In the Name of a Father

Thud—

The muffled sound of a forehead striking the stone platform echoed through the underground chamber.

It was not loud, yet it was like a heavy hammer, smashing the uproar from moments ago back down by force.

In a secret chamber packed with thousands of people, it instantly fell so silent that only the crackle of burning torches remained.

In the front row, Yashiro Uchiha's mouth hung open, his jaw nearly dislocating. The blade in Inabi's hand clattered to the floor. Mikoto covered her mouth as tears burst from her eyes.

That was Uchiha Fugaku.

The iron-blooded clan head who was usually stern and unsmiling, who always kept "the glory of the Uchiha" on his lips.

Now, like an old farmer who had done wrong, he knelt on the ground, his forehead pressed to the cold stone surface, his spine bent into a taut bow.

"Clan head..."

Someone murmured softly, their voice trembling.

Fugaku did not rise.

He held that posture, his muffled voice carrying out, amplified by a sound-enhancing ninjutsu and drilling into every person's ears.

"I am not a good clan head."

"I was indecisive, wavering between the village and the clan, trying to please both sides, and in the end pleasing neither."

"I led everyone into a dead end."

Fugaku slowly straightened his back.

The purplish bruise on his forehead was especially glaring.

He did not wipe it, his red, swollen eyes sweeping over the stunned faces below the stage.

"You call me a coward, call me the one leading us into becoming rogue ninja. I accept all of it."

"Because compared to those empty names carved onto stone monuments, I am more afraid of seeing..."

Fugaku's fingers trembled as he pointed toward the front row of the crowd.

There, five-year-old Sasuke was curled up in his mother's arms, tears on his face, staring in innocent confusion at that unfamiliar father on the stage.

"I am more afraid of seeing Sasuke become a cold corpse before he has even learned the Great Fireball Technique."

"I am more afraid of seeing that girl Izumi never open her dessert shop again, her head hung on a wooden stake at the village entrance for all to see."

"I am more afraid of seeing you..."

Fugaku's voice choked, then suddenly rose into a roar.

"Seeing you thousands of living, breathing people become experimental materials in the hands of that old dog Danzo! Become rotten meat with only numbers and no names!"

He braced both hands on his knees and leaned forward, like an old wolf guarding its cubs.

"Glory? Tolerance?"

"If everyone is dead, who is that memorial arch supposed to be shown to? Ghosts?!"

Below the stage, there was dead silence.

Those radical youths who had just been waving their fists and shouting that they would rather die than yield now lowered their heads.

The housewives holding children hugged the children in their arms even tighter, as if afraid they would lose them the moment they let go.

That was right.

Once they were dead, nothing would be left.

The so-called greatest noble clan of the Uchiha, the so-called Hidden Leaf Police Force—before the butcher's blade of the Night of Clan Extermination, they were not even worth a scrap of wastepaper.

"I know. Running away sounds ugly."

Fugaku took a deep breath, his tone softening, carrying an almost humble plea.

"We have to abandon our ancestral property, abandon our land, and bear the infamy of rogue ninja."

"But I beg you."

"For the children."

"So that the Uchiha bloodline can continue in this world."

"Lend your lives to Xuan Shi."

After speaking, Fugaku bent down once more and heavily knocked his head against the ground.

Thud!

This sound was louder than before.

Below the stage, the eyes of several elders reddened.

Yashiro clenched his fists, his nails piercing his palms.

Fugaku stood up.

He did not look at the clansmen below again, but turned and walked toward Itachi, who stood stiffly to the side.

Itachi had been standing there the entire time.

Like a solitary island.

Xuan Shi's questioning just now had already blasted a gap in his logical defenses, and now, his father's actions made his hard heart convulse violently.

He looked at the man walking toward him.

Aged, exhausted, his face streaked with tears.

Was this his father?

Was this the strict father who always wore a stern face and asked him, "How is your shuriken practice going?"

Itachi subconsciously took half a step back.

His hand pressed against the hilt of his blade, his muscles tensing. This was a ninja's instinctive reaction. He was on guard, on guard against his father suddenly erupting and cleaning house.

Fugaku stopped in front of Itachi.

The distance between them was less than a foot.

Fugaku looked at this eldest son, who was now half a head taller than him. He looked at that handsome yet indifferent face, looked at the deep tear troughs beneath those Sharingan.

"Itachi."

Fugaku spoke.

Itachi's fingers tightened around the edge of the blade.

"I'm sorry."

Only three words.

No "traitor," no "unfilial son," and no "kill."

Itachi froze.

The fingers gripping the blade hung stiffly in midair.

Fugaku reached out.

Itachi's pupils abruptly contracted. His body wanted to retreat, but his feet seemed to have grown roots and could not move at all.

That broad, rough hand fell on his shoulder.

There was no chakra fluctuation, nor any killing intent.

Only the warmth of his palm, passing through the cold Anbu vest and into his bones.

Fugaku gently patted his shoulder.

"It was your father's uselessness that forced you into this."

Fugaku looked into his son's eyes, his voice hoarse. "I let you be caught between the clan and the village for so long, let you shoulder so much darkness alone... forced such a gentle child as you into becoming a blade."

"This is all my fault."

Itachi's lips began to tremble.

He had prepared ten thousand words of explanation.

He wanted to say the clan's arrogance would destroy the village, wanted to say narrow clanism was the root of war, wanted to say he did it for the greater good.

But before that one "I'm sorry," all those grand principles turned into pale nonsense.

He was a ninja.

But he was also a son, and an elder brother.

Had everything he had done not also been to protect this family?

If his father had said this a little earlier... if the clan had let go of that damned arrogance a little earlier...

Itachi lowered his head.

That head of long black hair covered his face.

The hand pressing on the hilt slowly loosened and dropped powerlessly at his side.

A drop of water struck the floor, shattering into eight pieces.

Then came the second drop, the third.

This boy, who killed without blinking in the Anbu and was called a genius, began to shudder violently in the shoulders. But he gritted his teeth, not letting himself make a sound.

Fugaku did not speak again.

He only kept his hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed hard.

Just like when Itachi had first learned the Great Fireball Technique as a child.

Below the stage.

Yashiro Uchiha watched this scene.

He looked at the clan head who had knelt and begged his clansmen, looked at the young genius lord lowering his head and shedding tears.

His chest felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton, blocked up and stifling.

"Damn it!"

Yashiro suddenly cursed.

Smack!

He raised his hand and viciously slapped himself across the face.

The slap was extremely heavy. Half his face instantly swelled, and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

Inabi beside him was startled. "Captain?"

Yashiro ignored him.

He strode to the foot of the high platform, dropped to one knee, and his knee struck the floor with a solid thud.

"Clan head, your words are too heavy!"

Yashiro raised his head and roared with reddened eyes, "You did nothing wrong! The ones at fault are useless things like us! Shouting about a coup all day, but unable to produce even a concrete plan! In the end, we still needed you to kneel to the younger generation and beg for a way to live!"

He drew the ninja blade at his waist, reversed the hilt, and held it above his head with both hands.

"I, Yashiro Uchiha, may be a crude man, but I still know good from bad!"

"Glory is worth shit! As long as our people are still here, as long as these eyes are still here, we Uchiha are a great clan no matter where we go!"

"I'll swallow this humiliation! I'll carry the title of rogue ninja!"

"I am willing to follow the clan head, to follow Xuan Shi, to that so-called 'past'!"

"Even if I die halfway there, I'll accept it!"

This roar tore through the final layer of pretense.

"The captain is right!"

Inabi also knelt down. "For the children! We fight!"

"Count me in!"

"I'm going too!"

It was like knocking over dominoes.

One after another.

The members of the police force knelt.

The housewives holding children knelt.

The elderly leaning on canes knelt.

The underground chamber that had been a chaotic mess just moments ago now revealed a shocking scene.

Thousands of Uchiha clansmen, like waves of wheat knocked down by a gale, all lowered themselves in unison.

No coercion, no orders.

Those proud heads, at this moment, willingly bowed down for survival, for bloodline, for love.

"We await your command!"

"We await your command!"

The voices of thousands gathered together, shaking dust down from overhead in a rustling fall.

Fugaku looked at that dense, dark mass below the stage.

He took a deep breath and lifted his head, not wanting the tears to fall.

It was done.

It was finally done.

The Uchiha, once a plate of loose sand, had finally twisted into a single rope on the eve of extermination.

Even if this rope was woven from fear and grief, it was still enough to strangle that damned fate to death.

Xuan Shi had been standing to the side the entire time.

He did not interrupt, nor did he steal Fugaku's spotlight.

Watching this scene, he clenched his fists, his palms slick with sweat.

This was what a clan should look like.

Not a pack of lunatics, but a group of flesh-and-blood people.

Only people like this deserved to live, deserved to rewrite history.

Xuan Shi stepped forward and stood at the very front of the high platform.

The aura around him changed.

He was no longer that invisible nobody of the police force, but a true leader.

"Since everyone has already resolved themselves."

Xuan Shi suddenly swept his hand out, and his chakra erupted without reservation.

"Then let's begin!"

"Everyone, follow my command!"

"Sit cross-legged! Form the Tiger seal!"

Rustle.

Several thousand people below moved at the same time, the sound of fabric rubbing together perfectly uniform.

Xuan Shi turned and walked to the center of the high platform.

A complex jutsu formula had already been carved there in advance.

He crouched down and pressed one hand onto the eye of the formation.

"Open!"

Hum—

Blue light lit up from his palm.

The light rapidly spread along the lines on the ground, like a circuit board being powered on.

One line, two lines, a hundred lines, a thousand lines.

In just a few seconds, the floor of the entire underground chamber was covered in blue chakra lines. A massive circular formation lit up, casting the faces of several thousand people in a ghostly blue glow.

The density of chakra in the air soared instantly.

That oppressive feeling made even breathing difficult.

"Release your chakra!"

Xuan Shi roared, "Don't hold back! Pour all your power into the formation beneath your feet!"

"Ha!"

Several thousand people shouted at once.

Countless streams of chakra surged out of their bodies and poured into the formation on the ground.

The blue light swelled violently, turning into a dazzling white radiance.

The entire chamber was shaking.

Space began to warp, and fine cracks appeared in the air.

That was a sign that the barrier of time had been shaken.

Xuan Shi stood at the center of the light, enduring tremendous pressure. His body trembled, blood trickling from his nose, but he held on with everything he had.

Just a little more.

The most crucial piece of the puzzle was still missing.

He suddenly turned his head and looked at Itachi, who was still standing off to the side with a complicated expression.

"Itachi!"

Xuan Shi reached out his hand.

His palm passed through the dazzling light and hovered in front of Itachi.

"You come too."

Xuan Shi shouted, his voice drowning out the hum of the formation.

"Whether you agree with this plan or not, whether what you hold in your heart is the village or the clan."

"But the Uchiha of this moment cannot do without you!"

"This power needs not only anger and hatred, but also that 'gentleness' of yours!"

Itachi raised his head.

Those red eyes shone under the light of the formation.

He looked at Xuan Shi's hand.

Then he looked at his father beside him, whose face was streaked with tears, yet who was gazing at him with expectation.

He looked at the clansmen below the platform, who were desperately releasing chakra just to seek a way for their children to survive.

And at Sasuke, who was huddled in Mikoto's arms, frightened yet still trying hard to widen his eyes and look this way.

Was this what he was supposed to protect?

Was this what he had originally planned to destroy with his own hands?

Itachi closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath.

When he opened them again, the confusion and pain that had been in his three-tomoe Sharingan had vanished.

In their place was an unprecedented clarity.

He took a step forward.

He reached out his hand.

Smack.

The two hands clasped tightly together.

"Count me in."

Itachi said softly.

The next second.

An even vaster, purer surge of chakra thundered through their clasped hands and poured into the formation.

Boom—!!! A pillar of light shot into the sky.