Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

Daichi's office was a study in Uchiha austerity—a room where tradition and ambition collided like shuriken clashing in midair. But unlike the usual feeling, today the room was filled with an unspoken tension, thick like an early morning mist refusing to lift.

Six elders stood in a semicircle, their postures rigid, their faces carved from the same granite as the Hokage Monument.

Daichi sat at the head of a long, polished wooden table inside his office, his fingers interlaced as he listened to the verbal battle waging between the Uchiha elders. Fugaku, his son, hovered behind the seated clan head, a silent sentinel, his arms crossed and his jaw clenched tight enough to grind stone.

Though this was not an official clan meeting, it might as well have been with the way voices rose and clashed against one another, like kunai scraping against stone.

The topic of discussion? Renjiro Uzumaki.

His name had recently become something of a curse among certain elders and a symbol of defiance for others.

One elder, Uchiha Hiroshi, a sharp-eyed man with streaks of grey in his otherwise dark hair, slammed his hand on his thigh, his voice his voice a rasping blade drawn from a sheath.

"We cannot stand idly by while one of our own is at risk!" he argued, his veins bulging at his temple. "Renjiro has the Sharingan. He is an Uchiha by blood, and if we do nothing now, what does that say about us? If we forsake our own, what separates us from the stray dogs scavenging Konoha's alleys?"

A murmur of agreement rippled through half of the room.

Meanwhile, Fugaku remained impassive, his expression unreadable. He knew his position well—he was the future head of the Uchiha Clan, unless nothing changed, and it would do him no favours to alienate any of the elders with a show of his hand whether it be favouritism or opposition.

Daichi, similarly, remained silent, his dark eyes watching the exchange with an unreadable gaze.

A different elder, Elder Yuriko, his arms crossed over his chest, gave a harsh scoff. "Hiroshi, Renjiro is not one of us," he stated coldly. "His mother abandoned the clan—she wanted nothing to do with us. And now you expect us to risk our standing, risk anger from the Hokage, over a boy who has never even identified himself as an Uchiha? The Sharingan does not wash away such behaviour"

The disapproval in his voice was unmistakable.

Before the room could settle into silence, another elder, Elder Ige, an older woman with silver strands woven into her jet-black hair, leaned forward. "Are you listening to yourself Yuriko?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "The boy was a child when she died. Blame the mother, not the weapon she forged. Renjiro's eyes are a gift. To discard him is to hand our enemies a blade to slit our throats."

Another elder, Uchiha Minoru, cut in immediately, his tone clipped and accusatory. "Yet he does not even carry the Uchiha name! He walks around calling himself Uzumaki, not Uchiha! He has made it clear where he stands—he does not need us, and neither should we need him, Ige!"

A different elder, one who had remained quiet until now, gave a low chuckle, one that did not hold amusement. "And you would abandon him? Cast him out to fend for himself? You truly think that if we do not act, the rest of the village will leave him be?"

The room fell silent for a moment.

Then the elder continued, his voice lowering. "Or do you not realize what will happen should Renjiro be targeted by outsiders? Do you want the Sharingan to fall into the hands of another village? Or worse… into the hands of the Hokage himself?"

A darkness fell over the room at the implication.

The Uchiha had long been wary of how the village leadership viewed them. There were always whispers, always doubt. Renjiro's current circumstances had only complicated matters further.

"Enough!" 

The word cracked like a whip, silencing the room. Elder Kaito, the oldest and frailest of them, rose unsteadily to his feet. His milky left eye—a relic of the Second War—seemed to stare through them all. "This is not about the boy," he spat. "It is about the Hokage's silence. Hiruzen plays games, dangling Renjiro like bait. If we defend him openly when Hiruzen gives him up, we invite the village to call us traitors. If we stay silent, we bleed our own honour." He turned to Daichi, his voice softening to a lethal whisper. "You sit there, clan head, saying nothing. What do you see?" 

Daichi's gaze didn't waver. "I see shadows," he said simply. "And shadows are best navigated in silence." 

Fugaku's knuckles whitened, but he held his tongue. 'Coward', he thought, though not even his father's Sharingan could pry the word from his mind. 

"A weapon!" Masato roared, surging to his feet. The brazier flared, painting his face in hellish light. "And weapons are used, not debated! The Hyūga cage their heirs like animals, yet their 'treason' is loyalty. The Senju are almost dust, yet their shadow strangles us still. Renjiro is ours—by blood, by power, by right. To cast him out is to spit on Madara's legacy!" 

The name hung in the air like a curse. Fugaku flinched, his father's stories of Madara's fall—the betrayal, the Valley of the End—flashing behind his eyes. Daichi's expression remained unreadable, but his fingers tightened imperceptibly. 

Elder Hitoshi seized the pause. "The Hokage hasn't decided Renjiro's fate," he said, his voice low and urgent. "But if we claim him first—if we bind him to the clan publicly—Hiruzen cannot act without igniting a war he cannot win." 

Finally, Daichi sighed, lifting a hand.

"Enough."

The voices halted, though the tension still thrummed like a blade held at the throat.

Daichi's piercing gaze swept across the room before he spoke.

"The Hokage has not yet made any decision regarding Renjiro," he stated plainly. "He has given no orders, no threats. We do not even know where he stands on this matter." He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Until the Kage Summit concludes, we are in no position to act."

A silence settled over the room, heavy and reluctant.

"That is final," Daichi added.

The elders rose stiffly, their robes rustling like autumn leaves. Yuriko shot Daichi a look that could flay flesh, while Masato lingered, his eyes burning with unspoken defiance.

Soon, only three remained; Daichi, Fugaku and one last elder—Toka Uchiha.

The room felt much larger now that the others had left, though the atmosphere remained tense.

Fugaku was the first to speak.

"Father." His voice was firm, but measured, betraying just a hint of urgency. "We have to do something."

Daichi remained silent, his hands steepled together.

Fugaku leaned forward slightly. "You told me, years ago, that Renjiro is a weapon—one that could be used for the clan's benefit. And now, when the village may turn against him, you choose to do nothing?"

Toka, who had been silent until now, let out a low sigh. "Fugaku," he said, voice calm but unyielding, "do you truly not see what your father is doing?"

Fugaku turned toward him, his expression sharpening.

Toka leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. "The Hokage's decision will shape the next steps for our clan. If we interfere, if we act against the Hokage's judgment, we will give momentum to the faction that wants us to leave the village entirely."

Fugaku's expression darkened. "And if we stand by and do nothing, we risk losing Renjiro. If he is turned over to another village—"

"He won't be."

Daichi's voice cut through the air, commanding immediate silence.

Both men turned toward him, and he exhaled slowly, his hands tightening ever so slightly against the table.

Then, his next words fell like a hammer.

"Renjiro has the Mangekyō Sharingan."

A loud silence filled the room.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

The weight of the revelation settled like an avalanche, heavy and crushing.

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