It was dusk on the day after Kagami Uchiha's burial.
Beneath a secluded stretch of eaves on the western side of the clan compound, near the training ground at its edge, Uchiha Fugaku stood alone, watching a few boys still practicing their shuriken throws in the distance.
The setting sun stretched his upright figure into a long, silent silhouette across the wooden floor.
He heard exceptionally soft footsteps behind him.
Without turning, Fugaku merely adjusted his stance slightly, bringing his right hand more naturally toward the Ninja Tool Pouch at his waist-a habitual gesture of vigilance, even within the clan compound.
"Fugaku."
Shinji's calm voice rang out as he stepped from the shadow of a veranda pillar. His left arm was still wrapped in bandages, but his steps were steady. Nothing about him suggested he had fought a brutal battle just three days earlier.
Only then did Fugaku turn, an appropriately warm expression settling over his face. "Shinji. How are your injuries?"
"Nothing serious." Shinji came to stand beside him and looked toward the training ground as well. "I assume you've already heard about Clan Head Kagami."
"Yes." Fugaku's reply was brief, his gaze resting on the bandage along Shinji's cheek. "You came back from the border. I imagine attending the funeral wasn't your only reason."
The probing had begun with his very first words.
Shinji did not answer immediately.
He extended his hand, palm up, and a wisp of pure white flame ignited soundlessly. Thick as liquid, it radiated enough heat to warp the air in the evening light, yet remained perfectly confined to the small space above his palm, without the slightest leakage.
Fugaku's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.
He had heard the reports about the battle in the desert, but seeing this flame for himself was another matter