Uchiha Masaki Is Shocked
When Senyu returned to the underground hideout, Orochimaru was nowhere to be seen.
After washing off the dust and blood in a quick shower, he headed back to his room and collapsed onto the bed.
At first, Senyu had been livid over the incident with Uchiha Yuto and Uchiha Kazuma.
They still thought he was the same pushover from the Academy days—someone they could mock and bully at will.
But later, that anger cooled into cold indifference. Getting mad at a couple of arrogant thugs wasn't worth his energy.
In fact, he found them laughable now.
Unable to beat him with fists or jutsu, they tried invoking the Uchiha name to suppress him.
As if that meant anything anymore.
He was under Orochimaru's protection now. A Sannin's personal disciple. Backed by the Hokage's good graces.
What did he have to fear?
With a scoff, Senyu closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep.
---
Meanwhile, Uchiha Yuto and Uchiha Kazuma were having a much worse night—laid up in the Konoha Hospital, both with fractured arms and bruised egos.
Not long after, the Uchiha clan head, Uchiha Masaki, arrived, his expression sharp and stormy. At his side stood a boy of about 14, quiet and reserved, his posture already firm with leadership.
Uchiha Fugaku, the heir.
Masaki's eyes swept over the injured duo, his scowl deepening when he saw the thick casts on their right arms.
"What happened?" he demanded, voice low and cold.
Kazuma looked away, stiff with fear. Yuto gritted his teeth and spat, "It was that guy—Senyu!"
Masaki's jaw clenched. "Didn't I make myself clear? I said not to provoke him!"
Masaki had long been aware of Senyu's connections.
The boy had handed over a complete set of A-rank taijutsu techniques to the village. Several Uchiha shinobi had learned from that very set—techniques so refined they were now part of some Chūnin's training.
Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage himself, had taken an obvious interest in the boy afterward. Anyone with a brain could tell the Hokage saw potential in him.
And even though it wasn't public knowledge, Masaki had his sources. He knew Senyu had been taken as a personal disciple by Orochimaru, one of the Legendary Sannin. That alone placed Senyu in the highest echelon of Konoha's emerging talents.
A half-blood or not, the kid was now undeniably a part of the Hokage's faction.
Back when Senyu had handed over those techniques, Masaki had already warned his clan: Do not touch him.
And after the Orochimaru incident? He reiterated it again—sternly.
But arrogance ran deep in the clan.
Masaki's eyes turned colder. "Did you seek him out first?"
Yuto opened his mouth but said nothing in the end.
For all their swagger, even Yuto and Kazuma held to a code of Uchiha pride. They wouldn't lie to their clan head.
Masaki's frown became a full scowl. "When your injuries heal, return to the compound. You'll be disciplined under clan law. And I'll say it once more—don't touch him."
Masaki sighed. These kids were utterly disappointing.
They couldn't even recognize the shifting winds in Konoha. Couldn't see how precarious the Uchiha clan's position was becoming.
In his eyes, the Uchiha were a once-glorious clan in decline—like an aged lion, still dangerous but clearly dying.
The village no longer trusted them. Fear and resentment festered in the civilians. Meanwhile, the Uchiha still carried themselves with unearned superiority.
Masaki believed that if not for the brewing tensions in the shinobi world—if not for the looming possibility of another great war—the village might have already begun to cut them out.
If anyone in the village wanted war more than Danzo Shimura, that secretive old warmonger, it was Masaki.
Because only in war could the Uchiha prove themselves again.
Only bloodshed could remind the Hokage and the people that Konoha needed the Uchiha.
He had told his clansmen repeatedly: keep your heads down. But pride was hard to unteach. Even when they tried to act humble, their disdain leaked through.
He glanced at Fugaku beside him.
At least my son isn't a fool, he thought.
Unlike the rest of the new generation, Fugaku had self-control. Vision. He would make a worthy successor.
Masaki turned to leave, but just as he reached the door, Yuto spoke up again—after a long hesitation.
"Clan Head... Senyu. He's awakened the Sharingan."
Masaki froze.
He turned sharply, disbelief in his voice. "What did you just say?"
Yuto repeated, "He's awakened the Sharingan."
Masaki's expression twisted in shock. "How old is he now? Thirteen? Fourteen?"
Fugaku answered calmly, "He's two years behind me in the Academy. He should be twelve."
Masaki's thoughts reeled. Twelve. Sharingan. That was earlier than almost anyone in the clan's history.
Even Madara Uchiha, the legendary founder, didn't awaken his Sharingan until he was fifteen.
And his own son, Fugaku—the clan's acknowledged prodigy—still hadn't awakened it.
Masaki's thoughts went dark.
He remembered the day Senyu was brought before the clan by the Anbu, the day they confirmed his Uchiha bloodline. But because the boy's other half came from the Senju clan, the clan's ancestral enemy, Masaki had scoffed.
He had denied Senyu any claim to the Uchiha name.
Now, he realized: If I'd known… If I'd just kept him close…
But it was too late.
Senyu had chosen a different path—one paved by Orochimaru and blessed by the Hokage.
Masaki couldn't get him back now, not without tearing the clan apart.
His thoughts darkened. He turned to look at Fugaku—who remained silent but thoughtful.
For all his pride, Fugaku had just learned that someone two years younger—and only half-Uchiha—had done something he had not.
Fugaku had always believed that, one day, he would become the pillar of the clan.
But now, another figure had appeared in his mind. A rival. A reminder that talent didn't care about blood purity.
And Fugaku felt something stir in his chest—not just surprise.
But deep, bitter resentment.