Cursed Uchiha - Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Is He My Cousin?

The trek back to the Uchiha main household was a blur of pain and bewildered thoughts for Itachi. Each breath sent a fresh stab of agony through his midsection where Dom’s ridiculously powerful, yet inexplicably controlled, punch had landed. It wasn’t just the physical hurt – though that was considerable, making him feel nauseous and weak – it was the shattering of his deeply ingrained perceptions. He, Uchiha Itachi, the prodigy, the one destined for greatness, had been so utterly, so effortlessly, defeated. And by whom? Dom Uchiha. The class clown. The purveyor of nonsensical jokes. A boy he had dismissed as talented but unfocused, perhaps even lazy.

The carefully constructed edifice of Itachi’s understanding of strength, of hierarchy, of his own place within the Uchiha clan’s next generation, had developed a significant crack.

He entered his home, trying to maintain his usual composure, but the pallor of his face and the way he subtly favored his stomach did not escape his mother’s keen eyes. Mikoto Uchiha, a woman of grace and quiet strength, was arranging flowers in the main receiving room when Itachi walked in, his steps a little too slow, his usual vibrant energy noticeably dimmed.

“Itachi? You’re back early,” she said, her voice soft, then her brow furrowed with concern as she took in his appearance. “Are you alright, dear? You look… unwell.”

Itachi managed a weak nod. “I am fine, mother. Just… a slight indisposition from training.” He knew he couldn’t hide the injury entirely; the pain was too persistent. “Perhaps… perhaps a medical ninja could take a look? Just to be certain.”

Mikoto’s concern deepened. Itachi rarely admitted to needing medical attention, usually brushing off minor training injuries with stoic Uchiha resilience. For him to request a medic meant it was more than just a “slight indisposition.”

“Of course, Itachi,” she said immediately, her hand gently touching his forehead, checking for fever. “I’ll send for one right away. What happened? Was it a particularly strenuous session at the academy?”

As Mikoto dispatched a household attendant to fetch a clan medic, Itachi slowly recounted the events of the afternoon, his voice low and strained, not just from the physical discomfort, but from the lingering shock and confusion. He didn’t embellish, nor did he try to downplay his own defeat. He told her about finding Dom Uchiha training in a secluded clearing, about the surprising evidence of Dom’s hidden strength, about the spar he had insisted upon.

He described Dom’s unorthodox movements, his infuriating luck that now seemed like something else entirely, and then, the sudden, shocking burst of speed and power that had ended the match so decisively.

“…and then he struck me, Mom,” Itachi concluded, his gaze fixed on a distant point, reliving the moment. “Just once. But it was… overwhelming. I have never felt such focused force from someone my age. Or even from many older Genin.”

Mikoto listened patiently, her expression growing more troubled with each word. A clan medic arrived, a quiet, efficient woman who gently examined Itachi’s abdomen, her hands probing for internal damage. She diagnosed severe bruising and muscle trauma, prescribing rest and a poultice to reduce swelling. There were no broken ribs, thankfully, a testament to Dom’s restraint, though Itachi didn’t quite realize that nuance yet.

Once the medic had departed, Mikoto sat beside her son, her gentle hand resting on his arm. “This Dom Uchiha… I know his father, Hiroshi-san, is the one who wrote those popular Hari Potā stories. A surprising talent from a police officer. But Dom-kun himself… you say he is this strong, yet he hides it at the academy?”

Itachi nodded, his brow furrowed in a way that mirrored his father’s when deep in thought. “He is, Mom. Unquestionably. When I told him about the offer for early graduation, I… I invited him to graduate with me. With his abilities, he would pass with ease. We could have advanced together, for the clan.”

“And he refused?” Mikoto asked, her voice tinged with surprise. Early graduation was a mark of distinction, something most ambitious Uchiha children would leap at.

“He did,” Itachi said, and now the disappointment, the frustration he had felt in the clearing, resurfaced in his voice. “He said… he said sending children to the battlefield, no matter how talented, was cruel and irresponsible. He said he intends to graduate at the normal age, to allow his body and mind to mature.”

Mikoto looked genuinely taken aback. “He truly believes that? A young Uchiha, speaking against the early path of a shinobi if one has the talent for it?” Such a sentiment was almost unheard of within their clan, where dedication to duty and the pursuit of strength from the earliest possible age were deeply ingrained values. It was… a surprisingly gentle, almost civilian, perspective coming from a boy who apparently possessed considerable power.

“I just don’t understand it, Mom,” Itachi confessed, the confusion evident in his young voice. “Why would someone with such strength deliberately hide it? Why would he choose to live like a common, unremarkable academy student when he could be so much more? Shouldn’t he strive to use his gifts, to work hard to uplift the Uchiha clan, especially now, when our reputation is so… fragile?” The words tumbled out, a reflection of the internal conflict Dom’s actions and words had ignited within him. It went against everything he was being taught, everything he was driving himself towards.

Before Mikoto could formulate a response, a deep, authoritative voice cut through the air from the doorway of the room. “He is nothing more than a coward, Itachi.”

Both Mikoto and Itachi turned. Uchiha Fugaku stood there, his arms crossed, his expression stern and disapproving. He had clearly overheard the latter part of their conversation. He strode into the room, his presence immediately filling it with an almost oppressive authority.

“Dad,” Itachi said, instinctively straightening his posture despite the pain in his stomach.

Fugaku’s gaze, sharp and uncompromising, was fixed on his son. “This Dom Uchiha you speak of,” he declared, his voice devoid of warmth, “he is living in his own idealistic, childish fantasy. He does not understand the realities of our world, the importance of strength, of seizing opportunities, of bringing glory and respect to our name.” He scoffed. “Worried about the ‘cruelty’ of the battlefield? The battlefield is cruel, Itachi. That is its nature. But it is also where true strength is forged, where honor is won, where the fate of clans and villages is decided. To shy away from it when one has the means to excel is not wisdom; it is cowardice.”

Fugaku’s eyes narrowed. “I took you to witness the aftermath of a skirmish when you were merely four years old, Itachi. Not to traumatize you, but to show you the truth of what it means to be a shinobi, the price of weakness, the necessity of power. It seems this… Dom… has been sheltered from such truths.”

Mikoto looked troubled. “Husband,” she began softly, “he is still just a child. Perhaps his perspective is different, but that does not necessarily make him a coward.”

Fugaku dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. “He is like his mother, Hana. Ungrateful. Idealistic to a fault. She threw away her position, her duty to the main family, for a foolish notion of love with a commoner. And now her son shies away from his potential, content to be a jester in the academy while true Uchiha strive for greatness.” His words were like chips of ice, each one laden with years of disapproval for his sister’s choices and, by extension, her offspring.

Itachi listened, his father’s harsh pronouncements layering another level of confusion onto his already turbulent thoughts. Dom, a coward? Like his mother? He had felt Dom’s power. There had been no fear in Dom’s eyes when he struck. Only a strange, unsettling seriousness. It didn’t quite fit.

Then Mikoto spoke again, her voice quiet but firm, addressing Itachi but also subtly challenging Fugaku. “Itachi, there is something else you should know about Dom Uchiha. Something that perhaps explains why his views, and his mother’s path, are so… poignant to your father.” She glanced at Fugaku, whose expression remained stony, unyielding.

She turned back to Itachi. “Dom Uchiha… is your cousin, Itachi.”

The air seemed to leave Itachi’s lungs again, not from a physical blow this time, but from sheer, unadulterated shock. His eyes widened, his gaze snapping from his mother to his father, then back again. Cousin? Dom? The annoying, joke-spouting, inexplicably powerful boy from the academy was… his family?

Fugaku did not deny it. His silence was a confirmation in itself, though his expression was one of grim displeasure, as if the very subject was distasteful.

“But… how?” Itachi stammered, his mind reeling. He had Uchiha cousins, of course, scattered throughout the clan. But Dom had never been presented as such, had never been part of their immediate family circle, had never been to the main household for anything other than the largest, most impersonal clan gatherings.

Mikoto sighed softly, the sound carrying a weight of old sadness. “Dom’s mother, Hana-san… she is your father’s younger sister, Itachi. My sister-in-law.”

Itachi stared at her, dumbfounded. His aunt? He vaguely remembered a younger sister of his father’s, a gentle woman he’d seen a few times when he was very small, but she had always been a peripheral figure, almost a stranger.

“A long time ago,” Mikoto began, her voice taking on a storytelling cadence, as if recounting a tale from a distant, sorrowful past, “long before you were born, Itachi, and even before your father became the clan head, Hana-chan was a bright, spirited young woman. Like all Uchiha of the main family, there were… expectations for her. A suitable match, a marriage that would strengthen the clan’s position.”

She glanced at Fugaku, who remained silent, his face a granite mask. “But Hana-chan… she had a gentle heart, and perhaps a rebellious streak your father did not appreciate. She fell in love. Deeply. With a man named Hiroshi. A fellow Uchiha, yes, but from a lesser branch family, a simple officer in the Police Force at the time, with no great political connections or prospects for high advancement within the clan hierarchy. He was kind, and steady, and he loved her dearly. But in your father’s eyes, and in the eyes of many clan elders then, it was… an unsuitable match.”

Mikoto’s gaze softened with remembered sympathy. “Fugaku-sama tried to dissuade her. He spoke of duty, of responsibility, of the Uchiha name. But Hana-chan was resolute. She chose Hiroshi-san over a more… advantageous marriage. She even chose to live with him in a smaller house, away from the main family’s immediate sphere, embracing a simpler life.”

“This decision,” Mikoto continued, her voice dropping slightly, “caused a great rift. Your father… he felt she had defied him, had disrespected the family’s honor and her obligations. He felt she was ungrateful for her position. He… he effectively broke off most direct contact with her. It was a source of much unspoken pain for both of them, I believe.”

She looked at Itachi, her eyes full of a gentle understanding. “So, yes, Itachi. Dom Uchiha is your first cousin. Hana-san is your aunt. And Hiroshi-san, the now-famous author, is your uncle by marriage.”

Itachi sat in stunned silence, the pieces falling into place with a sickening thud. Dom, the boy who had defeated him, the boy his father had just branded a coward, was his own blood, his aunt’s son. The strange, almost detached way Dom sometimes spoke, his lack of typical Uchiha arrogance, his peculiar views on duty and strength… suddenly it all seemed to be cast in a new, more complex light.

He thought of Dom’s words in the clearing: “Sending children… to the battlefield… is cruel.” Was that the sentiment of a coward? Or was it the echo of a mother who had perhaps seen too much of the shinobi world’s harshness, who had chosen a different path for herself, and perhaps wished for a different one for her son?

His father’s words still echoed in his ears – “coward,” “ungrateful,” “living in his own ideal world.” But now, knowing Dom was his cousin, knowing the history of estrangement and disapproval, Fugaku’s judgment felt less like an objective assessment of Dom’s character and more like a bitter condemnation rooted in old family wounds and rigid Uchiha pride.

Itachi looked at his mother, then at his father’s implacable face. The world, which had already been shaken by his physical defeat, now felt even more complicated, filled with hidden connections and bitter histories he had never known. Dom Uchiha was no longer just a puzzling academy classmate; he was family. And that revelation, for Itachi, changed everything, and yet, confusingly, nothing at all about the profound enigma his cousin represented.