of power.

Still, he didn’t despise Fugaku entirely.

The man wasn’t stupid; he could listen, as he had just seen.

Just limited. He lacked vision, not intellect.

“If you explain the truth and the most optimal path to him directly,” Ryusei thought,

“he’ll acquiesce eventually. He’ll follow reason when it’s laid out in front of him.”

He was capable enough of that.

That was enough.

Ryusei didn’t need him to be a mastermind; he already had that covered.

He only needed Fugaku to be what he was best at: a soldier, a clan head who could carry out the plan once shown the direction.

And as he moved deeper into the northern woods, the corners of his mouth lifted faintly.

“With the right push,” he murmured, “even a dull blade can still cut exactly where you need it to.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep