Throne Of The Uchiha

Departure

"It has always been my goal to lead the Uchiha to rise again," said Fugaku, his voice calm but firm. "In my view, if the Uchiha grow stronger, Konoha will also grow stronger. Our fates are intertwined."

Yet there was something he did not voice: while Konoha had grown in strength, the Uchiha were no longer what they once were.

"The resurgence of the Uchiha is a long and arduous road," said Ueno, one of the clan's more thoughtful jonin. "Konoha was founded by the Senju and Uchiha together. But what Uchiha Madara did led to our clan being pushed out of the village's center of power."

"The Senju also declined," Ueno continued, "but they passed on the Will of Fire. Many of them died in the wars, while others gradually merged into the village, influencing its culture and values. The Senju have become more than a name—they've become a spirit."

Fugaku looked at Ueno, surprised. He hadn't expected such insight from a frontline jonin. His words weren't simple praise—they reflected true understanding.

"Senior Ueno has extraordinary insight," Fugaku said sincerely.

In his heart, Fugaku reassessed Ueno. Though not remarkable in combat, the man's perspective was anything but shallow. Placing someone like him on the front lines was a waste of intellect and vision.

After parting ways with Ueno, Fugaku did not immediately return to his clan's sector of the camp. Instead, he went back to his own tent, his mind racing.

The conversation had sparked many thoughts—but some of Ueno's views felt overly idealistic. In the shinobi world, strength spoke louder than ideals. Konoha's power had long been guided by those descended from, or aligned with, the Senju. This dominance was backed not only by the villagers' faith but also by overwhelming strength.

Ueno couldn't see it from his position—but Fugaku could. Most of the current Konoha leadership were connected to the legacy of the Second Hokage: Hiruzen Sarutobi, Homura Mitokado, Koharu Utatane, and Danzo Shimura. Though not Senju in name, they inherited and enforced Tobirama's philosophy of control, particularly toward the Uchiha.

Yet without inheriting Hashirama's broad-mindedness and deep empathy, Konoha's leadership was losing balance. When true internal conflict inevitably broke out among the upper echelons, that would be the moment the Uchiha could return to the center of power.

In a daze, the night passed.

At dawn, Fugaku exited his tent and headed toward tent No. 42, where another Uchiha clansman was stationed.

Every conversation with his clansmen gave him valuable insights—not just into their views, but into the broader mindset of the Uchiha.

Maeda and Ueno could be grouped together: loyal to the clan, ready to die for its honor. But where Maeda was hot-blooded and impulsive, Ueno was rational and introspective.

In tent No. 42 lived Uchiha Tensa, a newly promoted jonin with a two-tomoe Sharingan. Like many Uchiha, his dōjutsu had developed slowly—but through persistence, he rose through the ranks.

Not every Uchiha excelled in visual prowess. Some, like Tensa, earned their status with grit and skill.

"Fugaku," Tensa greeted, lifting the curtain. "I've heard a lot about you. You're already a legend in this vanguard camp."

The two stepped outside. A fine misty rain fell gently from the overcast sky.

"And people are still talking about me?" Fugaku said, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't done anything that grand."

"Taking down a supply base of the Sand with a team of eight is no small feat," Tensa replied.

"It was just one base," Fugaku said modestly. "And it was only possible because of the entire team's cooperation. I couldn't have done it alone."

"You're too modest," said Tensa. "With your Three Tomoe Sharingan, I'm sure any team would succeed under you. I only have two tomoe, but I can feel the gap. There's immense power hidden in it."

Fugaku frowned slightly. This overconfidence was dangerous—too much faith in the Sharingan, too little appreciation for other factors. That attitude needed correction.

The difference between one, two, or even three tomoe was marginal when compared to elite jonin. Only the Mangekyō Sharingan brought a true qualitative leap—the power to contend with the strongest shinobi of each village.

It was likely that many within the clan shared Tensa's misplaced confidence. That collective arrogance would need to be addressed—subtly, and over time.

"Tensa," Fugaku said, "we're in the midst of a four-way war in the Land of Rain. You know better than anyone—carelessness gets people killed."

"You think I'm overconfident?" Tensa asked. "My aptitude isn't great—I know that. Two tomoe isn't much for a jonin. But I feel like I'm on the verge of a breakthrough. I could awaken my third tomoe at any moment. Then I'll truly be able to handle this battlefield."

Fugaku studied him silently. Confidence was good—but pride unchecked was ruinous.

"Let me give you this advice," Fugaku said. "Even with three tomoe, don't overestimate yourself. It's powerful, yes—but there are many enemies whose strength still lies far beyond it."

He didn't know if Tensa would heed the warning. But he had to try.

After their conversation, Fugaku's thoughts were clouded. The clan's obsession with the Sharingan, even among those with little aptitude for it, was a vulnerability. It would take time—and influence—to shift that mindset.

Two days of team coordination had passed—the maximum window the vanguard command allowed. That morning, Fugaku received their next assignment from Hatake Sakumo himself.

His team assembled in the clearing, posture sharp and expressions solemn.

"This mission will not be easy," Fugaku said as he surveyed them. "But it's not impossible either. There's no fixed number of enemies to kill. Your success will depend on your judgment and execution."

Their assignment: infiltrate the northwestern region of the Land of Rain and disrupt enemy activity. No specific kill count. Just eliminate threats from the Earth, Wind, or Rain villages as they encountered them—within a three-month window.

Fugaku understood: the war had entered a protracted phase. From now on, it was a war of attrition. Elite small-unit operations would define the next few years. Such battles would be cruel and constant, testing not only strength but endurance, adaptability, and teamwork.

The mission wasn't just a test for his squad. It was a test of his leadership—and his beliefs.

The vague kill criteria gave him strategic flexibility, but also meant responsibility rested entirely on his judgment. Losses were expected. Survival was not guaranteed.

"Remember," Fugaku told them. "This mission isn't about body counts. What I want from you now is teamwork. Learn each other's rhythms. Trust each other. The real fight starts today."

Without another word, the squad leapt forward—flickering into afterimages as they surged into the rain-shrouded wilds of the Land of Rain.