Chapter 173: Has The Uchiha Ever Owed Konoha Anything?
The twilight was like ink, heavily pressing down on the small courtyard where Shisui Uchiha was temporarily staying.
He sat cross-legged on the cold veranda, his back straight as a rod, yet like a sculpture drained of its soul.
In the distance, the myriad lights of the Star Capital blurred into a hazy glow, unable to reflect into his newly born, slowly rotating three-tomoe Sharingan eyes.
Uzumaki Kushina’s words, like cold poisonous vines, had long taken deep root, now madly absorbing his past beliefs, twisting his mind to the breaking point.
Konoha… the Uchiha Clan’s home?
He closed his eyes, chaotic images surging in the darkness.
Beneath the towering waterfall at the Valley of the End was the earth-shattering duel between Hashirama Senju and Uchiha Madara.
The two most powerful souls could ultimately only end with one falling.
Was this the fate of co-founders?
Had the seeds of strife been sown from the very beginning?
The scene shifted abruptly.
In the solemn Hokage’s Office, the silver-haired Second Hokage Tobirama Senju was sternly instructing a young Uchiha ninja.
The youth’s face was calm, his gaze focused!
It was Shisui’s grandfather, Uchiha Kagami.
The Second Hokage’s fingertip pointed sharply at the scroll, explaining the intricacies of a certain sealing jutsu, his expression stern yet without the bone-deep wariness he showed toward other clansmen.
Master-disciple inheritance… this had once been the warmest glimmer in Shisui’s heart, symbolizing that estrangement was not insurmountable.
Next came the Fourth Hokage Minato Namikaze’s smile, warm as sunlight.
Beside him stood the gentle Kushina Uzumaki, facing Uchiha Clan Head Fugaku and his wife Mikoto.
The two couples raised their glasses in the small booth of an izakaya, Fugaku’s usually stern face showing rare relaxation as Minato laughed and patted his shoulder, seemingly recounting some amusing story.
The scene shifted again to before the Kannabi Bridge mission, where Minato solemnly handed a Flying Thunder God Kunai to that perpetually late yet passionately eyed Uchiha boy—Obito Uchiha.
Lord Fourth Hokage… he had truly accepted the Uchiha.
His thoughts receded like the tide, leaving cold reefs, Third Hokage Hiruzen Sarutobi.
Shisui tried hard to recall, but his memories seemed covered in thick dust.
The Third Hokage always smiled mildly, giving speeches at the Memorial Stone, overlooking the village from the Hokage Rock.
What had he said to the Uchiha?
What substantial acts had he done to bridge the distance, like the Second Hokage taking a disciple or the Fourth Hokage befriending them?
None.
Only after each Konoha meeting, the vague “understanding,” “wait for the right time,” “consider the big picture” that Clan Head Fugaku brought back.
Behind the Third Hokage’s mild smile lay bottomless alienation and a suffocating sense of distance.
A deliberately forgotten answer, a demonstration shelved away!
“Cough.”
A faint cough broke the deathly silence, like a stone tossed into a deep pool.
Shisui jolted in shock, his Sharingan instantly locking onto the source of the sound.
The shadows in the courtyard seemed to come alive, silently coalescing into a silhouette.
The black robe remained still in the night wind, the Nine-Face Sūvarṇa dark pattern on the cape flowing with eerie luster under the moonlight.
A white three-eyed fox mask concealed the visitor’s face, revealing only a pair of abyss-deep eyes.
“It seems Kushina’s words made you think a lot.” Lord Shura’s voice came through the mask, low and steady, betraying no emotion.
He did not approach, merely leaning casually against the veranda pillar, as if merged with the shadows.
Every muscle in Shisui’s body tensed instantly, his new Sharingan spinning wildly, trying to capture any flaw in the other, yet sensing only immeasurably vast chakra like an ocean, calm yet harboring destructive power.
He forced down his churning emotions, his voice hoarse from tension: “Lord Shura… what brings you here in the dead of night?”
“No need for ‘instruction.'” Lord Shura’s gaze seemed to pierce the mask, falling on his newly transplanted Sharingan eyes.
Lord Shura walked to his side and sat down casually, his movements carrying innate composure.
“She saw many things from the Uzumaki Clan’s rise and fall, she asked me…” Lord Shura turned his head, the mask’s eyeholes seeming to stare straight into Shisui’s soul.
Lord Shura flatly posed a weighty question: “Has the Uchiha Clan ever owed Konoha anything?”
Owed?
The word was like a needle, piercing the heavy confusion in Shisui’s heart.
He straightened his back almost instinctively, without hesitation, his new Sharingan eyes flashing sharp light: “No! The blood shed by the Uchiha Clan for Konoha Style, the sacrifices made, are no less than any family’s! From the village’s founding to every Ninja War, the Uchiha’s Sharingan has always been one of the sharpest blade edges guarding Konoha! The Konoha Military Police Force maintains village order with utmost diligence!”
The Uchiha clansmen sacrificed in the three Ninja Wars were countless, even his grandfather Uchiha Kagami died on the battlefield!
Shisui’s voice rang firm, carrying unquestionable pride and pain.
This was cognition engraved in the bloodline, the starting point of all his struggles.
Even Uchiha Madara back then had failed to take the Uchiha Clan with him!
“Very good.” A faint, barely perceptible approval seemed to color Lord Shura’s voice, but it quickly turned to deeper coldness.
“Then tell me, Shisui. If one day, a purge descends, not from external enemies, but from internal suspicion, fear, and strife for power. When the butcher’s blade rests on every Uchiha clansman’s neck, when the blood-red moonlight of the Night of the Uchiha Clan Downfall shrouds the Naka River… what would you do?”
Night… of the Clan Downfall!
These four words carried a thick blood scent, instantly seizing Shisui’s breath!
Sharp phantom pain stabbed his eyes, the image of Danzō grinning as he gouged them flashing again!
Next came the twisted angry faces of the radicals at the clan meeting, Itachi’s increasingly silent and emaciated back in the Anbu shadows, the Third Hokage’s mild smile hiding immeasurable alienation…
Countless fragments exploded and reassembled in his mind, ultimately forming a scarlet sea of blood, drowning all the familiar faces of his clansmen!
What would he do?
Shisui’s body trembled violently, his new Sharingan eyes spinning wildly, seeking a lifeline amid the flood of despair.
Seek help from the Third Hokage?
The cold surveillance of Anbu figures in the illusion doused his last shred of hope like ice water.
Danzō had already taken his Mangekyo Sharingan, and the Third Hokage… truly knew nothing?
Would he really protect the Uchiha?
Uzumaki Kushina’s words echoed like a curse: “Solving the contradiction between the Uchiha and Konoha is actually simple—why doesn’t the Third Hokage do it?”
Perhaps the answer was that among the village high-level officials, someone simply didn’t want to solve it, even welcomed it!
Lead the whole clan in rebellion?
That would ignite the spark of civil war in Konoha, dragging countless innocents into a sea of blood!
And it would inevitably face suppression from all Konoha ninja clans and civilian ninja, just like the Kaguya Clan’s rebellion!
Exhaust all efforts to stop Itachi?
Faced with absolute power suppression and meticulously planned conspiracy, how many clansmen could one person’s strength protect?
What could he do?
What should he do?
On one side was the family that raised him, blood-connected kin; on the other was the village he had sworn loyalty to and guarded with his life.
When these two were pushed to total opposition, where destruction of one was the only “solution,” where did his stance lie?
Where was his power?
His proud “Body Flicker” and “Kotoamatsukami,” after losing his eyes, what remained?
Immense pain and confusion drowned him like a tide.
He opened his mouth, but his throat felt blocked, unable to make a sound.
He could only clench his fists tightly, fingernails digging deep into his palm, his body trembling slightly from the fierce inner struggle.
The cold wooden boards of the veranda seeped chill through his thin clothes, yet far less than the cold in his heart.
Moonlight fell on his heaving shoulders and back, casting a desperate and lonely silhouette.
The courtyard held only the night wind’s whine through the eaves wind chimes, and his suppressed, heavy breathing.
A piece of coldness silently fell on Shisui’s tensed shoulder from pain.
He trembled slightly, lifting his head in bewilderment.
More coldness, scattering down from the profound night sky.
Tiny, crystalline ice crystals flickered in the moonlight like shattered stars falling to the mortal world.
It was snowing.
Konoha’s first snow of year 56 arrived just like that, without warning.
The cold snowflakes touched his feverish skin, melting instantly and leaving piercing chill, like fate’s sigh, heralding the curtain rising on a long and harsh winter.
Lord Shura quietly watched this scene, his gaze under the mask profound and inscrutable.
He asked no more, offered no comfort, made no judgment, merely like a calm observer, watching the storm in Shisui Uchiha’s inner world.
That black silhouette, like ink merged into the night, gradually dissipated soundlessly into the dancing first snow, as if it had never appeared.
Leaving Shisui alone, stiffly seated on the cold veranda, thin snow accumulating on his shoulders, like a stone statue forgotten by the entire world.
In his new pair of Sharingan eyes, the three tomoe slowly rotated behind the swirling snow curtain, reflecting the myriad cold stars, and also the bottomless confusion and the heavy weight of choice.
Snowflakes silently piled up, gradually covering the courtyard’s clean gravel ground, as if to bury all traces of the past.
