Hiashi Hyūga rarely allowed himself the luxury of being startled.
He was the head of the Hyūga clan—discipline, composure, and tradition made flesh. His expression was carved from stone more often than not. His tone, measured. His posture, unyielding.
But the moment the knock came at the door of his study—sharp, hurried, unmistakably urgent—something inside him shifted.
"Hiashi-sama!"
He looked up from the scrolls spread across his desk, his brow tightening at the sound of footsteps that didn't wait for permission to enter.
The sliding door cracked open—just a sliver—and a young clan member bowed deeply, breathless.
"Forgive the intrusion, Hiashi-sama, but—Lady Hikari—"
The rest of the sentence was not needed.
Hiashi was already on his feet.
"Where?" he demanded.
"The birthing room, Hiashi-sama. The midwives say it has begun."
A fraction of tension left his shoulders, replaced by something heavier.
"So. It is time."
He did not run.
The head of the Hyūga did not run.
But his steps were swift, purposeful, cutting through the corridors of the main estate like a blade through silk.
The air near the birthing quarters was thick—not with danger, but with emotion. Anticipation. Anxiety. Hope.
Two midwives stood guard at the door. They bowed deeply.
"Lady Hikari is progressing well," one assured. "It should not be long now, Hiashi-sama."
Hiashi nodded stiffly. "Send word the moment the child is delivered."
He intended to wait silently, but his own body betrayed him: his foot tapped once, then stood rigid; his arms crossed tightly; his gaze flickered toward the door far too often.
He hated that.
Hated the restlessness.
But even a Hyūga was still human.
Minutes felt like hours.
At last, a cry—a bright, sharp wail—cut through the wood.
His chest tightened.
A moment later, the door slid open and a midwife stepped out, bowing deeply.
"Hiashi-sama," she said softly, "your daughter has been born."
Daughter.
The word settled over him like snow.
"You may enter."
The room was warm, filled with the scent of herbs and the soft rustle of cloth.
Hikari lay propped against pillows, exhausted but smiling faintly. Sweat dampened her pale hair, strands clinging to her face. Her chakra was weak but steady—a relief.
"Hiashi…" she whispered.
He moved to her side, kneeling gracefully.
"You did well," he murmured. His voice—usually cold—softened imperceptibly. "May I see her?"
The nearest midwife nodded and stepped forward, carrying a small bundle of white cloth.
A tiny face peeked out—fragile, pink, impossibly small.
Hiashi leaned in.
The newborn stirred.
Her eyelids fluttered.
And then—
She opened them.
In that instant, the world seemed to still.
Pale lavender eyes stared up at him.
Not ordinary eyes.
Byakugan.
Fully active.
Hiashi froze.
The midwife gasped.
Another dropped a towel, hands flying to her mouth.
Hikari's breath hitched. "Is that…?"
Hiashi's heart slammed against his ribs.
"Yes," he whispered. "Byakugan. Already awakened."
Impossible.
Unheard of.
Children of the Hyūga clan spent years learning to access the dōjutsu. Training sessions, chakra control exercises, endless practice. Even prodigies rarely activated it before age five.
But this child…
This newborn…
She gazed at him with eyes that should have been blind at birth.
Hiashi straightened sharply.
His voice cut through the room like steel.
"None of you," he said, "will speak of this."
All motion stopped.
The midwives bowed so fast their foreheads nearly hit the floor.
"Yes, Hiashi-sama!"
"It must not leave this room," he continued. "Not to the clan elders. Not to other families. Not even to your closest kin. Am I understood?"
A chorus of fearful agreement.
Hiashi focused back on the infant—on his daughter—whose eyes remained open, unblinking, impossibly aware.
Something inside him tightened.
Not fear.
Protectiveness.
A surge of it.
He stayed only a moment longer—long enough to ensure Hikari was resting, long enough to watch the tiny chest rise and fall with life.
Then he stood.
There were things he needed to confirm.
Urgently.
The family archive room was cold.
Rows of scrolls lined the walls, each meticulously labeled. Records of bloodlines, achievements, births, awakenings, marriages, deaths. A thousand years of Hyūga history.
Hiashi moved through them with fluid precision.
He had rarely needed to consult the older records himself, but today—today was different.
His fingers traced names. Dates. Notes of the first manifestation of the Byakugan.
The earliest recorded case? Age seven.
The youngest prodigy? Age four.
Natural activation at birth? Never.
Not once.
Hiashi exhaled slowly.
This was unprecedented.
And unprecedented things drew attention.
Danger.
His jaw tightened as he remembered the recent tragedy.
The night the Nine-Tails attacked.
The Fourth Hokage dead.
Rumors had begun swirling immediately—whispers of ANBU failures, of Danzo Shimura's growing influence, of Hiruzen's quiet return to power.
Even the Hyūga were not untouched.
Some believed that Root had tried to involve themselves in clan matters during the chaos. A subtle push here. A missing record there. Too many eyes watching.
Hiashi's hands curled into fists.
If word of his daughter's eyes spread…
If Danzo learned of a child with awakened Byakugan at birth…
The thought alone made his pulse spike.
He could not allow it.
He would not.
Hiashi turned sharply and strode out of the archive.
Two Hyūga guards straightened the moment they saw him.
"You," he said, pointing to the one on his left. "A message to the security detail: effective immediately, protection of Lady Hikari and the child is to be increased. Discreetly. No external forces are to approach them without my authorization."
The guard bowed deeply. "At once, Hiashi-sama!"
The second guard waited for orders.
Hiashi paused.
He thought of the tiny face. The impossible eyes.
Then—quietly, but with iron resolve—he said:
"From this moment on… no harm is to come to my daughter. Not from outside. Not from within."
The guard swallowed.
"Yes, Hiashi-sama."
Hiashi turned toward the corridor leading back to Hikari's room.
His steps were steady.
Controlled.
But inside…
A storm had begun.
"Hinata," he murmured under his breath, testing the name for the first time.
A daughter with eyes wide open.
A future that had already shifted.
And though he would never admit it aloud—
Hiashi Hyūga was afraid.
Not of her.
But for her.