Shadows Over the Clan Compound

The clan compound was quieter than usual on Sunday.

Not the kind of quiet where "everyone is resting," but the kind where "everyone is keeping their voices down."

Sakuya sensed it.

He lived on the eastern side of the compound. Leaving his home, going left led toward the Naka River, while going right led toward the meeting hall and Naka Shrine. He usually went left—the Naka River had wind and the sound of flowing water, much better than the stifling atmosphere inside the compound.

But today, he went right.

There was no particular reason. He just wanted to take a walk.

The stone paths in the compound had been washed clean by last night's rain, with pale green moss growing in the cracks. Sakuya walked along the slabs, passing several houses.

The first house belonged to Uchiha Tetsuki. Ninja tool pouches hung outside, with kunai arranged in neat rows. Tetsuki was a jonin in the clan, specializing in concealed weapons. Sakuya had read too much fanfiction in his previous life and knew that characters like this usually did not survive until the end—but that was fanfiction, not canon. Tetsuki had never even appeared in the original story, so he was still alive. At least for now.

The second house belonged to Uchiha Mikoto. No, that was wrong. Mikoto lived in the northern part of the compound, so this was not her home. A pair of small red shoes sat outside the door. There was probably a child inside.

At the third house, no one stood outside, and the windows were shut. The curtains were half drawn, leaving the interior dim.

After passing the three houses, Sakuya noticed something they had in common: each doorway bore the Uchiha fan crest, but beneath the crest, several fresh scratches marked the wooden porch.

As if someone had walked past while gripping a kunai too tightly, its point scraping against the wood.

There had always been such scratches in the compound, but never so many, never so dense.

Sakuya kept walking.

II

Five people stood in front of the meeting hall at the center of the compound.

They were all adults. Two jonin and three special jonin—Sakuya could tell their ranks from the forehead protectors and armor they wore.

They were talking.

Their voices were kept very low. Sakuya's ears had not evolved enough to hear whispers from that far away—and the Sharingan was not that all-powerful, at least not his one-tomoe Sharingan.

But he could read body language.

The five stood in a semicircle, bodies slightly inclined forward, heads drawn close together. One of them held a scroll, with its edge exposed to reveal a red seal.

The Uchiha clan crest.

The scroll was passed around once, then tucked into someone's clothes.

The five dispersed, each heading in a different direction. Their steps were quick, and none of them looked back.

Sakuya stood around the corner until they had all gone far away before slowly stepping out.

He walked to the entrance of the meeting hall.

The doors were closed.

But a faint light leaked through the gap—not lamplight, but candlelight. Candles were lit inside the meeting hall.

Lighting candles in broad daylight meant they did not want anyone outside to see the light within.

Sakuya stood there for three seconds.

Then he turned and left.

He knew what he was doing. He knew what was happening in the meeting hall. Fugaku—his father, at least by blood—was gathering the clan's core members to discuss the details of the coup.

According to the original timeline, this had already been going on for at least a year. And now, things were accelerating.

"How much time do I have?" Sakuya murmured.

He was asking himself.

The air gave him no answer.

III

Sakuya changed direction and headed toward Naka Shrine.

Naka Shrine stood at the southernmost edge of the compound, backed by the Naka River and surrounded by bamboo groves. It was not large, but in the history of the Uchiha Clan, it was where they worshipped their ancestors and held ceremonies for the succession of clan heads.

Sakuya reached the narrow path leading to the shrine.

Bamboo rose on both sides, its leaves rustling in the wind. Sunlight filtered through the gaps between the stalks, painting streaks of gold across the ground.

Then he was stopped.

"Children aren't allowed here."

An adult Uchiha stepped out from behind a large tree beside the bamboo grove. He wore dark casual clothes, but a kunai pouch hung at his waist, and his gaze was sharp.

A guard.

"I'm just taking a walk," Sakuya said.

"This isn't a place for walks." The guard's tone was not harsh, but it was firm. "Go home."

Sakuya glanced at him.

The guard's collar was slightly open, revealing a small tattoo on the side of his neck—the mark of the Uchiha secret police. Not Root, but the Uchiha's own security force.

What were they guarding?

Sakuya did not need to guess. Beneath Naka Shrine, in the original story, was the Uchiha Stone Tablet. It was the tablet left behind by the Sage of Six Paths and altered by Uchiha Madara, though the clan's core members knew of its existence.

They might be holding meetings down there.

Or perhaps they were simply using the shrine as a gathering place less likely to draw outsiders' attention.

Either way, the guard would not let a seven-year-old child enter.

Sakuya nodded and turned away.

After walking a dozen steps, he stopped and looked back.

The guard was still standing there, one hand resting on his kunai pouch, his eyes fixed on Sakuya.

Only after Sakuya had completely disappeared around the bend in the bamboo path did that gaze shift away.

IV

On the way back, Sakuya kept thinking about one thing.

He knew he had the Sharingan.

One tomoe. It had awakened when he was five—not because of some tragic event, but simply because he had overexerted himself during training, and his eyes had naturally evolved.

That was not unusual in the Uchiha Clan. The Sharingan usually awakened through intense emotional stimulation, but cases of "natural awakening" did exist.

A one-tomoe Sharingan ranked slightly above average among children his age in the clan. Sasuke already had two tomoe—that genius—but Sakuya did not care about that.

What concerned him was another question.

The Sharingan could see chakra.

If he raised his Sharingan to a high enough level—if he could enter the underground chamber beneath Naka Shrine—could he see what was written on the stone tablet?

If the tablet truly contained a message left by the Sage of Six Paths—even Madara's altered version—it might hold information about the Rinnegan, Kaguya, and the true rules governing this world.

That information might help him find a way to stop the clan massacre.

Sakuya gritted his teeth.

He was thinking too far ahead.

He only had one tomoe right now. He could not enter the underground chamber beneath Naka Shrine. Even if he did, he might not be able to understand the contents of the tablet—in the original story, one needed the Rinnegan's level of power to fully decipher its ultimate version.

But at least he could—

"Sakuya?"

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

Sakuya looked up.

Uchiha Fugaku stood before him.

His father—his father by blood.

Fugaku wore the formal robes of the clan head, a black kimono embroidered with the Uchiha fan crest. His expression was stern, but the moment he saw Sakuya, his gaze softened slightly.

Only slightly.

"Why are you wandering around the compound?" Fugaku asked.

"Taking a walk."

"Go home." Fugaku's tone allowed no argument. "The compound has not been very peaceful lately. Don't linger outside."

Sakuya looked at him.

Fugaku's face carried the exhaustion of a man who was a clan head, a man handling major affairs. It was not exhaustion accumulated over a day or two, but something that had slowly weighed down on him over years, over decades.

After the Nine-Tails Incident, the Uchiha Clan had been marginalized by the village. Their missions had been reduced, the authority of their secret police had been restricted, and the clan had been ordered to move out of the village center and gather in the compound.

In the original story, those measures had been pushed by Danzo. But as clan head, Fugaku had to find a balance between his clansmen's anger and the village's demands.

He had failed.

Or rather, he had done his best, but there was not enough time.

"I understand," Sakuya said, lowering his head.

He headed home.

Fugaku stood behind him for several seconds, then turned toward the meeting hall.

Sakuya reached a corner and stopped.

He looked back.

Fugaku's back stood at the end of the stone path, blending into the surrounding buildings.

That back was straight and steady.

But in the original story, one night, that same figure would fall in the corridor behind the house alongside Mikoto.

Sakuya closed his eyes for a moment.

"One year? Two?"

He asked again.

This time, he answered himself in his heart:

"Less time than you think."

V

That evening, Sakuya sat in the corridor eating dinner.

Tonight's meal was miso soup and grilled fish, the same as last month—not because he could not cook anything else, but because those were the only two dishes he knew how to make.

As he ate, he watched the night sky above the compound.

The lights in several houses went out. Not because their occupants were sleeping—it was only eight o'clock—but because they were holding meetings and did not want people outside to see the light within.

Just like the meeting hall.

The compound was growing darker.

Not physically darker—the streetlights were still on—but darker in atmosphere. Like clouds had covered the moon overhead, leaving every shadow on the ground blurred and dangerous.

Sakuya swallowed his last bite of rice.

He returned to his room and laid out his bedding.

Before lying down, he glanced out the window.

In the direction of Naka Shrine, there was a flicker of firelight. Not candlelight, but something brighter—perhaps a flashlight, perhaps some kind of signal.

Sakuya watched it for three seconds.

Then he drew the curtains.

He did not want to look.

Not because he did not care.

But because looking would not change anything.

At least not yet.

He lay down and closed his eyes.

In his dream, he saw a full moon hanging in the sky, with a red shadow moving beneath it.

The shadow was blurry.

But the blade in its hand gleamed brightly.

Sakuya frowned in his dream.

Then he rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head.

The adult soul inside a seven-year-old body let out a sigh.

Very softly.

No one heard it.