"I wanna branch out the family tree. Still need a wife for that."
Makoto Uchiha said it dead serious, but those deep black eyes hid a sly glint—he was really angling for a fat loan. Asking straight-up? Fugaku would haggle him to death.
Better to float something way crazier first. Classic broken-window tactic. For extra cash, Makoto was pulling out psychology 101.
Life's tough. Sigh.
If Fugaku actually said yes? Jackpot. He'd snag a little sugar mama to see through his tough-guy act.
Makoto paused, treating Fugaku like a genie lamp, and started wishing.
"Nothing crazy—pretty, gotta be the clan's top beauty at minimum. Ninja talent off the charts so she can protect me. Family loaded, and generous—especially with letting me spend it."
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!" Fugaku slammed the desk so hard scrolls flew. Eyes nearly popped out.
He jabbed a shaky finger at Makoto. "You're barely three! Branch what? Spread what?!"
Wasn't the demands—it was the idea. Kid was wild.
Makoto went full solemn, voice rock-solid. "Carrying on the family line is my generation's duty! Age doesn't matter—this is all for the clan!"
"And the Will of the Uchiha!" he tacked on for emphasis.
Fugaku face-palmed. Jiraiya's books are pure evil—total cancer! Turning a three-year-old into a horn-dog with a head full of schemes!
Forgot his own drooling over them. Fugaku spun for the discipline ruler in the corner—then froze mid-step.
Brain flash: Genius. Pair the kid with an older girl to rein him in. Might tame the little hellion.
Bonus: Less headache for me. All this scheming with Makoto was giving him gray hairs.
Author's note: Updates are hard—share on 101 Book Net!
With Makoto's talent, a childhood engagement was easy. Plenty of clan girls would fight for the spot.
Fugaku stroked his chin, nodded firmly. Rage cooled to calm. "Fine."
Makoto blinked.
He'd prepped his next extortion line—didn't expect a yes.
Grin spread ear-to-ear. Past life, no childhood sweetheart. This life? Try it out—plus a rich fiancée meant another cash pipeline.
"Then hop to it, Chief. Don't make me nag. Efficiency, please."
Fugaku's eye twitched at the attitude—Chief when he wanted something, Clan Head otherwise. Now bossing him around?
Who'd this brat get his scheming from?
Then it hit—his own late dad was a bit of a perv…
Fugaku mentally scanned the clan girls. Matches existed, but slim pickings.
Older than Makoto to keep him in line—not too old or future generation gap. Dad life is rough.
Makoto saw him deep in thought—time to bounce.
At the door, he turned, waved, tapped Makeout Paradise on the desk. Low whisper:
"Oh, Chief—heard Jiraiya's dropping Makeout Violence soon. Snag the limited edition launch!"
"Any other version and I'll start coughing."
"GET OUT!" Fugaku hurled the inkstone. Black arc through the air.
Makoto sidestepped smooth—splat—ink flower bloomed on the door like bad abstract art.
"You'll regret this!" He bolted, shoes skidding, tap-tap-tap fading fast.
Fugaku almost roared "I'll be Hokage!"—but the kid was gone.
Words stuck like hot coal, swallowed into a helpless grunt.
He rubbed his temples, smirked despite himself.
"Gotta pick a girl with killer taijutsu. Kid's slippery as bacon grease—can't hit him myself. Let her pin him down and whoop him."
"Then when he talks back? She grinds him into the dirt till he's bawling. See if he mouths off again!"
Would clan girls listen to him over Makoto? Pfft. He's the chief. No question.
Snow stopped outside. Moonlight slid through the lattice, tail-like shadow curling over Paradise like it was snickering.
Lantern wick popped. Fugaku's shadow jittered. He eyed the ink splatter, grin growing.
"Punk thinks he can outsmart me? Just wait—you're getting spanked daily."
He'd narrowed down a candidate.
Late night in the compound—snow sliding off eaves with soft pops. Itachi crunched home, shoulders dusted white, steps light like he didn't want to break the moonlight.
Grabbed dango with Shisui, then straight to missions—hence the late return.
Dropped his gear pouch—Fugaku summoned him to the study.
"Itachi, Makoto's leaving the compound soon. You and Shisui shadow him."
Fugaku back in stern-chief mode, fingers drumming. Candlelight carved shadows on his face. "Any issues?"
Cloud Village visitors had the police force slammed—no spare elites for bodyguard duty.
Good thing "idle" Itachi and Shisui were around. Itachi ditched the force for a ninja squad—paired with Shisui, plenty to protect Makoto.
Plus, Itachi's brother complex? Zero chance he'd get hurt.
Itachi blinked, snowflakes tumbling from his lashes.
Wanted to argue against letting Makoto out—but Fugaku green-lit it. Pointless.
Neither listened to him anyway. At home, he only wrangled Sasuke. Nodded, black eyes reflecting the flame. "Got it."
Then Fugaku looked up sharp. "Itachi, Makoto wants a childhood fiancée today."
"You're not getting any younger. Want me to scout one for you too? Lock it in together."
Itachi's face went huh?—like the candle stabbed his eyes. A three-year-old asking for an engagement? Explosive.
But… peak Makoto behavior.
Kid always drooled over pretty big sisters—liked them more than his own brother. Itachi's mood dipped.
Then picturing "scouting" and "engagement"… Shisui's smile flashed in his head. He shook it off fast.
"No thanks, Father."
Fugaku caught the dodge, let it slide. Waved him off. "Get some rest."
Itachi bowed, breeze from his turn swirling smoke.
Watching him go crisp and clean, Fugaku frowned, thumb rubbing dried ink.
Of three sons, Makoto vibed with him most. Itachi? Too perfect.
Perfect like a pine bent under snow—spine always straight, "Father" and "Chief" on repeat, never spilling his heart.
Respect wrapped in distance—visible outline, zero warmth.
Sasuke? Too timid—craved approval but couldn't meet his eyes.
Only Makoto got close—thorny closeness, but alive like spring blossoms. Fugaku bitter-smiled.
Pulled the Uchiha registry from the drawer—fan crest embossed. Finger stopped on a raised name.
Wonder if the girl would even want to hang with Makoto.
Moonlight thickened, hazy glow over the page—like a mysterious veil on the name…