The welcome ceremony ended beneath the towering glow of Susanoo, and the Uchiha returned to their compound in triumph. Behind closed doors, the four pillars of the clan gathered in the leader's chamber for a private council.
"Our Young Lord has labored tirelessly for the clan—he deserves rest."
Uchiha Shikata opened with polite warmth, trying to mend the thin relationship he had with Soren. The young man had been branded a missing-nin for nearly three years; during that time, most communication with him was mediated by the war-hardened elder Setsuna. Shikata understood clearly: if their distant rapport continued, history might remember him as nothing more than a footnote.
Uchiha Honoka softened his tone as well. He wasn't clan head—he could afford humility.
"We never expected the Young Lord's Susanoo to advance to such a form. He has shown the clan's might to all of Konoha. Even the next generation awakened eyes today."
His expression darkened slightly.
"Still… the Young Lord's vision—"
Before he could finish, the warlike elder Setsuna leaned forward. He never bothered with courtesy.
"Young Lord, how are your eyes? Until you obtain the Eternal Mangekyō, every use of those eyes will burn your sight. And blindness is the price."
Soren met the concern with calm clarity.
"There's no need to worry. One of my Mangekyō techniques lets me shift the cost onto something else."
Setsuna's eyebrows rose. "Shift it to what?"
Soren didn't hesitate.
"The lives of shinobi."
The elders exchanged a silent, knowing glance.
Out in the world, the great war was nearing its end. The constant stream of battlefields—the river that fed Soren's Ascension Points—would soon dry up. Menial missions were beneath him, and a Mangekyō user had no business sullying himself for pennies.
So Soren chose a more honest path:
Let the clan give him what he needed.
Let them supply the condemned, the criminals, the scum of the underworld.
Let him turn their deaths into fuel.
To a clan forged in the blood of the Warring Era, the idea was not horrifying—it was practical.
Setsuna slapped his thigh.
"Excellent! Heaven bless the Uchiha!" He turned to Shikata.
"We control the Police Force. There are plenty of condemned men rotting in cells. Bandits, brigands—chaos always breeds more. We can supply the Young Lord easily."
Shikata nodded, already calculating the logistics.
"I'll show you the Guard Department myself. In time, we'll appoint you as its commander."
He smiled, warm and strategic.
"The clan has decided. We will fully support your rise as Third Hokage. The Police Force is the perfect stepping stone."
Soren had expected this from Juno's whispering tongue, but hearing it directly warmed something in his chest.
Uchiha affection was fierce and absolute—when they trusted someone, they trusted with their whole heart.
"Thank you for your trust," he said, bowing. "I will not fail you."
He lifted his head, Mangekyō glinting.
"As I said at the gate—before us, none can stand."
Setsuna grinned like a man seeing prophecy fulfilled.
"We must arrange a banquet—let the young women of the clan meet the Young Lord."
The sly wink he gave Shikata nearly made the clan head cough into his sleeve.
Shikata nodded with solemn practicality.
He had no grown daughter to offer—Fugaku was still only an infant—but political marriages built dynasties.
"After the Young Lord settles in, we'll hold a proper welcoming feast."
Soren accepted without complaint. This was a world of alliances, heirs, and power. Emotion had little place here.
That night, after the elders went searching for suitable girls, Soren stayed to dine. He met little Fugaku—a wide-eyed babe in his cradle. Soren felt no malice toward the child. Fugaku was young, innocent, and malleable—a pawn, perhaps, but a useful one.
If you know how to use people, Soren thought, even a coward can lead an army of lions.
After dinner he was escorted to a newly prepared residence in the compound.
The house blended old wood and modern comfort: polished floors, bright lantern fixtures, a neat foyer, an open kitchen, a private study, and a spacious bath already warmed with steam.
"Everything is falling into place."
He slid into the bath, hung his towel, and let the heat soak into muscle and mind.
Behind closed eyes, his Mangekyō churned quietly.
His Susanoo's third form settled into him, stabilizing him at Upper Shadow-tier strength.
His left eye—Tenchō Risshon: All-Knowing Map—now reached five hundred meters in radius.
His right eye—Tenchō Risshon: Spatial Step—allowed instant travel across that map.
No corner of the Uchiha compound was truly hidden from him.
No whisper could escape him.
No shadow could move without his notice.
With a thought, he summoned Juno.
He held the cat to his chest and took a slow, steady breath through her warm fur—the scent that always grounded him after the edge of battle-hunger.
Peace crept back into him.
And elsewhere in the compound, Senju Moriki stared into the night, green eyes cold.
The wheels of Konoha were turning…
And someone else had just seized the keys.
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