Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

Fugaku exhaled slowly, his sharp gaze drifting toward the darkened window. Outside, the village was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves in the cold night wind. The question seemed almost foolish to him.

"Who wouldn't be tempted by the allure of the clan head position?" Fugaku finally said, turning his gaze back to the others. His voice was firm, carrying the conviction of someone who had always seen the title as a prize worth striving for.

"It is the pinnacle of our clan's pride and power. Any Uchiha with ambition would see it as their rightful goal."

Daichi, who had been silent, finally stirred. His eyes, deep and calculating, glinted in the dim light.

"Renjiro is different," he stated, his voice low but filled with certainty.

Fugaku's brow furrowed slightly. "Different?"

Daichi leaned forward, folding his hands together. "If Renjiro truly wanted the clan head position, why would he hide his power? A normal shinobi would seek recognition, ensure their strength is acknowledged by the clan elders, and gather support. Yet he has done the opposite, it's like he fears the attention. The boy has gone to great lengths to conceal his abilities."

He paused for a moment, then continued. "Either he is not interested in the clan politics… or worse—he is completely unaware of the forces at play around him."

Toka scoffed, shaking his head. His aged eyes, though worn, still carried a keen sharpness. "Or perhaps…" He narrowed his gaze. "He has been biding his time. What if this secrecy is a ploy? What if he is waiting for the right moment to strike?"

Fugaku's lips pressed into a thin line at that. He hadn't considered that possibility.

Daichi, to his credit, did not dismiss the idea outright. Instead, he leaned back, exhaling through his nose, his mind working through the implications.

"That is possible," Daichi admitted, his tone measured. "But that does not change our course of action. We do not have the luxury of eliminating him. Not with Kumogakure looming over us. Not when he stands at the very centre of the conflict."

A tense silence settled once again. Outside, the wind howled against the frame of the room, a low, haunting wail that seemed to mirror the tension among them.

Toka turned toward Daichi, his wrinkled hands gripping the edge of the table. "Do you truly believe we can bring him to our side?"

Daichi sighed. "It does not matter if it is possible or not." His gaze hardened. "It is the only way we can deal with this situation. If we push him away, he could become a threat. If we try to remove him, the village will interfere. That leaves us with one path—we must make him an ally. Whether he wants it or not."

The words rang through the room, settling deep into the minds of those present.

Fugaku, however, found himself drowning in thought.

His father and Toka were approaching this as if Renjiro were already a key player, a rival to his ambitions. But… was he really?

Renjiro had never been too involved in clan matters. He had never sought to curry favour with the elders. And, most damning of all—he had chosen to abstain from the Police Force.

Most Uchiha who sought to prove their merit walked the well-worn path of the Police Force. During times of peace, it was the way to demonstrate one's value to the clan since the missions they got were scarce. It was a stepping stone to greater recognition, an opportunity to build influence.

Yet Renjiro had rejected it.

Fugaku's fingers curled into a fist. Had they all been wrong? Were they seeing shadows where there were none?

He didn't voice his thoughts though. Instead, he let out a slow breath and finally spoke, his voice calm but firm.

"What should I do?"

Toka's eyes flickered toward him, narrowing slightly. He gave him a long, unreadable look, before scoffing.

"We wait," Toka said simply. "We need to see how things develop before we make our next move."

Fugaku shook his head. "No. You misunderstand me."

The air tensed.

Daichi and Toka both turned to him, watching as he straightened his posture, his expression unreadable.

"I was not asking what 'we' should do," Fugaku clarified, his voice calm but edged with something undeniably sharp. A blade of intent, unsheathed.

"I was asking… what I should do."

The words hit the air like a shuriken sinking into bark—sharp, unwavering, impossible to ignore.

For a moment, silence fell over the room.

A long, tense pause, where the faintest sound—the distant howl of wind through the wooden beams—felt deafening.

Then, Daichi let out a quiet sigh, his fingers coming together as he observed his son. His eyes, filled with experience and calculation, flickered with something indecipherable.

"So," he said at last, his voice low, "that is your concern."

Fugaku said nothing, but he did not deny it.

Toka, sitting across from him, let out a short, dry chuckle. His old, weathered hands drummed against the wooden table in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

"You are not giving up on becoming the next clan head, then?" Toka mused, his aged but piercing gaze scrutinizing the young Uchiha before him.

Fugaku's jaw tightened. A subtle movement, but telling nonetheless.

"Why should I?" he responded, his voice still measured, but with a flicker of something unyielding beneath it.

Toka's lips curled, almost in amusement, but his next words carried a weight that snuffed out any mirth in the air.

"Then tell me, Fugaku," he leaned forward slightly, shadows stretching over his face, "how do you intend to surpass Renjiro?"

Fugaku felt his pulse quicken, but he did not let his expression falter. He refused to.

"It does not matter if he wants the position or not," Toka continued, voice like a creeping whisper against the flickering light. "Right now, he is an obstacle. You can't afford to ignore him."

Fugaku clenched his fist, but his voice remained controlled. "Then I must ensure my position is unshakable."

Daichi nodded slightly, approving of his son's clarity. "Then you already understand the answer."

Fugaku glanced toward his father, his mind racing. He did not speak, but he did not need to. Daichi had always taught him that power alone would never guarantee dominance. One needed recognition, alliances, and influence.

Renjiro… Renjiro had none of those things. He was an outlier, one who walked an unconventional path, avoiding the traditional avenues of power.

And yet, somehow, he was a threat.

It irritated Fugaku more than he cared to admit.

Toka sighed, folding his arms. "War is coming, boy. Whether we like it or not, the winds of conflict are stirring. That may be your opportunity."

Fugaku's fingers twitched slightly.

"If war does break out," Toka continued, his gaze narrowing, "it will be the perfect stage for you to gain merit. If you can prove beyond doubt that you are the strongest candidate, there will be no room for argument. No matter how powerful Renjiro may be."

The words sank into Fugaku's mind like ink staining parchment.

The battlefield. The only place where true merit was forged.

Toka's voice was softer now, yet no less dangerous. "And in the meantime, your father and I will work to bring Renjiro to our side."

The conversation was over.

The only thing left… was action.

===

The moon hung high over Konoha, casting its pale silver glow across the village. Shadows stretched long and thin over the rooftops, moving as the occasional gust of wind sent loose leaves fluttering across the dirt paths. The village was at rest—save for the distant footsteps of shinobi patrols navigating their nightly rounds.

Renjiro stepped onto the wooden porch of his home, rolling his shoulders with a slow, exhaled breath. His body ached, his muscles burned, but beneath the exhaustion… was satisfaction.

Tonight had been a success.

He stepped forward, the wood creaking softly beneath his sandals as he made his way inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet thud.

The house was silent, save for the distant hum of cicadas outside. The air inside was cool, untouched, as though it had been waiting for his return.

His hand lifted to his face, fingers brushing over his temple before trailing down to his jaw. The familiar sensation of chakra exhaustion pulsed beneath his skin, but it didn't dampen his mood.

His Mark of Dominion…

He had spent most of his recent time, testing its capabilities, and tonight, he had finally seen the true depths of what it could do.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

His fingers flexed slightly, feeling the raw, buzzing power that still lingered in his veins.

"I think…" he muttered to himself, voice barely above a whisper, "now that I am done with that, I can move to the next step."

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