Uchiha Hokori knew well that although his granddaughter was gentle by nature, she was not someone who bestowed kindness without reason.
The orphans within Konoha who had lost their parents for various reasons were certainly pitiful.
But the Uchiha clan itself also had many members who had lost their parents at a young age.
Even though the Uchiha had always been wealthy, a large clan meant equally large expenses.
Moreover, according to the three principles widely accepted among ninja—
No alcohol.
No extravagance.
No indulgence.
The clan's welfare system did not give orphans with no income any particularly generous treatment.
In truth, it was not much different from how ordinary civilians were treated.
However—
After Uchiha Anlan awakened the three-tomoe Sharingan, this situation began to change quietly.
As he gradually gained influence within the clan and began voicing his opinions, ordinary members of the Hawk faction started opening shops.
They introduced many goods that Konoha had never seen before.
The living standards of Hawk faction members rose visibly.
It wasn't luxury—
But new clothes and high-quality ninja tools had become standard equipment.
With money in their pockets and dignity in their appearance, the entire Hawk faction seemed revitalized.
What concerned Hokori even more after careful observation was that around the same time—
His granddaughter Mikoto had begun making similar arrangements.
Not only did she keep pace with the Hawk faction's economic development—
She also began continuously funding several orphanages.
At the same time, she extended invitations for scattered Uchiha descendants to return to the clan.
This included women who had married outside the clan.
Uchiha were proud by nature.
Few women married outside the clan.
But over several decades, distant blood relatives connected to the Uchiha had grown to more than three hundred people.
Although the chance of awakening the Sharingan among these mixed-blood descendants was not particularly high—
Most of them still possessed the talent required to become ninja.
Over the past few years, many had already become chūnin.
The most outstanding among them was Uchiha Hazuki, who possessed the three-tomoe Sharingan.
For the Dove faction, this had been an enormous reinforcement of their overall strength.
Hearing her grandfather's question, Mikoto's eyes curved into crescent moons.
She gently placed her chopsticks along the rim of her bowl.
When she stood up, the sleeves of the casual kimono she had changed into brushed lightly against the table, releasing a faint floral fragrance.
"Grandfather… what could I possibly be hiding from you?"
"Aren't all the things I've done right in front of your eyes?"
Her slender fingers moved gracefully across the tableware.
The leftovers were neatly placed on the left side of the tray.
Bowls and chopsticks were stacked in order by size.
Each utensil was wiped carefully with a cloth before being set aside.
The lamplight shone across her lowered eyelashes, forming a gentle curve at the corner of her eyes.
Watching his granddaughter deliberately avoid the question, Hokori felt the words stuck in his chest transform into a complaint mixed with jealousy and helplessness.
"Girls truly can't be kept at home forever."
He pushed himself up, wooden sandals thumping softly on the stairs as he began climbing upward.
Mikoto's ears turned slightly red.
She lowered her head and pretended not to hear her grandfather's dissatisfaction.
Instead, she softly hummed a nursery rhyme that Anlan had taught her.
The sound of flowing water accompanied her movements.
She placed the washed porcelain bowls upside down in a bamboo basket to dry.
Every movement was natural and practiced—
The calm of someone accustomed to housework.
And the sweet anticipation of a future life.
Compared to a life of killing and fighting as a ninja—
Mikoto hoped she could become a wife who supported her husband and raised children.
Someone who would care for the family she loved deeply.
While wiping the kitchen counter, she glanced up.
Her warm black eyes landed on the sunflower placed in a flowerpot.
It was a gift from Anlan.
For a moment—
She almost saw his figure sitting at the dining table that would one day belong to them.
Upstairs, Hokori slowly climbed the creaking wooden staircase.
The candlelight in the corridor stretched his shadow long and short along the walls.
He pushed open the sliding door at the end of the hallway.
Moonlight filtered through the window lattice and fell before the household shrine.
Two memorial portraits were placed side by side there.
The frames still gleamed faintly from careful cleaning.
"Keita… Reiko…"
He knelt on the prayer cushion and took three sticks of incense from the box.
The small flames flickered between his fingers.
Gradually, the fragrance of sandalwood filled the room.
"Mikoto has fallen in love with someone."
"It's Anlan, Setsuna's grandson… the child you met once long ago."
The curling smoke drifted upward.
It passed over the determined brows of his son in the photograph—
And the gentle smile of his daughter-in-law.
"People always say the dead become stars in the sky."
"I wonder if the two of you can see this from above."
"When Mikoto talks about Anlan…"
"The expression on her face is exactly the same as when you insisted on marrying Keita."
"So full of happiness."
Hokori reached out and touched the cold glass of the frame.
His fingers pressed slightly harder, turning pale.
"The clan is slowly changing."
"Those blood-stained old events…"
"New shoots are finally breaking through them."
During the clan's internal wars in the past—
Every faction of the Uchiha had shed the blood of their own kin.
It was a bitter irony.
The clan that valued love above all else—
Showed the greatest cruelty when killing their own.
Under those cold, scarlet tomoe—
It was as if there was no one in the world who could not be killed.
The wind chime under the eaves suddenly rang softly.
Hokori looked toward the courtyard.
Moonlight soaked the hydrangea flowers, swaying gently in the night breeze.
"I wonder if this old body of mine will live long enough…"
"To see Mikoto wear her wedding kimono."
"Heh… Kirigakure of the Land of Water."
His thoughts gradually shifted away from family.
They settled on the village he would soon face in battle.
His gaze landed on the dusty suit of armor leaning against the wall.
Even through the faded paint, the cold gleam of iron still shone.
Deep within his cloudy eyes—
A flash of crimson appeared.
Three tomoe slowly rotated in the darkness, tinting the moonlit room red.
"The blades of Kirigakure…"
His old voice carried the echoes of clashing steel and war.
He smiled faintly at the armor.
Forty years of battle seemed to fall from the wrinkles on his face.
"Just in time for these old Sharingan to meet the secret techniques of the Land of Water again."
"Wherever the leaves of Konoha dance, the fire will never die."
"The fire will illuminate the village and allow new leaves to grow."
"But this 'fire'…"
"Is the fire passed down through generations of the Uchiha."
The old man's proud and resolute words disappeared into the night wind.
Downstairs, Mikoto finished cleaning the dining room.
She prepared a calming tea powder made from lavender and matcha.
Spring water heated in a copper kettle poured over thick milk foam.
The rising steam blurred the moon outside the window.
The tea in the tray rippled softly with her footsteps as she walked.
Her wooden sandals made gentle sounds on the cypress staircase.
She stopped in front of the sliding door.
Through the paper screen, she could see her grandfather's silhouette reflected in the light.
For some reason—
His posture carried the sharp aura of a ninja blade leaving its sheath.
Did Grandfather remember the past again…?
Her memories of her parents had long faded with time.
Only a few fragmented childhood images remained.
Raised with love and tolerance, Mikoto still felt sadness.
But even more than sadness—
She possessed quiet strength.
Standing at the door, her voice was as gentle as a spring breeze.
"Grandfather…"
"It's time for a cup of milk tea."
"You should rest early."
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