Summons from Naka Shrine

Naka Shrine stood on a low hill north of the clan grounds, surrounded by a ring of ancient ginkgo trees. In autumn, the ground was covered in golden leaves that rustled beneath one's feet.

By the time Yan climbed the stone steps, night had already fallen.

The main hall's doors stood half-open, dim yellow light spilling out from within. He stopped before the entrance, his Observation Haki already giving him a clear read on everything inside.

Eleven people.

Seated in the center was the clan head, Uchiha Fugaku. A man in his forties, he had a face so stern it bordered on rigid. His Three-Tomoe Sharingan glimmered faintly red beneath the lamplight. His body language was stiff, like a taut string.

Six elders sat on either side of Fugaku. Four of them were the core of the radical faction—Yan recognized them from the system's "Memories of a Previous Life Database." In the original story, these old men had been the ones constantly urging Fugaku to stage a coup.

The remaining three were not seated among the elders, but stood against the walls of the hall. Two were elite clansmen at jonin level, swords hanging at their waists and sharp gazes fixed ahead. The third...

Yan's gaze paused for a moment.

Uchiha Yashiro.

He stood behind the two jonin, wearing a chunin vest, his back ramrod straight. Yet Yan could clearly sense that his heartbeat was the fastest of anyone present.

The guy who had led the others in kicking him into the river outside the Academy three years ago had grown into a tall young man. His features had filled out, giving him a faintly heroic air. But deep in those eyes lurked an unease that had seeped into his bones.

Interesting.

Yan pushed open the hall doors and strode inside.

The hall was noticeably warmer than outside. Several oil lamps burned in the corners, and the air carried the mingled scent of old wood and incense.

"You're here."

Fugaku's voice was neither warm nor cold.

Yan sat down opposite him. He neither bowed nor offered a greeting. He simply sat cross-legged, his back straight but his posture relaxed, like a neighbor dropping by for a visit rather than a clansman "invited" by the clan head.

The atmosphere in the hall abruptly dropped several degrees.

The radical elders exchanged glances, their expressions darkening.

"Uchiha Yan." An elderly man with a head full of white hair spoke first. He sat second to Fugaku's right and was one of the most senior members of the Uchiha Council of Elders. His name was Uchiha Yan Yuan. He had never stepped onto a true battlefield in his life, but he was utterly at home in the clan's political struggles.

"Do you know why you were summoned here today?" Yan Yuan spoke slowly, every word carrying a lofty arrogance.

"No," Yan said.

"Then let this old man tell you." Yan Yuan pushed a scroll toward Yan. "This contains your mission attendance records from the past three months in the ANBU—or whatever you call it, the Shadow Guard. We obtained part of the information through friendly channels."

Yan did not even glance at the scroll.

"Friendly channels?" There was a hint of amusement in his tone. "What sort of friendly channel can obtain information from the Shadow Guard's classified files? Danzo's people, or have you planted spies in the ANBU yourselves?"

Yan Yuan's expression changed for an instant.

Another elder beside him—a burly man in his early fifties—immediately took over. "Yan, we are not interrogating you. We are merely concerned for the safety of Uchiha clan members. You are one of us, yet you have spent a long time carrying out dangerous missions in the Hokage's ANBU. The clan is deeply worried about your safety."

This man was Uchiha Jiping, the radical faction's martial leader. His words sounded proper enough, but Yan's Observation Haki sensed with perfect clarity that there was no so-called concern in his emotional spectrum—only calculation and dissatisfaction.

"So the elders want me to come back?" Yan tilted his head. "Come back to the clan grounds and do what?"

"Serve the clan, naturally." Yan Yuan reclaimed the floor. "The Uchiha were among Konoha's founding fathers, yet now the higher-ups have suppressed us until all we have left is work in the Military Police Force. If your abilities were used to fight for more rights and interests for the clan, they would be far more valuable than risking your life for outsiders in the ANBU."

So that was it.

Yan understood everything.

These people had not summoned him out of concern for his safety, nor was this any kind of clan meeting. They wanted to bring him under their control.

Uchiha Yan, codename "Lava" in the Shadow Guard. The reputation he had earned through killing over the past few months had clearly reached the ears of these people in the clan. They did not know the specifics, but vague rumors like "Meteor Volcano leveling the battlefield" and "withstanding ten thousand exploding tags head-on" were enough to make them covet him.

In the eyes of these radical elders, Yan was a blade. A sharp blade, one outside the clan's control. They did not like that blade being held in the Hokage's hand. They wanted to seize it and place it on their own weapon rack.

"Hand over the intelligence you have obtained in the ANBU." Yan Yuan's attitude became even more forceful. "As a member of the Uchiha clan, you have an obligation—"

"An obligation?"

Yan cut him off.

The hall fell silent for a second.

"Elder Yan Yuan." Yan called his name, then asked a completely unrelated question.

"Do you have children?"

Yan Yuan frowned. "What does that have to—"

"You have a son, twenty-three this year. He handles administrative chores within the clan. You also have a granddaughter who was born last year." Yan spoke calmly, as if reading from a file. "Elder Jiping has two sons. The elder is a squad captain in the Military Police Force, while the younger teaches at the Academy."

He named them one by one.

Each time he named someone, that elder's expression changed.

"You have wives, children, grandchildren. You all live on the clan grounds. Life may not be particularly good, but it is not particularly bad either. You have enough to eat and can sleep soundly. During holidays, you can even gather for a family reunion dinner."

Yan's voice was soft, but everyone in the hall heard him with perfect clarity.

"Do you think a life like that is so bad?"

Yan Yuan was left somewhat confused by this string of inexplicable words.

"What exactly are you trying to say?"

Yan looked at him, the expression in his eyes difficult to describe.

There was no anger, no mockery, not even disdain. There was only... pity.

The pity of someone who had already seen the ending, for those still stumbling blindly toward the abyss.

"Nothing." Yan withdrew his gaze. "I merely wanted to make sure everyone here still has family."

As soon as those words were spoken, the temperature in the hall seemed to drop another few degrees.

For some reason, everyone felt a chill that made them deeply uncomfortable.

Fugaku had remained silent the entire time. Sitting in the central seat, he watched Yan with a heavy gaze, trying to read more from the young man's face.

"Yan." Fugaku finally spoke, his voice steady but somewhat weary. "The elders may have been a little blunt, but their intentions are good. You are an Uchiha clansman. That will not change simply because you joined the ANBU. We only hope that you will consider the clan a little more."

The clan head had spoken.

His words were much smoother than those of the elders. He did not say "order" or "obligation," only "hope."

Fugaku truly deserved his twenty-plus years as clan head. His way with words was impeccable.

But Yan noticed something else.

As Fugaku spoke, the index finger of his right hand twitched slightly. It was a deeply concealed gesture—in the Uchiha clan rules, a light flick of the right index finger meant "be ready."

Ready for what?

Yan's Observation Haki instantly expanded to its limit.

Just then, the two elite jonin standing in the corners of the hall stepped forward at the same time.

Their hands had already settled on the swords at their waists.

And Yashiro—the young man who had stood silently in the corner from beginning to end—had gone as pale as a sheet.

Behind Yan, the hall doors were silently pushed shut from outside.