No matter how much time had dulled it, the foundation of a Three-Tomoe Sharingan Jōnin remained formidable.
That kind of strength wasn't something any ordinary shinobi could simply challenge.
Back in the original tale, when Sasuke and Naruto first fought at the Valley of the End, Sasuke had only just awakened his Three-Tomoe Sharingan.
At that point, his eyes were fresh, unseasoned, far from the level of mastery they required.
Sasuke then had no clan to support him but only taijutsu, basic ninja tool throwing, entry-level ninjutsu, and some rudimentary Fire Release. Chidori, taught to him by Kakashi, was the one ace up his sleeve.
Powerful as it was, it couldn't conceal the fact that without the Uchiha's traditional training and arsenal, Sasuke's fighting style was overly narrow.
By contrast, given the statuses of Setsuna and Mikoto, the Uchiha clan's ninjutsu archives were open to them in full, save only the most forbidden techniques.
Anything they had the talent to learn, they could. The variety and depth of their abilities far surpassed that of a newly awakened Sharingan user like Sasuke.
"Mother, are you inside?"
A small laugh slipped through the door. Itachi, fresh from school, called softly as he held little Sasuke in his arms.
Inside, Mikoto drew in a deep breath. Her Sharingan faded, her sharpness easing away. She smoothed her expression, let warmth return to her face, and welcomed her sons with her usual gentle smile.
Beside her, Setsuna's crimson eyes also dimmed. His stern features melted back into the dignified, grandfatherly calm he wore so well.
"I am. Come in," Mikoto replied.
Itachi slid the door open. He hesitated for just a second, then bowed slightly with a smile. "Hello, Grandpa."
"Hello, Grandpa!" Sasuke echoed brightly.
"Good, good. It's been far too long since I've seen you both," Setsuna said, beckoning them closer. "Come, let Grandpa take a look."
His gaze flicked to Mikoto. "Mikoto, go on and prepare dinner. I'm sure they're hungry."
"Alright," she answered.
"You two keep Grandpa company. Dinner won't be long," Mikoto said, crouching to pat both boys gently on the head before slipping away toward the guest kitchen.
"Mhm," Itachi responded dutifully.
When she had gone, Setsuna opened his arms toward Sasuke. "Sasuke, come let Grandpa hold you."
"No!" Sasuke clung to Itachi's leg. "I want Big Brother to hold me."
Setsuna chuckled. "Don't you want the toy Grandpa promised?"
"This… fine." Sasuke relented, scampering into his grandfather's arms.
From the kitchen, Mikoto heard their voices. Her chest tightened, her eyes stung, and tears nearly fell. She forced them back with a deep breath and quickened her pace.
Two days later, Uchiha Gen returned from his little adventure at the Fire Daimyō's mansion. He had thoroughly explored the grounds and the capital's bustling districts, indulging in all the curiosities he could find.
Truly, the capital lived up to its reputation. Compared to Konoha, its prosperity was dazzling, its entertainment far more varied. For Gen, who had lived two lives, it was still an eye-opener; the extravagance of a true city revealed things even he had never seen before.
Yet beneath the glittering surface, he couldn't ignore the weight of oppression pressing down on the commoners. Their lives seemed far less content than those of the villagers back in Konoha.
Satisfied with his outing, Gen returned home ready to flop onto a bed and rest—like any traveler after a long trip.
But peace was never so simple for him.
The moment he stepped into Uchiha grounds, greetings came one after another. Dozens of clan members waved, chatted, and tugged him into conversation. They asked about the Daimyō's mansion, the princess, and debated clan matters.
He had no choice but to humor them politely.
What should have been a short walk turned into nearly half an hour before he finally reached his home.
He barely had time to stretch out on the sofa when the doorbell rang. Gen stayed put. Mokui and Mokuna would take care of the doors.
"Oh, Shisui. Long time no see," Gen called lazily. "Want something to drink?"
Shisui stepped inside. Gen angled his head, giving him a faint smile.
"No need. I came with a message. There's a clan meeting at Nanga Shrine tonight. Seven o'clock."
Gen raised a brow. Shisui's tone was casual, but his eyes… unnatural. He caught the faint hesitation.
"What's wrong?" Gen asked, his smile fading.
"Nothing. Just a small matter. Be sure to come."
Gen nodded slightly. "What sort of matter needs a full clan meeting?"
Shisui stiffened. Gen's sharpness made him cautious. He knew too well, say too much and you reveal too much. "I don't know. I just received the notice myself."
"I see. I'll be there on time," Gen replied evenly. He paused, then added, "By the way, can decisions be passed without the Clan Head presence?"
Shisui's heart jolted. He kept his expression calm. "And how do you know the Clan Head isn't here?"
"I heard from the clan members when I got back," Gen said. "They said Fugaku left on a diplomatic mission to Kirigakure the day after I departed."
Shisui exhaled inwardly. At least that matched the truth. "Yes. The Clan Head did go to the Mist. But his authority was left temporarily with the Great Elder. So the meeting still stands."
"Alright. That's fine," Gen said.
"I'll take my leave then. Don't be late."
Gen chuckled faintly. "It's barely an hour away. Since when did you get so nagging?"
"It's not nagging... it's being careful," Shisui corrected with a smile. Then he slipped out.
The door clicked shut. Gen leaned back on the sofa, arms folded, eyes narrowed in thought.
A conspiracy… this smells like one.
Kirigakure. That's Obito's hunting ground. Could he be targeting three-tomoe Sharingan?
Fugaku and the others… are they walking into danger?
Kamui makes travel effortless. If Obito wanted to act, why not simply go? Unless he's letting the prey deliver itself to him.
If Fugaku is harmed, conflict between Konoha and the Mist becomes inevitable. War could ignite.
Obito's schemes… truly meticulous.
Should I go after them?
Gen calculated the timing. No. By now they've long since arrived. Whatever was meant to happen has already played out.
Forget it. Everyone has their own fate. He had already warned them once. If they chose their path, he wouldn't bear their responsibility.
Still, if Fugaku did fall… opportunity would open.
Gen shook the thoughts off, went to his study for a book, and let the hours pass. At six, he cooked himself a fine dinner, leaving the cleanup to Mokui and Mokuna.
At ten minutes to seven, he set off toward Nanga Shrine.
As the shrine loomed closer, Gen's steps slowed. His brows drew together. That feeling…
The same gnawing unease he had once felt at Kikyō Mountain, when he first entered this world.
Back then, he had been weak, his Soul-Soul Fruit could create basic Homies, but stepping onto the battlefield still left him fearing the sudden flash of a jutsu that could end his life.
Why now, before a simple clan meeting, did he feel the same way?
Is someone aiming for me tonight?
He touched the inside of his cloak, drawing out a pair of round retro sunglasses. He slid them on, masking his eyes.
Gen trusted his instincts. Years of fighting and a sharpened soul had honed that intuition into something he relied on absolutely.
At Nanga Shrine, the scene was unsettling. Every Uchiha was already present. Gen was the last to arrive. And strangely, he hadn't passed a single latecomer on the way. Normally, high-ranking shinobi came later, arriving in staggered order. Tonight, it was all too neat.
Rows of Uchiha knelt in formation on either side of the shrine's open courtyard. Cushions marked with the clan's war fan crest rested beneath them. Lanterns glowed orange-yellow, casting solemn light across the assembly.
The eyes of the lower-ranked shinobi lit with respect when they saw him. But among the Jōnin, there was scrutiny—watchfulness.
The atmosphere pressed down on him. His unease grew.
"Gen, you're here. Please, take a seat," Setsuna said warmly, gesturing to the aisle.
Gen smiled as he walked forward. "Strange… everyone's early tonight."
Setsuna's heart tightened, though his expression never cracked. "And what time did Shisui give you?"
"Seven o'clock, of course."
"No wonder. He gave you the wrong time. The meeting was set for six-fifty," Setsuna said smoothly. "Isn't that right, Shisui?"
Shisui scratched his head, looking sheepish. "Yes… I was busy, must've mixed it up."
Behind his sunglasses, Gen's Sharingan flicked across the crowd. Confusion painted the faces of many clan members. He knew then—the meeting had always been for seven. They had merely been told to arrive earlier. His vigilance sharpened.
"I see," Gen said evenly, masking his thoughts.
He reached the Jōnin's seating line.
In that instant, Uchiha Tekka and Uchiha Inabi burst forward, attacking from left and right in perfect synchronization.
Beneath his dark lenses, Gen's three-tomoe Sharingan spun, the tomoe stretching, warping, silently unfolding into the Mangekyō.