The air froze solid for a beat.
Fourth Raikage's meaty knuckles thunked the desk like a muffled gong. His eyes—two live lightning bolts—pinned Makoto Uchiha dead center.
This kid? Zero of the usual hostage vibes. No twitch, no sweat, no please don't kill me eyes.
Dude was lounging like he owned the damn Cloud admin office, not like he'd been dragged here from enemy turf.
What really pinged the Raikage's radar? The grin.
Not that stuck-up Uchiha smirk—nah, this was chill, curious, like a tourist eyeballing a new skate park.
A half-grown Leaf brat, ripped from home and plunked in the heart of enemy HQ, smiling like that?
Silent flex: I'm here because I want to be.
Interesting…
Raikage mentally slapped a "Balls of Steel" sticker on the kid. Didn't blink, just flicked a micro-glance to his left.
Dodai—half-step behind, one-eyed hawk mode—was already lasering Makoto.
Old partners in crime; the look hit, Dodai stepped up.
Pressure rolled off him like battlefield smoke—thick, bloody, get in line.
Voice low, sharp as a thrown kunai:
"Uchiha Makoto." Every syllable a gut punch. "Why the hell you want to be in Cloud? You not scared…"
He paused, eye boring in for any flicker of panic.
Kid's baby-face? Still rocking that unreadable half-smirk. Intel said prodigy—confirmed.
Dodai's guard cranked higher, eye slitting to a razor. Went full ice:
"Scared we'll pen you up like a prize stud? Feed you steak, bang the village's top bloodline girls till you tap out?"
Makoto's eyes flicked—just a hair—then settled.
No point in mind games. These old dogs had truth serums, genjutsu, and worse.
He played it real. Always had. Hands up, straight shot:
"Cut the foreplay."
Crisp voice sliced the tension. Lazy wave.
Under Raikage's knife-glare and Dodai's death-stare, Makoto chin-lifted:
"Why Cloud? Simple. Leaf's rotten."
"Current Uchiha clan head won't back me as successor. So I'm planting a new Uchiha right here in Cloud."
"I, Uchiha Makoto, will be the founder—first clan head of Cloud Uchiha!"
He leaned in, eyes blazing like he was pitching the next iPhone. Dropped the mic:
"I'm starving to level up!"
Raikage: "Current head, Uchiha Fugaku—he's not your—"
Makoto steamrolled: "Exactly him. Elders already green-lit me. But he says no? Total upside-down bullshit!"
"...?"
Sam and Burlap side-eyed him hard. Who's really backwards here, champ?
Raikage's brows twisted into a pretzel. He'd seen every flavor of captive: screamers, suiciders, bootlickers, snakes.
Smart-asses usually ended up in chunks.
But a kid strolling in demanding to start his own clan and run it? First time since the village dropped.
Makoto clocked their stunned silence, flipped the script, and started stacking hype:
"Listen up. I'm the Uchiha second son—clan-certified future of the bloodline. Current #1 in raw talent (and cash flow)."
BUZZ—
Chakra exploded—way past kid-level. Black eyes spun: two tomoe Sharingan, swirling slow and demonic, flexing eye-pressure like a boss.
"Out in the world? You make your own rank."
Voice dripping swagger, backed by those spinning reds:
"My gift? Beats prime Shura—Uchiha Madara."
Raikage's pupils blew wide.
Kid wasn't done—rattled off chips like poker night:
"Plus, I can drag more Uchihas over."
"My big bro, Itachi—under ten, three-tomoe, jonin chops. Genius of geniuses."
"Shisui? My bro's ride-or-die—Teleport Shisui, carved his name in Third War corpse mountains. Rings bells across the nations!"
"Teenage elite jonin, one step from Kage-level."
"Even…" Makoto locked eyes with Raikage, went nuclear:
"Current head Fugaku? Give me time—I'll talk him into defecting too!"
"!!!"
Dodai's lone eye shrank to a pinhole—not hype, pure oh shit alarms.
The bigger the dream Makoto painted, the louder the red flags screamed.
Mass Uchiha defection? Sounds like Cloud hitting the jackpot—power boom.
But tomorrow?