The braid always starts behind my left ear. I don't know why.
Mother never says anything about it. But every morning, she sits me down on the cushion by the window, smooths my hair with that quiet mom-focus, and starts from the same place. Left to right. Steady. Gentle. I've stopped asking questions about it.
"Try not to squirm, Akari," she says, voice light but with that dangerous undertone that all Uchiha mothers are apparently born with.
"I'm not squirming," I lie, even though I'm absolutely shifting every five seconds. "I'm just... repositioning spiritually."
Sasuke makes an exaggerated choking sound from across the room. "She said spiritually. What does that even mean?"
"It means I have depth," I say sweetly.
"It means you're annoying."
Mikoto sighs. It's the tired kind of sigh, but also fond. She doesn't stop braiding.
"Sasuke," she says without looking at him, "if you want your breakfast, I'd suggest not picking fights before I finish her hair."
He grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "favorite," but goes back to pretending to examine the rice pot like it's done him personal harm.
Itachi's already sitting on the porch, legs crossed neatly, eyes scanning a scroll like it holds the secrets of the universe. He hasn't said a word, but he doesn't need to. Just being near him brings the energy down about five notches. That's probably why Mikoto has us all together here. He's the only one of us who doesn't immediately launch into verbal warfare over steamed fish.
I glance out the shoji window. The sun's just creeping over the compound walls. It paints the edges of the hallway gold. For a second, everything feels still.
Not in a bad way. Just… quiet.
Safe.
Which is a dangerous feeling in this clan.
I tilt my head a little. "Kaa-san, what if I cut my hair short? Wouldn't that make chakra control easier?"
She pauses for half a second, then hums. "Possibly. But then I'd have no excuse to braid it, and you wouldn't get these few minutes of peace."
"Peace is overrated."
"Peace," she says, tugging just slightly, "is rare. And I intend to enjoy it while it lasts."
I shut up after that.
Sasuke kicks the table leg a little. "Can I train with Itachi-niisan today?"
"You didn't finish your chores yesterday," Mikoto says calmly.
"I was distracted!"
"You were playing ninja tag with the neighbor's cat."
"She started it!"
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Itachi finally looks up from his scroll.
"I'll train with you later," he says. "If you stop yelling."
Sasuke immediately clamps his mouth shut like it's a mission order.
Mikoto ties off the braid with a ribbon and rests her hands lightly on my shoulders. "There. Now you look like someone who won't burn down the training yard."
"No promises," I say.
The door slides open before anyone else can respond.
And I don't need to see him to know who it is. His chakra hits like a breeze that talks too much.
"Shisui-san," Mikoto says without turning. "You're late."
"I bring charm and an apology," Shisui says, slipping into the room like the wind that never knocks. "One of those is probably worth something."
"Depends on the day," Mikoto replies, but her lips twitch slightly.
He doesn't sit right away. Just surveys the room like he's trying to rate the morning on a ten-point scale. His eyes land on Itachi, then Sasuke, then finally me — and he grins.
"Ah, Akari-chan," he says, folding his arms. "Hair's looking tactical today. Ready for battle?"
"Always," I say. "Mostly with your ego."
"Ouch. And here I was about to say you've grown."
"I have," I tell him. "You just haven't gotten taller."
That gets a laugh from Sasuke — sharp and delighted. Even Itachi lifts his eyes, the corner of his mouth barely twitching. Shisui dramatically clutches his chest like I've hit him with a kunai.
"Ruthless. The clan's in good hands."
He finally plops down beside Sasuke, who eyes him suspiciously.
"You smell like running."
"I have been running," Shisui replies, ruffling Sasuke's hair, which immediately earns him a swat. "Around the village. Hokage's office. Hospital. Council hall. So many stairs."
Mikoto arches a brow. "I take it you're not here just to disrupt breakfast."
"Sadly not." He lets the grin fade, just a little, and that's when I feel it — the shift in the room. Like the light through the shoji gets thinner, quieter.
Shisui leans back on his hands. "I came to deliver a message to Fugaku-sama. Nothing urgent, but… well. A few things worth knowing."
"What things?" Sasuke asks, eyes narrowing like he's about to interrogate a witness.
Shisui glances at Mikoto, who nods just once, then says, "The Hokage's grandson was born last night."
There's a quiet beat.
"Third's grandson?" Mikoto asks, brows raising. "Already?"
"Yep. Little guy's name is Konohamaru. Hiruzen-sama's practically glowing. He's already making jokes about getting the child a forehead protector by next week."
It's a soft moment. Not dramatic. Just… life moving forward.
"A lot of people are saying it's a sign," Shisui continues. "A new generation starting. They want to keep momentum going, so…"
He trails off.
Itachi finishes the sentence without looking up. "They're scheduling the next Chūnin Exams early."
Shisui nods. "Next summer. Which means—" he turns to Itachi "—they'll be looking for advanced candidates. You should consider applying."
Sasuke blinks. "But he's not old enough."
"Age isn't the only requirement," Mikoto murmurs. She doesn't look surprised.
Shisui shrugs. "They know what you're capable of, Itachi. And Konoha wants to show strength right now. Even if it's subtle."
Even if it's through a child.
Itachi's expression doesn't change, but I can feel it — the hesitation, the way he's already turning the idea over in his head like a puzzle piece.
"You don't have to decide now," Shisui adds. "But they'll ask. Probably sooner than we like."
"And you?" I ask, before I can stop myself. "What do they want from you?"
He looks at me — really looks. Then, for once, he doesn't deflect.
"They want me watching the shadows," he says simply. "And staying ahead of them."
I feel my throat tighten. Just a little.
That's the thing about people like Shisui.
Everyone asks them to run ahead.
No one checks if they ever come back.
"Where's Fugaku-sama?" he asks, standing again.
Mikoto nods toward the inner corridor. "Study, as always."
Shisui dips his head, eyes flicking to each of us. "Finish your rice, kids. The future's already watching."
Then he's gone — swift and easy as always, like he was never fully here to begin with.
I stare after him. The room feels too quiet again.
He didn't walk fast, but he never lingered either.
By the time I finished the last bite of my rice, Shisui-san was already halfway down the corridor, footsteps light against the polished wood. I watched him go, pretending not to.
Mikoto-kaa began clearing dishes. Sasuke launched into a one-sided debate with Itachi about the superiority of fire release. I slid silently from the room.
No one stopped me. Not even Itachi-niisan.
The quiet deepened the further I went — past the paper walls, past the little alcove with the ink painting, until I was standing in the side hall. The door to Father's study was shut, just like always. That plain wooden frame might as well have been a fortress.
I didn't press my ear to the door. I didn't have to.
I just… listened.
And felt.
Shisui-san's chakra signature was different now. Less wind, more stone. Controlled, but tense. Like he was balancing something sharp in his hands and couldn't afford to flinch.
I could hear only fragments of their voices — low and even, nothing dramatic — but the air itself felt heavier. Denser.
Then I felt it.
A flicker beneath the surface of Shisui's chakra. Like an undercurrent he didn't want anyone to notice.
Doubt?
No… not quite. Something like guilt.
He's lying about something, I thought, and hated how sure I was.
Inside, Fugaku-sama said something too quiet to catch.
Shisui answered quickly.
I backed away before they could sense me — my heart thudding against my ribs like it wanted to warn me of something, even if the words weren't there yet.
I didn't know what had been said.
But I knew how it felt.
The peaceful warmth of breakfast was gone now. In its place was something colder, sharper.
The kind of quiet that always came before something important broke.
I didn't mean to wait for him. But I stayed.
Outside, in the corridor, where the light from the paper windows painted faint golden lines across the floor. I sat there quietly, pretending to study the knots in the wood, even though my ears were still ringing from whatever I hadn't heard inside that room.
When the door finally slid open, Shisui stepped out like he hadn't just been standing in the middle of something too sharp to name.
He didn't jump when he saw me. Didn't flinch. Just smiled — tired, familiar, like he always did.
"Should've known," he said. "You and that sixth sense of yours."
I looked up at him. "You lie loud, you know that?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"Your chakra," I said simply. "It's louder than your voice."
He blinked, then let out a breath that turned into a small, real laugh. "Okay. I'll give you that one."
I stood, brushing invisible dust from my sleeves. "Everything okay?"
Shisui gave a noncommittal shrug, gaze flicking toward the garden window.
"The world's still spinning," he said. "People are still trying to control it."
"That's not really an answer."
He looked at me then — really looked. Not like a kid. Not like a spy-in-training. Just… like someone who saw more than she was supposed to.
"You ever think about what kind of shinobi you'll be?" he asked.
I shrugged. "The kind who listens more than she talks."
"That's a dangerous type," he said, but there was something fond in it.
I didn't say anything. Neither did he.
We just stood there in the hallway, two shadows caught in the middle of a very old house. The kind where every wall remembered things you hadn't said yet.
Finally, I asked, "Do you trust the Hokage?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then, quietly, "I trust that he wants what's best for the village. But I'm not sure he remembers who the village is anymore."
That sat in the air between us for a while.
Then he nudged my shoulder gently. "You ask hard questions for someone who can't even tie her sandals right."
"I'm working on that," I muttered.
"You're working on everything."
"I have to."
Shisui's smile faded, just for a second. "You shouldn't have to. Not yet."
But I already did.
He started walking again, nodding toward the corridor. "I should check in on Itachi. Word is he might be dragging your brother into a shuriken war this afternoon."
I followed him a few steps before stopping.
"Shisui-san?"
He paused.
"…Don't run too far ahead," I said, voice low. "It's hard to catch up."
He turned just enough to meet my eyes.
"I'll try," he said.
And then he walked away.
And I stayed behind.
By the time I made it back to the room, mother had already cleaned up breakfast. Sasuke was outside chasing a training dummy with the conviction of a future menace. Itachi had disappeared, like always — quiet as mist, efficient as a ticking clock.
The house had that afternoon hush now — warm wood, faint breeze, the silence of a space catching its breath.
I sat back down where I'd started that morning, right beneath the window where my braid had been finished.
Fugaku-sama's door was closed again. Shisui was gone. And the peace, though still present, felt thinner now. Like it was being stretched too far
I looked down at my hands.
Small. Clean. Ordinary.
But I knew things now — or at least, I sensed them. The village shifting. My clan pulling tighter. The people I loved stepping onto paths they didn't even realize would break them.
And me?
I couldn't stop any of it. Not yet.
So I did what I always did.
I listened.
I remembered.
And I waited.