We sat by the windowsill, watching the village below from a stone tower. The forest sprawled beyond the walls of Nadeshiko, rolling down from the foot of the hill and fading into the far horizon. The sun was gone, replaced by the night sky littered with stars like flecks of light cast across the dark. A medic was at work, kneeling beside us, his hands glowing with the soft green light of medical ninjutsu. We indulged in the moment’s tranquillity but never let our attention drift from him. His chakra network pulsed beneath our senses, the genjutsu embedded in his mind holding, unseen, unfelt.
It was a charade—this pretence of needing his help, his healing. We could have mended ourselves just fine. But the matriarch needed convincing, and the more she thought we relied on her, the easier it would be to let her guard down. A tactical risk, sure, letting this unknown shinobi touch us, examine our wounds, but one we deemed worthwhile. Though it soon became clear that guiding his subconscious, making sure he didn’t do more harm than good, was more trouble than anticipated. His mind, tangled in our genjutsu, stumbled through complex procedures without knowing what he truly did or touched. His hands moved, but they moved blind.
Restarting our primary heart while preparing to switch control from our secondary and tertiary hearts had its own perils. Those rudimentary organs had already been strained in the fight with that wretched Senju. Their walls thin, the muscle damaged. A misstep now, and the delicate balance could fail, leaving us in cardiac arrest. But the medic knew nothing of this. Yusuke, his name was. He thought his chakra mended shattered bones in our arm, oblivious to what he was truly fixing. That didn’t matter. We’d be whole soon enough. All injuries would be healed in a matter of hours. And yet, some instinct told us this was not a chance to be wasted—not now that Konoha had abandoned all pretence of civility.
Yusuke sealed the last wound with a satisfied grunt, the glow of his chakra fading. “There,” he said, “that should do it. Try moving your arm. I need to see how it’s holding up.”
We moved as he asked, rotating the arm. Our primary heart shuddered, a beat, then another, life finding its rhythm again. The auxiliary hearts went quiet, vessels closing off. The flesh began to restore itself, cells mending with a speed that belied the damage sustained.
“How do you feel?” Yusuke asked.
“Better,” we said, a smile playing at our lips.
“Good,” he nodded. “All your major fractures have been healed. You should feel no more pain. Although there are some microfractures left, they’ll heal on their own. Just rest. Don’t push yourself too much.”
“Understood.”
“Also, when you’re ready, tell the kunoichi outside to take you to Lady Marika. She’s waiting.”
“Thank you, Yusuke-san.”
He left, the door clicking shut behind him. We looked out over the village again, the quiet of it. Then rose, went to the garments left for us. A simple grey kimono, no Uchiha crest. It irked us, this absence, but sacrifices were necessary. Our best weapon against Konoha was discretion. We inspected the clothes carefully, every seam and fold, before slipping them on. The fabric brushed over scarred skin, over the seals inked into flesh to hide our modifications from prying Hyuga eyes. We tied the obi, stepped into the geta waiting at the door, and slid open the shoji.
A kunoichi stood there, with dark hair and sharp eyes. She bowed her head slightly. “Take me to Lady Marika,” we said.
“Yes, Uchiha-san,” she replied, voice curt, and turned to lead the way.
----------------------------------------
.Marika sat behind her desk, her fingers steepled in front of her, watching the tempest unfold in her office. Shizuka was pacing, her eyes blazing, her voice barely restrained as she spoke.
“I don’t care that he’s a prodigious Uchiha, nor do I care about how talented he is or how compatible we would be together! I’m not getting married to him!”
Marika rubbed her temple, frustration building as her successor refused to see reason.
“Shizuka—”
“No, sensei! I’m sorry, but I can’t do this! I already have someone I love!”
“Shizuka! Shizu—”
The door slammed open, and Marika winced, her heart sinking. She prayed silently that the shoji was undamaged. As she dared to look, she caught sight of her unruly student still standing at the threshold, seemingly frozen in place. And then she realised who stood in the doorway.
“Humph!” Shizuka puffed, glaring with disdain at the Uchiha standing there. The scarred, one-armed boy stepped aside, letting her storm past.
Sasuke watched Shizuka leave, then turned his attention to Marika, still seated. He raised an eyebrow, his expression one of apparent confusion.
“I hope I’m not intruding?” he asked, not stepping into the room.
“No,” Marika sighed, raking her fingers through her hair. “No, you’re not, Uchiha-san. Please, come in. Have a seat.”
The boy nodded, stepping inside. His politeness made Marika uncomfortable, the weight of what she was about to ask him pressing down on her. Guilt rose in her chest, but she ruthlessly stamped it down.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked.
“You did promise me some, didn’t you? I hope you’re not about to go back on your word.”
Marika forced a laugh.
“Yui! Bring in the tea, please!” she called out.
“Yes, Chīfu-sama,” came the reply from beyond the paper-thin walls.
Marika turned back to Sasuke. “How are you feeling now, Uchiha-san?”
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“I’ll live,” he shrugged, throwing her off balance for a moment.
“That’s good to hear,” she replied, a beat too late, unsure if it was the right response. Before she could dwell on it, Yui entered the room, carrying the tea tray. It was a welcome distraction.
“Thank you,” Sasuke murmured, smiling at the kunoichi as she offered him a cup. Yui, with the practiced poise expected of her station, returned his smile without a flinch, unaffected by the sight of his scars. She bowed and exited quietly.
Marika watched Sasuke as he sniffed the tea, then took a careful sip.
“Excellent tea,” he said simply. Marika couldn’t tell if he meant it.
“I’ve had my tea,” Sasuke continued, smiling politely, “so, what is it you wanted to talk to me about, Lady Marika?”
“Straight to the point, are we?” Marika returned the smile. “I can appreciate that. But before we begin, I’d like to know—what are your thoughts on my village?”
“My thoughts?” Sasuke echoed. “I’m not sure if my opinion matters, Lady Marika. Nadeshiko’s influence has never intersected with Konoha’s, and I’ve never had any personal connection to this region. I’ve never felt the need to educate myself on it. I know some basics, of course, but it’s all biased, without foundation. As for what I’ve observed since arriving? I haven’t been here long enough to form a true judgment.”
Marika nodded, feeling a sense of satisfaction begin to replace her earlier misgivings. “That’s understandable,” she said. “Since you know so little, I’d like to tell you a bit more. Would that be all right, Uchiha-san?”
“Of course, go ahead.”
“This entire island falls under the military jurisdiction of Nadeshiko. We have no daimyō to answer to. Instead, we maintain an economic relationship with the local lords. We ensure law and order, protect shipping lanes and handle all shinobi contracts. In return, we receive funding from those lords, who manage the rest of the population.
“Unlike Konoha, our matters of succession are internal, independent of outside influences. The village’s families are matrilineal, and our leaders are chosen democratically. Major family heads vote for the next leader from a shortlist of candidates. Strength is revered above all here, and so, our women must leave the village to find husbands—strong men who can defeat them.”
“I see,” was all Sasuke said.
Marika paused, then tried again. “What do you think of my successor, Uchiha-san?”
Sasuke’s lips twitched with amusement. “What are you suggesting?” he asked.
Marika paused for a moment but pushed on regardless in the end. “I am looking for a suitable consort for my student.”
Sasuke snorted, his gaze hardening. “What are you insinuating. Remember, I’m an Uchiha. A patriarch of my clan. I am no one’s consort.”
Marika took a sip of tea, choosing her words carefully. “Understandable. We could have a marriage of equals then. It wouldn’t be the first time in Nadeshiko’s history.”
“That sounds more acceptable,” Sasuke said. Marika breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but he wasn’t finished. “But why should I marry your successor?”
Marika froze, her teacup halfway to her lips. She looked up, meeting Sasuke’s blank stare, suddenly unsure of how to answer.
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Uchiha-san," Marika murmured, the sinking feeling in her chest hardening into something much heavier. Rarely does one come across a man who would turn down a kunoichi of Nadeshiko, particularly not one with the beauty and tenacity of Shizuka. Yet here she was, by some great stroke of misfortune, faced with such an individual.
"Why should I settle for your successor?" the Uchiha continued. "You seem to have forgotten who I am. The last marriageable Uchiha, no less. A prodigy from a line that produced Madara himself. My father, Evil Eye Fugaku, was feared and respected during the Third Shinobi War. And me—even at six, I earned the title I now bear." He paused, regarding her with an almost wistful glint. "The weasel who shares my lineage may stain on our clan's honour, but no one can call him incompetent. No—our family is one of capability, unrivalled in skill and genetics. You would have me take up with your successor, and give away an invaluable kekkei genkai—the Sharingan—for a marriage alone? Surely you must see how absurd such a proposition is."
Marika placed her tea delicately upon the lacquered table, eyes trained on the young man seated across from her. The Uchiha—calm, deliberate—sipped from his own cup, his gaze unflinching. Despite everything, Marika could feel hope budding somewhere within her chest. Why? The answer was clear.
There was still hope for further negotiations.
She studied the young man—Sasuke—his inscrutable, pale face, and the unhurried certainty behind every movement. He was bargaining.
Marika exhaled lightly. "What would it take," she asked, "to wed you two?"
"Nothing," the Uchiha replied almost instantly, a hint of something sardonic curling the edge of his mouth. "There will be no wedding. She will be my consort—that is the arrangement. She bears my children, and your village gets a most talented daughter. A successor born of a Sharingan-wielding shinobi. It's a victory, however one spins it."
Marika's gaze hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That cannot be. Shizuka is my heir, and a leader of Nadeshiko cannot be subordinated—that rule is inviolable."
Sasuke considered her, his dark eyes still. "Is she your daughter?" he inquired at last.
"Niece," Marika replied, bristling.
"Ah," he exhaled. "Nepotism at its finest." He drummed his fingers against the rim of his cup, then sighed. "Fine. Let her remain unwed, but she will bear my children. She swears off marriage to anyone else—this oath enforced by the village. I would tolerate no stains to the Uchiha name."
Marika gritted her teeth. "Fine," she conceded, her voice tight.
Sasuke nodded approvingly. "Good. Now that we've reached consensus, let us speak of costs."
The air shifted between them, Marika suddenly aware of where he was leading her—into the dark terrain of favours, debts, and promises she could scarcely honour. "What do you want?" she asked, wary.
"I want retribution," he said. "Konoha's attack on my family—on me—is unforgivable. The world must see that such a thing cannot go unanswered. For that, I will require your support—your military aid."
Marika shook her head immediately. "I will not drag my village into conflict with Konoha for your cause, Uchiha-san."
Sasuke smiled, something grim dancing in his eyes. "Understandable," he allowed. "I had thought as much. All I require is materiel support. No Nadeshiko kunoichi need see battle on my behalf—only your explosive tags, storage seals, funding—resources enough to hire mercenaries."
Marika paused, her thoughts roiling. "It can be arranged," she said eventually. "Details will follow."
Sasuke inclined his head slightly. "Good. Second request—I need a base of operation and a secure facility to hold a high-value prisoner."
"Who?" she asked sharply.
"A Hyuga."
A silence stretched between them. "A Hyuga," she echoed, brows drawing together. "Odd, but—that too can be arranged."
Sasuke nodded, satisfied. "The final request—a treaty guaranteeing Nadeshiko's neutrality should any future conflict arise between myself and other villages. You are not to support my enemies—economically or otherwise. Trade remains intact with us, severed with them."
Marika hesitated, the implications unravelling in her mind—the prospect of her village bound to an Uchiha with his eyes set on vengeance against a hidden village like Konoha. Yet—a Sharingan born to Nadeshiko—she found herself faltering. This boy, she realized, may very well lie dead on some battlefield in months—leaving behind Shizuka with his only heir—the last flicker of Uchiha brilliance. And with her village.
"Fine," she said, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.
Sasuke smiled, taking another sip of his tea. "You have my gratitude."