POV:Hiashi Hyūga
Paperwork.
That's what I was doing when everything changed.
Sitting cross-legged in the clan head's office, a lacquered low desk between me and the mounting pile of scrolls, I tried to ignore the dull throb building behind my temples. Lineage records for the third time this week, corrections to mission allotments for the branch families, and a particularly petty land dispute between two distant cousins who couldn't agree on where a fence should be rebuilt. I rubbed my temple and reached for my tea cup—cold. Naturally. Everything was cold today.
Typical.
Outside, the faint sounds of practice echoed from the training courtyard. I could hear the familiar cadence of wooden practice swords and sharp corrections from the instructors. In another life, I might have been among them—teaching, fighting, moving. Not here. Not drowning in paper and protocol.
I stared at one scroll for a long moment, the words blurring together. Something about adjusting the clan's monthly allotment to the academy. Again. Did no one else in this clan know how to hold a brush without spilling ink everywhere?
I leaned back slightly and cracked my neck, considering the inked list of weekly meeting attendees. One elder had failed to show up for two sessions in a row. I made a mental note to ask if he was sick—or just stubborn. More likely the latter.
My thoughts drifted to the rising murmurs in the council. Too much conservatism. Too much fear. The world was changing, and I feared we were not keeping up. There were shinobi clans adapting, merging old ways with new teachings, yet the Hyūga still clung to laws older than even our village. We needed reform, vision—but every time I brought it up, the older councilmen looked at me like I had proposed marrying into the Inuzuka.
Not today. One battle at a time.
I dipped my brush into the inkwell again, determined to finish at least this batch of reports before dinner. The rhythmic scratch of the brush on parchment filled the room as I tried to re-center myself.
And then—
Knock knock.
A sharp, hurried knock. Then the paper door slid open.
"Clan Head," one of the assistants said breathlessly. "It's time. Lady Hikari is in labor."
My brush clattered to the floor.
I was on my feet instantly, heart slamming in my chest. I didn't even acknowledge the assistant—I was already gone, sandals slapping against polished wood as I sprinted through the corridor.
Childbirth wasn't unfamiliar to me. But this one—this child—was different. My heir. The future of the main family.
I reached the inner birthing quarters in less than a minute, breathing hard but still composed.
Almost.
Just before I could step inside, one of the elder women stepped into my path.
"Clan Head, please," she said gently but firmly, bowing slightly. "You must wait. The process is not yet complete."
I opened my mouth to argue, but—protocol. I nodded stiffly and knelt beside the sliding door, folding my legs into a proper seated position. I could hear the muted sounds from within—women murmuring, instructions being given, soft gasps and tension.
Then—
A high-pitched cry.
My chest clenched. I stood immediately.
The door opened a heartbeat later. A young woman, face flushed with excitement, bowed.
"It is done, Clan Head. You may enter."
I stepped into the room and froze.
A circle of women surrounded the futon where my wife lay pale and sweating. In the arms of one elder stood a small bundle, wrapped in white. The baby.
My child.
And then it happened.
Just as I stepped fully into the room, the infant's eyelids fluttered—and opened.
The room fell silent.
"B-b-b—Byakugan," one of the elders whispered, nearly dropping the child.
She wasn't wrong.
Two pale, almost luminous orbs stared up at us, veins faintly raised at the temples. The signature look of an activated Byakugan. On a newborn.
My breath caught. My mind blanked. The room pulsed with disbelief.
For a second, nobody moved. No one spoke.
Then chaos.
"Impossible—"
"Is it a mutation?"
"Could it be a fluke—"
"The chakra signature is active—"
"Enough!" I barked.
The silence returned. I stepped forward slowly, heart pounding like a war drum.
The elder holding the child turned toward me with wide, shaken eyes. "Clan Head... it is a girl."
My voice was quieter now, reverent. "Then from this day forward, she shall be known as Hinata."
I reached for her, but the elder turned and carefully placed the infant into Hikari's arms. My wife, barely conscious, clutched the child instinctively to her chest, whispering something I couldn't hear. The baby—Hinata—was still crying.
Loudly.
Her tiny form trembled. Her arms flailed weakly. But then—
Like a lantern running out of oil—
Her cries grew weaker. Her flailing slowed.
And those shining eyes dulled, then closed.
The veins at her temples faded. The Byakugan deactivated.
Hinata went limp in Hikari's arms, not in fear or distress—but in exhaustion.
I could feel it.
The chakra had burned too fast. Whatever had caused the activation—it had drained her. I took a steadying breath and turned to the elders.
"What is the earliest recorded case of Byakugan activation in our history?" I asked.
The eldest woman, still pale, cleared her throat. "In the records I've read, there was once a prodigy who activated the Byakugan at age three. It was considered miraculous. He became a jōnin by fourteen. But... never at birth. Never like this."
I stared at her, then swept my gaze over everyone in the room.
"This does not leave this room. Am I understood?"
They nodded—every last one.