I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

Uchiha Kagami's funeral was held on the third day.

The memorial to Konoha was crowded with people.

The entire Uchiha clan was present, a dark mass, like a heavy cloud pressing down on the grass.

The Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, personally attended the event, standing at the very front, holding a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, his face displaying just the right amount of sorrow.

Danzo Shimura did not come.

His deputy arrived, a root member with a blank expression. He placed the flowers before the monument, bowed, and turned to leave. Like a machine that had completed its mission.

The three generations spoke at length in front of the stele.

What "Will of Fire," what "Hero of Konoha," what "Forever Remembered"?

The sound echoed across the open space, scattered by the wind, and landed in everyone's ears, light and airy, like ashes.

-

Shuoge stood at the front of the crowd, dressed in black, with no knife hanging on his back.

His eyes were black—the two tomoe were put away, and no one knew that he had opened his eyes.

Only the wind knows, because it saw it that night.

Feng stood a step behind Shuoge, saying nothing, just watching that small figure from behind, as if watching a tree that had been bent by the wind but then straightened itself.

Zhi Shui stood next to Shuo Ge.

The four-year-old child doesn't fully understand what death is, but he knows that "Uchiha Kagami" will never come back.

He didn't cry, but instead gripped Shuoge's clothes tightly, his fingers turning white, his lips pressed into a thin line. Shuoge looked down at him, reached out, and took that small hand in his palm.

It was cold, small, and shivering.

-

People began to come forward and offer flowers.

One, two, a hundred white chrysanthemums piled up on the stone platform in front of the monument, like a thick layer of snow.

Someone cried, their voice was very low, and their shoulders were shaking.

Someone stood there, expressionless, with empty eyes.

Someone was kneeling in front of the monument, their forehead pressed against the cold stone, their lips moving, but it was unclear what they were saying.

After offering the flowers, the third generation turned around and walked to Shuoge. He squatted down, looked Shuoge in the eye, and reached out to pat his head.

Sakugo slightly turned his head, and the Third Hokage's hand missed its target, hovering in mid-air for a moment before being withdrawn.

"Shuoge, I'm very sorry about your uncle's matter."

The Third Hokage's tone was gentle, as mild as a cup of cooled tea. "He is a hero of Konoha, a paragon of the Will of Fire. We are all proud of him."

Shuoge looked at him. He looked into those old, cloudy eyes, filled with too many things.

There was sadness, regret, and something else in the Third Generation's eyes. But there was no anger. No anger like that of "I want to kill the person who killed my teammate."

Shuoge didn't speak, he just nodded.

The third generation stood up, glanced at him, and turned to leave. After a few steps, he stopped, looked back at the child in black, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just sighed and left.

-

After the funeral, the crowd slowly dispersed. Only a few people remained before the memorial, still sobbing softly. Shuoge was still standing there, holding Zhishui's hand tightly.

"Shuoge".

The sound of wind came from behind. Shuoge turned around. The wind stood a few steps away, its face expressionless, but its eyes were bloodshot.

Three days have passed, and the blood streaks haven't faded; in fact, they've gotten deeper, like a dried-up riverbed.

"Come with me."

Shuoge looked down at Zhishui. "Wait for me."

Shisui nodded and released his grip.

-

Shuoge followed the wind to a small grove of trees behind the memorial. The trees were dense, blocking out the sunlight, and the air smelled of earth and fallen leaves—damp and cool.

Feng stopped, turned around and looked at Shuoge. He remained silent for a moment.

"Promise me one thing."

Shuoge remained silent and waited.

"Don't act impulsively."

The wind whispered, its sound barely audible, as if squeezed from the depths of the chest. "Whatever you hear, whatever you learn, don't act impulsively. You're only six. You have talent, you have opportunity..."

Shuoge looked into Feng's eyes. There was no probing, no doubt in those eyes, only something heavy, almost overflowing—fear.

It's not that I'm afraid of dying, it's that I'm afraid of him dying.

It is feared that the future that Jing would risk her life to protect would be lost in vain due to impulsiveness.

"I promise you," said Shuoge.

The voice was very calm, as calm as if saying that the weather was nice today.

Feng looked at him for a long time, as if confirming that those three words were genuine, not just a perfunctory response, but that he had truly taken them to heart.

Then he nodded, leaned against the tree trunk, as if all his strength had been suddenly drained away.

-

"Your guess is correct."

The wind was so soft, it sounded like it was telling a secret that no one should hear.

"The intelligence was leaked by Root. The clan leader, Fugaku, and Yan's routes, departure times, and personnel rations—all of it was relayed to Iwagakure through Root's people. The Iwagakure demolition unit received the intelligence down to the hour. They didn't just happen to meet them on patrol; they were waiting there. They waited for a whole day."

The wind clenched its fist, its knuckles turning white.

"The clan leader fought his way out of the encirclement. Of the twenty-four Iwagakure Jonin, he killed twenty-two. Fugaku and Ken were covered by him and escaped first. He covered their retreat, killing twenty-two more, and then—"

The sound of the wind choked.

"Then he went outside to meet up with Fugaku and the others. On the way, he encountered the Root people."

The woods were so quiet you could hear the leaves falling to the ground.

"How many people?" Shuoge asked.

"I don't know." Feng shook his head. "The clan leader was already seriously injured when he arrived. The people of Gen had no intention of leaving any survivors. He killed a few, but... he couldn't hold on any longer. By the time we got there, he was already—"

The wind didn't finish its sentence.

-

Shuoge stood there, expressionless.

Feng looked at him, at this six-year-old child, at his dark, emotionless eyes, and suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

It wasn't fear, but something deeper, something more indescribable—the child's reaction was wrong.

Hearing this, he should have been angry, he should have cried, he should have clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, vowing revenge. But he didn't. He just stood there, listening, as if it were something that had nothing to do with him.

"Shuoge—"

"I see."

Shuoge interrupted him. His voice was faint, as faint as the winter wind.

"I agree to what you said. I won't act impulsively."

He turned and walked out of the woods. After a few steps, he stopped and did not look back.

"Uncle Feng".

"Um."

"Thank you for telling me."

Then he left.

-

The wind stood still, watching the small figure emerge from the shade and into the sunlight. The sunlight shone on him, stretching his shadow long and long, all the way to the wind's feet.

Feng looked down at the shadow and suddenly realized that it was not the shadow of a six-year-old child—it was too long, too heavy, pressing down on the ground like an indelible scar.

-

Shuoge walked back to the memorial stone. Zhishui was still standing there, clutching the hem of her clothes, waiting for him. When she saw Shuoge return, her eyes lit up for a moment, then dimmed again.

"Let's go home." Shuoge extended his hand.

Zhi Shui nodded and placed her small hand in Shuo Ge's palm. It was still cold, and still trembling.

The two walked side by side on their way home.

Behind me, the memorial stone was piled high with white chrysanthemums. A gust of wind blew, and the petals floated up, twirled in the air, and fell onto the mud, into the footprints, and onto the path walked by those who would never return.

Shuoge held Zhishui's hand and walked very slowly.

The words the wind spoke echoed in his mind. Root. Danzo. Leaking information. Ambush. He chewed each word down, swallowing them, burying them deep inside, into his bones.

He said he wouldn't act impulsively.

He won't act impulsively.

……

……

……

Danzo targeted the Uchiha clan for two main reasons.

One is the concept.

He was a disciple of the Second Hokage, Tobirama Senju, and his teacher taught him a great deal—ninjutsu, strategy, and tactics.

But he only learned the sharpest part of his teacher: the wariness towards the Uchiha.

Tobirama said that the Uchiha were a "cursed clan," and the stronger their emotions and power, the greater the risk of losing control.

Danzo etched this sentence into his very bones, chewing on it day and night. In the end, it became a simple and brutal conclusion—the Uchiha were evil and needed to be controlled.

The other is desire.

He had met Madara Uchiha.

The image of that man standing on the battlefield, facing the entire Allied Shinobi Forces alone, is still vivid in his mind.

Those eyes, that power, that absolute strength that looked down on everything and crushed everything—he could never forget them.

He wanted that power, those eyes, and the ability to command the submission of everyone.

So he stared at the Uchiha, staring intently without stopping.

Like a snake staring at a bird's nest in a tree.

It wasn't for eating the bird, it was for the egg.

The death of Jing was a product of these two things.

His beliefs told Danzo Shimura that the Uchiha clan should be weakened, and his desires told him that Kagami was the perfect target.

And so Jing died.

He died "gloriously," he died "dignifiedly," he died under the kunai of Iwagakure.

No one will doubt anything.

No one dared to doubt anything.

But he overlooked someone he had never paid attention to—Jing's nephew.

Uchiha Sakugo.

That six-year-old brat who humiliated him in the clan's territory.

He survived the encirclement of Iwagakure.

Not only is he alive, but he has also awakened the second tomoe.

Not only did he gain new insights, but he also killed people on the battlefield as easily as mowing grass.

-

Takuya's graduation mission was casually arranged by Danzo.

He wasn't very good at using the prosthetics, and he often made mistakes in hand seals; going to the battlefield would just be suicide.

But the Shimura family couldn't afford to have a "failure to graduate" joke, so he had someone contact the school and assigned Takuya the simplest task—weeding.

Level D, same-day round trip, no need to even leave the village.

This is a task that any ordinary person could do.

After making the arrangements, Danzo never thought about it again.

Tuo wasn't cut out for it either; he'd known that for a long time.

The explosive tag didn't kill anyone; instead, he lost an arm. This kind of trash isn't of much use.

But the clansmen of Shimura cannot look too bad.

That's it.

-

Takuya Shimura's body was never found.

Shuoge did not allow him to leave behind a body.

That morning, when Takuya walked alone towards the farmhouse, Sakugo's shadow clone had been waiting there for a long time.

It only took one slash to kill him. Takuya didn't even see who did it. Before his prosthetic leg could even be raised, a red line appeared on his neck. Before the blood could even flow, he was already dead.

Sakugo looked down at the corpse, his face expressionless. He crouched down and took away Takuya's ninja tool pouch, headband, and everything else that could identify him.

Then he formed a hand seal.

Fire Release: Ashes Burning.

This is a ninjutsu technique he learned specifically for this day.

It's not for killing people, it's for disposing of corpses.

The flames were hotter than ordinary fire-escape techniques, and burned more thoroughly. The bones turned to ash, which was scattered by the wind and mixed with the soil.

Nothing will be left behind.

There wasn't even a single fragment the size of a fingernail.

All that remained in the farmhouse yard was a charred mess. Shuoge kicked the ashes away, then covered them with a layer of soil. Then he turned and left, as if nothing had happened.

-

Taku didn't go home either.

His parents waited and waited, until it got dark, until midnight, and until dawn the next day.

No one came back.

They went to the mission location and found only an empty farmhouse and a clean yard. There were no signs of a struggle, no bloodstains, and nothing unusual.

Takuya seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth.

They found Danzo.

"Takuya's gone." Takuya's father stood before Danzo, his voice trembling. "He went on a mission yesterday and hasn't returned. We've searched, but we can't find him..."

Danzo looked at him. The face of this distant cousin flashed in front of him for a few seconds before he remembered—oh, Takuya, that good-for-nothing nephew.

What was his mission again?

weeding.

Grade D.

Three miles outside the village.

What kind of unexpected things could happen on this kind of mission?

"Have you checked?"

"We checked. There was nothing at the mission location. Nobody there, no trace, and Takuya's ninja tool bag and headband were gone too. It's like... like it's been dealt with."

Danzo frowned slightly. Not out of worry, but because he felt uneasy. What trouble could a D-rank mission, with a piece of trash who couldn't even form proper hand seals, possibly cause?

But the fact is, the person is missing. We need to see them alive or dead. Since there's nothing here, they must have been hidden, or—burned to ashes.

"I understand," he said.

Takuya's father wanted to say something, but Danzo had already lowered his head and continued reading the documents on the table. The man stood there for a while, then turned and left.

-

Danzo leaned back in his chair and tapped his cane with his finger.

Takuya is dead. He was almost certain. A six-year-old good-for-nothing, missing during a D-rank mission, his ninja tool bag and headband stolen, with no trace left at the scene—this wasn't an accident, it was an cover-up.

Someone killed Takuya and then burned all the evidence.

Clean and efficient, as if it had been done many times before.

Many faces flashed through his mind.

Those elders of the Uchiha clan who mocked him at the clan meeting, those spies watching Root from the shadows, those Shimura clan members who "accidentally" survived on the battlefield—too many people wanted him dead.

The Shimura clan has made countless enemies in Konoha; this is the price they pay for manipulating everything from the shadows.

Takuya's death could be an act of revenge by the Uchiha, a test by the Hyuga, or the venting of long-suppressed resentment by some unknown small clan.

It's even possible that someone from Iwagakure specifically picked an easy target, just to slap him across the face.

Danzo tapped his cane twice with his fingers.

He remembered the pale face of Takuya's father kneeling before him, and the clumsy way his good-for-nothing nephew held a kunai with his left hand.

A life flashed through his mind for three seconds, then slipped away.

unimportant.

The important thing is that someone dared to touch the Shimura clan, and someone dared to leave a mark on Danzo's face.

"check."

His voice was forced out from deep in his throat.

"Find out exactly what mission Takuya took on last, the route, the time, and the people involved. Also—what has the Uchiha been up to lately? Is there anything unusual with the Hyuga? Has the Ino-Shika-Cho trio's intelligence network been counter-tracked? I need answers within three days."

"Yes." The Root members disappeared into the darkness.

Danzo leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Takuya's death was a thing of the past for him; now he was thinking about something else—after Kagami's death, the Uchiha clan not only didn't restrain themselves, but became even more unruly.

Uchiha Fu is investigating, Uchiha Fugaku is organizing the army, and Uchiha Kagami's nephew, the most talented boy in the history of the Uchiha clan—Uchiha Sakugo—has returned alive from the battlefield.

These fragments swirled in his mind, unable to form a complete shape, but he smelled a certain scent—a dangerous scent.

It came from that direction he had been staring at, but had never truly paid attention to.

It wasn't Uchiha Fuu. It wasn't Uchiha Fugaku. It was something smaller, more insignificant, something he had never put on his threat list.

He opened his eyes. It wasn't raining outside, but he felt like something was dripping, a steady, ticking sound, like some kind of countdown.