Naruto: Curse Eater

Elder Takahiro's steps fell heavy against the wooden floor, each one firm, deliberate. His pace was brisk, his expression carved into a deep scowl.

The creases on his forehead, worn by time and duty, deepened further with each stride. The Hyuga compound's halls, lined with their familiar wooden austerity, felt tighter than usual—though perhaps the weight pressing on him came from within.

At last, he arrived. A simple sliding door stood before him, unadorned yet carrying the quiet weight of authority. Without pause, he raised a knuckle and rapped against the frame—once, twice.

"Come in," came the reply.

Takahiro slid the door open and stepped inside.

Within the dimly lit room, Elder Genzou sat with the unshaken composure of a man who had long borne the weight of leadership. 

Though a few strands of his hair had grayed, and his skin carried the marks of age, his posture remained straight, his presence undiminished. A serene smile played at his lips—the kind given only to a select few, a man who needed to exude dignity before the clan.

The former Clan Head, now elder—Genzou Hyuga, Hiashi's father.

(A/N: Kishimoto sensei never really revealed his name so... I gave him one)

"Takahiro," Genzou greeted, inclining his head slightly. "It has been some time since we last spoke in private."

"Yes," Takahiro answered, his voice even.

Genzou gestured toward a seat. "Please, sit."

Takahiro did not move.

Genzou chuckled softly. "Ah, I see. You're here with grievances, as usual."

Takahiro exhaled through his nose. "Must the child bear the parent's sin and debt?"

The pleasant air in the room cooled down.

Genzou's smile did not disappear, but it no longer touched his eyes. His expression flattened, as though a veil of politeness had simply been drawn away.

"We have talked about this many times over," Genzou said, his voice measured. "And yet, it never seems to get through."

Takahiro's fingers twitched. His anger had been simmering beneath his skin the moment he stepped into this room, but now it threatened to boil over. Even so, he kept his expression neutral, his tone calm.

"I do not bring this up lightly."

"And yet you bring it up all the same," Genzou sighed, resting a hand on his knee. "You and I both know the mark exists for a reason. It is a necessary tradition."

"A necessary tradition," Takahiro echoed, his voice betraying nothing.

Genzou nodded. "The mark is not a curse, Takahiro. It is a safeguard. So long as those who hold the key to it do not become tyrants, it is not a tool of oppression—it is a means of unity. To ensure that the clan remains as one, not divided by ambition or reckless emotions."

Takahiro remained silent.

Genzou studied him for a moment before continuing, his tone light, almost conversational.

"Do you still remember what happened when your daughter eloped?"

A muscle in Takahiro's jaw tensed.

"That could have only happened because she was not marked." Genzou leaned forward slightly. "Had she been bound to the clan, she would not have left."

Takahiro's hands curled into fists.

"Ah... but you already know that," Genzou continued, his voice calm, as if discussing the weather. "You fought against it. You stood in the way of her receiving the mark."

Takahiro met his gaze, unflinching.

"I allowed it," Genzou admitted. "I believed there was no need. You were a man of peace, Takahiro, one who has always remained loyal to the clan. I saw no reason to suspect that your child would stray."

Genzou tilted his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

"But then... she met that Uchiha boy, didn't she?"

The air in the room thickened.

"You should have seen yourself," Genzou mused. "You looked ready to kill him for approaching your daughter."

Their eyes met, bloodlust crackling in the silence.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, at last, Genzou closed his eyes and leaned back.

"I suppose that was my fault," he admitted, voice measured. "I should have been more proactive. Perhaps I should have explained things to her properly—at least about the mark. I could have told her I entrusted the key seal to you, her father, that only you could activate it. But I didn't."

His eyes opened, sharp and unreadable. "And yet… you are at fault as well, Takahiro."

Takahiro said nothing.

"You should have stopped it before it happened," Genzou continued. "If you were so against it, why did you let it reach that point? You should have given her the mark."

Takahiro exhaled—slow, controlled.

Then, in a voice quiet but edged with steel, he spoke.

"You made a few errors in your judgment, Genzou."

Genzou raised a brow.

"If she were to marry," Takahiro continued, his tone carrying an eerie calm, "I would have let her marry whomever she chose."

For the first time, Genzou's expression shifted—mild surprise flickering across his face.

Takahiro's gaze darkened.

"My only condition was that the man stand before me, face me as a man, and take the Hyūga name."

He let out a slow breath.

"If things had gone that way, I would have merely sat back and grumbled like a stubborn old man that I am, as my daughter married into a clan I dislike."

His hands clenched.

"But it wasn't even an elopement."

Genzou remained silent.

"They were happy," Takahiro said, his voice carrying a quiet intensity. "They were married. They were expecting a child."

He took a step closer, the weight of his presence pressing forward.

"It wasn't until the Kyūbi's rampage that everything fell apart."

Genzou did not move, but his gaze remained unreadable.

Takahiro's voice dropped lower, the words striking like a blade.

"It was you who told her that the Uchiha clan might have been behind it."

Genzou remained still.

"You planted that fear in her," Takahiro accused. "You knew those were just baseless assumptions made by Danzō and the other elders. And yet, you told her anyway."

A cold silence settled between them.

Takahiro's next words were quieter, but no less sharp.

"You drove her away."

"..."

"Those two, becoming rogue ninjas to protect the child from their own clan and village..."

Genzou closed his eyes. For a moment, he simply sat there, unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, he opened them again.

"I will not deny that I may have been... misguided."

Takahiro scoffed.

"But tell me, Takahiro," Genzou said, his voice now carrying a subtle weight. "How long do you plan to question the will of the clan?"

Takahiro's gaze sharpened.

"You bring this up again and again," Genzou continued, his tone measured yet piercing. "Even now, long after the decision was made. One might begin to wonder..." He studied Takahiro carefully. "Has your loyalty wavered?"

A thick silence fell between them.

Takahiro did not speak, nor did his expression shift. But the air grew heavy, as if the walls themselves strained under the tension.

Genzou did not look away.

"Surely, you are not turning your back on the Hyuga, are you?"

The words were spoken lightly, almost as if they were nothing more than an idle thought. But the underlying message was clear.  A warning.

Takahiro's fingers twitched.

Then, slowly, he exhaled.

"I am done here," he said.

Without another word, he turned and left.

Takahiro walked slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable. But in his mind, an old memory stirred.

His daughter.

The way she used to smile—bright, defiant, untamed. How she had laughed so freely, as if the world could never bind her. And yet, in the end, it had.

His steps slowed.

A faint sound reached his ears. Voices which made his track came to a halt.

At the intersection ahead, just beyond the wooden pillar, two figures stood whispering. Servants. A young man and a woman.

The servants walked slowly as they spoke, their voices hushed but still carrying through the quiet hallway.

"He's not taking his training seriously," the young man muttered, his frustration simmering. "Not once. My brother could've just ignored the request, but he didn't. And this is how Akai repays him?"

The woman sighed sharply. "You... be quiet"

"The training was already scheduled, and I'm pretty sure elder had told him before hand, and he just—what, ignored it? Like it didn't matter?"

The woman hushed him quickly. "Keep your voice down."

"Why should I? Akai isn't even grateful. My brother at least listened to Elder Takahiro's request and agreed to teach him, but that brat—"

"Shut up." She tugged at his sleeve, eyes darting warily down the hall. "Someone might hear you."

Too late for that.

Takahiro recognized the voice immediately. The younger brother of the chunin Hyuga he had personally chosen to train Akai.

His fingers twitched at his side.

He should walk away. He should not care.

But his feet remained rooted in place.

Finally, their steps faltered as they reached the intersection—where they found him.

Takahiro stood in the hallway, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. His eyes, void of any immediate emotion, settled on them.

Silence.

The young man stiffened. The woman swallowed.

They expected a scolding, harsh words, maybe even punishment.

But Takahiro said nothing.

With slow, deliberate steps, he walked past them, leaving their frozen, fearful figures behind.

He resumed his path, though his mind wandered elsewhere.

A memory surfaced—Akai, standing with that small frame of his, looking over the branch family members with an expression of quiet amusement.

Caged? Sure. But a bird? The boy had scoffed at Takahiro's words, the mark on his forehead visible yet seemingly insignificant to him.

The child was different now. Happy, easygoing. His once-ailing heart had healed as if by some miracle.

Takahiro exhaled softly.

"I should give that brat a scolding later," he murmured under his breath. Even so, a faint smile crept onto his lips.

.

.

.

The training hall was empty.

Akai stood at the entrance, his crimson eye sweeping across the room. He had been told an instructor would be waiting for him, yet the space was devoid of any presence. Silent. Still.

His gaze flicked to the scattered scrolls resting on the tatami mats. Without urgency, he stepped forward, crouching down to flip one open. As expected, it detailed the Gentle Fist. The Hyūga Clan was never generous with their teachings—only drilling the fundamentals into their young before pushing them toward the Academy.

Akai skimmed the techniques, unimpressed. Inefficient. It would have been far more practical to train chakra control first, then introduce combat forms later. But tradition was rigid. The system, unmoving.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

One more year before he could enter the Academy. Until then, he would endure.

Just as he rolled the scroll shut, a voice shattered the quiet.

"AKAI!"

The doors slammed open.

Elder Takahiro stormed inside, his aged face twisted in fury. Before Akai could fully react, a fist came down on his head.

THWACK!

A dull impact. A puff of smoke.

Akai remained deadpan, though a faint ache bloomed at the top of his skull. Meanwhile, Takahiro winced, shaking his own hand as if regretting the strike.

"...Hmph." The elder scoffed, flexing his fingers. "You're late."

The old man glared at him. "Explain yourself."

Akai blinked. "I was busy."

Takahiro's glare sharpened. "Busy?"

"Yes." His tone remained completely flat—devoid of urgency, as if his excuse was perfectly reasonable. "I was out."

THWACK!

Another strike.

Akai's head tilted slightly from the impact, but he didn't so much as blink.

Takahiro exhaled sharply, his patience thinning by the second. "What time is it right now?"

Akai cast a brief glance toward the darkened sky out of the windows of the training halls, then back at Takahiro.

"Nighttime. Obviously."

THWACK!

Takahiro's forehead twitched, the 💢 was shown visibly on those aging lines. "What time was your training scheduled for?"

"12 at noon."

THWACK!

The sound echoed again.

"And when did you decide to return?"

Akai finally smiled—bright, innocent, completely unaffected by the string of punishment.

"I was following an interesting fox around the village."

Takahiro's eye twitched.

"...And a monkey."

THWACK!

.

.

.

To be continued.