For several seconds after Sakumo spoke, the kitchen remained completely still.
Soichiro sat across the low table, his gaze resting on Sakumo with the same calm, unreadable steadiness he carried into every conversation. The posture itself seemed relaxed—one arm resting against the table, his shoulders loose—but Reiji had learned long ago that stillness from his father rarely meant indifference.
Then, slowly, Soichiro shook his head.
"I… no."
The refusal came quietly, but there was no hesitation in it.
Sakumo blinked.
Soichiro leaned back slightly in his chair, the faint tension in his expression tightening as though the words themselves had drawn something unpleasant to the surface.
"I am already enough of a failure as a parent," he said, his voice low but steady. "I will not add another responsibility."
The words fell heavily into the room.
Reiji felt them immediately.
He still stood beside the table with the empty tray in his hands, suddenly unsure where to place it. His fingers tightened unconsciously against the wood, the familiar knot of discomfort twisting quietly in his chest. He kept his gaze lowered toward the tea cups so neither of the adults would notice his reaction, but the weight behind his father's words pressed down on him with an uncomfortable familiarity.
Across the table, Sakumo frowned.
"I have only you, Soichiro."
"Find someone else."
The response came without hesitation.
Sakumo's jaw tightened slightly.
"Shingen would have wanted that."
Soichiro froze.
The name hung in the air like something fragile.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his eyes lifted toward Sakumo.
"That," he said quietly, "is despicable of you."
A faint, humorless smile touched his face.
"I was beginning to think I was the only asshole between the two of us."
Sakumo sighed and rubbed the back of his neck again, the gesture looking far less confident than the relaxed bravado he usually carried.
"Sorry," he muttered. "But I'm a little desperate here."
His expression hardened slightly as he looked back at Soichiro.
"You're the only person I can count on."
For a moment Soichiro said nothing.
Then he spoke again.
"Did you forget your wife's side?"
His voice had cooled slightly, though the tension beneath it had not entirely disappeared.
"I'm sure you could find someone there."
Sakumo shook his head.
"Like I said, this happened suddenly."
A small breath escaped him.
"I don't regret marrying her."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"But I don't know her family or her clan well enough to trust them with something like this."
Soichiro's eyebrow lifted slightly.
"So she is from a clan, then?"
"Yes."
Sakumo leaned back slightly against the floor cushions, resting his weight on one arm.
"She's an Inuzuka."
A quiet chuckle escaped Soichiro.
For the first time since the conversation had grown tense, a trace of amusement appeared in his voice.
"Well… now I see how she managed to tame you."
He lifted his tea cup and took a small sip.
"They tend to be rather wild when expressing their feelings."
Sakumo laughed.
"Ahaha… yeah."
He scratched lightly at his cheek.
"Honestly, I still think she's an anomaly even among them."
Soichiro glanced at him.
"Not very nice to say about your wife."
Sakumo shrugged easily.
"That's what I like about her."
His smile softened slightly.
"So it's fine."
Across the room, Reiji remained quiet, watching the two men as they spoke.
The conversation had shifted again. The tension that had filled the room moments earlier had loosened slightly, replaced by something calmer, though the earlier exchange still lingered in the air like an echo that refused to disappear.
Especially the name Sakumo had spoken.
Shingen.
Reiji had heard it only a handful of times before.
Yet the way his father had frozen when Sakumo said it told him everything he needed to know.
Some wounds never truly closed.
Reiji's fist tightened slightly around the edge of the tray.
For a few seconds after the conversation faded into silence again, none of them moved.
The warmth of the tea slowly dissipated as the steam above the cups thinned and disappeared, leaving the kitchen wrapped in a quiet stillness broken only by the faint creak of wood settling in the evening air.
Sakumo glanced down at his empty cup before pushing himself up from the floor.
"Well," he said lightly as he brushed his hands against his trousers, "I managed to accomplish my objective."
His tone had returned to its usual casual ease, though the faint weariness around his eyes had not completely disappeared.
"So I should probably go now."
He scratched the back of his neck with a crooked smile.
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable any longer."
Reiji watched him as he stood.
Across the table, Soichiro did not respond immediately. His father remained seated where he was, one hand resting against his chin while his gaze drifted downward toward the surface of the table. The earlier conversation seemed to have drawn him into his own thoughts, leaving his expression distant, almost melancholy.
Sakumo waited a moment before turning toward the door.
He had nearly reached the entrance of the kitchen when he suddenly stopped.
"Ah—before I forget."
He turned around again.
"Soichiro."
His grin returned instantly.
"Now that you're the godfather, you'll have to attend the wedding."
The effect was immediate.
The quiet contemplation vanished from Soichiro's face, replaced by open irritation.
"Fuck off."
Sakumo burst out laughing.
"Ahaha! I'll send the invitation soon."
He waved lazily as he stepped toward the door.
"Well then. Goodbye."
As he passed Reiji, his hand suddenly dropped down and ruffled the boy's hair.
Reiji stiffened in surprise.
By the time he reacted, Sakumo had already slipped away and was halfway through the doorway.
Reiji shot a withering glare at the back of the departing shinobi.
A moment later the door slid closed with a soft wooden thud.
Silence returned to the house.
Reiji stood still for a moment before finally speaking.
"I don't like him."
Across the room, Soichiro let out a quiet breath.
"Well," he said calmly, "he can have that effect on people."
But despite the words, the faintest hint of a smile lingered at the corner of his mout
Soon the small smile on Soichiro's face faded.
The faint trace of amusement vanished as if it had never been there, leaving behind the calm, measured neutrality Reiji knew so well. His father leaned slightly back from the table, the movement slow and controlled, before his gaze shifted toward him again.
"Enough about that," he said. "Tell me about your visit with the Uchiha. How was it?"
Reiji blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.
For a moment he simply rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers brushing absently through his hair as his mind drifted back to the training yard from earlier that afternoon. He could almost feel it again—the rough packed earth beneath his sandals, the dry scrape of dust shifting under quick footwork, the sharp sting that had spread through his arms each time he blocked one of Fugaku's strikes.
"Well…" he said slowly. "Enlightening, I guess."
He leaned his hip lightly against the edge of the table as he spoke, replaying the spar in his mind.
"Arata—my classmate, I mean—wasn't that impressive," he admitted. "Even with the Sharingan."
The memory shifted almost immediately to the second fight.
Fugaku's movements had been different entirely. Faster. Sharper. Every step placed with deliberate control, every strike coming from an angle that forced Reiji to react instead of attack. Even now he could still remember the weight behind those blows, the jarring impact that had traveled up his forearms when he blocked them.
"But his brother Fugaku is the real deal."
A faint spark of excitement crept into his voice despite himself.
"I can see why the Uchiha are so famous," he continued. "Those eyes are damn useful."
Soichiro nodded once.
"That is true."
He studied Reiji quietly for a moment, his gaze sharp but unreadable.
"And did you win?"
Reiji scratched his head awkwardly.
"Well… against Arata, yes. Of course."
He hesitated slightly before continuing.
"But not against his brother."
He straightened instinctively as he spoke, a faint defensive edge creeping into his tone.
"I mean, he's already a genin—and the son of the clan head."
"That is normal," Soichiro replied calmly. "It is a valuable experience."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"Now you have seen it for yourself. Even young prodigies can be terrifying."
His gaze sharpened slightly as he spoke, the quiet warning in his voice unmistakable.
"The other villages are the same. They all produce prodigies."
"Perhaps even more talented than that Fugaku or Minato."
The room seemed to grow a little quieter.
"You cannot fall behind them."
A brief pause followed.
"Or you will meet an early death when the time comes."
His eyes settled firmly on Reiji.
"Do you understand?"
Reiji swallowed.
"I… I know."
For a moment neither of them spoke. Reiji's gaze drifted briefly toward the floor before the thought that had been lingering in his mind finally surfaced.
"Then why am I still in the academy?"
A faint frustration slipped into his voice.
"I would progress much faster if I just spent my time training with you."
He shifted his weight slightly, the wooden floor creaking faintly beneath his foot.
"Those people just slow me down."
Soichiro exhaled slowly and rubbed his brow between two fingers.
"I have already explained this."
"The academy is mandatory."
"Despite your results, the village still considers you too young to become a genin."
He paused briefly, his gaze drifting away for a moment as though considering something.
"Well… that may change soon."
The last words were spoken more quietly, almost like a passing thought, before his attention returned fully to Reiji.
"Reiji."
His voice softened slightly.
"You should treasure this time."
"You should find allies."
A faint pause followed.
"Friends, if you can."
His gaze remained steady.
"You will need them when the time becomes difficult."
"No one can stand alone forever."
"Everyone needs help eventually."
A faint breath escaped him.
"Even the Hokage himself."
Reiji lowered his gaze slightly.
"I know."
He hesitated for a moment before continuing.
"I'm working on it."
Then he lifted his head again, a small spark of confidence returning to his voice.
"I'm already getting close to some people."
"The Uzumaki girl I told you about… and some of her friends."
He thought briefly before adding,
"Even Arata—and his brother, I guess."
A faint smile appeared on Soichiro's face.
"Good."
For a moment the room grew quiet again.
The silence between them was no longer tense. Just calm. The faint sounds of the village outside filtered through the paper walls—distant voices, the soft creak of wood shifting in the evening air.
Then Soichiro spoke again.
"So."
"How is your training progressing?"
Reiji froze.
The reaction was small but immediate. His fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the table, the wood pressing into his palm.
"I…"
His father's gaze rested on him expectantly.
For a brief moment, the memory of the afternoon returned with uncomfortable clarity—the failed attempts, the stubborn resistance of his own chakra refusing to change nature no matter how carefully he tried to guide it.
Reiji forced his shoulders to remain relaxed.
"Everything is fine," he said finally.
"I've made some progress."
Soichiro nodded, clearly satisfied.
For the first time in his life, lying to his father felt heavier than any blow he had taken during training.
----
The house grew quiet as the evening settled over the district.
After the conversation ended, Soichiro eventually retired to his room, leaving the kitchen empty. Reiji cleaned the cups in silence, the faint sound of water running against ceramic echoing softly in the small space. Outside, night had begun to spread across the village.
When the last cup was placed back on the shelf, Reiji dried his hands and stepped outside.
The small training yard behind the house lay still beneath the darkening sky. The earth was hard-packed from years of use, the ground uneven in places where countless steps and strikes had worn shallow grooves into the soil. A wooden training post stood near the far edge of the yard, its surface scarred with old cuts and dents.
Reiji walked toward it slowly.
His body still carried the dull ache from the afternoon spar. When he rolled his shoulders, the muscles protested immediately, a lingering soreness spreading through his arms where Fugaku's blows had struck. Even his ribs still throbbed faintly when he drew a deeper breath.
Reiji stopped a few steps from the training post and let the quiet settle around him.
He closed his eyes.
Chakra gathered.
The sensation came easily—familiar, controlled. It flowed through him like a steady current, circulating along pathways he knew by instinct now. There was no resistance in it, no instability. When he guided it downward toward his arms, it obeyed without hesitation, pooling smoothly into his palms.
Reiji exhaled slowly and narrowed his focus.
Then he twisted the flow.
The change was subtle at first.
A slight shift in texture. A difference in weight.
The chakra in his palm thinned, sharpening into something finer, more precise. The steady current lost its softness and took on an edge—something that felt less like energy and more like a blade.
Wind.
Reiji's eyes opened a fraction.
He didn't move immediately. Instead, he held the sensation in place, testing it, feeling the way the chakra behaved under his control. It responded cleanly, without instability, flowing exactly as he intended.
No mistake.
Then he reached into his pouch and pulled out a leaf, placing it flat against his palm.
The thin surface rested lightly against his skin, unmoving.
Alright.
He adjusted his stance slightly, one foot sliding half an inch across the dirt to ground himself more firmly. His shoulders loosened, posture aligning as he prepared to push the chakra outward.
Now—
The wind-nature chakra flowed forward, guided through his arm toward his palm. He compressed it slightly, refining the shape, narrowing it further as it approached the surface.
For a brief instant—
Everything aligned.
The flow was smooth.
The shape was correct.
The pressure built exactly where it should.
Then—
Nothing.
The leaf didn't move.
He increased the output.
The chakra surged forward, pressing harder against the point of release. He refined it further, thinning it again, sharpening the edge as he forced it toward the surface.
The sensation changed.
Not failure.
Resistance.
The chakra reached the edge of his palm—
And stopped.
Reiji felt it clearly this time.
Not a loss of control.
Not dispersion.
A blockage.
Like the flow had collided with something invisible.
The pressure built inside his arm, the wind-nature chakra gathering tightly, compressing against a point that refused to open. The more he pushed, the more it stacked there, contained but unable to pass through.
The leaf remained perfectly still.
No tremor.
No cut.
Nothing.
Reiji's fingers tightened slightly beneath it.
"…Again."
He released the flow and reset.
This time he focused on the transition itself, smoothing every fluctuation, removing any instability before it could form. The chakra sharpened into something almost threadlike as it flowed down his arm, precise enough that he could feel every fraction of its movement.
Then he drove it forward.
The leaf didn't react at all.
He stared at the leaf a moment longer, then drew in a slow breath.
Without a word—
He gathered chakra again and while doing that, Fugaku's proposition replayed in his mind.
The Hyūga.
Their eyes could see the chakra system itself—every coil, every pathway, every tenketsu point in the body.
If something was wrong…
they would see it.
Reiji clenched his hand slightly.
The decision settled quietly in his mind.
If he wanted answers, he would have to find them himself.
And for the first time since the afternoon's discovery, Reiji began to seriously consider going there.