Mother shot me a worried glance when Father returned from his meeting without speaking a word. The man disappeared into his room for a few minutes before returning, his expression betraying little.

"Follow me," Fugaku ordered, donning his flak jacket. "We are going sparring."

Quietly, I did the same and followed. Minutes later, we stood in a clearing, somewhere far from the village walls. Few tried to follow, none succeeded. The air here was thick with the scent of wet pine and damp earth, the sort of oppressive quiet that clung to the soul. I stood in the half-light, my back straight, eyes on the horizon as Father rose from his crouch, slow and deliberate. Fugaku was a man of few words. Always had been. But today, the silence between us felt heavier, darker.

"You've grown, son," his voice was barely more than a whisper, but in it lay the weight of years, of generations of Uchiha pride and survival. His tone was cold, accusing, though there was no surprise in it. "To think you would start a war, without so much as a word to me? How tall you've grown."

I didn't respond immediately. He knew why I did it. He must have. Still, the question had to be asked, formalities observed. That was how the game was played, it seemed.

"It was necessary," I said, voice a flat murmur against the trees. "To protect the clan—"

"The clan?" Fugaku asked, his tone carefully neutral, as though weighing each word, feeling the edges for cracks. There was fury there, I could tell. Barely contained, simmering beneath his surface mien. "Do you realize what you've done?"

"I acted for the benefit of the clan," I replied, still calm. I needed to remain calm. Now more so than ever. He needed to understand the stakes. To truly understand. "Konoha would never do the needful without something to lose. Hiruzen only moves when his back is against the wall, you know that. Now he has no choice but to come to the negotiating table."

Father stopped a few paces away, the tension in the air almost palpable. The forest, so still around us, seemed to close in, watching, listening. I could feel his gaze burning into me, waiting for cracks to form. For faltering. But I had learned long ago how to withstand the weight of his scrutiny.

"You overstep," Fugaku said, his voice dropping lower, colder. His hands, previously calm and controlled, flexed at his sides. "You think this is what leadership looks like?" he asked, his voice a cold rasp. "You think provoking a war is the answer? We are shinobi of Konoha, Itachi. We fight for this village, even when it turns against us!"

"No." I shook my head. Calm. Remain calm. "We fight for the Uchiha," I said. "Konoha has already turned against us, Father. You just refuse to see it. I will not stand and watch as they slowly choke the air out of our lungs. You will live to see Sasuke grown. Mother will. I will make sure of it even if I have to burn the Leaf to the ground."

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The silence that followed was suffocating. Father's eyes narrowed, and at that moment, I could feel the shift.

Fugaku's hand moved suddenly, without warning. A quick, sharp jab aimed at my chest. I sidestepped, barely avoiding the strike, but before I could recover, another blow came, this one a sweeping kick aimed at my legs. Relentless. This was no spar, no matter what Fugaku insisted. This was punishment.

"You've played yourself, boy," Fugaku growled, his strikes coming faster now, more brutal. "You think you can manipulate the Leaf? Force its hand? You want them to see us as equals? All you've done is paint us as radicals! If war comes, do you think the Uchiha will be spared? Do you think, in the aftermath, the village will show us mercy?"

I parried a blow aimed at my ribs, the force of it driving me back a step.

"I am not a child, Father," I said, breathless as I blocked another hit, this one aimed at my shoulder. My body ached from the strain, but I refused to back down. "I understand the risks. But the Uchiha cannot remain silent forever. You may not agree with my methods, but—"

"Your methods will get us all killed!" Fugaku's voice thundered. His Sharingan blazed with fury, his next strike landing hard against my abdomen. My eyes flashed white with pain as I stumbled back, gasping for air.

"Do you think Konoha will allow us to rise again? They feared us before, and now, you've given them the excuse they need to crush us completely!"

I straightened, forcing myself to meet Fugaku's gaze, even as my body protested. "Then let them try."

The Patriarch froze, his hand hovering mid-strike. For a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath. The fire in Fugaku's eyes dimmed, replaced by something darker—something colder.

"You are a fool," Fugaku said quietly, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "I raised you to be the future of this clan. To protect it. But the path you've chosen... it will lead only to destruction."

"The Uchiha will survive," I spat past the pain. "I'll make sure of it."

Father didn't respond. There was nothing left to say. I had made my choice, and now, like everything in life, I would have to live with the consequences. He lowered his hand, his expression unreadable once more. Without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps quiet against the forest floor.

Slowly, the shadows swallowed him up, leaving me alone in the silence.