'Well, that was… a lot. Where do I even begin?'
The thought echoed through Satoru's mind as he made his way down the streets leading to his house, the faint crunch of gravel beneath his sandals barely audible beneath the chirping of evening insects.
His hands were shoved into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. The Academy was already far behind him, but it still felt as if Fugaku's presence clung to the air around him like smoke; heavy, suffocating, inescapable.
'First of all,' Satoru thought, 'it's great to finally know the names of my parents.'
He gave a soft, humourless chuckle as he kicked at a loose pebble on the road. It skittered off into the dark with a faint clink.
'That really helps. Toru, Kaori, and Satoru… it kinda rhymes.'
He sighed; a long, quiet exhale that misted faintly in the cooling air. The joke wasn't really funny; it was a distraction. He knew it. He was aware, painfully so, that he was clinging to that small revelation because it was easier than facing the elephant in the room: the conversation with Fugaku Uchiha itself.
Even now, the man's voice still lingered in his ears, deep and commanding, the kind of tone that could silence an entire room without needing to raise its volume.
"You think like an Uchiha."
The words rolled again and again in his head, as persistent as an echo in a cave.
'Was that a compliment?' he wondered. 'A warning? …or both?'
It was hard to tell. The Uchiha patriarch's tone had been calm, deliberate, almost too deliberate. There had been no anger in his words, no disdain; only calculation. That was what unsettled Satoru most.
He tugged absently at the hem of his shirt as he walked, trying to shake the memory, but the weight of it clung stubbornly. He couldn't even tell if his back was slick with sweat from tension, or if it was just the evening chill seeping through his clothes. Either way, his body felt heavy, like someone had strapped unseen weights to his limbs.
He could still picture those cold, dark eyes studying him, not with cruelty, but with that same detached scrutiny that Itachi often wore, except sharper, older, and infinitely more dangerous.
And yet… Satoru hadn't looked away.
He hadn't stuttered. He hadn't bowed.
He'd stood there and met Fugaku's gaze head-on.
'Good,' he thought, the corner of his lips lifting slightly in grim satisfaction. 'That was the point. I went there to be seen, and now I am.'
But with that realisation came another, heavier one. Being seen by someone like Fugaku Uchiha wasn't a victory. It was the beginning of a new game. A dangerous one.
Because now, Fugaku expected something. The Uchiha had made their first move.
And now, the Yamanaka would need to respond — or at least, he'd make them think they had to.
Satoru's footsteps slowed as he reached a quiet stretch of road. The streetlights flickered dimly here, their glow soft and golden, stretching long shadows across the cobblestones. The village felt larger at this hour, emptier, too.
He stopped under the wide branches of a tree near the edge of the path. A light drizzle from earlier had left puddles scattered across the street, shimmering faintly with reflections of the lamplight. He crouched and looked into one of them.
The face that stared back wasn't the same boy from months ago.
His cheeks had thinned slightly, his gaze sharper, less uncertain, more defined. His eyes, dark and steady, seemed to hold something new within them. Intent.
"You will need to choose a crest," Fugaku had said.
Satoru frowned at his reflection. "Not today," he muttered quietly. "Not yet. But soon, huh?"
The surface of the puddle rippled faintly as a cool breeze brushed past. He could almost imagine his reflection smirking back at him.
"I don't need to choose a crest," he whispered, voice low, the words slipping out like a vow. "I just need to make both sides think I already have… just not which one."
His lips curved upward, faintly, cunningly.
If the Yamanaka clan believed he was leaning toward the Uchiha, they'd start to worry; not because they cared, but because fear was a far stronger motivator than affection. If they thought he might become an Uchiha weapon, they'd move. They'd want to pull him closer. To keep an eye on him. To control him.
And to control him, they'd have to invest in him.
And when that time came, he'd smile, bow, take everything they gave him… and then decide later whose crest, if any, deserved to sit on his back.
'On my terms,' he thought, clenching his fist softly. 'No one else's.'
Satoru thought about Itachi; calm, unreadable, brilliant. The kind of genius who never needed to announce himself. Even standing beside his father, Itachi had radiated control. Satoru wondered if that was what Fugaku wanted from him, too; quiet, obedient potential. Someone to shape.
'Sorry,' Satoru thought wryly. 'Wrong kid for that.'
Morning came too quickly.
The sun crept through the thin curtains of his room, drawing long golden stripes across the floorboards. Birds chirped outside, their calls sharp and insistent. Satoru sat at his desk, his chin resting in one hand, staring absently at the stack of scrolls beside him.
A few hours later, the classroom was filled with the usual noise — the scraping of chairs, the chatter of students, the faint tapping of chalk against the board. The afternoon sunlight poured in through the large windows, dust motes dancing lazily in the air.
Satoru sat at his desk, his eyes half-focused on the front of the room, his mind still threading through strategies and contingencies like a puzzle. Around him, Ito was doodling something on his notebook while Ayano whispered animatedly with another girl about their upcoming exams. Everything felt normal, deceptively so.
But for Satoru, normal was beginning to feel like an illusion.
He'd spent months mastering his chakra control and training under Shisui and Itachi; yet somehow, that single conversation with Fugaku had changed everything. It had shifted the ground beneath his feet. He wasn't just a student anymore. He was a variable in something larger.
Yamada Keiko's voice cut through the hum of the classroom. "Alright, everyone," she said, clapping her hands once. "That's all for today!"
A collective sigh of relief rolled through the class.
Keiko smiled faintly at the reaction, setting down her chalk. "Now, before you all rush off, remember, you'll have the whole of next week to prepare for your exams. That means I expect no excuses." Her tone was light but firm, carrying the easy authority of a teacher who knew exactly how much chaos a roomful of academy students could unleash if left unchecked.
A few groans followed; some of the students laughed. Satoru just leaned back slightly in his chair, letting the moment wash over him.
Keiko's gaze swept across the room, lingering for a moment on him — perhaps noticing his quietness, the faintly thoughtful look in his eyes — but she said nothing more.
The bell rang.
Chairs scraped. Voices rose. The class dissolved into a small storm of movement as children packed up their things, eager for the freedom of the afternoon.
Satoru gathered his books slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, knowing smile.
'Next week, exams,' he thought absently. 'After that… maybe a few more moves on the board.'
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