The grill crackled softly between them, a small island of warmth and sizzling meat in the midst of a conversation that had grown increasingly cold. Renjiro stared at Nakada, her words still hanging in the air like a verdict: 'become a bridge between the village and the Uchiha clan.'
His mind immediately began to calculate.
'This isn't a condition,' he thought.
The analysis came fast, clinical, detached. He was already planning to leave the clan. Not immediately—there were preparations to make, timing to consider—but eventually. Becoming a mediator would do the opposite of freeing him. It would tie him deeper into Uchiha politics, make him indispensable to both sides, and create dependencies that would be nearly impossible to sever.
The village leadership already distrusts the Uchiha. The Uchiha distrust the village. Anyone acting as mediator becomes a lightning rod for blame when things inevitably go wrong.
And things would go wrong. He knew that with the certainty of someone who had seen the future. The Uchiha massacre. Itachi's betrayal. The slow, grinding tragedy of a clan that couldn't see its own extinction coming.
'There's no need to even tolerate this condition. If it's about breaking the agreement, I can just go to her brother. Or her father. Fugaku and Daichi are the ones who made this deal. They're the ones who can unmake it.'
He studied Nakada carefully, his gaze sharp, searching for the cracks in her facade.
'Is this really her idea? Or is this Fugaku's? Did she come here with instructions? Was this whole meeting—the stadium, the meal, the "coincidental" conversation—choreographed from the start?'
Suspicion curdled in his gut. His irritation grew, a slow burn that threatened to surface.
'Even when I try to cut ties cleanly,' he thought bitterly, 'the clan finds another rope.'
He opened his mouth to respond. The words were forming—cold, dismissive, final. He would tell her that she was asking the wrong person. That he had no intention of being dragged further into their politics. That her condition was unacceptable, and he would take his chances with Fugaku.
But before he could speak—
"Nakada-kun."
The voice was young, respectful, and completely unexpected. Both Renjiro and Nakada turned.
Two boys stood beside their table.
The first was Shisui Uchiha, fresh from his Chūnin victory, still wearing the green flak jacket of his new rank. His expression was polite, humble, the face of someone who had just achieved something significant but was too well-mannered to boast.
The second boy was much younger. Small. Quiet. His dark hair framed a face that was already too serious, too observant for his age. His eyes—those dark, depthless Uchiha eyes—moved constantly, cataloguing everything in the restaurant, every face, every movement, every detail.
'Itachi.'
Renjiro's internal reaction was immediate and visceral.
Shisui Uchiha. Itachi Uchiha.
The names echoed in his skull with the weight of history. Shisui—the future prodigy, and the wielder of Kotoamatsukami. Danzo's victim.
And Itachi. The future Uchiha clan killer. Akatsuki member. One of the most dangerous shinobi in history. A child standing here, quiet and observant, who would one day slaughter everyone he knew.
'He's already watching everything.'
The thought was cold, clinical, but also strangely calming. The argument with Nakada, the political manoeuvring, the engagement—all of it suddenly felt small. Insignificant. Because standing in front of him were two boys who would shape the future in ways Nakada couldn't imagine.
This is what's coming, he thought. Not clan politics. Not marriage arrangements. This.
The reminder was uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. But it also grounded him, pulled him out of the spiral of irritation and suspicion.
Nakada's face softened immediately. She smiled warmly at the two boys, her earlier tension melting away.
"Shisui-kun! Congratulations on your promotion." Her voice was genuine, proud.
"You were incredible out there."
Shisui ducked his head slightly, a modest gesture that seemed entirely natural.
"Thank you, Nakada-kun. I was fortunate in my matchups."
"Fortunate?" Nakada laughed softly. "You made every opponent look like they were standing still."
Shisui's smile was warm, but his eyes flickered briefly to Renjiro—assessment, recognition, the awareness that he was in the presence of someone whose reputation preceded him.
Itachi remained quiet, his gaze moving from Nakada to Renjiro and back. He didn't speak, didn't fidget, didn't do any of the things normal children his age would do.
He simply observed.
Renjiro felt the weight of that observation. It was unsettling—the sense that this child was already processing information, filing away details, building a mental model of everyone in the room.
'He's going to be terrifying,' Renjiro thought. And heartbreaking. And everything in between.
He pushed the thoughts aside and offered Shisui a polite nod.
"Congratulations, Shisui. Well earned."
Shisui's expression brightened. "Thank you, Renjiro-san. I've heard a lot about you. It's an honour to meet you properly."
The words were simple, respectful. Renjiro returned the nod and let the conversation flow around him, his attention divided between the present moment and the weight of history pressing against his consciousness.
Shisui and Nakada exchanged a few more pleasantries—questions about the exams, comments about future matches, the casual talk of family. Itachi remained silent throughout, but his eyes never stopped moving.
Renjiro barely spoke to him. Couldn't bring himself to.
'There is a high probability we will stand on opposite sides one day.'
The thought was cold, but honest. He knew what Itachi would become. Knew the choices he would make, the burdens he would carry, the blood that would stain his hands. Being friendly now felt like a betrayal of that future knowledge. Or maybe it felt like the only way to maintain distance before the inevitable schism.
Better to keep my distance.
A simple nod. Nothing more.
Renjiro stood abruptly, the motion drawing surprised glances from the table.
"I have work to do," he said, his voice calm, pleasant, entirely unreadable. He reached into his pouch and withdrew enough ryo to cover the meal—plus a generous tip—and placed it on the table.
"It was good seeing you both."
Nakada's expression flickered. She recognised what was happening. He was escaping.
"Renjiro…" she started, her voice carrying a new seriousness, less political, more personal. "We should continue this conversation later."
Renjiro paused but didn't turn fully. His voice, when it came, was blunt.
"I highly doubt that."
He took a step toward the door, then stopped, adding over his shoulder:
"This situation didn't start with you or me. If it's going to end, it's better I settle it with the people who created it."
Meaning Fugaku. Meaning Daichi. The men who had made the deal in the first place.
He didn't wait for her response. He walked out, the restaurant's warmth giving way to the cool evening air.
Behind him, Nakada's expression tightened. Her leverage was gone. Her condition was rejected. And Renjiro had made it clear that she was no longer a participant in the negotiation—just a bystander.
The village was quieter now, the evening crowds thinning as families retreated to their homes and businesses began to close. Lantern light spilt from windows, painting the streets in warm gold. Crickets had begun their nightly chorus, a soft background hum beneath the occasional distant bark of a dog or the murmur of conversation from a passing patrol.
Renjiro walked without destination, his mind heavy with the weight of the evening.
Nakada's request. The clan's politics. Shisui's earnestness. Itachi's silence.
Seeing those two boys had reminded him of something he tried not to think about too often: the future is already moving.
'I need to finish my present for next week.'
The thought surfaced quietly, a deliberate shift away from the weight of history and toward something smaller. Something personal.
He had been working on it for weeks—a gift, carefully crafted, meant for someone who deserved more than he could ever give.
The thought settled him, grounded him in the present. The clan could wait. The engagement could wait. The future could wait.
Tonight, he had something more important to think about.
=====
Bless me with your powerful Power Stones.
Your Reviews and Comments about my work are welcome
If you can, then please support me on Patreon.
Link - www.patreon.com/SideCharacter
You Can read more chapters ahead on Patreon
Latest Chapter: 786-Shinobi's Compliment