A year had passed.

I sat before my meal, absently stabbing the food with my chopsticks, rolling a piece of chicken in the dashi broth before lifting it to my mouth. The tender, soft flesh met my palate, and for a moment, the world outside my bowl ceased to exist. The texture melted, mingling with the broth—a cocoon of warmth that held everything at bay.

The moment was fleeting. Reality, slow and relentless, returned like the tide. I exhaled, and the delicate scent of soy and simmered meat left my lungs, tingling my nostrils as it dissipated. Steam curled upward from the bowl, twirling lazily towards the ceiling, while the clink of chopsticks on porcelain echoed faintly around me. I let the sensation settle, savouring it as if it were the last thing tethering me to something familiar.

It was pleasant.

Toriiya Izakaya had changed since I first began coming here. It had once been quiet, almost deserted, a sanctuary from the outside world. Now, customers filled the room, their murmured conversations brushing against the peace I had once found in this place. A Jonin sat at the next table with his team of apprentices, the genin arguing over the details of a mission, their voices a low hum in the background. An older couple further ahead chuckled over a shared bowl of oyakodon, their faces creased with the warmth of familiarity.

Even with the crowd, the atmosphere remained gentle, homely in a way. Except for the boys in the corner, huddled over a magazine, their snickers a constant undercurrent. But even they couldn’t disrupt the calm entirely.

I took another bite, enjoying the way the meat squished between my teeth, an almost childish satisfaction. I lifted the bowl to my lips, letting the fragrant broth slide down my throat, warming my chest as it went.

Five minutes later, I was back on my feet, digging through my bag for the Ryō to pay. The walk home was uneventful. The sun, dipping low in the sky, painted the rooftops in hues of crimson and gold. The leaves had begun their transformation, vivid shades of red and orange sweeping through the village, creating a kaleidoscope against the autumn sky. The streets were littered with fallen leaves, soft and brittle underfoot.

I wove my way through the crowds, taking in the sights without hurry. A vendor caught my attention for a few minutes, but I managed to break free without spending much. It wasn’t long before I reached the Uchiha district, where the streets were quieter, more familiar. Few people had reason to come this far unless they belonged to the clan. The surveillance towers loomed as always, casting long shadows over the path.

I greeted the guards standing beneath the chestnut tree beside Akihiro-san’s takoyaki stall. Uruchi-obasan was sweeping in front of her shop, her husband packing up for the day. I waved, exchanging nods with a few others as I jogged past. Being the heir of the Uchiha clan had its obligations, after all. It was expected of me, even if I preferred the solitude. But they were kind people, and it cost me little to oblige.

At last, I reached the house. The sight of it brought a wave of quiet relief. It wasn’t the home I had grown up in, but it was beginning to feel like ours. I slowed my pace, pushing open the gate and stepping into the courtyard.

Mother was in the garden, tending to the vegetables. Sasuke was nearby on the engawa, clutching a fluffy doll and babbling contentedly to himself.

"I’m home," I called out.

"Welcome home, Itachi," Mother replied, glancing up with a soft smile. "How was school today?"

I shrugged as I slipped my backpack off my shoulders and bent to remove my sandals. "It was fine. We had a history test. I think I did well."

"Good to hear. Keep working hard—your father would be proud."

"Is he home yet?" I asked, hoisting Sasuke into my lap as he squealed with delight.

Mikoto shook her head, her hands still busy with the plants. "No, he had some urgent matters to attend to. But he’ll be back soon. Why? Do you need something?"

I nodded, laughing as Sasuke tugged at my hair. "Yeah, I wanted help with a lightning release technique. And I have a letter from the academy, but I’m not sure if it’s for you or Father. I don't think my instructor specified which parent I was supposed to hand it over to."

Mother straightened up, casting me a disapproving look. “Itachi?”

"...Yes, Mother?"

She sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "Where is it?"

I dug into my bag, pulling out the scroll and handing it over. She glanced at it before rolling it back up.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked.

"Have you done anything wrong?"

"No..." I said, uncertain.

Mother tapped my forehead with the scroll, and Sasuke burst into giggles.

"We’ll talk when your father returns," she said, heading inside. I turned to Sasuke, who was still cackling in my lap.

"Well, that’s not ominous at all, is it?"

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"Omimos!" the toddler cooed, still clutching my hair.

I couldn’t help but laugh. "You little troublemaker. Did you miss me today?"

"Ita! Ita!" Sasuke chirped, wriggling in my arms. I bent over to blow into his tummy. He shrieked, pulling my head away by the ears. Another chuckle escaped my chest.

"I got you something," I said, reaching into my bag for the trinket I bought on my way back. It was a small, soft, colourful rattle in the shape of a ball that was easy to grip. Some parts of the ball were ridged and bumpy while others were smooth. I shook it, drawing Sasuke's attention.

"Ita!" he exclaimed as he reached for the toy. I laughed handing it over to him.

"It's a rattle," I said, watching as he held it up to his ear before shaking it, eyes lit up in amazement.

"Atle!"

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Father came home hours later, the night having already swallowed the last traces of daylight. The quiet shuffle of his bare feet against the wooden floor stirred me from my thoughts. I had just placed Sasuke in his cot, his small body lost in peaceful sleep. As I stepped out, I found him closing the shoji doors softly behind him.

"Welcome home, Father," I greeted, standing tall, as I’d been taught.

He gave a nod. "Thank you," came his low, measured response. Mother appeared then, stepping forward to assist with his flak jacket, but I was quicker. Taking it from her hands, I disappeared momentarily into their room to hang it. When I returned, Father was already seated on his cushion, a steaming bowl of Donburi before him. Mother sat beside him, quiet as the night itself. I joined them without a word, the familiar silence settling over us like a heavy blanket.

"How was school?" Father asked.

"It was fine," I replied, matching his economy of speech. "We had a test."

He nodded, satisfied. "Your mother mentioned a letter from the school?"

"They sent one," I said. "But I wasn’t told the details."

Father’s gaze shifted to Mother, a silent question exchanged between them.

"His homeroom teacher suggested an early graduation," she explained. "The Hokage supports the idea. They are waiting for our approval."

Father’s eyes returned to me, his expression betraying no surprise. "What do you think?" he asked.

"I would prefer to wait another year," I said, having decided years ago. "It would give me more time to train under you, rather than being assigned to some Jonin sensei the village might assume to be a suitable replacement."

Fugaku's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes as he nodded. "Very well," he agreed, as though my decision had been expected all along. "I’ll speak with the Hokage tomorrow. You also mentioned wanting to learn a new Jutsu?"

"Yes, Father," I nodded, eager but restraining my excitement.

"After dinner," he said, and I could hear the finality in his tone. No more words were needed.

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Later, the stars hung cold and distant in the sky as we stood by the lake, the air tinged with the faint crackle of impending electricity. Father’s voice was steady, deliberate.

"The heart of lightning is not something to be wielded lightly," he began, his hands forming seals with the grace of a craftsman. "Thunderbolt is more than a technique. It is focus, control, and power given form. Watch closely."

I activated my Sharingan, my eyes tracking the ebb and flow of his chakra, the smoothness with which he called upon the lightning. His hands shot forward, and in an instant, twin bolts of blinding energy burst from his palms, roaring through the air before striking a distant tree. The noise was deafening, the air around us still trembling with the aftershock. Where the tree had once stood, there was nothing but a smouldering stump.

I felt a rush of awe—an emotion I kept tightly hidden beneath my usual calm exterior.

"Would you like to try?" Father asked, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He must have seen my eager hands, my restless stance.

I nodded quickly. He tossed a kunai, and it whizzed across the lake, embedding itself in a tree trunk.

"That one," he said, his voice a challenge.

I took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. My fingers moved, forming the seals. Slowly, I felt my chakra surge, struggling under the weight of the technique as it built within me.

Tora. Hebi. Tora. Tori. Tora. Hitsuji.

I struck my arms out, straining against the sudden weight of the technique. Two bolts of lightning erupted from my palms before veering off wildly off course—one hitting a tree far to the right, the other splashing uselessly into the lake. The strain hit me like a wave, and I collapsed to my knees, the weight of my exhaustion overwhelming.

"You need to work on your aim," Father said dryly, but there was warmth behind the words. I let out a breathless laugh, sinking onto the cool forest floor. It felt surprisingly comfortable, the bed of dead leaves beneath me.

A deep, hearty laugh escaped Father then—a sound so rare I wasn’t sure if I had imagined it. Moments later, I felt his hand on my head. "You did well," he said wistfully. "Not many men can brag their six-year-old son managed to execute an A-rank jutsu on their first try. I am proud of you."

A smile crept across my face, the weight of his words sinking deep into my chest. For a time, we simply lay there, letting the night envelop us in its quiet embrace.

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"Father," I whispered, after a long while. The moonlight danced on the surface of the lake, casting long shadows over the trees.

"Yes, son?"

I hesitated, the question burning inside me. It was something I had wondered about for so long, but now that the moment had come, I wasn’t sure how to ask. Still, the words slipped out.

"Why do our clansmen hate the village so much?"

For a moment, Father said nothing. Then he chuckled softly. "They don’t hate the village," he said. "What they hate is what has been done to us. Being sidelined, mistrusted. Many simply want our old privileges restored. To be allowed to take missions again, instead of being relegated to a useless police force. To live without the constant surveillance, the suspicion."

I hummed in acknowledgement, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. The way our clansmen spoke, it felt like more than just frustration—it felt like resentment.

"The Uchiha are warriors," Father continued, perhaps sensing my doubts. "We crave the thrill of battle, the call of adventure. I see it in you when you train with Shisui. We are not like the others, Itachi. Let the soft Sarutobis, the sissy Hyugas and the lazy Naras of this world give councils and hold records. We are the Uchiha. We are the storm that reshapes the world. The fire that purges the old so that the new may grow. We are the lightning in the heart of the tempest. Konoha's Will of Fire would not burn without us."

I stared at the moonlit lake, his words reverberating deep within me. For the first time, I saw the passionate man behind Fugaku Uchiha's stoic facade.

"We are the Uchiha," I repeated quietly, letting the words settle into my bones.

I liked how it felt.