Player Uchiha - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Morning After the Storm

The morning came too early, sunlight filtering through thin curtains with an insistence that felt almost mocking. Yami lay on his futon for a long moment, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the compound awakening.

It was different today. The usual morning rhythms—the cheerful greetings between neighbors, the sounds of children laughing as they headed to the Academy, the general bustle of a community beginning its day—all of it was muted, subdued. Instead, he heard low, urgent conversations bleeding through walls, footsteps that moved with hurried purpose, an undercurrent of tension that made the very air feel heavy.

The relocation order had transformed the compound overnight. What had been a home now felt like a place under siege, its inhabitants trapped between resignation and rebellion.

Yami forced himself upright, going through his morning routine with mechanical precision. Wash face. Use bathroom. Prepare simple breakfast. The normalcy of these actions felt like an anchor, something solid to hold onto when everything else seemed uncertain.

He was halfway through his rice and miso soup when he realized something: he was still planning to train today. Despite everything—despite the chaos, the anger, the uncertainty—his first instinct had been to maintain his routine.

Was that callousness? Or just focus?

He couldn’t quite decide.

After cleaning up, Yami dressed in his training clothes and made his way to Hanako’s door. He raised his hand to knock, then hesitated. Would they even want to train today? Was it insensitive to ask, given what was happening?

Before he could second-guess himself further, the door opened. Hanako stood there, already dressed for the day, though her eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion that spoke of a sleepless night.

“Yami-kun,” she said, surprise evident in her voice. “You’re… you’re still planning to train today?”

“If that’s okay,” Yami replied, suddenly uncertain. “I thought maybe maintaining routine would help, but if—”

“No, no, it’s… it’s actually good.” Hanako’s expression softened into something that might have been relief. “Yui’s been up for an hour already. I think she couldn’t sleep much either. When I asked what she wanted to do today, she said she wanted to train.” A small, tired smile. “I was worried about letting her go alone, but if you’re going too…”

“We’ll look out for each other,” Yami assured her.

Hanako called into the apartment. “Yui! Yami-kun is here!”

Footsteps, quick and purposeful. Yui emerged wearing her own training clothes, her hair pulled back in a simple tail. Her eyes were also red, her face pale, but there was a determined set to her jaw that hadn’t been there yesterday.

“Ready?” she asked Yami, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Ready.”

Hanako walked them to the door, her hands fluttering nervously. “Be careful, both of you. Stay together. And if anything feels wrong, if people seem too agitated, you come straight home. Understood?”

“We will, Mother,” Yui promised.

“And Yui?” Hanako caught her daughter’s hand, squeezing gently. “It’s okay to not be okay today. If you need to feel okay, just come home, that’s fine. You don’t have to be strong every moment.”

Yui’s composure cracked slightly, tears threatening to spill. “I know. But… but training helps. It gives me something to focus on besides…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to.

Hanako pulled both children into a brief embrace. “Alright. Go. Train. Be safe.”

The walk through the compound was a study in contrasts. Some areas seemed almost normal—a few early risers going about their business, shop owners beginning to open their stores, children too young to fully understand the situation playing in yards. But other sections felt like pressure cookers ready to explode.

Yami and Yui passed clusters of adults gathered in tight groups, their voices low but intense. Snatches of conversation drifted to them as they walked:

“—have to push back, we can’t just accept this—”

“—and what, start a war we can’t win?—”

“—dignity, it’s about our dignity as a clan—”

“—dignity won’t matter if we’re all dead—”

The ANBU operatives were still positioned on rooftops, silent sentinels watching everything with unreadable masked faces. Their presence alone was enough to keep the anger from boiling over into action, but just barely.

Yui walked close to Yami, her shoulders hunched as if trying to make herself smaller. “It feels different,” she whispered. “Like the whole compound is holding its breath.”

“It is,” Yami agreed quietly. “Everyone’s scared and angry and doesn’t know what to do with those feelings.”

“Are you scared?”

The question caught him off guard. Was he? Fear implied uncertainty about the future, but Yami knew what was coming—or thought he did. The relocation would happen. The Uchiha would move to their new compound. Resentment would build. Eventually…

“I’m something,” he said finally. “Not sure if scared is the right word. Wary, maybe.”

They reached the training ground to find it completely deserted.

The space that had been filled with activity just yesterday—children practicing taijutsu forms, adults working on jutsu, the general bustle of a martial clan maintaining its skills—now stood empty and somehow forlorn. Training equipment sat unused. The targets for kunai practice were undisturbed. Even the air seemed still, as if the field itself was waiting to see what would happen next.

“Everyone must be at the clan meetings,” Yui murmured, looking around at the emptiness. “Or too upset to train.”

“Their loss,” Yami said with more confidence than he felt. “More space for us.”

That drew a small smile from Yui—tentative, but genuine. “Yeah. More space.”

They separated to their usual spots, an unspoken agreement that they’d train in parallel as always. Yui moved toward a flat area near some training posts, pulling out her chakra paper and beginning the breathing exercises that preceded her control practice.

Yami took his position in the center of the field and began his pushups.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The familiar burn in his muscles was almost comforting. This he could control. This he could measure and improve. Unlike the political machinations swirling around them, unlike the inevitable march toward tragedy, this was simple: effort leading to progress leading to strength.

He fell into the rhythm, counting automatically while his mind wandered.

—

Far from the training ground, in the main Uchiha clan hall, chaos reigned.

The building was packed with adult clan members, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of anger, fear, and frustration. At the front, elevated on a small platform, stood Uchiha Fugaku, the clan head. His expression was carefully controlled, but tension radiated from every line of his body.

“This is unacceptable!” someone shouted from the crowd. Yami didn’t recognize the voice, but the sentiment was echoed by dozens of others.

“Our ancestors built this compound with their own hands!”

“We’ve lived here since the village’s founding!”

“How dare they treat us like criminals!”

“This is Madara’s legacy they’re trampling on!”

Fugaku raised his hands, calling for quiet. It took several moments for the noise to die down enough for him to speak.

“I understand your anger,” he said, his voice carrying authority even as he kept it level. “I share it. But we must think carefully about our response. The Hokage’s order comes with the full backing of the Council. They have the legal authority—”

“Legal?” A man near the front—one of the Police Force captains, by his uniform—stood up, his face flushed with rage. “They’re using the law as a weapon against us! Everyone knows this has nothing to do with ‘optimal positioning’ or ‘security infrastructure.’ This is about isolating us. Punishing us for something we didn’t do!”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.

“The Sharingan pattern in the Nine-Tails’ eyes—” Fugaku started.

“Was not put there by any of us!” someone shouted.

“We know that,” Fugaku said firmly. “But the village doesn’t. Or rather, they don’t care whether we know it or not. They saw what they saw, and they’ve made their judgment.”

“So we just accept it?” A woman’s voice, sharp with disbelief. “We just pack up our homes, abandon our history, and move to whatever exile they’ve prepared for us?”

“I didn’t say we accept it without protest,” Fugaku replied. “I’ve already scheduled meetings with the Hokage and the Council. We’ll present our case, argue for alternatives, push back where we can. But we must be strategic. A show of force, any hint of rebellion, will only confirm their worst fears about us.”

“They already fear us,” someone muttered. “Might as well give them a reason.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Fugaku’s expression hardened.

“That kind of talk stops now,” he said, his voice carrying steel. “We are not starting a civil war over real estate. Yes, this is unjust. Yes, it’s insulting. But we will not throw away everything—our position, our influence, our lives—over our pride.”

“It’s not about pride!” the Police Force captain shot back. “It’s about principle! If we accept this now, what’s next? What other rights will they strip away? When does it end?”

Fugaku had no answer for that, and his silence was damning.

The meeting continued for hours, voices rising and falling, arguments circling without resolution. Some advocated complete compliance—move quickly, make the best of it, prove their loyalty to the village through cooperation. Others pushed for resistance—peaceful protest, appeals to other clans, leveraging their control of the Police Force to demonstrate their importance.

And a few, a dangerous few, spoke in whispers about more drastic measures. About showing the village what the Uchiha were truly capable of. About demanding respect rather than asking for it.

These voices were quickly silenced by Fugaku and the more moderate elements, but they didn’t disappear. They just went quiet, festering like infected wounds.

—

In a room on the second floor of the Uchiha clan head’s residence, Itachi stood at the window, watching the crowd gather at the clan hall.

He was dressed in simple clothes—nothing that marked him as the clan head’s son, nothing that drew attention. At five years old, he looked like any other child, small and delicate with his large dark eyes and soft features.

But those eyes saw everything with unsettling clarity.

From his vantage point, Itachi could see the agitation in the crowd, could read the body language of anger and fear even without hearing the words. His father stood at the center of it all, trying to be the voice of reason, trying to prevent the situation from spiraling into something far worse.

But Itachi, young as he was, could already see how futile those efforts were.

The Uchiha were angry. The village was suspicious. Those two facts were like flint and steel—all it would take was the right spark to ignite an inferno.

He thought about what his father had told him just yesterday, in a rare moment of private conversation: “The Uchiha clan is at a crossroads, Itachi. The choices we make now will determine our future for generations. We must be wise. We must be patient. We must prove ourselves worthy of the village’s trust.”

But Itachi, even at five, understood what his father perhaps didn’t want to admit: some people had already decided the Uchiha weren’t worthy of trust. The Sharingan pattern in the Nine-Tails’ eyes had confirmed biases that had existed since Madara’s defection decades ago.

The Uchiha were powerful. The Uchiha were dangerous. The Uchiha could not be fully trusted.

No amount of compliance would change minds that were already made up.

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. “Itachi? Are you in there?”

His mother’s voice, gentle and concerned.

“Yes, Mother,” he called back.

Uchiha Mikoto entered, her expression softening when she saw him at the window. “You’re supposed to be reading, not watching the adults argue.”

“I finished the books you gave me,” Itachi said simply.

Mikoto sighed, moving to join him at the window. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch warm and grounding. “You’re too serious for a five-year-old. You should be playing with other children, not worrying about clan politics.”

“The other children don’t understand what’s happening,” Itachi replied. “They think we’re just moving houses. They don’t see…” He trailed off, unsure how to articulate what he saw—the deeper currents, the dangerous undercurrents, the trajectory toward conflict.

“What do you see, Itachi?” Mikoto asked softly.

He was quiet for a long moment, choosing his words carefully. “I see people who are hurt trying to hurt back. I see fear making people do things they wouldn’t normally do. I see…” He paused. “I see a future where this doesn’t end well.”

Mikoto’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “You’re too young to carry such heavy thoughts.”

“But I carry them anyway,” Itachi said, not as complaint but as simple fact.

His mother pulled him into an embrace, and for a moment, Itachi allowed himself to just be a child—small and held and safe in his mother’s arms. But the moment passed quickly, and when he pulled back, his expression was once again composed, distant, older than his years.

“Father will find a solution,” Mikoto said, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced. “He’s a good leader. He’ll protect the clan.”

Itachi nodded, not voicing the thought that had been growing in his mind: sometimes protecting the clan and protecting individual clan members required different actions. Sometimes the two goals were incompatible.

Sometimes you had to choose.

He didn’t know yet what choice would be required of him. He was only five, after all—too young for such decisions. But he had a feeling, deep in his bones, that one day he would have to choose. Between clan and village. Between many lives and a few. Between what was right and what was necessary.

The thought should have terrified him. Instead, it just made him feel tired.

—

Back at the training ground, Yami completed his final set of pullups and dropped to the ground, breathing hard but satisfied.

[Basic Training Quest – COMPLETE]

Reward: 100 EXP

[LEVEL UP!]

Level 17 → Level 18

The restoration washed over him, and he allocated the five new stat points to Vitality without hesitation. Just ten more points until he reached 100. Just ten more points until passive regeneration.

He glanced over at Yui, who was still working on her chakra control, balancing a leaf on her forehead while attempting to mold chakra in her core. Her concentration was absolute, her earlier distress temporarily forgotten in the focus required for the exercise.

Training as therapy. Training as escape. Training as the one thing they could control when everything else felt chaotic and uncertain.

Yami understood that instinct deeply.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the two children continued their separate practices in the empty training ground, surrounded by the quiet that came from absence rather than peace.

Around them, the Uchiha compound simmered with tension. Adult voices argued and debated, making plans and contingencies, trying to find a path through the impossible situation they’d been thrust into.

And high above, ANBU operatives watched in silence, ensuring that tensions never quite boiled over into action.

The storm was coming. Everyone could feel it.

But for now, in this moment, there was just the training ground, the exercises, the steady accumulation of strength one rep at a time.

It wasn’t much.

But it was all they had.