All the Uchiha executives fixed their gazes on the uninvited guest, eyes filled with naked, undisguised hostility.
"Brat from the Namikaze house! This isn't a place for you! Get out!"
After a brief silence, Yatsushiro was the first to react.
His eyes flared wide, the scarlet three-tomoe Sharingan locking onto Shinju as if to tear him apart by sight alone.
An outsider—and just a kid—daring to break into the Uchiha's most secret council chamber was the gravest insult imaginable to the clan. For everyone present—especially the hawks—it was beyond intolerable.
Other hawk elders rose as well, chakra surging as their three-tomoe eyes opened in unison, ready for battle.
Fugaku hurried a step forward, placing himself between Shinju and the hawk elders, terrified that if he was even a heartbeat late, both sides would start a fight.
If anyone made a move here, there'd be no turning back.
"Shinju… you—" Fugaku's voice was dry. He didn't know how to address the boy before him, much less why he would appear like this.
Itachi stood behind his father, hand on his hilt. Staring at the figure in the eye of the storm, a tangled, wordless hope welled up inside him.
Shinju had come. He really had.
Shinju ignored the hawks' furious shouts—didn't even spare them a glance.
His gaze passed over Fugaku, swept once around every Uchiha executive present, then settled back on Fugaku.
"Clan Head Fugaku, I'm not here as a guest," Shinju said. "I'm here to stop a tragedy—while giving your Uchiha one last chance to choose."
Fugaku heard the weight beneath the words. The boy clearly knew their agenda tonight like the lines on his own palm.
But Yatsushiro was driven past the edge.
"Stop a tragedy? Give us a chance to choose?" He laughed in fury. "What are you supposed to be?! You think you can point fingers at the Uchiha? Fugaku, move! Today I'll do the Fourth Hokage a favor and teach his insolent son a lesson!"
Before the last word fell, Yatsushiro's figure blurred as he prepared to strike.
He was an elite jonin of the Uchiha, after all. Dealing with a kid should have been trivial.
But the moment he moved—
A pressure beyond words rippled out from Shinju.
Not chakra's weight, and not killing intent.
Something purer—like suppression from the very level of life itself.
The torch-flames lining the stone walls dipped all at once, the light dimming as if pressed down.
Yatsushiro froze where he stood.
It was like ramming headfirst into an invisible mountain—or plunging in an instant into a trench ten thousand meters deep.
The air thickened, breathing turned difficult, even the blood in his veins seemed to slow.
His proud Sharingan no longer saw an enemy's motion, only a darkness so profound his soul shivered before it.
He couldn't move.
His body refused every command. Forget attacking—he couldn't even twitch a finger.
"Yatsushiro? What's wrong?" Inabi beside him noticed at once.
Yatsushiro's mouth hung open. A rasping "hh—hh—" scraped from his throat, but not a single word came out. Cold sweat flooded his brow and soaked his temples in an instant.
The chamber fell back into deathly silence.
Every Uchiha present stared, aghast.
They didn't know what had happened, but they could all see it clearly: the fierce, overbearing Yatsushiro of moments ago now stood rigid, trembling, pinned in a posture of utter humiliation.
Shinju never looked his way again.
His eyes stayed calmly on Fugaku.
Fugaku's heart was a storm. More than anyone, he understood what had just occurred in that instant.
Pure aura suppression.
No ninjutsu. No genjutsu. Just standing there—and an elite jonin couldn't move.
What kind of monster was this boy?
The power of the Namikaze had outstripped his imagination.
Seeing the clan utterly cowed, Shinju drew back that pressure.
Yatsushiro gasped like a drowning man, knees nearly buckling.
He dragged in great lungfuls of air. When he looked at Shinju again, all the earlier arrogance had vanished, leaving only naked fear.
"Now, can we talk properly, Clan Head Fugaku?" Shinju's voice was still even.
Fugaku swallowed hard and nodded.
From this moment, the initiative in this conversation belonged entirely to the boy.
He waved a hand for everyone to sit. No one dared object.
Shinju looked around at faces—some resentful, some frightened, some wavering. The show of strength was enough. Next came the heart.
"I know your pride, and I understand your resentment," Shinju said, his voice carrying in the quiet chamber. "But the legends you cling to—what are they before a true 'legend'? Today, I'll let you meet the Uchiha's real dead."
(End of Chapter)
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