The smoke and dust inside the hall had not yet fully dispersed. The scorched stone floor gave off a pungent smell, while the molten iron melted by En's magma had solidified into two twisted black lumps of metal, still hissing with white smoke.
En stood in the center of the hall, facing Fugaku.
Behind him was a scene of utter devastation. The two disarmed jonin still held the poses they had struck after drawing their swords, with nothing but bare hilts left in their hands. Yashiro cowered in a corner like a dog with a broken spine. Several elders stood or sat around the room, their expressions varying, but they all had one thing in common—no one spoke again.
"Clan Head." En repeated himself.
"...I'm here."
Fugaku's voice was somewhat dry. He sat upright, his hands pressed against his knees as his knuckles tightened slightly. He was trying to maintain his dignity as clan head, but his Sharingan had quietly deactivated—a subconscious gesture of yielding that, in Uchiha custom, meant, "I don't want to escalate this conflict further."
"You still haven't answered my question," En said. "Do you even deserve the Uchiha name?"
Fugaku's brow twitched.
"I can pretend I didn't see what happened in this room today." En's tone softened somewhat, but his words did not. "You sent people to summon me and prepared to take me by force—don't deny it. Those two jonin weren't here to watch a show. What was your reason? Because I didn't obey the clan? Because I was 'selling my life to the Hokage' in the ANBU?"
He stopped five steps away from Fugaku.
"Lord Fugaku, I'll ask you one more time. Whose fault was it that the Uchiha ended up where they are today?"
Fugaku did not answer.
His silence was not born