The boy awoke to a world of white. The ceiling, the curtains, the faint sunlight bleeding through a narrow window—everything was pale and sterile, smelling of sharp herbs and antiseptic.
He pushed himself up, the crisp sheets unfamiliar against his skin. This place was alien. His eyes, still aching, drifted to the three men standing at the door. One was an old yet upright figure in white robes and a hat bearing the character "Fire." The second was the blond man who had found him. The last was a stern, rigid man with his arms crossed, his gaze like flint.
This stern man stepped forward. The boy flinched on instinct, and a stinging pain flared behind his eyes. The world snapped into hyper-clarity as his Sharingan ignited unbidden. He clutched his forehead with a small gasp.
The man—Fugaku—halted, his stern expression giving way to surprise. Minato's report was true. But the sight of the cursed eyes in a child's face was a visceral shock. How? What horror could possibly burden a six-year-old with such a weight?
He schooled his features into a mask of calm and approached slowly. "Hey, kid," he said, his voice softer than its natural timbre. "What's your name?"
The boy's crimson eyes flickered behind him for a moment, seeking the familiar blond jonin, before he whispered, "K...Kaen."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Fugaku's lips. "Kaen," he repeated, the name tasting of embers and memory. "May I ask... who was your father?"
Kaen measured the man's words, the silence stretching thin before he answered. "Enji. Uchiha Enji."
That single name struck the room with the force of a thunderclap. Fugaku's eyes widened. Behind him, he heard the Hokage's sharp intake of breath and felt Minato's stillness. If this was that Enji... the implications were staggering.
Fugaku forced a neutral expression, masking the storm of astonishment. "Kaen," he continued, his voice carefully even. "Did your father... have a burn scar on the right side of his face?"
A slight, genuine smile crept onto Kaen's lips as he nodded. Finally. Someone who knew him. Someone who recognized the ghost he carried.
Fugaku looked back at the Hokage and gave a single, grave nod. His expression confirmed it: Yes. It's THAT Enji.
He turned back to the boy, his demeanor shifting into something warmer, more familial. "Kaen," he said. "I am Fugaku. A cousin of your father. Your grandfather was my uncle."
Kaen's eyes widened, the red of his Sharingan shimmering with a sudden, desperate hope. Family. He had family other than the ghosts of his parents.
"Kaen," Fugaku said gently, "do you know how to turn off your Sharingan?"
The boy shook his head slowly, the movement weary.
Fugaku placed two fingers on Kaen's forehead. "Close your eyes," he instructed. "Breathe long and slow."
Kaen obeyed, his small chest rising and falling in a deep rhythm.
"Good. Now open them, and relax."
Kaen opened his eyes, and as he consciously relaxed his shoulders, the stinging pressure behind them faded. The world dulled to normalcy, the crimson hue receding from his vision. A genuine, relieved smile—the first in what felt like a lifetime—touched his lips. He had found his family. He was safe.
"Sleep well, Kaen," Fugaku said, his voice a low rumble of promise. "When the doctors say you are well, I will take you to the rest of your family."
Kaen nodded, the eagerness in his eyes finally overtaken by a deep, settling exhaustion. For the first time in days, he felt he could.
A single, muffled sob escaped Minato. He had his face buried in his palm, his shoulders trembling. Hiruzen, understanding the storm of emotions, placed a steadying hand on the young jonin's shoulder.
When Minato lowered his hand, his face was split by a grin of pure, disbelieving joy. "What are the chances?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I… I was the one… to save Enji-senpai's son."
As Fugaku passed them to leave, he paused beside Minato. "You can cry," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he gave the Minato's shoulder a firm tap before exiting.
"He doesn't look a bit like Enji, though," Hiruzen mused, his gaze lingering on the sleeping boy.
Minato's head snapped toward the Hokage, startled by the comment.
"He is the very image of Akihiko," Hiruzen clarified, a nostalgic smile softening his weathered features. "It is as if Enji's father has been reborn."
The name echoed in Minato's mind. "Lord Hokage… is this the same Akihiko that Jiraiya-sensei speaks of sometimes?"
Hiruzen nodded. "He was more of a sensei to Jiraiya than I ever was," Hiruzen said. He paused, gaze drifting to the window as if searching through the smoke of an older war. "Jiraiya was only eighteen, perhaps nineteen, when he served as lieutenant under Akihiko, the commander of the Western Battalion, during the First Great Shinobi World War". A brief, weighty silence followed the history lesson. "Now," Hiruzen said, his tone shifting back to the present, "let the boy rest."
He turned and left. Minato followed, but not before casting one last glance back at Kaen.
Inside the quiet room, Kaen had already slipped into a deep sleep. This time, his small body was relaxed, the terrible stiffness of his journey finally gone. For the first time in weeks, the line of his shoulders was soft, his breathing even. He knew, at last, that he was safe.
Two days later, the doctors informed Fugaku that Kaen was healthy and ready for discharge.
He returned to the hospital, this time not alone. With him were his wife, Mikoto, and their young son, Itachi.
"So, you are Enji-senpai's son," Mikoto said, her voice as warm as her smile. Kaen blinked, a fleeting, childish thought crossing his mind: Is my father's name actually 'Enji-Senpai,' and not 'Uchiha Enji'? He simply nodded in response. Mikoto offered him a small lunch box and affectionately ruffled his hair.
At the sight of food, a deeply ingrained habit surfaced. His mother had taught him the virtue of polite refusal, a show of modesty. But his father's voice, a more practical echo in his memory, always countered, "Don't make the food wait." Today, his father's wisdom won. He sanitized his hands and dug in, devouring the sandwich inside within seconds.
After he finished, he slid from the bed. Itachi stepped forward and greeted him with a formal, slight bow—a gesture that felt entirely alien to Kaen. Where he came from, bows were not exchanged so freely between children. But he was in a new place now, and he was quick to adapt. He immediately mirrored the gesture with a hurried, earnest bow of his own.
The sight was so absurdly earnest that Fugaku almost laughed. Beside him, Mikoto stifled a chuckle into her hand.
They stepped beyond the hospital gates, emerging into the sun-dappled streets of Konoha. As the group made its way toward the Uchiha Compound, Kaen's head swiveled, his eyes wide with a curiosity that finally befitted his age. The bustling avenues, the vibrant storefronts—it was all a vivid tapestry of new sensations for him.
They finally stopped before a modest, cozy house on the compound's outskirts. Fugaku raised a hand and knocked firmly on the door.
It was opened by a boy of about ten. "Yes? Oh! Fugaku-sama! Mikoto-san!" he exclaimed, his surprise evident.
"Hey, Obito," Mikoto greeted warmly.
Obito returned the greeting respectfully and ushered them inside, then dashed ahead of them, calling out, "Obaa-saan! Fugaku-sama is here!"
A graceful, elderly woman emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth. Her eyes crinkled with amusement. "If it isn't my scary nephew," she said, her voice laced with fond teasing. "To what do I owe the honor? Have you finally remembered my address after all this time?"
To Itachi's astonishment, his father—the stern and rigid clan head—smiled. It was a genuine, unguarded expression. Itachi didn't know exactly who this old woman was, but the familiar ease in the air told him they were family.
They settled into the quiet, traditional washitsu room. A heavy silence descended, thick with the unspoken truth they had come to deliver. Fugaku found himself paralyzed, his usual authority deserting him. Confirming Enji's death was one thing; telling his aunt that her last living son was gone was another entirely.
Mikoto, too, could not find the words, her gaze fixed on her lap. The children—Kaen, Itachi, and Obito—sensed the profound weight in the air, their confusion rendering them still.
The old woman, Honoka, studied Kaen with a growing sense of familiarity. She didn't recognize the boy, yet his features whispered of family. She had initially assumed he was a relative of Mikoto's, but the crushing silence and the unknown story behind his presence began to sting.
"Fugaku," she finally said, her voice trembling as it broke the quiet. "Introduce the boy."
Fugaku took a steadying breath. "Oba-chan… he's…" He turned to the child, gently redirecting the moment. "Kaen… introduce yourself."
Kaen looked at Honoka, offering a slight, formal bow. "Konnichiwa. I am Kaen… son of Enji."
A strange chill, both warm and cold, shot down Honoka's spine. Enji's son. That meant her Enji had married, had built a life… but his absence here, now, could only mean one thing.
She moved closer, her steps fragile, and cupped Kaen's face in her weathered hands. "Kaen… son of Enji?" she wept, her voice cracking. "My Enji?"
In that moment, Kaen understood. "You're... Ba-chan… my father's mother," he whispered, the words both a statement and a question.
With a heartbroken cry, Granny Honoka pulled her grandson into a fierce embrace. "Yes, I am your Ba-chan… you are my Mago."
Kaen's own composure shattered. He wrapped his small arms around her, burying his face in her kimono as silent sobs shook his frame. Fugaku slowly stood and walked outside to the garden, unable to bear the scene. Mikoto, her own heart aching with a mother's profound understanding of this loss, pulled Itachi close and wept.
Granny Honoka looked at Obito, her smile a fragile thing amidst her tears. "Obito, son, go and call Enju. Quickly."
Obito nodded with youthful earnestness. "Hai!" he chirped before darting out the door.
He raced to Enju's house, arriving breathless and ringing the doorbell with impatient urgency. A little girl opened the door. "Hold on, hold on, Obito-nii!"
He ruffled her hair absently and strode straight to the kitchen.
Enju brightened at the sight of her cousin's son. "Obito! Come, sit down. Lunch is almost ready."
"No, Oba-chan, not now," he said, shaking his head. "Granny sent me to get you."
"Why? What's happened?" Enju asked, her smile fading.
"My cousin showed up!" Obito announced innocently.
Enju chuckled, wiping her hands on a towel. "Obito, you only have one cousin—my daughter, Izumi."
"No, no!" Obito insisted, frowning in concentration. "They're saying he's the son of your other brother... some... Enji guy..." His eyes widened as he made the connection. "Woah, Enji, Enju... it matches!" he went on in a childish rant.
But for Enju, the world stopped at the name "Enji." The ground seemed to fall away beneath her. She grabbed Obito by the shoulders, her voice a desperate whisper. "Did... did Nii-chan come back?"
Obito, surprised by her intensity, could only shrug.
Without another word, Enju stormed out the door, sprinting toward her mother's house.
She barged inside, her chest heaving. Her eyes found her mother spoon-feeding a young boy. He wasn't Izumi or Obito, yet he carried her father's features more strikingly than any of them. Honoka looked up and stepped back, giving her daughter space.
Then it was Enju's turn. She fell to her knees, pulling Kaen into a crushing embrace as sobs wracked her frame. "Nii-chan..." she cried out every other second. For years, she had forced herself to believe her beloved brother was gone forever. Now, his legacy—his very son—was in her arms.
From the doorway, five-year-old Izumi and ten-year-old Obito watched, utterly bewildered. And Kaen, held tightly by this weeping stranger, was just as confused, caught in a storm of grief and love he was only beginning to understand.