The single, unadorned syllable—"No"—hung in the serene office air with the physical weight of a suspended kunai.
Fugaku Uchiha did not erupt. He did not scowl. The reaction was far more telling: a single, almost imperceptible lift of his eyebrows, a fractional widening of his dark eyes.
It was slight surprise, yes, but beneath it flowed a colder, steadier current—the sense of a man seeing a predicted, if inconvenient, outcome come to pass.
His steepled fingers remained perfectly still. In the corner, Daichi was a statue of observation, his breath so controlled it seemed to have ceased entirely.
The absence of immediate outrage was more unnerving than any outburst could have been; it spoke of calculations already running, of contingency plans slotting into place.
"An unequivocal answer," Fugaku said at last, his voice still that calm, resonant baritone, though it now carried a flinty edge of curiosity.
He unlaced his fingers and placed his palms flat on the polished desk. "May I inquire as to your reasoning? The Jonin Commander's seat is not an honour offered lightly, nor is it one many would refuse out of hand."
Renjiro met his gaze, his own expression carefully schooled into one of respectful pragmatism. He offered a shallow bow of his head, the picture of the humble clansman.
"With all due respect, Fugaku-sama, the position requires a figure of established authority and significant seniority. I am… too young. The Jonin corps, veterans of decades, would chafe under a commander who hasn't yet earned their years, regardless of…" he gestured vaguely, "…other qualifications. It would be an instability the village does not need. My refusal is born of prudence, for the clan's standing as much as my own."
It was a safe argument, a socially acceptable shield. He positioned it not as a rejection of the clan's will, but as a protective measure for its reputation.
A faint, humourless smile touched Fugaku's lips, not reaching his eyes. It was the look of a master presented with a novice's gambit.
"Age," he repeated, letting the word sit for a moment.
"Do you believe that metric still holds the weight it once did, Renjiro? The war rewrote many of our old ledgers." He leaned forward slightly.
"Power, decisive results, the demonstrated capacity to shape the battlefield—these are the currencies that now purchase authority. Seniority bows to survival. And to strength."
He paused, his gaze intensifying, driving the point home. "You stood against a tailed beast and the Raikage and lived. Your actions during the war diverted an entire Kumo battalion. The clan and the village do not see a boy when they look at you. They see a pillar of proven, formidable power. Leadership naturally consolidates around such pillars. To suggest the role is 'premature' insults the very merits that earned you the consideration."
Fugaku's voice remained even, but each sentence was a carefully placed stone, building an unassailable wall against Renjiro's excuse. Then, he delivered the coup de grâce.
"Consider the new Mizukage, Yagura. He is, by all intelligence, scarcely older than you are. Yet he holds one of the five great Kage seats. If age is no barrier at the summit of a village, how can it be a barrier some steps below?"
Internally, Renjiro recoiled. A cold, slick feeling of disgust, not at Fugaku, but at the situation, coiled in his gut.
'He's right.'
The thought was galling. Fugaku wasn't posturing or wielding hollow flattery. He was articulating the brutal reality of the shinobi world with flawless, dispassionate logic. This was a serious, well-constructed political offensive, and Renjiro's first line of defence had just been obliterated.
Seeing the shift in Renjiro's demeanour—the slight tightening around the eyes, the almost invisible stillness—Fugaku changed tactics.
The hammerblow of logic gave way to the scalpel of political necessity. His expression softened into one of pragmatic concession.
"Perhaps the issue is not the principle of recognition, but the specific form it takes," Fugaku mused, "The Uchiha clan cannot allow your accomplishments to go unrewarded within the village's power structure. To do so would be perceived as a weakness. It would signal that our most capable sons can be ignored by the establishment, that our voice cannot secure positions commensurate with our strength. This is not merely about your shinobi career, Renjiro. It is about the clan's political legitimacy in the eyes of the other factions."
He was raising the stakes, moving the discussion from personal refusal to clan-wide consequence.
"If the mantle of Jonin Commander feels… burdensome, there are alternatives. A senior advisory role within the Clan, with a seat on the Village Council. Or a specially created liaison position between the Hokage's office and the clan, granting you direct access and influence. The core objective remains: the Uchiha must visibly elevate you. The form can be negotiated."
'The trap,' Renjiro thought, his mind racing. 'This is the real trap.'
A lesser role. It seemed more palatable, a compromise. He paused, weighing the option with genuine, frantic calculation. A seat on the Village Council, even a minor one, would have a high chance of approval.
Hiruzen, wanting to maintain balance and likely seeing Renjiro as a moderate influence, would probably support it. It was a feasible outcome.
And that was the terrifying part. It would succeed. It would tether him directly, officially, and permanently to the daily machinery of village politics.
Every council debate on budgets, missions, foreign policy, and internal security would land on his desk. He would be in the room, his vote counted, his presence required.
The autonomy he needed for his personal mission would evaporate. He would be swallowed by the very system he needed to operate outside of.
Then, the counter-calculation emerged, cold and clear.
'The original recommendation is unlikely to pass.'
Hiruzen already had his candidate: Minato. Fugaku's bold push for the Jonin Commander seat was, in all likelihood, destined to be vetoed by Hiruzen in favour of his own plan.
Accepting the bigger offer, the one that would be rejected, was paradoxically safer. It showed clan loyalty without resulting in an actual, binding position.
His long-term foresight and knowledge of the ticking clock, cemented the decision.
The coming years were critical. The unseen tensions that would lead to the Uchiha Massacre were already simmering, especially with Minato soon to become the Hokage. To be entrenched in the Village Council during that buildup would be catastrophic. He would be forced to take sides, to act, to expose his capabilities and loyalties on the most dangerous stage imaginable.
Agreement now—to a proposal likely to fail—could buy him a year of apparent compliance while avoiding the deeper, more entangling web of a lesser, but approved, role.
Renjiro shifted his weight, his eyes dropping to the tatami as if in troubled thought, before lifting them back to Fugaku. He injected a note of grudging concession into his voice.
"You… speak convincingly, Patriarch. I may have let personal hesitation override clan duty." He sighed, the sound crafted to convey surrendered resolve.
"The perception of weakness… is a danger I did not adequately consider. If the clan believes my service can be best honoured in such a role, and that my age is not the impediment I feared…" He straightened his shoulders, a man accepting a heavy burden.
"Then I will not refuse the clan's recommendation. For the sake of our standing."
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