Whose Hand Should Wield the Uchiha Blade

Morning light squeezed through the cracks in the broken window, spilling crookedly across the floor.

En picked up the set of dark-blue ninja clothes beside his pillow, shook them out, and put them on. The fabric against his skin felt far better than his old clothes—soft, thick, warm. He stood for a while before the broken pane of window glass he used as a mirror, turned sideways, and looked at his back.

A red-and-white fan.

The embroidery was immaculate, the fan's curves clean and sharp against the dark-blue fabric.

En stared at the emblem and reached out to touch the raised threads in the cloth. Three seconds. Then he withdrew his hand and tugged at his collar.

Only by wearing someone else's skin could he do his own work.

Before heading out, he activated Observation Haki as usual.

His sensory net spread out, and every living presence within a hundred and twenty-five meters entered his mind with perfect clarity. On the roof—the Third Hokage's ANBU were still there. Today, they had switched to someone with shallower breathing, probably a rookie. A hundred and ten meters away to the east—two Root spies, their presences as lifeless as gravestones. Sixty meters away—an Uchiha clan informant pacing boredly at the alley entrance.

All three sides were present. The stands were full.

En pushed open the door and headed toward the main family compound. His pace was neither fast nor slow, his back straight, the dark-blue ninja clothes looking rather respectable in the morning sunlight.

He encountered several Uchiha clan members along the way, and they all gave him a second look. Their gazes settled on the standard-issue ninja clothes—more precisely, on the red-and-white fan on his back.

When he had once walked through clan territory in ragged clothes, he had received about the same treatment as a stray cat by the roadside.

Today was different. Someone nodded at him.

Expressionless, En returned the nod.

The difference between people and dogs was that dogs recognized people, while people recognized clothes.

—At the main family's gate.

En gave his name and waited for them to announce him.

The two clan members at the gate looked at him strangely—an "useless orphan" wearing standard-issue ninja clothes bestowed by the clan head, coming to seek an audience with the main family. A month ago, that scene would have been pure fantasy.

Three minutes later, someone came out to lead the way.

The study door opened, and the scent of pinewood mixed with ink greeted him. Fugaku sat in his usual seat, with a freshly brewed cup of tea at hand.

En entered, sat formally on his knees, and bowed.

No nonsense.

"Clan Head, I want to join the ANBU."

Fugaku's hand stopped with the teacup halfway to his lips.

Steam rose from the tea and drifted across his face. During five seconds of silence, it completely dispersed.

He set the cup back on the table. With a soft thunk, porcelain met wood, quiet but especially distinct in the silent study.

"You are twelve. You have not even graduated from the Ninja Academy. You are not even a genin."

"That is precisely why I need to prepare in advance." En's tone was calm and unhurried. "The academy graduation exam is next month. My theory grades are sufficient for me to qualify as a genin. After graduating, I can enter the ANBU reserve unit directly. That path is viable."

Fugaku did not respond. Instead, he lifted his teacup and took another sip.

He was waiting.

Waiting for En to finish explaining his reasons.

En was in no hurry either. He sat there on his knees, spine perfectly straight and breathing even. In his previous life, he had learned something while giving reports—when a leader fell silent, do not panic, and do not rush to fill the silence. Let them ask first. Only then would you know what they truly cared about.

"Do you think you are qualified?"

The first blade. A probe of his strength.

"I am not." En answered cleanly. "But I have enough reason for the Hokage to make an exception."

Fugaku's brows twitched. Not in surprise—this child's answer was slicker than he had expected.

"The ANBU answers directly to the Hokage. Once you are in, I will not be able to control you."

The second blade. A probe of his allegiance.

"Whether the Clan Head can control me is not important." En met his gaze without flinching. "What matters is that every task I perform in the ANBU and every achievement I earn will give the Uchiha name greater weight. How many Uchiha are there in Konoha's ANBU? Not many, I assume. If I enter, it gives the clan another voice beside the Hokage."

It was beautifully said. So beautifully that even Fugaku had to admit it—either this boy was a born politician, or someone had taught him well.

The third question came.

Fugaku put down his teacup and leaned slightly forward.

"Who are you trying to avoid?"

The temperature in the study seemed to drop several degrees.

En raised his head and met Fugaku's eyes. He did not answer immediately. He deliberately left a beat of silence—not hesitation, but to let that pause convey its own message.

"Someone is reaching out from the shadows."

His speech slowed by half a beat.

"I do not want to be crushed to death in clan territory while I have no one to rely on. The ANBU answers directly to the Hokage. Once I enter that door, certain people will find it inconvenient to act against me openly."

He did not say "Danzo."

He did not say "Root."

He did not name anyone specifically.

But the carefully maintained calm on Fugaku's face cracked.

The crack remained for about two seconds. Then he plastered it over again.

The clan head rose, walked to the window, and turned his back to En.

Outside lay the everyday sights of Uchiha territory—someone hanging laundry, children chasing a cat, Military Police Force members patrolling in the distance. A quiet morning.

But Fugaku was not looking at any of that.

He was weighing the costs.

En knew he was calculating, because he was calculating the same thing himself.

Letting En into the ANBU meant handing one of their own cards to the Third Hokage. The Uchiha had finally produced a promising youth with "special abilities," only to stuff him into a unit directly under the Hokage. What would the hardliners in the clan think?

But if they did not let En join the ANBU, the other side's reach would only grow longer. A twelve-year-old orphan with no official protection, living in a broken house on the edge of clan territory—if Danzo wanted to move against him, he had a hundred ways to make him disappear without a sound. If the Uchiha's "unusual asset" was snatched away by someone else, that would be the real bloodbath.

Of two evils, choose the lesser.

Fugaku stood by the window for nearly a minute. En remained kneeling where he was, completely still.

He could afford to wait.

"I can agree."

Fugaku turned around.

"But I have three conditions."

He returned to the desk but did not sit. Instead, he stood over En, looking down at him. The posture itself was a declaration—I will grant your request, but I set the rules.

"First, any intelligence you hear in the ANBU concerning the Uchiha must be reported to me immediately."

Intelligence control.

"Second, you may not reveal any Uchiha clan affairs to the Hokage."

Information isolation.

"Third—"

Fugaku stepped forward, close enough for En to smell pinewood and rust mingling on him.

"You must always remember that your surname is Uchiha."

The weight of those words was not in their literal meaning.

It lay in Fugaku's tone—not a reminder, but a warning.

En lowered his head in a bow, his forehead less than five centimeters above the tatami.

"Thank you, Clan Head, for granting my request."

His voice was respectful and his rhythm steady, without a single flaw to be found.

By the time he walked out through the main family's gates, the sun had risen higher. Sunlight fell across the bluestone paths of clan territory, outlining his dark-blue ninja clothes.

En looked up at the sky.

He had agreed to all three of Fugaku's conditions.

The first—selective compliance. He would report what should be reported and judge for himself what should not.

The second—depending on the circumstances. If someone in the Uchiha clan was courting disaster, he would not mind letting the Third Hokage "happen" to learn a few things.

The third—

He was indeed an Uchiha.

But not Fugaku's Uchiha. His own.

—Back at the broken house.

En took off the dark-blue ninja clothes, folded them neatly beside the bed, and changed back into the old outfit faded white from washing.

The next place he was going required something different.

Wearing Uchiha standard-issue ninja clothes to meet the Third Hokage would be like pasting a note to his forehead that read, "Fugaku sent me."

What would the Third Hokage think?

He would think: The Uchiha are placing people around me.

Then every step En took in the ANBU would be branded as that of an "Uchiha pawn." Every mission and every achievement would be interpreted as Uchiha political infiltration.

So—old clothes.

Tattered, faded from washing, with frayed cuffs.

Wearing this to meet the Third Hokage conveyed a completely different message: I am Uchiha En, an individual. Not the clan head's messenger, not anyone's representative. I am an orphan with nowhere left to turn, coming voluntarily to seek the Hokage's protection.

Details.

It was always the details.

En checked his appearance in the broken window glass. Old clothes, worn-out shoes, messy hair—but clear eyes.

That was enough.

He went out.

This time, he did not take a detour or shake off his tails.

He openly walked onto the main road through clan territory, passed through Konoha's commercial district, and headed straight toward the tallest building at the center of the village.

The Hokage Building.

Observation Haki fully activated.

The ANBU tracker on the roof showed a clear fluctuation in his presence the moment En turned toward the Hokage Building—surprise? Unexpectedness? Or confirmation that he had finally come?

It did not matter.

He wanted the ANBU to see.

A twelve-year-old Uchiha orphan, alone, without the clan head accompanying him and without anyone's introduction, walking into the Hokage Building of his own accord to request an audience with the Third Hokage.

That information would reach Hiruzen Sarutobi's desk in the shortest possible time.

And what reaction would the Third Hokage have to a chess piece that came to his door on its own?

En knew the answer.

What politicians liked most had never been a hot potato forced into their hands.

It was a chess piece that walked onto the board itself.

Because the latter meant two words—controllable.

Even if only on the surface.

At noon, the Hokage Building's gates cast a broad shadow. En stood at its edge and looked up at those doors.

Then he stepped inside.