CHAPTER 6: Being the head of the Hyūga clan sucks.

Hyūga Compound - Clan Leader's Office

Night (Late)

POV: Hiashi Hyūga

Seriously, why do we need another one?

That's what Hiashi wondered as his pen glided across the paper with practiced movements, each stroke of his calligraphy perfectly controlled even after countless hours reviewing documents.

The black ink formed impeccable characters as he signed the denial of the forty-seventh request of the day to construct yet another private annex.

The paper crinkled softly under his fingers as he moved it toward the pile of processed documents.

An insignificant sound that somehow resonated with particular emphasis in the heavy silence of his office.

Yes, they were important to the clan. He knew that all too well.

But didn't they already have enough of them scattered throughout the entire compound? How many "private" spaces did they need exactly before it stopped being a practical necessity and became simple excessive indulgence?

He adjusted himself slightly in his chair, feeling how the polished wood—smooth from years of use—yielded under his weight with an almost imperceptible creak.

Despite the undeniable comfort of the furniture—designed and built by master craftsmen in the Capital of Hi no Kuni, a gift from the previous Daimyō when Hiashi officially assumed leadership—he could feel cramps creeping along his entire back.

Small pinpricks of pain extended from the base of his spine to his tense shoulders, reminding him that he'd been sitting in the same position for… exactly how long?

The light from oil lamps had completely replaced natural light hours ago.

Small flames danced gently, projecting irregular shadows over the endless piles of scrolls and documents that covered practically every available surface of his desk.

His back protested with another particularly sharp cramp when he tried to straighten up.

The numb muscles complained about the long hours of immobility, about the constant tension he maintained even when he believed he was relaxed.

At this point it had become habitual.

A discomfort so routine that he'd almost accepted it as a natural part of his existence.

Since assuming clan leadership, much of his freedom had been lost.

Evaporated like morning mist under the relentless sun of responsibilities.

Endless days of work dealing with the pedantic complaints of the clan elders—men and women who seemed to have no better occupation than criticizing each of his decisions with the authority of those who no longer risked anything personally—elaborate parties and diplomatic meetings with Hi no Kuni's elite where each word had to be carefully calibrated, each gesture analyzed for possible political interpretations.

All of that already left him little time for anything else.

Little time for his family.

Little time for his own training.

But after the Kyūbi attack?

Things had gotten exponentially worse.

Konoha had survived, yes. But at a devastating cost they were still paying three years later.

And it wasn't just Hiashi who suffered this suffocating problem of increased workload.

All the clan leaders found themselves in similar situations—some even worse, depending on how much damage their particular district had suffered during the attack—.

Meetings between them had become more frequent, more tense.

Fugaku looked perpetually exhausted, with dark circles that rivaled Hiashi's.

Shikaku—usually the most relaxed of all—had developed the habit of falling asleep in the middle of discussions, only to wake instantly when something important was mentioned.

Even Chōza, normally jovial and carefree, showed evident signs of strain.

But they had to present a united front, especially after Minato decided to officially integrate a civilian council into the village's administrative structure—a decision Hiashi still wasn't completely sure represented brilliance or a potentially disastrous misstep—.

The clans were the face and backbone of Konohagakure. The foundation that sustained the village when political leadership fluctuated.

They couldn't afford to show weakness, cracks in their façade of unified strength.

That would only embolden the village's enemies—Kumogakure, Iwagakure, even Kirigakure despite their own internal problems—.

They would test boundaries, press borders, send infiltrators.

Politics between villages was a brutal game where the perception of weakness invited immediate aggression.

That's why nowadays they all spent their time working themselves to exhaustion.

Meticulously coordinated with Minato—who, to his credit, worked as hard or harder than any of them—.

Personally selecting the best available shinobi to fulfill as many high-level missions as possible.

Demonstrating that Konoha remained strong, that it was still the most powerful village of the Five Great Nations despite the devastating attack.

All with the singular objective of bringing Konoha back to its former glory.

To restore not only the physical infrastructure but the confidence—both internal and external —that the village hadn't been fatally weakened.

But even after three years of constant and coordinated effort, they still couldn't finish completely repairing all the infrastructure destroyed by the fox.

Buildings remained in ruins in certain districts. Some businesses never reopened—their owners dead in the attack or simply without resources to rebuild—.

There were entire areas that looked like ghost towns, silent reminders of the destruction.

This was something they could have finished long ago, of course.

At the enormous cost of owing many, many favors to the Daimyō.

Something that Minato—and Hiashi completely agreed with the Hokage on this—believed was too high a price to pay.

Some costs weren't worth it no matter how tempting the immediate reward.

Both—and any of the other clan leaders who'd had the dubious pleasure of being in the same room as the man—were firmly agreed that Lord Ozai was a very dangerous and considerably unstable individual.

The current Daimyō of Hi no Kuni wasn't like his predecessor.

Ozai's father had been a reasonable, pragmatic man who understood the delicate relationship between political power and military might.

Who respected Konoha's autonomy while maintaining appropriate oversight.

Ozai, on the other hand…

Hiashi had been present at several audiences with the Daimyō.

He'd observed firsthand how the man operated.

He was charismatic when convenient.

Brutally cruel when not.

His mood swings were unpredictable and his decisions often seemed based more on personal whim than solid political logic.

Allowing him to have more direct influence over Konoha as a whole wouldn't bode well for the future.

Debts with men like Ozai were never fully paid.

There was always another favor, another concession, another small piece of autonomy you had to surrender.

A particularly sharp stab of pain shot through his lower back, yanking him from his thoughts about national politics.

Hiashi grimaced involuntarily—allowing himself that small break in his composure only because he was completely alone—and pressed his hand against the aching area. The muscle was tense as a bowstring under his fingers.

He observed the large piles of documentation still awaiting review, scrolls carefully rolled and folded documents rising in precarious columns over his desk.

Each represented some decision he had to make, some problem he had to resolve, some request he had to approve or deny.

The mountain of work seemed never to diminish no matter how many hours he dedicated to it. It was like fighting the tide—you could push the water back temporarily, but it always returned—.

Then he directed his gaze toward the only small window in his office—as if any selfrespecting ninja would permit the existence of one large enough to comfortably let someone pass through, an unacceptable security vulnerability—.

The window was barely a narrow slit, designed for ventilation more than view or access.

Through it he could see the night sky, blue-black and speckled with brilliant stars.

It was already night.

When exactly had darkness fallen? Had he eaten anything since lunch? He couldn't remember with certainty.

His gaze returned once more to the piles of pending documents, and he nearly glared them into submission, as if the intensity of his irritation could somehow make them process themselves.

While the workload had been substantially heavier lately—all the clan leaders were overburdened—he was completely certain that at least half the documents on his desk came entirely and exclusively from his own clan.

From members of the Hyūga clan who apparently had absolutely nothing better to do with their time than generate increasingly elaborate and absurd requests.

The petitions were becoming more and more ridiculous, more disconnected from any real need.

Hyūga Takeshi—an elder from the main branch who apparently completely lacked productive occupations or real responsibilities beyond spending the family fortune—had requested considerable budget to import thunder boars bred exclusively in Kaminari no Kuni.

The beasts were rare, dangerous to transport, and extremely expensive.

Each animal would cost more than what an average civilian family earned in a complete year.

Takeshi's justification was that the meat of said beasts would 'strengthen the visual acuity of the Byakugan' according to 'ancient lost texts' that conveniently only he had read.

Texts that, when Hiashi requested to see them to verify the claim, turned out to be 'temporarily misplaced' in the clan's vast library.

How convenient.

Denied, naturally. Without even serious consideration.

Hyūga Kaori—a middle-aged woman with too much free time, too much inherited wealth, and apparently no common sense—required the acquisition of rock fruits cultivated exclusively in the arid and hostile lands of Tsuchi no Kuni.

These botanical rarities were notoriously difficult to cultivate, required specific environmental conditions that only existed in certain mountainous regions of Tsuchi no Kuni, and had to be transported with extreme care or they'd spoil immediately.

The cost of acquisition and transport would be astronomical.

Supposedly—according to Kaori's elaborate three-page petition—these exotic fruits 'balanced chakra flow in the eyes' and 'prevented premature aging of ocular tenketsus'.

None of these claims were backed by any type of credible medical evidence or verifiable studies.

Also denied, obviously.

One of the oldest elders—Hyūga Genma, a man who'd served the clan for decades but now seemed to dedicate all his energy to increasingly transparent schemes—had had the brazen audacity to request exorbitant budget to summon 'thermal therapy experts' from Yu no Kuni.

The officially stated purpose in his meticulously drafted request was 'optimizing the clan's onsen facilities to improve chakra recovery after prolonged Byakugan use'.

Hiashi strongly suspected—practically with absolute certainty—that the real purpose had considerably more to do with the young and attractive therapists who accompanied said experts than with any genuine medical benefit for the clan.

He'd heard enough stories about the specialized services that Yu no Kuni establishments offered to recognize exactly what kind of optimization Genma had in mind.

Denied with a particularly dry comment in the document's margins about budgetary priorities in reconstruction times that he hoped would make the elder feel at least a modicum of shame.

Though probably not.

Hyūga Hideaki—who apparently considered himself a refined connoisseur of traditional architecture and cultural aesthetics, judging by his numerous previous requests related to aesthetic improvements to the compound—requested imperial cherry wood supposedly from the lands of ancient Uzushiogakure.

He argued with flowery language and references to ancestral traditions that it was absolutely essential for construction of a new meditation pavilion that would honor the clan's sacred traditions and strengthen spiritual bonds with their ancestors.

The fact that Uzushiogakure had been destroyed years ago—razed to its foundations in a coordinated attack that practically exterminated the Uzumaki clan—and that obtaining anything of value from those dangerous ruins would require at minimum an A-rank mission, probably S-rank if you wanted to guarantee the team returned alive, apparently wasn't an insurmountable obstacle for his artistic vision.

Denied immediately, without ceremony.

And the most recent had been from Hyūga Fumiko, requesting construction of another private annex near the compound's western gardens.

The carefully drafted justification was that the current private annexes were too crowded during peak hours and she urgently needed a more intimate and tranquil space for her personal meditation practices and spiritual development.

Hiashi wasn't an idiot.

He knew exactly what kind of personal meditation and spiritual development was regularly practiced in those supposedly private and discreet annexes.

The level of shamelessness was almost admirable in its audacity.

Almost.

He sighed internally—a long, weary exhalation he didn't allow himself to express externally— as he moved Fumiko's request toward the rejection pile.

He finally decided he'd done enough for today.

His body was screaming for rest. His mind felt dulled by excess mundane information and absurd petitions.

If he tried to process one more document, he'd probably start approving things through pure mental exhaustion.

He rose slowly from his chair, feeling how each joint protested the movement. His knees cracked audibly.

His shoulders emitted a satisfying pop when he finally stretched with deliberate and controlled movements, arching his back to relieve accumulated pressure.

The relief was immediate but temporary. He knew from experience he'd need a prolonged hot bath to truly undo the knots in his muscles.

It was already late.

Very late.

A good night's sleep would be absolutely necessary to continue his exhausting routine the next day.

And the day after that.

And the next.

An infinitely repetitive existence of work, responsibility and sacrifice.

With tranquil and practiced elegance that was second nature after years of training in appropriate etiquette for the clan leader, he began the journey from his office toward his personal quarters.

The Hyūga compound was silent at this hour. Most residents were already sleeping—normal people who didn't spend every waking hour drowning in paperwork—. Only the night guards remained awake, rotating in their vigilant shifts.

His pace was carefully measured despite the weariness, his posture impeccable even when every fiber of his being wanted to simply slouch and drag himself to bed.

Habits were too deeply ingrained to break even in private.

Straight back.

Shoulders squared.

Head high.

Neutral and serene expression.

The perfect image of a clan leader, even when no one important was watching.

Along the way he crossed paths with several branch house members—night guards fulfilling their assigned duties, a couple of servants who apparently were still awake attending to late cleaning tasks—.

Without a hint of doubt or hesitation, they immediately moved aside when they saw him approaching, pressing themselves against the hallway walls to give him ample space, and proceeded to execute deep and respectful bows.

Almost perfectly ninety degrees—an angle they must practice regularly to execute with such precision—showing their absolute respect and unwavering submission to the clan leader.

Some bows were held until Hiashi passed completely. Others were accompanied by respectful murmurs of "Hiashi-sama" said in barely audible tones.

Externally, Hiashi showed no reaction to the ritual gesture.

His face remained as serene and impassive as always. Neither approval nor disapproval. Simply… nothing.

He advanced toward his destination without paying them greater apparent attention, without even turning his head to acknowledge their individual presences.

Simple established routine. Interactions that had occurred thousands of times before and would occur thousands of times more.

As it should be, according to clan traditions.

As it always had been, for generations.

Internally?

He couldn't be more deeply frustrated by the entire situation.

Each bow was a reminder. Each show of respect was actually a demonstration of fear. They didn't respect him as a person or leader—they feared him as someone who could activate the seal on their foreheads with a thought.

He detested with every fiber of his being that damned seal.

What had once been a genuine and altruistic protection method that the Hyūga had obtained generations ago from the Uzumaki—undisputed masters of fūinjutsu whose knowledge in the sealing art surpassed any other clan—a true defensive system designed to safeguard the Byakugan from enemies who might capture or kill clan members on the battlefield, had been modified, perverted and converted by his morally corrupt ancestors into a cheap excuse to enslave their own kin.

To separate a family into masters and slaves.

The Sōke no Juinjutsu no longer fulfilled the noble function for which it was originally created, and Hiashi had to be somewhat grateful for the near-complete extinction of the Uzumaki, because Kushina Uzumaki had more than shown her deep discontent with the Hyūga clan on the few occasions the topic arose in conversations—he didn't want to imagine what would happen if the entire Uzumaki clan still lived and collectively decided they wanted to discuss how the Hyūga had bastardized their work—.

Now the seal only served to divide them, weaken them from within like an autoimmune disease.

What should have been the most powerful and influential family in the village—united in common purpose, unbreakable in their mutual loyalty—was a poor parody of shameless slavers.

A broken family where half lived in constant fear of the other half.

That permanent stain on his clan's history had even managed to irrevocably separate Hizashi and himself.

The times when both could be in the same room and act like normal brothers—well, as normal as Hyūga twins could be considering some clan members had…questionable behaviors and unusually close relationships between siblings that Hiashi preferred not to examine too closely, but he wasn't anyone to judge others' private dynamics as long as they didn't publicly affect the clan—had been left years behind.

Buried under layers of resentment, disappointment and broken promises.

Hizashi and Hiashi once dreamed together of abolishing the seal completely.

They'd made elaborate plans during sleepless nights, whispering in rooms sealed against eavesdropping.

They'd researched fūinjutsu as much as they could without raising suspicions.

Discretely sought potential allies within the clan who might support radical reforms.

Witnessing how they marked his twin brother while his father watched without a trace of guilt or mercy in his severe expression, as if he were simply performing routine administrative procedure instead of condemning his own son to a life of servitude, had been enough for Hiashi to solemnly swear to his brother that he would eliminate it completely.

That he would find a way.

That future generations wouldn't suffer this mark of shame.

He was certain the original seal—the true Uzumaki protective seal before it was corrupted and modified—still remained in some ancient and dusty record within the clan's vast archives, buried among forgotten scrolls from centuries past.

But if he started investigating ancient archives about the seal, they'd ask questions.

And questions would lead to suspicions. And suspicions would lead to… consequences.

At that point, it was already too late for their brother; the seal was already permanently engraved on his forehead.

But they could fight for the future of the clan's children who hadn't yet been marked.

They would face together the system that sickened the clan like metastatic cancer, growing slowly but inexorably.

Or at least that had been the plan.

Fate took care of demonstrating brutally that one's plans don't always turn out as expected.

That youth and idealism were rarely a match for age, cunning and institutional control.

But was it really right to blame abstract fate for his failures?

In this specific case, Hiashi knew with absolute certainty that everything had been his own damn fault.

His weakness.

His selfishness.

His inability to sacrifice his personal happiness for the greater good.

With that last bitter and self-critical thought—a constant reminder of his own deficiencies as leader and brother—he finally arrived at his personal room.

The clan leader's quarters.

Spacious, luxuriously decorated, with all the comforts money and status could buy.

Hiashi slid the shōji with a smooth and practiced movement, the polished wood gliding silently over its well-maintained rails.

He entered the room, immediately feeling the temperature change—warmer here than in the compound's cold corridors.

The sight that greeted him was an immediate relief for his tired eyes and exhausted mind.

Hitomi Hyūga

The love of his life.

His wife.

The mother of his daughters.

And the fundamental reason he'd broken his sacred promise to Hizashi, betraying everything they once believed together.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a silk nightgown Hiashi had given her on their last anniversary.

The material flowed over her body like water, following every generous curve of her maternal figure.

Her long dark hair was loose—freed from the elaborate hairstyles she usually wore during the day—falling in cascade over her bare shoulders like a curtain of black silk.

The dim light from the lamps gave it an almost ethereal glow.

She was reading something—a small book she immediately closed when she heard him enter —with an expression that lit up when she saw him.

"Ara~, Anata, are you finished with your work?"

Her voice was soft as velvet, melodious, with that characteristic sing-song tone that always disarmed him no matter how tired or frustrated he was.

Each word pronounced with genuine warmth that dramatically contrasted with the cold and calculated interactions he'd endured all day.

There was a light in her lavender eyes—lighter than his, almost translucent under appropriate illumination—that made him feel like he was the only person in the world who truly mattered.

She seemed calmer than before, Hiashi noted.

More relaxed.

Earlier today they'd had a heated disagreement—these were becoming increasingly frequent lately, a worrying trend he knew he couldn't stop—when she could see the deplorable state Hinata had returned in after finishing her mandatory daily training.

His eldest daughter had been covered in fresh bruises—dark marks that stood out vividly against her pale skin.

She had a split lip still bleeding slowly.

Her training clothes were torn in several places.

And worst of all, her eyes had been red and swollen from crying she'd clearly been desperately trying to hide.

Hitomi had exploded with maternal fury she rarely showed.

She'd screamed—really screamed, something she practically never did—about his unnecessary cruelty and excessive training methods.

About how Hinata was only a small girl and not a soldier on a battlefield.

Hiashi had maintained his neutral expression throughout the entire confrontation.

He'd let her express her frustration completely, without interrupting, without defending himself.

What could he say that wouldn't make things worse?

How could he explain that every bruise on Hinata's body was necessary?

That every tear shed during training was part of a larger plan she couldn't know about?

The discussion had ended when Hitomi finally exhausted herself, her words reducing to frustrated sobs as she protectively hugged Hinata against her chest.

Hiashi had simply withdrawn to his office without saying anything more.

Years of constant practice had been the only thing that allowed him to avoid grimacing at the memory and keep his face impassive before Hitomi now.

"There's still quite a bit of work left, but I'll finish it tomorrow." Was Hiashi's simple and carefully controlled response, his voice maintaining that clinical and distant tone he'd perfected.

Each word measured.

Each syllable pronounced with the precision of someone who'd learned emotions had no place in important conversations.

Before Hitomi could respond or ask more questions about his day—questions that would invariably lead to topics he preferred to avoid—he headed toward his elegantly carved wardrobe and began preparing for sleep with mechanical and automatic movements.

His hands moved on their own, unbuttoning his formal clothes with the efficiency of someone who'd performed the same routine thousands of times.

Hitomi didn't understand.

Or rather, she never could.

She would always see his actions toward Hinata as gratuitous cruelty.

As a father failing to protect his daughter.

And perhaps she was right.

Perhaps it was exactly that.

Hiashi hated himself more than anyone else in this world.

More than the elders who manipulated him.

More than his father for allowing the system to continue.

More than any external enemy of the village.

Because at the end of the day, he was the one who chose to hurt Hinata.

He was the one who looked at her with feigned disappointment.

He was the one who constantly compared her deficiencies with Hanabi's strengths.

No one physically forced him to be so harsh with her.

But what he was doing—however painful for everyone involved—was for everyone's long-term benefit.

For Hitomi's benefit.

For his daughters' benefit.

For the entire clan's benefit.

For the future he was desperately trying to build with the limited tools available to him.

Or at least that's what he told himself every night to be able to sleep.

His wife had been a kunoichi born within the main branch—a privilege of birth that should have guaranteed her a life of respect and authority—.

That's why they'd had the opportunity to know each other since they were young.

Main branch children were carefully segregated from the branch house during their formative years—a policy Hiashi found deeply disturbing but didn't have the power to change then—.

His father didn't allow him to interact freely with branch house members.

Not even with his own twin brother after Hizashi was marked.

The only authorized interactions were during supervised training or formal ceremonial events where appropriate hierarchy could be maintained and visually reinforced.

He could admit—at least in the privacy of his own thoughts—that Hitomi's beauty and her way of being had made him fall completely for her instantly and irrevocably.

Love at first sight was something Hiashi had considered an absurd romantic concept.

A silly notion perpetuated by cheap novels and children's stories.

But one afternoon during a particularly boring clan ceremony, he'd seen her laugh.

Not a polite and contained laugh like all main branch girls practiced.

But a genuine, musical laugh, completely unconcerned with whether it was "appropriate" or not.

Hitomi wasn't like any of the other clan girls.

She completely lacked the natural haughtiness and cultivated arrogance that all other main branch girls displayed as if it were second skin.

She never looked down on anyone, regardless of their rank or position within the family hierarchy.

The genuine kindness with which she treated everyone—explicitly including branch house members, who adored her precisely because she was probably the only main branch person who treated them as complete human beings instead of useful tools—was a breath of fresh air so rare and valuable in the suffocating and politically charged atmosphere of the compound.

And frankly, her innocent naivety—her apparent inability to see evil in people until it was absolutely impossible to ignore—made her extremely adorable in a way Hiashi couldn't completely explain with words.

There was something deeply attractive about her incorruptible optimism in a world that constantly tried to crush that kind of hope.

The clan elders and Hitomi's parents seemed to differ strongly in their opinion of her.

Her best traits—the same ones Hiashi found charming and refreshing—were seen by them as unacceptable displays of unforgivable weakness.

As character flaws that should be corrected or eliminated.

"Too soft." They murmured.

"She lacks the hardness necessary to belong to the main branch." "Doesn't understand her position." They complained.

"Treats the branch house as equals."

And her relatively low talent in shinobi arts—Hitomi simply wasn't made for that life of violence and death, she genuinely didn't like fighting or deliberately hurting others, something Hiashi found admirable but everyone else saw as a fundamental failure—provoked the elders and her own family to decide to mark her with the Sōke no Juinjutsu and send her permanently to the branch house when her trajectory as a kunoichi became completely stuck at Chūnin rank with no realistic possibilities of advancing further.

This news—when it finally reached Hiashi and Hitomi's ears—sent both of them into absolute panic.

Hiashi had already formally proposed marriage by then—a small intimate dinner by moonlight in an isolated area far from the village but completely covered with beautiful wildflowers he'd specifically cultivated for the occasion over months, with Hizashi discreetly watching the perimeter to make sure they weren't discovered or interrupted—but they couldn't legally marry if she was sent to the branch house.

Hitomi was already strongly and consistently disapproved of by the main branch long before that decision.

None of the influential traditionalists wanted her as the clan's future matriarch.

They saw her as a potential embarrassment.

As someone who would 'contaminate' the leadership lineage with her weakness.

Clan laws were explicit and clear about that.

The main branch heir couldn't marry someone marked by the seal.

It was considered an unacceptable dilution of the leadership lineage.

A betrayal of sacred traditions.

The elders and current clan leaders wouldn't permit it under any conceivable circumstance.

And if Hiashi and Hitomi stubbornly insisted on marrying anyway after they sealed her—if they openly defied the prohibition—the elders could easily use the seal with some invented excuse to permanently end Hitomi's life.

"Insubordination." They could argue.

"Direct defiance of authority." They could declare.

The seal gave them that absolute power.

And Hiashi had no doubts they'd use it without the slightest remorse if necessary to maintain control.

Hiashi was too inexperienced back then.

Too young, too naive about how power really worked within the clan.

He couldn't recognize the complete situation for what it truly was until it was too late to do anything about it.

A meticulously designed trap.

The elders—with decades of experience in political manipulation and social control—had gradually noticed the ambitious plans Hizashi and he were beginning to carefully form to eventually eliminate the seal and unify the clan under a more equitable system.

They'd been discreet.

Or at least believed they had been.

But the elders hadn't maintained power for so long by being stupid or inattentive.

They'd observed.

Listened.

Connected small pieces of seemingly innocent information until forming a clear and concerning picture.

They couldn't allow those plans to continue developing.

The current system—however cruel and unjust—gave them absolute and unquestionable power.

Why would they allow it to be dismantled?

So they identified and ruthlessly exploited Hiashi's one obvious weak point.

His unconditional and unwavering love for Hitomi.

Finally, after days of mental agony trying to find some alternative solution that didn't exist, Hiashi secretly met with the honorable clan elders in a private room designed specifically for conversations that shouldn't be heard by anyone else.

The meeting lasted hours.

Hours of negotiation where each small concession was ripped from him like teeth being extracted without anesthesia.

The number of concessions he had to make to prevent his beloved's sealing were innumerable and devastating.

Explicit and detailed restrictions on his actions as future clan leader when he eventually assumed leadership.

Binding promises to maintain the caste system's status quo without publicly questioning it.

Formal oaths not to interfere with 'sacred traditions' that kept the system functioning smoothly.

Specifically, he'd had to swear he would never attempt to modify or eliminate the Sōke no Juinjutsu.

That he would never seek the original Uzumaki seal.

That he would accept the elders' council authority in certain key matters.

Each concession extracted was like tearing out a bleeding piece of his soul and handing it to people who smiled while taking it.

But he did it.

Because the alternative was losing Hitomi forever.

The next day he went to see a visibly anguished and terrified Hitomi—who'd spent the night without sleeping worrying about her future—to give her the good news that he'd managed to 'convince' the elders to reconsider their decision.

He was strictly forbidden—under penalty of the entire agreement being immediately nullified —to speak about the matter with absolutely anyone.

Not even with Hitomi herself.

Especially not with Hitomi.

She never learned of the massive sacrifice made for her sake.

Never knew what parts of his future and the clan's future had been sold to protect her.

Their mutual friends didn't notice.

They assumed it had simply been an administrative error corrected or that the elders had changed their minds for their own reasons.

Other clan members didn't notice.

For them, Hitomi simply continued being part of the main branch as she'd always been.

Hizashi… did.

His twin brother knew almost instantly.

Explicit words or detailed confessions weren't necessary.

When Hitomi wasn't marked with the seal—when the day designated for the ceremony passed without incident—and they could finally marry without legal obstacles—though the main branch's generalized disapproval of her as matriarch remained strong even now— without many more bureaucratic problems, added to the revealing fact that soon all their secret meetings and planning sessions stopped abruptly without explanation; his brother knew with absolute certainty.

Hizashi looked directly into his eyes during one of their last real private conversations.

And Hiashi saw the understanding reflected there.

Immediately followed by disappointment so deep and painful it was almost physical in its intensity.

The look of absolute disappointment he gave him—that expression of wounded betrayal— was a devastating blow Hiashi still felt vividly years later.

As if his brother had physically struck him in the chest with all his strength.

Their relationship tensed sharply after that defining moment, becoming cold and distant where it had once been warm and close, but technically still remained functional on a superficial level.

They still spoke when necessary.

Still cooperated on clan matters when required.

But the genuine closeness, implicit trust, deep fraternal bond… all of that had shattered.

For a considerable time it remained that way.

Without any significant change in their damaged relationship.

No improvement but no additional deterioration either.

An uncomfortable equilibrium of cold professionalism.

Years passed slowly in that tense situation, and finally his daughters were born.

And with their birth, a unique and unexpected opportunity fell directly into Hiashi's lap.

A second chance he hadn't anticipated or actively sought, but immediately recognized for what it was.

The draconian restrictions he'd accepted in those desperate times were absolute concerning his own actions.

But while he personally could no longer do anything direct to change the clan's deplorable current state—not without risking his family's safety—that didn't necessarily mean his daughters couldn't eventually do it in his place.

The specific scenario that had presented itself with their birth maintained a dangerously delicate but potentially exploitable balance.

Normally when there was a multiple birth of possible heirs to the clan—twins born to the leading couple—the firstborn was automatically chosen without much debate.

It's exactly what had happened with Hizashi and himself.

Neither showed to be particularly more talented than the other during their early childhood.

Their abilities were practically identical.

So simple tradition was applied: the first born led.

The second was sealed.

But Hinata and Hanabi?

The girls had been born together—with barely minutes of difference—but couldn't be more dramatically different in temperament, personality and apparent manifestations of talent.

Hinata was his firstborn.

Under completely normal and traditional circumstances, she would have been undoubtedly and unquestionably the designated clan heir.

Tradition demanded it.

But she'd inherited almost everything from Hitomi's distinctive personality—the gentleness, compassion, natural empathy, instinctive reluctance to cause unnecessary harm—.

Hiashi adored her precisely for those qualities.

The critical problem was that all those beautiful and admirable qualities made her—despite being indisputably the firstborn by right of birth—strongly and consistently rejected by the clan elders who simply didn't consider her fit to lead.

"Too weak." they declared with barely concealed disdain.

"Lacks the necessary iron will," they argued in their private meetings.

"Will allow the clan to be seen as soft." they predicted with arrogant certainty.

Hanabi, on the other hand, was the complete opposite in almost every relevant aspect.

She resembled her mother in nothing regarding basic personality.

She had some characteristics that reminded Hiashi of himself when young—that unwavering determination, that natural confidence in her own abilities—.

But he also couldn't honestly say they resembled each other exactly or that she was simply a female version of him.

His little Hanabi was unique in her own distinctive way.

She was stubborn to the point of being obstinate.

Impetuous and prone to acting before thinking completely.

And possessed an adorable arrogance that came from knowing—with the absolute certainty of a small child—that she was special and talented.

She was a princess who knew very well she was one and didn't waste a single opportunity to demonstrate it to everyone present.

Her strong innate character and apparently superior natural talent with Jūken made the vast majority in the main branch—especially the elders who controlled important decisions—see her as a clearly better option for future heir.

Someone who could lead with the strength and decisiveness they considered essential.

Not that his eldest daughter was genuinely less talented in terms of objective potential capacity.

The truth was he firmly believed Hinata was even more naturally gifted than her younger sister.

Her chakra control was more precise.

Her instinctive understanding of Jūken movements was more refined.

Only her fundamental nature, her moral refusal to unnecessarily hurt others, and the severe self-esteem problems she'd started progressively developing—through direct fault of the clan's contemptuous treatment of her… and admittedly through his own fault—made her appear substantially inferior to her decided and confident younger sister before superficial observers.

Hiashi had decided to ruthlessly take advantage of this erroneous perception.

He had some carefully elaborated plans that could eventually pull the clan out of its deplorable and morally corrupt current state.

Plans that required years to execute appropriately.

Plans that depended on multiple factors aligning correctly.

But those ambitious plans absolutely required that neither of the two girls be permanently marked by the cursed seal.

He needed both to remain technically eligible as heirs for as long as possible.

Which had inevitably led to this entire complex and painful situation.

He desperately needed to delay the official choice of clan heir as long as humanly possible.

He needed a lot of time for his plans to have any real chance of success.

Years, to be specific.

Potentially up to a decade if he could manage it.

Something completely unheard of and unprecedented when you considered that in historical cases like this the official heir was traditionally selected more or less when the child was approximately two years old, barely old enough for some differences in temperament and ability to begin manifesting.

And the losing sibling was finally marked with the Sōke no Juinjutsu ceremonially after turning three.

That's what was expected to happen.

His daughters were already three years old.

They'd already far surpassed the normal selection point.

That's why he was using the clan's sacred traditions—those same traditions the elders loved constantly citing—directly against them tactically.

The rules were explicit and clear when read literally: the firstborn should lead the clan.

But the entire main branch was so genuinely and vocally concerned about his eldest daughter's supposed unacceptable weakness that many influential elders were completely willing to turn a blind eye to traditions and establish the dangerous precedent of putting Hanabi—the second born—in the heir's place instead.

That wasn't something he—as clan leader and supposed guardian of traditions—could simply allow without objection, was it?

He was the Hyūga clan leader, and just as the elders constantly wanted to remind him, he couldn't allow sacred traditions and historical precedents to be ignored casually just because it was convenient in this particular case.

If he allowed the firstborn tradition to be discarded now, what other traditions could be ignored in the future? It was a dangerous slippery slope.

This would be the fundamental political fulcrum on which his complete strategy would rest.

Maintaining a delicate balance using the clan's most rigid traditionalists to vocally support Hinata as the legitimate heir by right of primogeniture.

While simultaneously ensuring to publicly and obviously demonstrate Hanabi's evident superior talent enough that all other clan members—especially those who valued practical strength over tradition—seriously doubted simply marking her with the seal and deliberately losing the objectively better candidate for future leadership.

Creating a situation where no faction had enough power to force a final decision.

Unfortunately, things weren't even remotely as simple as they sounded when reduced to a basic strategy.

Practical execution was infinitely more complicated and personally painful.

If Hiashi gave the slightest perceptible signal to the watchful elders of returning to his old idealistic habits—if he showed even a hint of the compassion he truly felt toward Hinata, if he suggested perhaps the seal system was problematic—they would immediately cancel all bets and seal one of his daughters expeditiously.

Probably Hinata, given she was the one they considered weaker.

Hence came the horrible calculatedly cruel treatment he'd been consistently providing Hinata while the obvious and shameless favoritism toward Hanabi was deliberately visible to everyone in the clan.

He needed to publicly pressure Hinata.

Let all observers know he was genuinely trying with all his capacity to make her a worthy heir and was completely willing to put her through personal hell to achieve it if necessary.

Meticulously point out each small error she made during training, each improper behavior she showed in public.

Constantly and unfavorably compare her with her clearly superior sister in a voice loud enough for others to hear.

Train her with a harshness that bordered—and probably crossed—the line toward cruelty.

Never show her approval no matter how much real progress she made.

His wife's disappointment and frustration at this behavior was immense and constantly growing.

Hitomi confronted him increasingly frequently.

The discussions were becoming more intense, more bitter.

She didn't understand why he was doing this.

Couldn't understand why the loving man she'd married seemed so determined to destroy their own daughter's spirit.

And he couldn't explain the truth to her.

Not without risking everything.

But Hiashi had already been deeply selfish for Hitomi once in his life, betraying his own principles and his brother.

The vivid memory of his brother's completely defeated appearance—those slumped shoulders, that empty gaze—seeing how they ceremonially marked little Neji with the Sōke no Juinjutsu, together with the total and crushing certainty of knowing the small fraternal bond they still had was completely and irrevocably shattered that day, kept him moving forward with renewed determination every time he doubted.

He couldn't fail Hizashi again.

Not this way.

He wouldn't allow more children or his own daughters to suffer the same fate as his brother.

He reaffirmed his resolve once more—a mental ritual he performed almost every night—while finishing putting on a white and elegant sleeping robe, made by the best available tailors and with the finest materials Hi no Kuni could offer, simple in its design but luxurious in its execution.

He finally headed toward his bed, each step heavy with the accumulated exhaustion of the day.

He really, desperately needed to sleep.

His body screamed for rest.

His mind longed for the temporary oblivion of unconsciousness.

His wife, on the other hand, clearly seemed to have completely different plans for the night.

As soon as Hiashi sat on the bed's edge—he hadn't even finished settling appropriately—he could feel soft and warm arms encircling his neck from behind with a fluid and practiced movement.

And two enormous pillows—soft, warm, impossibly generous even by the clan's already notable standards—deliberately and unmistakably pressing against his back with an intention that left no room for misinterpretation.

The warmth of her body immediately filtered through the thin fabric of his robe, a warmth that was simultaneously comforting and provocative.

He could feel every curve of her figure pressed against him. The soft weight of her breasts. The texture of her silk nightgown sliding against his own clothes.

"Hi-a-shi~"

Hitomi's purring and deliberately sing-song voice tickled directly in his sensitive ear, her warm breath caressing the exposed skin of his neck.

Each syllable of his name was drawn out in that particular way she'd learned completely disarmed him.

Her breathing had noticeably accelerated, small excited gasps escaping her full lips as her delicate hands began exploring his chest with deliberately slow and suggestive movements, tracing lazy lines over the fabric.

Her fingers traced increasingly wide circles over his chest, gradually descending toward his abdomen with perfectly clear intention.

The touch was light, almost timid at first, but definitely intentional.

It seemed their heated little argument earlier today hadn't been enough to completely remove her desire for these specific things.

Or perhaps—and this was equally possible knowing Hitomi—she was trying to reconnect with him in the only way she knew guaranteed his complete and undivided attention, at least for a moment.

A way to temporarily close the emotional distance that had been constantly widening between them.

It was a genuine shame he really was so absolutely exhausted tonight.

"Hitomi, I can't today."

The words came out more brusque than he'd intended, cutting the moment with the subtlety of a kunai piercing silk.

That initial phrase made his wife noticeably tense behind him, her entire body going rigid against his back.

Her hands stopped abruptly in the middle of their descending exploration, remaining suspended in the air for a moment before slowly falling.

Hiashi could practically feel the disappointment emanating from her in tangible waves.

"I've worked excessively this week and can barely stay awake." He continued with a tranquil and carefully modulated voice, maintaining that clinical and almost medical tone he'd perfected for uncomfortable situations.

As if he were explaining a diagnosis instead of rejecting his wife.

Each word came out measured and precise, but internally Hiashi cursed his own emotional cowardice.

He could feel the tension growing exponentially in the air around them, thickening until becoming almost physically palpable.

The silence that followed was heavy and uncomfortable, loaded with all the unexpressed frustration and unsatisfied needs that had been accumulating between them for months. Three…

Two…

One…

"Muuu~"

And there it was, predictable as dawn.

One of the few things Hanabi had definitely inherited directly from her mother—that particular expression of childish discontent that was absolutely adorable.

Hiashi finally turned his head enough to clearly see his wife, needing to face the visual consequence of his rejection.

Hitomi at that moment was pouting with complete dedication.

Her full and perfectly formed lips protruded prominently in an exaggerated expression of disappointment that contrasted almost comically with her voluptuous, mature and decidedly adult figure.

It was like seeing a small girl trapped in an incredibly beautiful and sensual woman's body.

Her cheeks were visibly flushed—painted with a pink blush extending from her cheekbones to her jawline—either from frustrated excitement or embarrassment at the rejection, probably a balanced mixture of both conflicting emotions.

Her lavender eyes—lighter and softer than Hiashi's, almost translucent under the dim and romantic illumination of the lamps—shone with a complex mixture of clearly unsatisfied desire and genuinely childish petulance.

It was a combination of emotions only Hitomi could convincingly manifest.

Her silk nightgown had slid slightly during her movements, revealing more of her generous cleavage than she probably initially intended to show.

Or perhaps exactly what she intended to show, knowing her usual persuasion tactics.

The material adjusted to every curve of her body with precision that seemed almost deliberately designed to torment him.

She was absolutely precious.

Beautiful in a way that still left him breathless even after years of marriage.

He really, sincerely didn't deserve her.

Didn't deserve her unconditional love.

Didn't deserve her patience with his increasingly distant behavior.

Didn't deserve her unwavering loyalty when he constantly disappointed her.

"But it's already been more than two complete months." Hitomi complained with a petulantly childish and deliberately whiny tone she used when being particularly stubborn about something.

Her breasts moved slightly with each frustrated breath she took.

Rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm that was extremely difficult to ignore.

The thin silk nightgown did very, very little to hide the exact lines and curves of her body.

In fact, the semi-transparent material under appropriate illumination almost seemed specifically designed to insinuate more than it actually concealed.

She finally pulled away from him with an exaggerated movement that made her frustration very clear, finally letting him lie down appropriately on the bed without the distraction of her direct physical contact.

The movement made the nightgown adjust even more tightly to her body, the material sliding and readjusting in ways that revealed the perfect silhouette of her wide hips—hips that had given birth to two healthy daughters—and her toned and soft thighs that disappeared temptingly under the nightgown's hem.

Hiashi had to make a conscious and considerable effort not to allow his gaze to linger too long on those specific areas.

He needed to maintain his resolve.

He wasn't exaggerating about being exhausted.

"I'm truly sorry, dear, but I must get up very early for an important meeting." He offered as an apology, keeping his voice soft and as apologetic as possible without sounding completely pathetic.

He added specific details hoping they'd make the excuse more believable, harder to dismiss.

The obvious and painful disappointment in her expression—those bright eyes looking at him with a mixture of sadness and contained frustration—nearly shattered Hiashi's weakened will.

Nearly.

But his body was literally screaming for rest.

Every muscle protested.

His mind felt dulled and sluggish.

If he tried… physically demanding activities in his current state, he'd probably fall asleep midact. Which would be infinitely more humiliating than simply declining from the beginning.

He should tell her something more to console her appropriately. Something that would soften the blow of rejection.

"Next time will be, I sincerely promise."

The words came out automatic, a promise he'd made several times before in similar circumstances.

He only genuinely hoped he could fulfill it this time. Though his recent track record wasn't exactly encouraging in that regard.

"That's the same thing you said last time, hmph."

The murmur was barely audible, said in a tone so low and quick that Hiashi couldn't hear it clearly or distinguish the exact words.

His wife deliberately turned over, giving him her back with an exaggerated and clearly theatrical movement that made her annoyance and discontent absolutely evident.

The sheets whispered softly as she settled on her side of the bed, becoming rigid and tense.

Her body language screamed 'I'm upset with you' in every line of her posture.

Hiashi observed her figure for one more moment—allowing himself that small visual indulgence—admiring the elegant curve of her exposed back, the cascade-like fall of her dark and silky hair over her bare and pale shoulders, the subtle but perceptible movement of her breathing that was gradually becoming slower and more regular as she tried to calm herself.

He sighed internally—a long, weary exhalation loaded with guilt he didn't allow himself to express audibly—.

The complete situation was… complicated.

Like everything in his life lately.

His marriage was under strain.

His relationship with Hinata bordered on abusive.

His bond with Hizashi was broken.

His position in the clan required constant vigilance.

Everything was a precarious balancing act where a single mistake could make it all collapse spectacularly.

He had… too much… sleepiness to continue thinking about these circular problems tonight…

The accumulated exhaustion finally reached him like a massive and inevitable wave, dragging him under its weight.

His vision began progressively darkening at the edges, the world losing definition and clarity.

The room's sounds—Hitomi's breathing, the distant crackling of oil lamps, the night wind against the windows—gradually became more distant and muffled, as if he were slowly sinking underwater.

His last conscious thought was a vague mental note that he needed to find time—somehow, somewhere—to truly reconnect with Hitomi before the damage to their marriage became completely irreparable.

But that was a problem for tomorrow's Hiashi.

Today's Hiashi simply needed to… sleep… Everything went completely dark.

Consciousness faded like smoke dispersing in the wind.

And he felt nothing more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A sudden urgent knock on his door violently yanked him from the deep sleep into which he'd fallen.

The sound resonated in the silent room like thunder, making Hiashi sit up instantly with the trained reflexes of a veteran shinobi.

His hand was already moving toward the kunai he kept under his pillow before his fully conscious mind processed what was happening.

His Byakugan activated automatically, revealing a Hyūga guard's figure on the other side of the door.

Not an attack then.

But the fact that someone dared wake him at this hour meant something important had happened.

Hiashi briefly glanced toward Hitomi, who'd also awakened from the noise but remained in bed, watching him with worried and still half-asleep expression.

"Stay here." He indicated gently but firmly as he rose.

She nodded silently, pulling the sheets upward and watching him with those large eyes full of evident concern.

Hiashi wrapped himself appropriately in his robe—he couldn't attend official matters in sleepwear, no matter how urgent—and headed toward the door with measured steps.

He opened it enough to see the guard clearly.

"Hiashi-sama." The man bowed deeply, his voice tense but controlled.

"Forgive the intrusion at this hour. An ANBU messenger from the Hokage just arrived and delivered this for you."

The guard extended a scroll sealed with the Hokage's official seal—unmistakable even in the hallway's penumbra.

The red wax gleamed slightly under the faint light of night lamps.

Hiashi took the scroll with deliberate movements, immediately feeling its weight.

It wasn't particularly thick, which meant the message was brief and direct.

That could be good or bad depending on context.

"Is the messenger still here?" Hiashi asked while his fingers already worked on carefully breaking the seal.

"Already departed, Hiashi-sama. He said the Hokage expects your presence as soon as possible."

Of course he did.

Hiashi nodded briefly in acknowledgment, dismissing the guard with a hand gesture while unrolling the scroll.

Minato's calligraphy was unmistakable.

His eyes quickly scanned the written lines.

Hiashi,

I need to see you in my office immediately. An urgent matter has arisen related to peace negotiations with Kumogakure that requires your counsel and presence.

Apologies for the hour.

—Minato Namikaze, Yondaime Hokage—

Brief.

Direct.

And deliberately vague about specific details.

Which meant Minato didn't want to risk sensitive information being intercepted, even in a sealed message delivered by trusted ANBU.

The Kumo emissary had arrived that same day.

Preliminary negotiations had been… tense but manageable until now.

What could have happened in the middle of the night to require his immediate presence?

Nothing good, certainly.

Hiashi closed the door and turned toward his wardrobe, rolling the scroll and placing it on his desk while moving with practiced efficiency to change into appropriate clothes.

He couldn't present himself to the Hokage in a sleeping robe no matter how urgent the situation.

"What's happening?" Hitomi asked from the bed, her voice small and worried, tinged with the kind of anxiety that came from years being a clan leader's wife.

She'd seen these situations before.

She knew what urgent night messengers meant.

"The Hokage needs me to discuss something related to Kumogakure." Hiashi responded while dressing quickly, selecting formal clothing appropriate for an official meeting but that could be put on with speed.

His mind was already racing through possibilities while his hands automatically worked on the closures and adjustments of his attire.

A sudden diplomatic crisis? Possible, but what specifically could require his presence so urgently in the middle of the night instead of waiting until morning?

"I'll return as soon as I can." he assured Hitomi while finishing dressing, adjusting his formal clothing's collar and verifying everything was appropriately placed.

He moved toward the door with measured steps, but stopped just as his hand reached the sliding panel.

He looked back over his shoulder, finding her lavender eyes full of genuine concern that shone even in the room's penumbra.

"Don't worry, I'll return soon." He told her simply, his voice softening imperceptibly with his poor attempt to reassure her.

He exited the room, sliding the shōji closed behind him and heading toward the compound's dark hallways with quick but controlled steps.

His feet knew the way by muscle memory after years traversing it, automatically navigating the familiar corridors even in night's partial darkness.

His mind was already at the Hokage Tower, mentally preparing for whatever Minato needed to discuss with such urgency.

Kumogakure was notoriously aggressive in their negotiations.

Historically they'd shown little respect for appropriate boundaries when they wanted something.

Hiashi accelerated his pace.

If they could resolve the problem quickly maybe he could sleep a bit more that night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Hokage Tower rose imposing against the night sky when Hiashi finally arrived, its familiar structure now tinged with dramatic shadows under moonlight and strategically placed torches.

The ANBU guards at the entrance immediately recognized him and let him pass without the usual identification protocol.

Clearly they were expecting him.

Hiashi climbed the stairs toward the Hokage's office with measured but quick steps, his years of training allowing him to move with speed without appearing to be desperately running.

Dignity had to be maintained even in emergencies.

More ANBU guards flanked the upper hallways.

Their chakra presences were controlled but not undetectable.

He finally reached the Hokage office door.

He knocked twice—a firm and clear knock that announced his arrival without being excessively loud or demanding—.

"Come in." Came Minato's voice from inside, sounding noticeably more tired than Hiashi had heard it in a long time.

Hiashi slid the door open and entered, closing it gently behind him.

The scene that greeted him was… familiar in a certain sense.

Minato Namikaze, the Yondaime Hokage of Konohagakure, was sitting behind his massive desk.

But 'sitting' was perhaps a generous term.

Rather he seemed to be partially slumped in his chair, maintaining upright posture only through pure willpower and years of ingrained discipline.

His face—usually animated with that characteristic energy and friendly smile that made even the most tense diplomatic encounters feel less threatening—showed evident signs of extreme exhaustion.

Dark circles marked the area under his bright eyes.

His characteristic blond hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd run his hands through it repeatedly during the last hours.

His formal Hokage clothing—usually impeccable—showed small wrinkles suggesting he'd been wearing it for too long without change.

And the desk…

Hiashi almost felt an involuntary pang of empathy seeing the absolute mountains of paperwork covering practically every inch of available surface.

Rolled scrolls stacked in precarious towers.

Extended documents overlapping each other in chaotic layers. Sealed reports awaiting attention.

Partially unfolded maps showing various regions of the Elemental Countries.

It was like looking at a distorted mirror of his own office barely a few hours ago.

The only difference was scale—Minato as Hokage handled the entire village's workload, not just an individual clan's.

"Hiashi." Minato greeted him with a head nod, gesturing toward one of the chairs before his desk.

"Thank you for coming so quickly. I know it's a terrible hour."

His voice carried that tone of genuine apology characteristic of Minato—always considerate of others even when clearly exhausted.

"Hokage-sama." Hiashi responded formally while taking a seat, maintaining his perfect posture despite his own weariness.

"Your message mentioned an urgent matter related to Kumogakure."

It wasn't a question, but the implication was clear: he needed information, and he needed it now.

Minato sighed heavily—a sound that seemed to come from deep within his chest—and passed a hand over his face in a gesture of exhaustion he rarely showed in company.

"Yes." He began, his tone becoming more serious and focused despite evident weariness.

"A situation has arisen that requires delicate discussion about how we'll proceed with current negotiations…"

Hiashi was ready for whatever would come next, his mind already working on possible scenarios and appropriate responses.

The night was clearly far from over.

A last reflection crossed his mind with ironic resignation as Minato began explaining the situation:

It seems I won't be able to rest tonight after all.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"—and considering the current trade routes between Hi no Kuni and Kaminari no Kuni," Minato traced lines over the unfolded map with precise movements, his finger following paths marked between coastal cities and border posts.

"It would be best to redistribute caravan escort missions prioritizing mixed teams in zones of greatest tension with minor villages."

Hiashi observed the map with analytical attention, his eyes following each proposed route while his mind automatically processed the logistical and political implications of each suggestion.

Negotiations with Kumogakure were never simple, but the first session Minato had had flowed with surprising productivity.

Preliminary agreements on mutually beneficial commercial exchanges.

Carefully balanced distribution of joint B and A rank missions in disputed border territories where both villages had had previous friction.

Even tentative discussions about limited cultural exchanges—genin teams briefly visiting the opposing village under strict supervision—that could eventually strengthen diplomatic bonds beyond simple paper and ink.

"If we concentrate our Jōnin squads in this specific region," Minato continued, moving small carved wooden pieces over the map to represent shinobi units. "We could establish a rotating presence that—"

SLAM

The office door opened with a violent blow that reverberated in the room like thunder, the

sound so out of place in the controlled atmosphere that both Hiashi and Minato turned their heads simultaneously, muscles instantly tensing with combat reflexes years of training had engraved in their bodies.

The ANBU guards flanking the entrance had already moved, hands near weapons, but stopped upon recognizing the intruder.

A Hyūga burst into the room—Hiashi identified Tokuma, one of his senior branch house guards—with agitated breathing that made his chest visibly rise and fall.

His face, normally a serene mask of cultivated professionalism, showed lines of tension bordering something close to controlled panic.

Whatever had brought him here was serious enough for him to completely forget appropriate protocol of requesting permission before entering.

"Hiashi-sama!" the words came out rushed, his voice higher than Hiashi had heard it in years of service.

He bowed—an abrupt and shallow bow that was more muscular reflex than conscious courtesy—.

"Forgive the intrusion, Hokage-sama, but it's extremely urgent!"

The tone made clear "extremely urgent" was probably a considerably soft euphemism.

"What happened?" The demand came from Hiashi with immediate authority as he rose from his chair, the movement fluid despite his body protesting the sudden change after sitting for hours.

"Kidnapping attempt in the compound!" Tokuma practically spat the words, stumbling slightly in his urgency to transmit critical information.

"An infiltrator penetrated our defenses and attempted to take the heirs!" The world stopped.

Not literally.

But there was an infinitesimal fraction of a second where every thought in his mind froze completely before restarting with fierce intensity.

Hinata

Hanabi

His daughters.

Maintaining his expression as controlled as always was difficult.

He felt how his heart accelerated, pumping adrenaline through his system with the urgency of a battle alarm.

"Specify." He ordered with a voice he kept firm through pure discipline, focusing on critical details he needed to know immediately.

"Failed attempt?"

That specific word was crucial.

And they were what prevented him from running out of the place.

His daughters were still inside the compound, under protection.

"Yes, Hiashi-sama."

Tokuma confirmed with quick and brusque nods of his head, the movement almost frantic.

"The infiltrator was neutralized and is under custody right now. Captured alive. His targets were specifically identified as Hinata-sama and Hanabi-sama—"

"The girls' condition?" His question interrupted him, coming out more urgent than he'd intended, a minuscule break in his vocal control that revealed more of his internal emotional state than he'd normally allow before subordinates.

"Unharmed, Hiashi-sama," Tokuma rushed to respond, clearly recognizing the growing tension in his leader's posture.

"Scared but physically intact. Hitomi-sama is with them at this moment, calming them."

The relief that flooded Hiashi was so intense it was almost disorienting in its strength, as if someone had suddenly cut invisible ropes that had been pulling every muscle in his body simultaneously.

Safe.

Unhurt.

With Hitomi.

That was the only thing that genuinely mattered in this precise instant.

Everything else—he only hoped Kumo had nothing to do with this, the timing was too coincidental with the emissary's arrival—could be handled and analyzed once he personally confirmed his daughters were well.

But the situation clearly required his immediate attention.

A captured infiltrator meant urgent interrogation.

A directed attack against clan heirs meant they needed to identify who had ordered this and why, before they tried something additional.

Hiashi turned toward Minato, who was already completely standing behind his desk, all evidence of his previous exhaustion erased and replaced by the focused alertness of the Yondaime Hokage evaluating an active security crisis.

"Hokage-sama, I need to—"

"Go." Minato interrupted him with a decisive gesture of his hand, his voice carrying that quality of firm but understanding command that made him effective as a leader.

"Your clan requires your presence. This discussion can wait."

The immediate understanding was appreciated, but Hiashi could already notice how Minato was processing the broader implications even while releasing him from the meeting.

And indeed, before Hiashi could move toward the door, Minato was already activating multiple communication seals integrated into his desk, his expression transforming into something harder and more severe.

"If an infiltrator skilled enough to penetrate the Hyūga compound's defenses managed to enter without immediate detection," Minato articulated with measured but grave tone.

"Then I need to operate under the assumption he might not have been alone. Additional operatives could be dispersed throughout the village."

His hand moved over another seal, activating it with a chakra pulse.

"I'll issue level three general alert. Increased patrols in all districts. Complete sweeps with specialized sensor teams. Temporary closure of main escape routes." Then he hesitated a moment before addressing one of his ANBU. "Go with Okami and Taka, have them bring Kazan-san immediately." It seemed Minato shared his concerns.

"Tell him there was an attack against one of our clans and we need to safeguard him for his safety."

The ANBU departed instantly and silently.

In other words, until they knew who was responsible, the emissary sent by Kumo should be watched more strictly.

It was the correct response.

If Kumogakure had nothing to do with this they could claim they were ensuring the emissary's safety and the treaty in process.

But if all this had been a trap.

Then they had to ensure he couldn't escape from Konoha.

"Hokage-sama, once I've completely secured the compound and evaluated the entire extent of the situation, I'll send the captured infiltrator directly to T&I with Ibiki for priority interrogation."

If that man couldn't make their unwanted guest sing then Inoichi would take care of him.

"Do it quickly," Minato ordered with gravity.

"We need complete identification. Every minute we spend without that information is a minute where potential additional threats operate freely." A brief but significant pause.

"This could completely compromise current negotiations depending on the answers we obtain. If Kumo is behind this…" he left the implication hanging, unnecessary to complete.

Both perfectly understood what it would mean if their current diplomatic emissary turned out to be coordinated with a kidnapping attempt.

"Move," he ordered simply.

They didn't need more words.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The return journey traversing Konoha was executed at a speed bordering the inappropriate within the village's residential limits—shinobi should moderate their speed to avoid frightening civilians or causing accidents—but Hiashi frankly couldn't make himself care at this moment.

His daughters had been the target of a kidnapping.

He moved across rooftops with the fluid speed of someone who'd spent decades perfecting the art of efficient movement, Tokuma maintaining his pace barely half a step behind, both shinobi becoming barely visible blurs against the night sky.

At that moment Hiashi found himself experiencing a strange dichotomy of emotions.

On one hand he was genuinely and deeply worried.

His daughters had been in danger.

But on the other hand he also felt a peculiar confidence that refused to be completely suppressed.

This sounded, in its basic elements, like something relatively… manageable.

An ambitious infiltrator—probably highly trained, certainly dangerous, but ultimately singular— had attempted what many before him had attempted: stealing the Byakugan directly from the source.

And like all those before him, he'd apparently discovered exactly why the Hyūga were so notorious as lethal trackers.

Why their compound was considered one of the village's most difficult targets.

The Byakugan turned conventional infiltration into an exercise in frustrating futility.

They'd had similar attempts over the years—not frequent, but regular enough that established protocols existed to handle them.

Each had ended predictably: the infiltrator captured, interrogated, processed, and eventually executed or imprisoned for later use in political leverage.

The mention of his daughters had upset him, but this case shouldn't be very different from so many previous ones.

Or at least that's how it should be.

When he finally reached the compound—landing in the main entrance courtyard with Tokuma materializing beside him half a second later—the scene that greeted him didn't match his expectations of 'professional and controlled routine' at all.

Chaos.

Not the organized kind of 'emergency situation being handled with appropriate protocols'. But genuine, messy, almost frantic chaos.

The entire compound seemed to have been shaken like a beehive struck with a stick, with clan members moving in all directions apparently without the usual coordination that characterized Hyūga operations.

Guards ran toward defensive positions normally only established during full invasion alerts— the type of formations they'd used during the Kyūbi crisis.

Raised voices overlapped each other in chaotic layers, fragments of urgent conversations mixing into background noise that made distinguishing specific information difficult.

He could see groups of main branch members congregated in nervous clusters, talking in low but clearly agitated tones.

Branch house members moved with that particular tension that came from receiving contradictory orders from multiple sources simultaneously.

Hiashi activated his Byakugan, scanning the complete area searching for additional threats or signs of structural damage.

Nothing.

There were no hostile chakra presences.

The compound's structures were intact.

So what the hell justified this level of disproportionate disturbance?

Yes, there'd been an infiltration attempt.

Yes, the heirs had been the specific targets.

But the infiltrator had been captured.

The girls were safe.

The threat had been neutralized.

They'd handled similar situations previously without this generalized hysteria.

What made this instance so different that the clan's response bordered on dysfunction?

As he walked toward the main building with quick but measured steps—maintaining at least the appearance of controlled calm even if internally his confusion grew—he passed near a group of branch house Hyūga who clearly hadn't noticed his proximity.

Their voices were low but urgent enough to carry in the relatively tranquil night air.

"—can't believe they almost managed to take them—" a young woman's voice, trembling slightly with residual fear.

"—if the heirs hadn't managed to escape on their own—" a man began, his tone mixing relief and retrospective horror.

"—in the middle of the forest completely alone, anything could have happened to them—" another interrupted, words rushed and anxious.

"—I thank the ancestors at least they returned unharmed—"

The words hit Hiashi like physical projectiles, each impacting with enough force to make his step waver almost imperceptibly.

Almost managed to take them.

Escape on their own.

In the middle of the forest.

Completely alone.

His mind immediately began breaking down the implications of those fragmented phrases.

That didn't… absolutely didn't match what Tokuma had reported barely minutes ago at the Hokage Tower.

If the infiltrator had been captured inside the compound as he'd naturally assumed, then how exactly would the girls have been in the forest?

Why would they have needed to escape on their own if compound guards had intercepted them before they left the perimeter?

How had they ended up completely alone on unprotected terrain if the security system had functioned appropriately?

The confidence he'd felt during his return journey evaporated instantly like water on red-hot metal.

This wasn't a routine failed infiltration.

Something considerably more serious had occurred.

Before he could immediately change direction to go directly verify Hinata and Hanabi, a different guard appeared running from one of the side buildings.

"Hiashi-sama!" the man—Hyūga Haruto, another senior branch house member—bowed briefly while running, barely slowing his speed.

"The council elders request your immediate presence in the detention hall to examine the captured infiltrator. They're already gathered there waiting for you."

Hiashi stopped completely, his body tense with conflict between duty and desire.

Every fiber of his being as a father wanted to ignore that request—no, that barely veiled demand—and run directly to where Hitomi was with the girls.

He needed to see them.

He needed to confirm with his own eyes they were truly well.

He needed to embrace them and make sure this terrifying event hadn't damaged them in ways that weren't immediately visible.

But…

His gaze swept the surrounding area.

And there, distributed among the agitated crowd but clearly visible to someone who knew what to look for, he identified the distinctive figures of several clan elders.

Hyūga Hirazen—the council's oldest, back hunched by age but eyes still sharp and ruthlessly analytical—observing procedures from near the main entrance.

Hyūga Kazuki—known for his obsessive paranoia about Byakugan security that bordered the pathological—personally supervising guards reinforcing perimeters.

Hyūga Sayuri inspecting something Hiashi couldn't see clearly from his current angle.

All present.

All actively observing.

All—he could bet his reputation on this—meticulously evaluating each of his actions and reactions.

Their expressions were carefully neutral from this distance, but Hiashi could feel the almost physical weight of their focused gazes when they noticed him.

Waiting.

Judging.

Searching for any sign of exploitable weakness.

If he openly and flagrantly ignored their 'request' to first go see his daughters—if he visibly prioritized his role as father over his role as clan leader in this critical moment where kekkei genkai security had been directly threatened—they'd store it as ammunition.

Every perceived weakness he showed—every crack in his armor of perfect and unwavering leader—was potentially exploitable.

They could use it to erode his authority, press for concessions he'd been resisting, or undermine his carefully constructed plans to protect his daughters from the seal.

Hiashi felt something dark and bitter twisting in his stomach.

Frustration.

Resentment.

Impotent fury directed both toward the elders and toward himself for being in a position where this type of cold political calculation had to override basic paternal instinct.

He swallowed all of that—literally feeling how tension accumulated painfully in his throat— and nodded brusquely toward Haruto.

"Guide me." he ordered with a voice he kept firm despite internally wanting to scream.

Hitomi was with the girls.

They'd be safe under her care.

He could personally verify their condition once he handled this immediate situation with the elders watching him like hungry hawks.

Duty first.

Clan second.

Family…

Family came after everything else.

Just as it had always been in the Hyūga clan.

Just as it probably always would be while the current system remained intact.

He only hoped Hitomi and his daughters wouldn't resent him for it.

The Hyūga compound's detention hall—deliberately located in the lower levels of one of the secondary administrative buildings, built with reinforced walls and chakra suppressor seals integrated into the structure itself—was specifically designed to safely contain captured shinobi while preparing for interrogation or transfer.

Hiashi had visited it perhaps a dozen times in his years as clan leader.

It wasn't a place that required frequent attention in normal times.

When he entered—the heavy door closing behind him with a definitive metallic sound that resonated in the confined space—he found exactly the scene he'd anticipated.

Three elders already positioned forming a menacing semicircle around a bound and slumped central figure.

Several guards distributed in tactical positions around the room's perimeter, their Byakugan active—the veins around their eyes visibly pronounced—constantly monitoring the prisoner for any chakra fluctuation that might indicate escape or suicide attempt.

"Hiashi," Hirazen greeted him with a minimal nod of his gray head, his voice rough with decades of age but surprisingly firm.

"How fortunate you finally join us."

The tone was superficially courteous but carried a barely perceptible edge of criticism about his 'tardiness'—as if the minutes it had taken to arrive from the Hokage Tower were somehow evidence of questionable priorities—.

Hiashi chose to completely ignore the implied provocation.

Instead, he directed his complete attention toward the captured infiltrator, mentally preparing to evaluate the threat and begin formulating questions for later interrogation.

And he stopped.

Completely.

Because what he saw didn't match at all—not even remotely—what he'd been expecting to find.

Jūken was universally recognized as one of the most lethal taijutsu styles developed in shinobi history.

Possibly the most lethal when executed with appropriate mastery.

Each strike was directed with surgical precision toward specific tenketsus, interrupting chakra flows, causing cascading systemic failures, destroying vital internal organs without needing to break bones or penetrate skin.

It was elegant in its brutality.

Efficient in its lethality. Devastating in ways that frequently didn't become completely apparent until hours later when victims suddenly collapsed from organ failures that hadn't been externally visible.

But it wasn't a style that left particularly dramatic or visually impacting external signs.

Jūken victims usually looked relatively intact superficially.

Perhaps some distinctive circular bruises at impact points.

Maybe bleeding from eyes, nose or ears if internal damage was sufficiently severe.

That's exactly why the infiltrator's physical state impacted him with the force of a blow to the stomach.

The subject's face—or what remained of it—was so severely deformed that visually identifying him as human required conscious effort.

Hiashi immediately activated his Byakugan, needing to see beyond the superficial carnage to understand the complete extent of damage.

The skull showed fractures—not clean lines that came from a precise blow, but chaotic damage patterns suggesting repeated trauma from multiple angles—.

Some were relatively minor, mere cracks in bone.

Others were considerably more severe: skull sections fragmented or partially collapsed in ways that frankly made it miraculous the man was still breathing.

Brain tissue showed extensive damage.

Massive swelling pressing against the skull's interior.

Areas of hemorrhage where blood vessels had burst under pressure.

Contusions distributed across regions controlling memory, motor function, sensory processing.

If this man survived there would be severe permanent neurological damage.

Possible aphasia, paralysis, or worse.

His right arm was destroyed beyond any realistic repair.

Compound fractures in at least three distinct places where bones had been forced through muscle and skin.

The shoulder dislocated with such violence Hiashi could see how the joint had been partially ripped from its socket.

Torn tendons.

Severed nerves.

Even with the best medical treatment available in Konoha—with Tsunade Senju personally supervising reconstructive surgery—this arm probably would never function appropriately again.

Several ribs were completely pulverized.

He could clearly see where several of those fragments had perforated lung tissue, creating small internal hemorrhages.

The right lung was partially collapsed, explaining the bubbling and wet sounds of his labored breathing.

His skin—in areas where it wasn't completely covered with dried blood, encrusted dirt, or both —showed extensive patterns of deep abrasions.

Not the superficial type of scratches that came from falling once.

But severe friction damage consistent with having been violently dragged across rough terrain—stones, tree roots, compacted earth—for a considerable distance.

The upper skin layers had been literally scraped off in entire sections, leaving raw exposed flesh that would probably become gravely infected if not treated soon.

None of this was consistent.

It didn't follow patterns that made sense from a coherent combat perspective.

There was blunt impact trauma—the type of massive damage that came from being repeatedly struck with extreme force by something large and solid.

But there was also evidence of explosive trauma.

Minor burns distributed asymmetrically.

Damage patterns from shrapnel or debris.

As if he'd been close enough to some type of explosion to receive secondary damage without being in the direct epicenter that would have killed him instantly.

And most disturbing: the specific cranial damage wasn't the result of a single devastating blow.

It was cumulative.

Trauma concentrated in similar areas again and again, as if something had been methodically slamming his head against hard surfaces multiple times with persistent determination.

The pattern of radiating fractures from multiple impact points confirmed it.

This wasn't the clean and precise work of Jūken.

This was uncontrolled brutality.

Excessive violence applied without technical refinement or concern for efficiency.

The type of destruction that came from someone who didn't have—or didn't bother using— careful control over their strength.

Or someone who was angry enough that control simply stopped mattering.

"What happened to this man?" The question came from Hiashi with more genuine surprise than he'd normally allow his voice to show.

His eyes moved from the infiltrator's shattered body toward the present guards, seeking explanations.

Hyūga Takeshi stepped forward from his position near the wall.

He bowed briefly, the movement tense, before responding with professional but noticeably tense voice.

"Hiashi-sama, we made sure to remove everything he had on his person that could potentially be used to escape or commit suicide before bringing him to the detention hall," he reported with measured tone.

"Hidden weapons found in multiple locations—kunai, senbon, tripwire. Specialized infiltration tools—lockpicks, miniaturized explosive seals. Three different storage seals sewn into his clothing's lining. Poison capsules hidden in a false molar tooth we surgically removed." A brief pause while Takeshi clearly organized his thoughts.

"Everything has been confiscated and is being meticulously catalogued for later analysis. We've also secured samples of his hair, blood and tissue for identity verification through conventional methods and possible DNA analysis if necessary." Takeshi was avoiding answering his question.

"That doesn't answer what I asked." Hiashi pointed out with a voice that had cooled several degrees, his patience—already severely worn by an endless night of interruptions and crises— diminishing rapidly.

"These wounds clearly weren't inflicted by someone from the clan. I demand a complete and detailed explanation of exactly what occurred."

His tone made clear "demand" wasn't a courteous suggestion but a direct order he expected obeyed immediately and completely.

Takeshi exchanged a brief and uncomfortable glance with another guard positioned nearby before continuing, his nervousness becoming more visible in the way his shoulders tensed.

"Hiashi-sama… when the… when the situation was initially discovered." he began with obvious care, clearly choosing each word with consideration about how it would be received. "Hinata-sama and Hanabi-sama approached directly to the compound's main entrance." A pause while he took a breath, preparing for the difficult part.

"They came running from the surrounding forest. They were visibly upset—scared, breathing with difficulty from the physical effort of running. Both had minor scratches on hands and arms consistent with moving quickly through vegetation without worrying about branches or thorns. Their clothes showed dirt and grass stains indicating they'd been navigating unprepared terrain in darkness."

Hiashi's stomach progressively sank with each added detail.

"They were screaming—quite hysterically at first, it took us several minutes to calm them enough to understand what they were saying—about…" Takeshi notably hesitated.

"About a huge and evil man who was taking them away. And they also mentioned a 'crazy little boy' who supposedly freed them and stayed to fight the evil man."

The silence that filled the detention hall after those words was so heavy and dense it almost felt physically oppressive.

Hiashi took a deep breath.

His daughters had been taken from the compound. Carried to the forest. By an infiltrator skilled enough to extract them without immediate detection.

And then, according to the testimony of terrified three-year-old girls, a boy had somehow intervened.

"A little boy?" Hiashi slowly repeated, his tone loaded with skepticism bordering openly on incredulous sarcasm. "You're reporting that a boy did… this?"

He gestured toward the brutally shattered infiltrator with a hand movement encompassing the totality of visible damage.

An infiltrator who had to be minimum jōnin level.

And supposedly he'd been reduced to this state of massive destruction by a boy.

"We thought exactly the same initially, Hiashi-sama," Takeshi quickly admitted, his tone becoming defensive at his leader's obvious skepticism.

"When your daughters arrived with that story, our first reaction was they'd misinterpreted what they saw in darkness, or their fear had distorted their perception of events."

The guard continued, speaking faster now as if urgency could make his explanation sound more believable.

"The narrative sounded… completely improbable at best. Fantastic at worst. But the heirs clearly came from a location where they definitely shouldn't have been at that hour." Of course not, they were sleeping in their rooms when he left.

"And they were genuinely terrified in a way we couldn't simply dismiss as excessively active childish imagination."

Takeshi paused briefly before continuing.

“While one member of our team escorted the young ladies to Hitomi-sama, the rest proceeded to investigate the location they indicated.”

“Approximately eight kilometers northwest of the compound’s perimeter.” He continued.

“we discovered a small natural clearing in the forest.”

“The area showed extensive signs of devastation, consistent with a violent confrontation. The terrain was heavily damaged, trees uprooted or broken, and the ground severely disturbed.” Hiashi remained silent, his expression unreadable.

“At the center of the clearing,” Takeshi went on.

“we found the infiltrator. Unconscious, barely breathing, in the condition you see now.” He hesitated for a moment before adding.

“Not far from him, we also found another individual. A young boy, likewise unconscious, bearing injuries consistent with involvement in the same encounter.” Takeshi inhaled deeply.

“The boy was identified as the jinchūriki.”

For the first time in this entire endless day, Hiashi Hyūga, leader of the prestigious Hyūga clan, let out an audible groan—long, deep, loaded with genuine frustration that had been accumulating for hours—as he brought both hands directly to his temples that had begun throbbing with what promised to become an absolutely massive headache.

He pressed his fingers firmly against the pressure points around his eyes, applying perhaps more force than medically advisable in a completely useless attempt to alleviate the stabbing pain pulsing in sync with his accelerated pulse.

What exactly had he done in his life to deserve all these massive and complicated problems falling on him concentrated in a single night?

Everything together.

All at once.

In the longest night of his recent life.

Of course the jinchūriki was somehow involved in this.

Of course he was.

He needed the addition of the Kyūbi's container—Konoha's most powerful and controversial living weapon, the child half the village feared and the other half hated—involved in an incident that already involved a foreign infiltrator, his own daughters, and potentially war implications with Kumogakure.

Perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

What else could go wrong at this point?

Hiashi finally lowered his hands from his throbbing temples, opened his eyes, and forced himself to recover some semblance of professional composure despite what he really wanted to do was simply lie on the floor and not move for approximately a complete week.

He had to handle this.

Somehow.

Would the elders also criticize him if he decided to become an alcoholic?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Nick/Naruto Uzumaki

Location: ???

Time: ???

My consciousness returned slowly, like emerging from the depths of a heavy dream that didn't want to let go.

It wasn't abrupt.

It wasn't painful either.

My body felt strangely light, as if floating instead of lying on something solid.

Then came the sounds filling the silence.

Constant dripping. drip-plink… drip-plink….

The soft splash of water moving lazily, disturbed by something I couldn't identify yet.

Finally, I opened my eyes.

I blinked several times while processing what I was seeing, my brain taking a few seconds to catch up with the visual information it was receiving.

When I fully came to my senses, things didn't look at all like I'd expected.

I wasn't lying in the middle of the forest clearing where I remembered falling unconscious.

Nor was I surrounded by a bunch of guys in white coats preparing to open me up and see what I had inside.

And I wasn't locked inside a prison in Konoha's depths, awaiting interrogation or execution or whatever they did to jinchūriki who were much more dangerous than they appeared.

Instead, I'd woken up lying in the middle of a long and gloomy hallway whose floor was completely flooded.

The water was several centimeters deep, strangely warm, almost body temperature, and completely still except for occasional ripples forming when something disturbed it.

I sat up slowly, the movement creating small waves that expanded in perfect concentric circles before dying against the walls.

My eyes automatically scanned the area, processing every detail with curiosity and caution.

The hallway extended in both directions as far as I could see, eventually disappearing into darkness that seemed to have no real end.

The walls were high, some type of gray concrete or stone, without ornamentation or decoration.

The type of architecture you'd find in industrial infrastructure or municipal sewer systems.

This seemed familiar to me…

I could see two sets of thick pipes running along the ceiling apparently extending throughout the visible hallway's entire length.

One of them looked particularly bad. Rusted, with bulging sections that seemed about to burst, and with leaks everywhere.

Each leak filled the silence and fed the water accumulated on the floor.

The other pipe, in marked contrast, looked immaculate.

As if it had just been installed.

"So the beating they gave me was so bad they sent me straight to my mindscape?"

The words came out automatically, breaking the silence with my voice that sounded strangely clear in the confined space.

It wasn't hard to guess where I really was when I knew what to look for.

This place was as iconic as Naruto's swing at the academy, or the Valley of the End.

Anyone with canon knowledge would instantly recognize it.

The mental sewer system where the Kyūbi was sealed.

There was no way to confuse it with anything else.

That also perfectly explained why absolutely nothing hurt right now.

I checked myself more methodically, starting with the obvious.

My clothes were completely intact—no tears, no blood stains, no dirt that definitely should be there after rolling on the forest floor.

I lifted my hands in front of my face, examining them carefully. No scratches. No bruises. Clean.

A deeper observation with my eyes showed my tenketsus were perfectly fine.

Each of them glowed normally in my vision, without signs of the massive damage I remembered suffering.

My chakra network also looked surprisingly stable considering I'd forced it to the point of nearly making it explode with that last failed attack.

All of that shouldn't be possible so quickly.

While I was pretty sure my regeneration would eventually take care of fixing the mess I'd made of my internal system, something as delicate as restoring burst tenketsus would take hours.

Maybe a few days.

Though I really had no precedent for that claim—this was the first time I'd screwed myself up this way.

And I wasn't talking at all about the damage the Kumo emissary had given me.

His blows had hurt—a lot—but regeneration had fixed them almost instantly.

No, what had really left me out of commission was forcing my entire network throughout the fight and almost destroying it when I tried that Purple at the end.

I couldn't help but grimace at the thought.

When I left this place and woke up in my real body, I'd probably go through terrible agony while everything finished repairing appropriately.

I hoped I'd only regain consciousness after most of the critical damage was already fixed.

Waking up in the middle of the repair process didn't sound like a type of experience I'd want to voluntarily go through.

But that was a problem for future Nick.

Present Nick had something more immediate to resolve.

"And now, where do I go?"

The hallway I was in seemed to extend endlessly in both directions, but I could distinguish several bifurcations along its path.

Side hallways.

Intersections.

The place was basically a damn labyrinth.

I tried using my eyes to observe through the walls—see if there was anything more than just identical corridors extending eternally.

But it turned out I couldn't see anything through them. My eyes simply bounced off, unable to penetrate whatever these walls were made of.

And why the hell does my mindscape look like Naruto's?

Wasn't its design supposed to represent his loneliness or some bullshit like that?

…okay, maybe I felt a little lonely.

Spending most of my time until now training hadn't been so bad.

And the perks I'd bought were working very well, so I hadn't developed annoying negative traits.

But the truth was it could get a bit boring being alone all the time.

It was right then when a drop of whatever was running through the pipes fell directly toward my forehead.

I let Infinity stop him automatically—an ingrained reflex—leaving the drop suspended in the air exactly three centimeters from my skin, floating there as if defying gravity.

My eyes showed me something particular.

It glowed.

Not with reflected light but with its own luminescence. An intense and brilliant blue pulsing gently, as if it had its own heartbeat.

"If that's not a clue to get out of here, then I don't know what could be."

I let Infinity release the drop, which immediately fell and mixed with the floor's water, its glow disappearing instantly.

Now that I was really observing them with focused attention I noticed how the more deteriorated pipe transported chakra.

Flows of brilliant blue energy ran through it like blood through veins, pulsing with irregular rhythm.

All the leaks falling from damaged sections glowed with that same intense luminescence— though they stopped glowing almost immediately upon touching the accumulated water, as if transforming into normal water.

Then I understood.

"These things represent my chakra network," I murmured, looking at the damaged pipe with new understanding.

"And that's why it looks like shit."

All the leaks and deterioration the pipe presented were a direct manifestation of the state I'd left my system in after the fight.

Each leak.

Each bulging section.

They were accumulated stress.

My mindscape was literally showing me a visual representation of how fucked up I was internally.

"But if this represents my network, then why are there two of them?"

My vision concentrated on the completely intact pipe running parallel to the damaged one.

Unlike the obvious flows of blue chakra running through the other, this one seemed to be… empty?

No.

It wasn't empty.

I sharpened my sight much more.

And I could finally see it.

A thread.

Almost microscopically thin. So fine it was practically invisible.

A small thread of chakra flowing through the massive pipe.

And it wasn't blue like my own chakra.

It was red.

Kurama!

This pipe represented the connection with the Kyūbi.

Barely perceptible.

But very present.

Which meant Minato's plan hadn't gone so well after all.

Looks like he hadn't stripped Kurama of all his power—however minuscule it appeared to be.

This was a great opportunity.

I'd never tried to consciously access my mindscape—you know, avoiding a bunch of idiots killing me and all that—so this would be a good time to finally contact the grumpy fox.

With a clear objective in mind, I stood up—water splashing around my ankles—and began walking down the hallway following the ceiling pipes like they were a map.

There were a huge number of paths to follow in this labyrinth.

Bifurcations.

Intersections.

Stairs ascending or descending toward levels I couldn't see.

But the pipes—both the damaged and intact one—only went through one specific path.

And given that one of them was connected to where Kurama was sealed, sooner or later I'd arrive exactly where the bijū was contained.

The excitement in my steps would surely be noticeable to anyone who saw me.

But I couldn't help it.

This would be the first opportunity I'd have to have a real conversation with someone.

A genuine conversation.

Not unilateral screams from civilians trying to kill me.

Not endless monologues with myself because there was no one else.

A real conversation.

Yes, Kurama at this moment was basically a huge angry bag of fleas who'd try to eat me when I got close.

But he was definitely much better than any of the brain-damaged people I'd dealt with until now.

And besides, I had every reason in the world for him to be that way.

I didn't remember much about the other jinchūriki from Naruto—especially those prior to those revived with Edo Tensei during the Fourth War.

But something I had very clear was that both Mito and Kushina were some of the worst jinchūriki that had existed.

They sucked.

Totally and absolutely without any doubt.

What was that stupidity about containing the Kyūbi's hatred using love?

Was it a euphemism for bondage?

Because I only remembered seeing Kurama inside Kushina's seal tied to a giant rock by Kongō Fūsa, unable to move or do anything but exist in perpetual captivity.

And if I wasn't mistaken, Mito had the same type of seal, so it was surely the same with her for decades.

If I set aside my bias for them based on the fact they were bombshells, I could recognize both had been bitches to the poor bijū.

They treated him as if he were nothing more than a rabid animal without intelligence or emotions.

And in that sense, Mito was probably the worst of the two.

She was the first jailer and the one who held that post longest. Complete decades of captivity under a single person.

But it was clear not once in her entire life did she try to communicate with him as an intelligent being capable of reason.

Otherwise, the only advice she gave Kushina wouldn't have been "suppress his hatred with love."

That wasn't real advice. It was an empty and ambiguous motivational phrase that didn't mean shit.

Kushina, on the other hand, had sinned from being gullible and stupid. She took Mito's words as if they were absolute law, so in her mind Kurama was only a creature of destruction that should be kept permanently locked up.

It wasn't unexpected the old fox was so bitter and full of resentment against everyone.

From his perspective, he would've been living his life peacefully.

Then a pink-eyed idiot—Madara—brainwashed him and used him as a weapon for his lovers' quarrel with the Shodai.

When he woke up, he was surely already inside Mito.

Then he spent decades inside a couple of women incapable of talking to him like normal people.

And finally, when he briefly managed to escape, another pink-eyed idiot—Obito this time— brainwashed him again and he ended up sealed once more.

If things followed canon then his next meeting would be with a screaming brat who only came to him to demand chakra.

That was possibly the best interaction he managed with all his jailers.

No wonder Naruto—with the script's help and Talk no Jutsu—was the only one of the three who managed to get anywhere with the fox.

Luckily for Kurama, I wasn't any of those things.

…Not completely at least.

I could do idiotic things from time to time, and I was also a bit degenerate.

BUT

Nobody was perfect.

Kurama also had his flaws and problems.

Something we could take care of later.

First of all I had to make a great first impression.

I didn't know Talk no Jutsu, and I definitely didn't have the script on my side.

But I knew he wasn't a monster or a stupid animal.

That he had reasons to distrust everyone.

That deep down he was a great fluffball and a true brother once he trusted someone.

I just had to show him I wouldn't be like his two previous jailers.

It wouldn't be easy, and sincerity on my part was practically a requirement.

It wouldn't be a problem.

I wanted to have someone I could trust without having to hide my circumstances.

Because not even dead would I spill that information to someone from the village. Not even to possible candidates for my future harem.

But Kurama was sealed inside me.

And anyway he wasn't someone who betrayed his allies—at least he gave that impression.

He was the perfect confidant.

And best of all, I shouldn't have too many problems earning his trust.

Judging by the pipe, he didn't have the chakra everyone constantly chased him for.

Depending on the active Bad Trope, maybe he couldn't even regenerate it by himself at this moment without me ripping chakra from my sisters.

Which meant my attempts to approach him were totally sincere.

I wasn't looking to use him as a chakra battery.

I just wanted a companion, a true brother—because if I got my way I'd be constantly surrounded by pussy and there wouldn't be many guys around—with whom to bump fists when I was handing out punches and taking names.

With that last hope about my possible camaraderie with an apocalyptic fox, I noticed a few meters ahead the hallway opened toward an enormous chamber.

The change was obvious—the corridor's confined space suddenly expanding toward something massive.

The pipes I'd been following curved upward, disappearing through a large opening in what seemed to be this new area's ceiling.

"There it is. He has to be there."

I started running to arrive as quickly as possible, my feet splashing noisily in the water without caring about the noise.

Just wait, Kurama.

Our brotherhood will be legendary.

Next time we meet Madara we'll kick his ass together.

The excitement grew with each step as I approached the chamber's entrance, my mind already imagining what it would be like to finally meet the legendary Kyūbi face to face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[END OF CHAPTER 6]

Author’s Note:

Writing Hiashi was absolute torture.

The MC’s POVs are extremely simple for me—after all, he’s a SI—so it’s mostly a matter of projecting my own thoughts and decisions onto him, while taking into account the character modifications caused by perks and drawbacks.

But Hiashi? The guy is a politician and a snob (that is the right term for rich aristocrats, right?). Writing his POV meant I had to constantly keep that in mind and make everything sound as… elegant as possible. It was really hard to keep my normal vocabulary out of his thoughts, dialogue, and mannerisms.

I just hope I managed to capture his character properly.

Unfortunately, I’m still catching up with the images. Chapters 4, 5, and 7 should have quite a few of them—I’ll upload those as soon as I can.