15: Disciple and Sword – 1

“Nii-san?!“

Sasuke came pelting out of his room like something was on fire. He had his bow on his back and a quiver at his hip—ready, like he’d been ready for a while.

Itachi was sitting on the wooden veranda in the morning light, sorting through his gear. He looked up at his little brother with something between surprise and a smile.

“Sasuke.”

“You’re going out again?” Sasuke planted himself in the doorway, cheeks puffed, arms crossed. “You promised.“

“…Ah.” Itachi’s face shifted with recognition. “I did.”

Sasuke gestured at himself. At the bow. At the considerable effort he had clearly put into being prepared. “You said you’d come with me.”

“I know.” Itachi set down what he was holding. “I’m sorry. Something came up. I can’t.”

“Hmph.“

Sasuke turned his head away. Showed him the back of his ear.

Itachi watched him for a moment—the set of his shoulders, the carefully maintained not-looking—and then reached out.

Sasuke barely saw it coming.

“Ow—” He clapped a hand to his forehead, rubbing. “That hurt!”

“Next time.” Itachi’s voice was gentle.

Sasuke dropped his hand. He looked up.

Itachi was smiling at him. The real one—the quiet one, the one only Sasuke ever got.

“…Fine.” He tried very hard not to turn red. “This time. I’m not making a habit of it.”

Itachi’s smile deepened. He stood, and the morning light behind him shifted—

And then he was gone. Where he’d been standing, light moved through empty air.

“…Nii-san,” Sasuke said to the space where he’d been.

He looked at the veranda boards for a moment. The way the light fell in thin strips through the slats.

“Getting busier every week,” he muttered.

He turned back toward his room—and stopped.

His father was sitting at the table. Quietly. As though he’d been there a while.

Sasuke straightened fast. “Father.“

Fugaku said nothing. His expression was the one it always was—brow set, jaw level, a weight to him that didn’t need announcing.

Mikoto came in from the side room with a tea tray, setting it down without fuss.

“Did Itachi leave?” she asked Sasuke.

“Just now.”

She made a small, fond sound of complaint. “He could at least say goodbye properly.”

“He’s probably on a mission,” Sasuke said. “He’s ANBU captain now—”

He felt the room change. His father’s eyes opened.

Fugaku looked at him.

“And?“

Sasuke went very still. He wasn’t sure what he’d said wrong.

“Being ANBU captain,” Fugaku said, and each word carried its own weight, “means what, exactly, Sasuke.”

Sasuke didn’t answer.

“Hmph.” Fugaku rose slowly from the table. “Clan business,” he said, without looking at either of them, and moved toward the door.

“You’re heading out too?” Mikoto asked, a little surprised.

“Someone in the clan made trouble again.”

---

At the Inuzuka compound, the afternoon was slow and warm.

Kiba dropped another vegetable into the basin and wiped his face with his sleeve. Beside him, Shin worked steadily, rinsing greens in the outdoor washtub. Hana crouched between them in her apron, separating roots.

Akamaru was investigating a corner of the garden with great seriousness.

“Hey, Hana-nee.” Kiba’s patience lasted about four minutes. “Who’s the guest?”

“Someone from the Uchiha clan.”

Shin and Kiba both looked up.

“The head, actually.” Hana kept working.

“Sasuke’s dad?” Kiba said, like the words tasted bad. He already didn’t like Sasuke. The feeling extended naturally.

Not Shisui. Shin kept his face still, ran through it quickly. Then probably not about me.

Hana looked up. “Kiba, be nice.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“It’s about the thing that happened this morning.” Hana tilted her head, thinking. “Mom was in town and there was a… situation with some of the Military Police. I’ll tell you later—” She caught herself. “Actually, you don’t need to know.”

“What?“

“Just wash the vegetables.”

Kiba hunched over the basin with enormous grievance.

Shin watched the water. The vegetables turned slowly in his hands.

Akamaru made a small doubtful sound.

“Don’t you start,” Kiba told him.

“Woof.”

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“Traitor.“

---

The front door opened.

Hana stood first, wiping her hands. Shin and Kiba followed.

The man who came out was tall, with a hard face—sharp angles, brow permanently set, a kind of gravity that moved around him. Nothing about him was decorative.

“Are you leaving?” Hana bowed. Shin and Kiba fell in beside her and did the same.

Fugaku swept his gaze across the three of them, unhurried.

It stopped on Shin.

“You’re Shin Takami.”

It wasn’t quite a question. He was already looking at the answer.

Shin met his eyes. “Yes.”

Kiba, beside him, did not move a muscle.

Fugaku looked at Shin for a moment longer. Taking stock.

“Sasuke is in your care,” he said.

“Not at all. Sasuke does well on his own.”

Fugaku made a short sound—not dismissal, but something like recalibration. He hadn’t expected that answer.

“Good.” He held Shin’s gaze. “Keep your position at the top of your class.”

“…”

Why do all of them say that.

Is there a script somewhere.

Shin kept his face even.

“I was acquainted with your father,” Fugaku said then.

Something in Shin went very still.

“Hey.“

Fugaku paused. His gaze slid to the side.

Tsume Inuzuka stood in the open doorway, arms folded.

The two of them regarded each other for a beat. Fugaku looked back at Shin.

“Come by the Uchiha compound sometime,” he said, and then walked through the gate without another word.

Hana watched him go. “You’re welcome,” she murmured softly, and went back to tidying up.

Kiba exhaled through his nose.

Shin looked at the gate for a moment after it closed.

Your father. Again. First Genma. Now the Uchiha clan head.

He’d heard Genma say his father might have been in line to lead a jonin squad. They weren’t a clan. There was no rank to inherit, no bloodline to trade on. And yet—

“Shin.”

Tsume’s voice from the doorway.

“Come in.”

……

She was already seated when he came inside. Kuromaru lay near the wall, watching with the calm, heavy attention of an old animal. Tsume had her arms folded, her expression closed.

“Sit.”

He sat.

“Have you had any contact with the Uchiha clan?” she asked. Straight at him.

“Sasuke Uchiha is in my class.”

“Anyone else?”

Shisui. He kept his face still. The word sat behind his teeth.

“No.”

Tsume looked at him. Her eyes were difficult to read—Kiba had her coloring and her directness, but not her particular depth of quiet.

“Good,” she said at last.

A beat.

“That invitation Fugaku just extended,” she said. “Don’t take it.”

“All right.”

She looked at him again, longer. Something shifted in her expression—too small and too brief to name.