Throne Of The Uchiha

Enter

Uchiha Fugaku jotted down the key intelligence on a scroll and approached the two captured Sunagakure Jōnin. His three-tomoe Sharingan spun slowly, observing the faintest chakra fluctuations and micro-expressions—there was no deception that could escape those eyes.

Though both appeared unconscious, Fugaku saw through the act. Their subtle muscle tension and barely concealed chakra suppression betrayed them.

"No use pretending," Fugaku said coldly. "You've been struck by the Hyūga clan's Jūken. Your tenketsu are sealed—your chakra network is effectively paralyzed. Escape is impossible."

At his words, the two Sand Jōnin opened their eyes simultaneously. Their stares brimmed with hatred, regret, and powerlessness. With their mouths gagged, they couldn't even curse him—only the despair in their eyes remained.

They likely remembered the moment Fugaku cast Sharingan Genjutsu, forcing them to reveal details during a haze of hallucination and illusion. The shame of being outwitted weighed heavy on them.

"Don't blame me," Fugaku murmured. "Blame the era. May your next lives find peace."

A flash of motion.

The kunai in his hand drew a swift, clean arc, slashing both their throats in one fluid movement. The light faded from their eyes before their bodies even hit the ground.

Two lines of mental text flickered in his consciousness:

> "Eliminated Jōnin. Sharingan: moderate ocular power increased."

"Eliminated Jōnin. Sharingan: moderate ocular power increased."

A cool surge washed through his eyes. The accumulated fatigue from prolonged Sharingan use began to ebb, his sight sharpening, and his confidence rising. He could feel his visual prowess advancing—not yet Mangekyō, but progress nonetheless.

"Shinji, Ohno," Fugaku ordered, turning away, "bury them with the other four Sand-nin. We move at dawn. Traps will be laid near the extraction zone to obscure our retreat."

"Understood."

That night passed without interruption. The cave remained undisturbed, shielded by the dense downpour of the Land of Rain.

---

At daybreak, the eight-man team departed under the relentless sheets of rain. The conditions served them well, naturally erasing footprints and chakra residue. They needed no further concealment.

On a small cliffside, Fugaku pointed to the valley below.

"We'll plant traps here. After we exit through the southeast path of the Suna outpost, head due north. When pursued, loop back east using the traps to stall them and return to the forward Konoha camp."

Hyūga Ning analyzed the terrain with his Byakugan activated.

"Solid plan. Yamada Shinji, Aburame Nozawa—you're in charge of laying the traps. Use your Doton and Nozawa's kikaichū to coordinate concealment."

The two nodded. Among the eight were two skilled Earth Style users, and Konoha's best in stealth and ambush techniques.

As the rain intensified and night approached, Fugaku made his move.

"Time to change roles. Let's adapt to our new identities on the move."

"Henge no Jutsu."

Puffs of smoke burst across the clearing. In moments, a squad of disguised Sunagakure ninja emerged, heading toward the Suna stronghold.

Each member reviewed their impersonated ninja's quirks and behavior in their minds. Fugaku assumed the persona of Captain Kurosa, a known mid-level commander from Suna.

To fully mimic Kurosa, Fugaku scratched his right cheek occasionally—a tick born from a childhood habit related to mosquito bites. His movements became subtly guarded, always alert, mimicking Kurosa's famously cautious nature.

As the sandstone walls of the Suna outpost came into view, the guards on watch called out.

"Captain Kurosa! You're back! Did you encounter any Konoha or Iwa-nin?"

Fugaku, mimicking Kurosa's voice and cadence, replied smoothly, "Kirigi, Hirasawa—we didn't encounter Leaf or Stone shinobi, but Rain-nin squads crossed our path. Fought a few skirmishes, but they outnumbered us. It ended in a standoff."

"Sounds about right. Konoha and Iwa-nin are laying low these days," Kirigi muttered. "Kurosawa's in logistics today. We'll catch up later."

Fugaku gave a nod of acknowledgement.

Kurosawa, a veteran Suna Jōnin known for his Fūton mastery and puppet techniques, was respected but known to disdain Kurosa's over-cautious behavior. It would make the upcoming encounter challenging to fake.

Inside the logistics tent, Kurosawa sat at a wooden table, flanked by two Chūnin aides—Murakami and Inoue.

"Captain Kurosa and Jōnin Fukagi reporting," Murakami said cheerfully.

Fugaku stepped forward. "No updates from Konoha or Iwagakure, but Rain's forces are stirring. Hanzo's growing restless."

Kurosawa's voice was low and frosty. "Of course you wouldn't know anything. Fukagi, staying in Kurosa's shadow won't hone your edge. Want me to recommend you for reassignment?"

Fugaku maintained his composure. "That would only endanger Fukagi further. He's newly promoted—he needs time to adjust, not to be thrown into slaughter."

Kurosawa's jaw clenched. "You're coddling him. When the war heats up—and it will—those who can't face it won't survive."

Hyūga Ning remained silent, standing at ease but inwardly tense. The ruse was wearing thin.

Fugaku feigned frustration and turned to leave. "I'll wait outside."

The argument had served its purpose—a distraction. Kurosawa had focused on their clash and failed to question their identities in depth.

Now alone with Kurosawa, Ning softened his tone. "Captain, I apologize. Captain Kurosa is a capable leader, but perhaps he's too concerned with preservation."

Kurosawa grunted. "Let's hope you don't become like him."

He tossed over a logistics certification scroll. "Take it. You'll need it for rations access."

"Thank you, Captain."

As Ning exited the tent, the entire disguised squad let out a subtle breath. The hardest part was done. The forged identity had held.

Their eyes locked silently—one phase was complete. The final task remained:

> Sabotage the supply depot.

Fugaku gave the slightest nod. They moved, six shadows vanishing toward the heart of the Sunagakure supply warehouse.