Chapter 235: Countdown To The Night Of The Clan Massacre
“Coming right up! Naruto, Menma, your ramen!” Teuchi placed two bowls of ramen in front of Naruto and Menma.
“Wow! It’s finally ready! Itadakimasu!” Naruto instantly cast aside that subtle feeling from earlier, clasped his hands together, shouted energetically, then eagerly grabbed his chopsticks, blew on them vigorously, and started eating heartily, his cheeks immediately bulging.
Menma also picked up his chopsticks; compared to Naruto’s wolfing down, his eating manner was much more refined.
From the corner of his eye, he glanced at the red-haired woman beside him and the blond man on the other side.
He was well aware of the true identities of these two “uninvited guests”; his movements seemed to pause for a moment before resuming normally, and he silently began eating his noodles.
Minato and Kushina’s ramen was soon served as well.
As Teuchi set down the bowls, he habitually struck up a conversation: “Your ramen is ready, please enjoy. Hmm… you two look a bit unfamiliar; you don’t come to Konoha often, do you?”
He scrutinized Minato and Kushina, especially Minato’s brilliant blond hair, which was rare even in Konoha; he felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity, yet couldn’t recall where he had seen them before.
Minato smiled mildly and replied in his altered voice: “Yes, it’s been a long time since we returned; things have changed a lot.”
He was telling the truth.
Kushina, meanwhile, looked down at her bowl of “family special” ramen, packed so full it was nearly overflowing; she picked up her chopsticks and carefully lifted a piece of chashu to her mouth.
Despite her reanimation jutsu body having no sense of taste, with food turning flavorless upon entering her mouth, she ate with utmost seriousness, as if savoring the world’s most delicious delicacy.
Every bite carried a near-devout cherishing.
She could hear Naruto’s satisfied eating and drinking sounds beside her; this simple daily scene of a family gathered together for a meal had once been an unattainable luxury for her and Minato.
At this moment, even if achieved in this eerie and secretive way, it was enough to make her long-stilled heart feel a sour warmth.
Minato felt the same.
He watched Naruto and Menma, quietly eating his noodles with elegant movements, though equally tasteless.
Most of his attention was on his two sons beside him.
Hearing Naruto’s hissing from the hot food, watching Menma’s quiet profile as he ate, he wished time could linger here a bit longer.
For a moment, the small shop was filled only with Naruto’s satisfied swallowing sounds, the faint clatter of Teuchi organizing kitchen tools, and the muffled street clamor from outside the window.
After a while, Naruto was the first to finish the last sip of soup, patted his belly contentedly, and let out a loud “Ah—delicious!” which made Minato and Kushina beside him involuntarily glance over, their eyes full of tenderness.
“Full? Let’s go.” Menma had almost finished too, set down his chopsticks, and took out his small wallet.
“Oh! To the park! You promised to teach me that awesome throwing technique today!” Naruto jumped off the stool, full of energy.
Menma paid for the two bowls, nodded to Teuchi and Ayame: “Thanks for the meal.”
“Come again!” Ayame smiled in response.
Watching the two children lift the warm curtain one after the other and disappear, Minato and Kushina almost simultaneously stopped their unnecessary “eating.”
They exchanged a glance, seeing deep reluctance and satisfaction in each other’s eyes.
Minato gently set down his chopsticks, placed money on the counter, his voice regaining more gentleness: “Boss, the bill.”
Teuchi came over to collect the money, smiling as he asked: “How was the taste? To your liking?”
“Extremely delicious,” Minato said sincerely, though he tasted nothing: “The broth is very rich; it brings back memories.”
Kushina also stood up; looking at Teuchi, she suddenly stepped forward, bowed slightly with great solemnity, her voice carrying a faint tremble: “Thank you very much… for always taking care of that child.”
Teuchi and Ayame, who was clearing bowls and chopsticks, were both stunned by this sudden solemn gratitude, caught off guard.
“Ah? You’re too polite, miss…” Teuchi waved his hands hurriedly: “We’re just running a noodle shop; all customers should be served well…”
Kushina straightened up, her eyes reddening, but she forced a smile, offered no explanation, and simply repeated: “Really… thank you very much.”
With that, she turned with Minato, lifted the warm curtain, and walked out.
Teuchi held the money, looking at the still-swaying warm curtain, scratched his head in bewilderment: “Strange customers… but nice people.”
He simply attributed the thanks to the other’s kind heart.
Ayame walked over with a rag in hand, ready to clear Minato and Kushina’s bowls and chopsticks.
She suddenly paused, a puzzled expression on her face.
“Huh? Dad, look…” She showed the bowls to Teuchi: “These two customers’ ramen… it seems almost untouched?”
The two bowls had ramen and toppings nearly as they were when served, just with slightly less broth, as if merely stirred, but definitely not eaten seriously.
This was in stark contrast to the money they paid and their shown “satisfaction.”
“Is that so?” Teuchi leaned in to look, also finding it odd: “Maybe they weren’t hungry… or just wanted to taste it?”
He shook his head, no longer dwelling: “Alright, clean up quickly; more customers will come soon.”
Just as Ayame was about to clear them, the warm curtain was lifted again.
A figure walked in.
He wore the standard Konoha jonin vest, with arrogant silver-white hair covering part of his face, a black mask concealing most of it, revealing only one slightly lazy, half-lidded black eye.
Most strikingly, his headband was tilted, covering his left eye.
It was Kakashi Hatake, just finished with a mission and coming to pay tribute to his stomach.
He habitually scanned the shop, his gaze passing empty seats, about to find a spot to sit, when he suddenly froze.
Through the gap in the warm curtain, his peripheral vision caught the backs of that man and woman who had just left the shop and were blending into the street crowd.
The blond man and red-haired woman.
Just a fleeting glimpse, but those two backs struck Kakashi’s nerves like lightning.
Though blond and red hair weren’t unusual in the Ninja World.
But that combination, that height difference…
Especially the blond man’s walking posture, that inherent gentleness and uprightness…
A familiar feeling, heart-palpitatingly so, instantly seized him!
“!?” Kakashi’s exposed eye widened abruptly, laziness vanishing, replaced by massive shock and disbelief.
Without time to think, his body moved first; he spun around, rushed out of the ramen shop, stood on the street, and anxiously looked around.
The evening street bustled with crowds, thronged.
Where were those two figures?
They had vanished like drops into the sea, traceless, as if that glance was just his illusion.
Kakashi stood in place, brows tightly furrowed.
Was it an illusion?
From recent exhausting missions? Or…
He couldn’t convince himself that intense feeling was false.
That bone-deep familiarity, especially that blond back…
He took a deep breath, suppressed the stormy waves in his heart, lifted the warm curtain again, and returned to the somewhat noisy Ichiraku Ramen Shop.
“Welcome… ah, Kakashi.” Ayame saw him and greeted with a smile.
But Kakashi didn’t respond with his usual laziness; his gaze sharply scanned the spot where the man and woman had sat, his voice with a faint tension: “Ayame, the man and woman who sat there earlier, those two customers—do you remember? One blond, one red-haired.”
“Eh? Those customers from before?” Ayame was startled by Kakashi’s slightly urgent tone, thought back: “Yeah, I remember. What’s up with them? Do you know them, Mr. Kakashi?”
“They… anything special about them? Did they say anything? Or do anything?” Kakashi didn’t answer, continued pressing, his gaze falling on the counter Ayame hadn’t fully cleaned, where a bit of water stain lingered.
“Anything special?” Ayame tried to recall, “Well… the male customer ordered tonkotsu chashu ramen, extra bamboo shoots and narutomaki. The woman ordered family special. They… seemed to like Naruto a lot, looked at him several times. Oh, and the woman, when leaving, thanked my dad very solemnly, which puzzled us…”
As Ayame spoke, she picked up the two nearly untouched bowls from the counter.
“Wait!” Kakashi suddenly stopped her.
His gaze fixed deadly on the two bowls in Ayame’s hands.
The ramen in the bowls was almost pristine, only the broth slightly less, toppings barely disturbed.
This almost untouched state…
And the blond man ordered the same flavor as Naruto… extra bamboo shoots and narutomaki…
A long-sealed memory, nearly forgotten, suddenly crashed into Kakashi’s mind.
A sunny afternoon, young Minato Namikaze with a gentle smile, sitting at Ichiraku Ramen Shop’s counter, picking narutomaki from his bowl to his red-haired wife Kushina’s, saying with a smile: “Kushina, eat more. I still prefer the texture of bamboo shoots.”
And Kushina would complain smilingly: “Really, Minato, narutomaki is delicious too!”
But her face beamed with happiness.
Back then, Teacher Minato always ordered tonkotsu ramen, extra bamboo shoots…
Blond hair… red hair…
Familiar order…
Unusual attention to Naruto…
Barely touched ramen…
And… that familiar back that made his soul tremble…
“Teacher… could it be you…” Countless clue fragments collided and pieced together in Kakashi’s rapidly spinning mind, pointing to an absurd yet heart-poundingly possible truth!
His breathing quickened abruptly, his exposed eye filled with shock, chaos, and a glimmer of hope not dared to entertain.
He jerked his head up, looking toward the direction the two had disappeared outside the shop, fingers unconsciously tightening.
“No… impossible… how could it be…” He murmured low, voice drowned in the ramen shop’s clamor.
But that seed of doubt had been planted, growing wildly at unprecedented speed.
He had to find out who those two people really were!
Meanwhile.
Sasuke, who had parted from Menma and Naruto by the riverside, pursed his lips with some fatigue and returned to the Uchiha Compound.
The sunset’s afterglow dyed the Uchiha Compound’s ancient eaves in warm golden-red, contrasting subtly with the increasingly heavy atmosphere within.
Sasuke opened the door; the entryway was unusually quiet, only the faint sounds of Mother Uchiha Mikoto busy in the kitchen, with miso soup aroma wafting from the pot.
“Mom, I’m home.” Sasuke called while changing shoes.
“Welcome back, Sasuke.” Mikoto poked her head from the kitchen, smiled gently: “Tough training? Dad and Itachi aren’t back yet; dinner will be a bit later.”
“Oh.” Sasuke replied, a bit disappointed inside.
He had wanted to show Father the new ninjutsu he mastered today, and even more anticipated Brother Uchiha Itachi’s approval.
He sat by the veranda, legs dangling outside, swinging, gaze on the long shadows in the courtyard stretched by the sunset.
The compound was quiet, but this quiet felt different from usual, carrying an indescribable tension, like the stillness before a storm.
Sasuke vaguely knew the adults had been busy with something important lately, often meeting, Father and Brother’s expressions unusually grave.
But he was still a child; those conflicts and suppressions seemed distant to him.
He just wanted to get stronger, earn Father’s praise, and then… surpass that annoying Menma!
Sasuke propped his cheek, tilted his small face watching the evening glow gradually dyed by ink-black, silently calculating when Father and Brother would return.
At the same time, in the sacred and secretive Naka River Shrine underground of the Uchiha Clan, the air contrasted sharply with the peaceful sunset outside, thick with gunpowder and palpable resentment.
Flickering torchlight illuminated faces full of anger and unwillingness.
Nearly all the Uchiha Clan’s jonin and mid-level forces were gathered here, the crowd restless, murmurs like underground currents.
At the forefront stood the clan’s radical elite jonin: Uchiha Yashiro, Uchiha Tekka, Uchiha Inabi, and others.
Their faces flushed with agitation, eyes sharp as knives, voices passionate.
“Clan Head Fugaku!” Yashiro’s voice boomed with undeniable urgency, breaking the basement’s stillness: “How long must we endure? Konoha High Council has long seen us as thorns in their side! Since the Nine-Tails Attack that night, their gazes toward us have been filled with suspicion and dread!”
Tekka slammed the stone wall beside him with a thud: “The Konoha Military Police Force’s authority stripped again and again, our activities restricted! Even village children dodge at the sight of the Uchiha Clan Crest! This is utter humiliation!”
“Shisui’s disappearance is absolutely tied to them!” Inabi took over, tone resolute: “He’s one of our Uchiha’s strongest ninja; how could he vanish without a trace? It must be Konoha High Council, that old Danzō’s dirty tricks! And now they want to splash dirty water on Itachi!”
Mentioning Uchiha Shisui, the crowd stirred, grief and indignation spreading like tides.
Shisui was not only Uchiha pride but the aspiration of many young ninja; his mysterious disappearance was a poison thorn in every clan member’s heart, and Konoha High Council’s vague investigation results only fueled suspicion and resentment.
“That’s right! We can’t let Shisui’s matter slide!”
“They’re pushing us to death step by step!”
“We Uchiha have the strongest bloodline limit; why take this crap!”
“Rebel! Clan Head Fugaku! Lead us to reclaim our dignity!”
The crowd was furious, pairs of scarlet Sharingan unconsciously manifesting in the dim light, emanating dangerous power, chakra fluctuations in the air turning chaotic.
All eyes focused on the man opposite them, the Uchiha Clan’s Clan Head, Uchiha Fugaku.
Fugaku’s face was gravely stern like carved stone, brows furrowed deeply.
He wore traditional Uchiha clan robes over jonin vest, arms crossed, trying to suppress this near-uncontrollable torrent with clan head authority.
In the past year, he had soothed the clan with practical pros and cons.
Lacking support from other ninja clans, Uchiha alone couldn’t oppose the entire Konoha machine; he even had eldest son Itachi join Anbu, ostensibly “to gather intelligence, know self and enemy,” temporarily stabilizing things.
But now, Shisui’s disappearance was the last straw breaking the camel’s back; long-pent-up clan resentment fully erupted.
He felt like standing on a volcano about to erupt, that power nearing beyond his control.
“Quiet!” Fugaku’s low, authoritative voice rose, temporarily overriding the clamor.
His sharp gaze swept the crowd, finally landing on the black-haired boy at the back, who had been silent.
“Itachi.” Fugaku’s voice emotionless: “You speak. What have you scouted lately? What’s Konoha High Council’s current attitude? Any solid leads on Shisui’s disappearance?”
All eyes instantly converged on Uchiha Itachi.
Those gazes were complex: scrutiny, expectation, but mostly deep distrust.
Uchiha Itachi slowly raised his head, his face calm, almost too pale, black eyes deep as bottomless cold pools, perfectly hiding all emotions.
He stepped forward, voice steady as he reported carefully selected, seemingly important but harmless info: “From my observations, Hokage-sama and Advisor Danzō disagree on handling clan affairs; Anbu and Root check each other, not monolithic. High Council’s main attention seems drawn to the emerging Land of Stars outside the village; as for Shisui…”
“More of the same!” He was impatiently cut off by Uchiha Yashiro: “Itachi, you’ve been in Anbu over a year! Every report is this ambiguous crap! High Council disunited? Useless! We need their concrete action plans! How did Shisui die? Who’s the killer?!”
“I think he’s just brushing us off!” Tekka added sharply: “Probably brainwashed by those high-level officials, their spy in the clan! Maybe he was involved in Shisui’s death!”
“Enough!” Fugaku scolded, but doubts surged toward Itachi like tides.
“He doesn’t even want to help the clan!”
“Clan Head Fugaku, can’t trust him anymore!”
“Right! Why does he always speak for the village?”
Hearing the clan’s undisguised doubts and accusations, Uchiha Itachi’s heart sank to the depths.
Looking at those faces distorted by anger and narrow-mindedness, at the hatred burning in their eyes enough to incinerate the whole clan, immense sorrow and disappointment drowned him like icy river water.
Everything he did, everything he endured, appeared so worthless to the clan.
The path to peace he craved saw no dawn here.
Amid the clamor, Fugaku’s face grew uglier.
He knew if he didn’t give a clear stance today, he couldn’t quell the clan’s fury, might even spark internal strife on the spot.
Pushed by surging public opinion, he was backed to the cliff’s edge.
He took a deep breath, as if resolving immense determination, abruptly raised his hand.
The room quieted again; all watched him expectantly.
“I understand everyone’s anger!” Fugaku’s voice echoed in the shrine: “Uchiha dignity will not be trampled! But—”
He turned sharp, tone gravely serious: “Rebellion is no child’s play! Not achievable by hot blood and rage alone! We need a meticulous plan, timing, consideration of all possible accidents! Blindly charging the Hokage Building will doom Uchiha Clan to irredeemable ruin!”
His words temporarily quelled the unrest; clan members whispered, thinking the clan head finally relented, seriously considering rebellion plans.
“Yashiro, Tekka, Inabi,” Fugaku named: “You three lead, immediately draft detailed battle plans, assess all risks, list forces to win over and enemies to guard against. Until fully prepared, no one acts rashly!”
“Yes! Clan Head!” The three elite jonin beamed joyfully, roaring assent.
Other clan members saw hope, emotions still heated but channeled toward “planning.”
Fugaku wearily closed his eyes, waved: “Dismissed. Remember, absolute calm until plan matures; no leaks.”
Clan members left the Naka River Shrine one after another, excited and expectant.
Finally, only Fugaku and Itachi remained in the empty, cold basement.
Fugaku approached Itachi, looked at his expressionless face, silent a moment, then low-voiced: “Itachi, go to Anbu, report as usual. Say… clan still resents Shisui matter, but I’ve temporarily suppressed it; we’re still watching, no concrete actions.”
This was clearly to pass false intel, lulling the high council.
Uchiha Itachi raised his head, gave Father a deep look.
He saw deep fatigue, struggle, and unwilling compromise in Father’s eyes.
He said nothing, just nodded slightly, turned, and left the shrine.
His back looked especially lonely in the dim corridor.
After leaving Naka River, Uchiha Itachi didn’t go home but headed straight to the Hokage Building.
Night had deepened, yet the Hokage’s Office blazed with light.
Not only Third Hokage Hiruzen Sarutobi was present, but the three Hokage advisors: Shimura Danzō, Homura Mitokado, Koharu Utatane were there too.
Clearly, they had been waiting for Itachi.
Itachi knelt on one knee, expressionless, voice steadily emotionless, reporting everything from Naka River Shrine verbatim—including Father finally forced to agree to draft rebellion plans, clan’s fervent demand for armed seizure—without hiding a thing.
The office fell into dead silence.
Hiruzen Sarutobi’s pipe-holding hand trembled slightly, face full of heartbreak and reluctance; amid swirling smoke, his wrinkles seemed deeper.
He ultimately couldn’t stop this.
“As expected… we’ve reached this point…” He murmured hoarsely.
“Itachi, well done; you didn’t betray Shisui’s efforts.” Hiruzen looked at the motionless kneeling Itachi, praised.
Then ordered: “Rest now; keep monitoring Uchiha Clan. Report immediately if time is set.”
“Yes, Hokage-sama!” Uchiha Itachi bowed deeply, tone emotionless.
After Itachi left, Shimura Danzō spoke first.
“Hiruzen! At this point, what are you hesitating for?!” Danzō’s single eye gleamed coldly sharp, tone aggressive.
“Uchiha Clan is Konoha’s cancer! Cut it out now, or wait for it to metastasize and drag the whole village down? Kirigakure’s Kaguya Clan rebellion is the precedent!”
He stepped forward, voice more sinister: “Moreover, who guarantees Fugaku won’t collude with those two Uchiha from Land of Stars? That woman Uchiha Hikari, strength unfathomable—even Shisui suffered at her hands! If Uchiha rebels inside with strong enemies aiding outside, Konoha faces unprecedented crisis! Must clean immediately, eliminate future threats!”
Homura Mitokado and Koharu Utatane exchanged glances, nodded gravely.
“Danzō’s radical, but not without reason.” Koharu adjusted her glasses.
“Uchiha problem can’t be solved peacefully. Their Sharingan too dangerous; if they rebel, consequences unimaginable. But with Konoha’s current forces, fully suppressing Uchiha Clan will cause heavy losses.”
Homura added: “Need to recall Jiraiya and Tsunade immediately. With them back, plus Anbu, Root, and Ino-Shika-Cho clans, should control the situation.”
Hiruzen inhaled smoke, exhaled thick fog after setting pipe, face helpless, sighed: “Jiraiya’s whereabouts unknown; Tsunade… has hemophobia; even if back, how much can she contribute? Besides, far water can’t quench near thirst.”
Danzō snorted coldly, as if expecting this; he pivoted, his sinister single eye on the door Itachi closed upon leaving: “Since external forces unreliable, solve internally. Hiruzen, you know Itachi’s strength. Shisui said multiple times pre-death: Itachi’s talent surpasses his; in Uchiha Clan, strength second only to Fugaku.”
Hiruzen seemed to sense something, brows furrowed sharply: “Danzō, what do you mean?”
Danzō’s voice cold and ruthless: “Simple. Have Itachi act. Let him eliminate the radical rebellion core. No need to kill all; just plunge Uchiha Clan into internal chaos and panic.”
“Then Anbu and Root intervene in name of quelling unrest, thoroughly purge Uchiha Clan. Finally, pin all crimes on Itachi, declare him clan-destroying rogue ninja. This minimizes village losses—best plan.”
‘Also best chance to resolve Uchiha Clan…’ Danzō’s bandaged right eye, implanted with Shisui’s Sharingan, stirred eagerly.
Izanagi, reality-rewriting jutsu, too overpowered, but consumption too high; he needed more three-tomoe Sharingan!
The office fell into deathly silence again.
Though Homura and Koharu said nothing, their silence seemed acquiescence.
Hiruzen looked shocked at Danzō, unable to imagine the cruelty of making a boy slaughter his own clan.
“Danzō! Too mad! How can you make Itachi…” Hiruzen tried refuting.
But Danzō interrupted: “Only choice!”
“It’s come to this; Uchiha rebellion inevitable, their fate sealed! Focus now not avoiding, but removing this village-destroying threat at minimal cost, most thoroughly! Clan extermination—only choice!”
“Or do you want Uchiha Clan colluding with Land of Stars’ Shura and Uchiha Hikari for pincer attack on Konoha? Causing casualties worse than Nine-Tails Attack?!”
Danzō’s icy words struck each heart; Homura and Koharu looked to central Hiruzen.
Uchiha Clan, Ninja World’s strongest ninja clan, elite jonin alone including Fugaku, Yashiro, Tekka, Inabi, etc., plus other three-tomoe Sharingan jonin, over ten; not to mention retired ninja like Uchiha Mikoto post-marriage.
If full clan mobilization, at least a dozen to twenty jonin and over a hundred chunin rebelling—far grander than Kaguya Clan’s sickly bunch!
No less than a major battle!
Hiruzen’s old face wrinkled bitterly, deep silence.
Night deepened further.
Beneath Konohagakure’s seemingly calm surface, undercurrents surged to breaking point.
