Uchiha Demon Dragon - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: The Weight of Stares and the Patriarch’s Table

The heavy, oak double doors of the Ninja Academy’s Section A examination hall swung open, and Yami stepped out into the crisp afternoon air. He still had his perfectly round, pitch-black sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose, but behind them, his dark eyes were crinkled in a satisfied smile.

Hanta was waiting right where Yami had left him, leaning against the brick wall of the courtyard. The moment he saw his son emerge, Hanta immediately pushed himself off the wall, a look of eager anticipation on his face.

Yami didn’t say a word. He simply reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small, heavy piece of parchment stamped with the official red wax seal of the Konoha Educational Board, and held it up. Printed in bold, crisp calligraphy were the words: ‘Approved – Section A.’

Hanta let out a loud, booming laugh that turned the heads of several nearby parents. He strode forward, dropping to one knee, and pulled Yami into a crushing, immensely proud hug.

“I knew it!” Hanta cheered, slapping Yami on the back. “I knew they wouldn’t be able to turn you down! How did the proctors react? Did they fall out of their chairs?”

“They were definitely surprised, Dad,” Yami replied, wheezing slightly under his father’s tight grip. “I did exactly what you told me. I didn’t hold back. I used the Body Flicker to cross the entire hall in an instant. The head proctor looked like he had swallowed a lemon, but he stamped my paper immediately.”

“Of course he did,” Hanta said, standing up and beaming with absolute pride. He had already known his son’s speed was practically Chunin-level, so the acceptance was a foregone conclusion, but seeing the physical proof still sent a thrill through his heart. “A flawless Body Flicker without a single hand seal? Any instructor with half a brain would snatch you up. Come on, kiddo. We are celebrating right now. I promised you ice cream, and your mother gave me a grocery list for the party tonight.”

The walk from the Academy toward the commercial district was significantly lighter than the walk there. Hanta purchased a massive, double-scoop cone of matcha ice cream for Yami from a street vendor, and they slowly made their way through the bustling market, picking up fresh vegetables, spices, and premium cuts of meat for the evening.

But as they moved deeper into the civilian sectors, the initial high of the victory began to wane, replaced by a cold, suffocating reality.

Yami licked his ice cream, but the sweet taste suddenly felt like ash in his mouth. He could feel it. Even through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, his heightened senses picked up on the subtle, undeniable shifts in the crowd around them.

When a civilian merchant spotted the Uchiha crest on the back of Hanta’s shirt, their friendly smile would instantly vanish, replaced by a tight, rigid line. Mothers subtly pulled their children closer as Yami and his father walked past. The lively, boisterous chatter of the market would dip into hushed, venomous whispers the moment they were in earshot.

“…the police force…”
“…those cursed eyes…”
“…they say they controlled the fox…”

Yami stopped licking his ice cream. He looked up at his father.

Hanta’s face was a mask of pure, unyielding stoicism. He kept his head held high, his steps measured and calm. He didn’t glare back. He didn’t acknowledge the whispers. He simply paid for their groceries with polite, clipped gratitude and kept moving.

“Dad,” Yami murmured, his voice barely audible over the ambient noise of the street. “They are staring at us.”

“I know, Yami,” Hanta replied quietly, not breaking his forward gaze. “Keep your eyes ahead. Don’t engage. Don’t give them a reason to justify their fear.”

Yami nodded slowly, gripping his ice cream cone a little tighter. He pretended not to notice, perfectly mimicking his father’s stoic grace. But internally, the reality of their situation sank its claws deeper into his mind.

The village truly, deeply hated the Uchiha clan. The seed of suspicion planted by the Nine-Tails attack had blossomed into a full-blown, cultural ostracization. The only reason the civilians and the other shinobi clans didn’t openly attack them in the streets was out of pure, unadulterated fear. The Uchiha were simply too strong, too wealthy, and too deeply entrenched in the village’s military infrastructure. But hatred bred in fear was the most dangerous kind of hatred. It was the kind that led to massacres in the dead of night.

‘I really, really need to unlock more talismans,’ Yami thought grimly, finishing his ice cream in silence.

—

High above the bustling streets, in the circular, smoke-filled office of the Hokage, the atmosphere was thick with political tension.

Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, sat behind his massive wooden desk, taking a slow, drawn-out drag from his pipe. The sweet-smelling tobacco smoke curled into the air, doing nothing to mask the scent of old paper and ink.

Standing by the window, half-hidden in the shadows, was Danzo Shimura. The old war hawk’s visible eye was fixed intently on the two official Academy enrollment files resting on the center of the Hokage’s desk.

“The results from the Section A examinations,” Hiruzen stated, his voice a gravelly rumble. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, tapping one of the files with a wrinkled finger. “It seems Fugaku’s boy, Itachi, performed exactly as expected. Flawless execution. Perfect marks across the board. The boy is really special.”

“Itachi is a prodigy, yes,” Danzo replied, his voice cold and sharp as a scalpel. He stepped away from the window, his cane clicking against the floorboards. “But he is not the anomaly of the day. Look at the second file, Hiruzen. Look at the overall score.”

Hiruzen sighed heavily, sliding the second folder open. A small, drawn portrait of a six-year-old boy wearing dark sunglasses stared back at him.

‘Yami Uchiha.’ The grading rubrics attached to the file were unprecedented. In raw, numerical scoring, Yami had actually surpassed Itachi. While Itachi had demonstrated flawless, lethal precision with a kunai, Yami had demonstrated a physical feat that defied logic.

“Using the Body Flicker jutsu without a single hand seal, crossing fifty meters instantaneously, and stopping with pinpoint precision,” Hiruzen read aloud, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. “The proctors noted that his speed was equivalent to a seasoned Chunin. At six years old.”

“It is an impossible feat for a child’s brain to process that kind of kinetic velocity,” Danzo stated flatly. “Unless, of course, the child’s optic nerves are enhanced by a Dojutsu. The dark glasses are a clever ruse to hide the truth, but it is obvious. The boy has awakened the Sharingan.”

“At six years old,” Hiruzen repeated, the weight of the statement hanging heavily in the room.

“Exactly,” Danzo said, leaning over the desk. “He is not from the main branch. His father is a standard police officer. For a civilian-born Uchiha to awaken the Sharingan at such an incredibly young age… it means he has already experienced a profound, shattering emotional trauma.”

Hiruzen closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “The Nine-Tails rebellion. The boy’s medical file indicates he suffered a severe, near-fatal head injury when a building collapsed on his family’s sector during the beast’s rampage.”

“The Clan of Evil,” Danzo muttered, the disdain dripping from every syllable. “Tobirama Sensei was right about them, Hiruzen, and you know it. Their power is entirely tethered to their grief and their hatred. The more tragedy an Uchiha experiences, the stronger the monster inside their head becomes. This boy stared death in the face during the Kyuubi attack, and the trauma unlocked his bloodline. And now, he possesses speed that rivals our active duty officers.”

Hiruzen opened his eyes, glaring softly at his old friend. “He is a six-year-old child, Danzo. He is a leaf of this village. Exceptional talent should be nurtured, not immediately feared. If he has the Will of Fire within him, he could be a massive asset to Konoha’s future.”

“Do not be naive,” Danzo snapped back, his visible eye narrowing. “He is an Uchiha. Their loyalty is to their clan first, and the village second. And with the recent relocation orders, the clan’s resentment is at an all-time high. If a boy with this much raw, unstable potential is left entirely to Fugaku’s influence, he will become a terrifying enemy in the future.”

Hiruzen took another drag from his pipe, his aged face illuminated by the embers. He didn’t entirely disagree with Danzo. The political climate was too fragile to ignore anomalies like Yami.

“What do you suggest?” Hiruzen asked quietly.

“Observation,” Danzo replied immediately. “Strict, unyielding observation. I will have my Root operatives monitor his progress at the Academy. You should deploy your ANBU to do the same. We need to know exactly what kind of person this child is. What his loyalties are. If he shows signs of the Curse of Hatred… we must act before he grows too powerful to contain.”

Hiruzen remained silent for a long moment, staring at the picture of the boy in the sunglasses. Finally, he gave a slow, tired nod.

“I will instruct Kakashi to keep a close eye on the Uchiha district,” Hiruzen agreed softly. “But there will be no active interference, Danzo. We observe. Nothing more.”

Danzo merely grunted, turning back toward the shadows. “For now.”

—

While the most powerful men in Konoha debated his existence, Yami was currently sitting on the floor of his living room, entirely focused on a much more pressing issue: untangling a string of paper lanterns.

Their house was filled with the joyous chaos of preparation. Aru was humming a cheerful folk tune in the kitchen, expertly slicing massive slabs of beef and preparing a mountain of side dishes. Hanta was outside in the courtyard, setting up the small grilling station and arranging the seating. Aki was supposed to be helping Yami with the decorations, but she had instead decided to wear a paper lantern on her head like a hat and was currently running around in circles.

“Aki, stop moving, you’re tangling the string!” Yami laughed, trying to catch his sister.

It was a perfectly happy, domestic evening.

But the tranquility was abruptly shattered by a sharp, authoritative knock at the sliding front door.

Hanta stepped in from the courtyard, wiping his hands on a towel. He gave Yami a curious look before walking over to the entryway. He slid the door open.

Standing on the porch was a tall, stern-faced shinobi wearing the traditional high-collared blue shirt of the Uchiha clan. He didn’t wear a police uniform, indicating he was a direct retainer of the main family.

“Hanta-san,” the shinobi greeted with a stiff, formal bow.

“Satoru,” Hanta replied, his tone immediately shifting into a respectful, guarded register. He returned the bow. “What brings a retainer of the Patriarch to my home at this hour?”

“I bring an invitation directly from Fugaku-sama,” the messenger stated clearly, his voice carrying down the hallway for Yami and Aru to hear. “The Clan Head has been informed of the Academy Entrance Exam results. He formally requests the presence of you, and your family, Yami, for a private dinner at the main estate tonight.”

The silence in the house was instantaneous. Aru stopped chopping vegetables. Yami froze, his hands still tangled in the lantern string.

An invitation to dine with the Patriarch was not a casual affair. In the highly traditional, hierarchical structure of the Uchiha clan, the main family rarely interacted with the standard police officers in a social setting unless it involved a matter of extreme clan importance. To decline such an invitation was not just incredibly rude; it was practically political suicide.

Hanta swallowed hard, his eyes briefly flicking back toward the kitchen where the party food was waiting. He turned back to the messenger, his expression perfectly composed.

“Please inform Fugaku-sama that we are deeply honored,” Hanta said smoothly. “We accept the invitation. We will arrive at the main estate within the hour.”

“I shall deliver your response. Good evening,” the retainer nodded, before turning and disappearing into the twilight in a swirl of leaves.

Hanta slid the door shut and let out a massive, stressed breath. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at his wife.

“Well,” Hanta said, offering a weak, apologetic smile. “It looks like we are canceling the party.”

Aru immediately abandoned the cutting board, wiping her hands frantically on her apron. “By the Sage, dinner with the Clan Head? Look at the state of this house! Look at us! We can’t go in our casual clothes! Yami, drop the lanterns! Go wash your face immediately! Hanta, get your formal kimono out of the trunk!”

The relaxed atmosphere completely dissolved into a frantic, high-speed military drill.

Within forty-five minutes, the family was transformed. Hanta and Aru wore pristine, dark kimonos bearing the Uchiha crest. Yami had been forcibly scrubbed clean, his hair neatly combed, and he was dressed in a high-collared shirt that matched his father’s. (He had fought a brief, intense battle to keep his sunglasses on, claiming it was part of his “Academy persona,” and surprisingly, Hanta had allowed it, figuring Yami’s eccentricity had already earned him his spot).

They left Aki in the care of a trusted next-door neighbor and made the tense, silent walk toward the very center of the compound.

The main estate of the Patriarch was massive. It was a sprawling, traditional Japanese compound surrounded by high, impenetrable walls and guarded by elite clan shinobi. The sheer wealth and power radiating from the architecture was intimidating.

When they arrived at the grand entrance, they were escorted through the meticulously manicured rock gardens and into a large, elegantly decorated dining hall.

Sitting at the head of a long, polished wooden table was Fugaku Uchiha. He wore a simple, dark kimono, his arms crossed over his chest, his face bearing its permanent, stern scowl. Sitting directly to his right was his wife, Mikoto Uchiha, a beautiful woman with gentle, kind eyes. And sitting quietly beside her was Itachi.

“Hanta. Aru. Welcome,” Fugaku said, his deep voice commanding the absolute attention of the room. He uncrossed his arms and gestured to the empty cushions opposite them. “Please, be seated.”

“Thank you for having us, Fugaku-sama,” Hanta replied respectfully, bowing deeply before taking his seat. Yami and Aru followed suit.

The table was laden with an absolute feast. There were delicacies that Yami’s family simply couldn’t afford on a policeman’s salary—fresh sashimi, high-grade wagyu beef, rare mountain vegetables, and expensive teas.

Despite the incredible food, the atmosphere was suffocatingly stiff. Hanta sat rigidly, clearly nervous about making a social misstep in front of his boss.

Fugaku noticed the tension and let out a small, surprisingly warm chuckle. The stern lines on his face softened considerably.

“Relax, Hanta. You look like you’re waiting for an Anbu interrogation,” Fugaku said, picking up his teacup. “This is not a formal clan meeting. I did not call you here to discuss police quotas or the relocation logistics. I called you here as a father, to congratulate another father.”

Hanta blinked, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. “Fugaku-sama?”

“The Academy proctors sent their reports to the clan leadership this afternoon,” Fugaku explained, his dark eyes shifting to lock onto Yami. “I read the file. A Uchiha boy executing a flawless, high-speed Body Flicker to secure a spot in the Genius Class. Not only that, but scoring high enough to rival my own son’s demonstrations.”

Fugaku smiled, and it was a look of genuine, unadulterated clan pride. “With the village isolating us, and the elders watching our every move, we need strength more than ever. We need excellence. What your son did today is a tremendous victory for the Uchiha clan. You have raised an exceptional boy, Hanta.”

Hanta’s chest swelled, his previous nervousness entirely replaced by overwhelming pride. “Thank you, sir. Yami has worked incredibly hard.”

Mikoto leaned forward, offering a warm, motherly smile that instantly made the room feel twenty degrees warmer. She poured a cup of tea for Aru.

“It is such wonderful news,” Mikoto said softly. She looked at Yami, and then placed a gentle hand on Itachi’s shoulder. “Itachi is also going into the Genius class. It is a very difficult, competitive environment. But since you two are exactly the same age, and from the same clan, I hope you will become good friends. You should look out for each other. Help each other grow.”

Yami looked across the table at Itachi.

The prodigy hadn’t spoken a single word since they arrived. He sat with perfect posture, his dark eyes calm and unreadable. When Mikoto suggested they become friends, Itachi merely blinked, his expression betraying absolutely nothing.

Yami knew the terrifying reality. This boy sitting across from him, eating perfectly portioned rice, was the grim reaper of their clan. Becoming his friend was arguably the most dangerous political game in the world.

But Yami was a pragmatist. Having Itachi as an ally, or at least a neutral acquaintance, was far better than having him as an enemy.

Yami offered a bright, entirely fake, child-like smile and nodded enthusiastically. “I would really like that, Mikoto-sama. I’m not very good at throwing kunai, so maybe Itachi can teach me. And I can show him how to run really fast.”

Itachi’s eyes flicked to Yami’s dark sunglasses. For a fraction of a second, the corner of Itachi’s mouth twitched upward in the absolute faintest hint of amusement.

“I look forward to it,” Itachi said quietly, his voice polite and incredibly mature.

Fugaku nodded in approval, setting his teacup down. “Excellent. The youth are the pillars of our future. But words of praise are not enough for a feat like this. Yami, you have brought honor to our name today. As the Clan Head, it is my duty to reward excellence. I plan to give you a gift.”

The table went quiet. Hanta looked incredibly surprised, but he knew better than to interrupt the Patriarch.

Fugaku looked directly at Yami, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me, Yami. What do you desire? A high-grade chakra blade? A new set of elite training equipment? A personal tutor from the Anbu ranks? Name it, and if it is within my power, I will provide it.”

Yami’s heart hammered in his chest. This was it. This was the golden opportunity he had been desperately trying to figure out how to manufacture.

He didn’t need a sword. He didn’t need weights. And he definitely didn’t want an Anbu tutor spying on his bizarre Talisman-based abilities. He needed the one resource that would allow him to unlock the remaining 7 magical animal talismans. He needed the specific jutsu triggers.

Yami took a deep breath, maintaining eye contact with the Clan Head through his dark lenses.

“Fugaku-sama,” Yami began, his voice respectful but incredibly firm. “I don’t want weapons, and I don’t want a tutor. If I may be so bold… I want permission to enter the Uchiha Clan’s Main Jutsu Library. I love to read about different jutsus.”

Hanta’s eyes widened, completely shocked by his son’s audacious request. The Main Library was a heavily guarded repository of knowledge.

But to Yami’s immense surprise, Fugaku didn’t look angry. Instead, the Patriarch threw his head back and laughed a deep, resonant laugh.

“The Jutsu Library?” Fugaku chuckled, shaking his head. “Is that truly all you want, boy? Access to paper?”

Yami nodded seriously. “Yes, sir. My father says a ninja’s greatest weapon is their versatility. I want to learn.”

Fugaku exchanged an amused look with Mikoto.

To an outsider, demanding access to a clan’s jutsu library would be considered an outrageous, priceless request. But within the Uchiha clan, the reality was vastly different.

Jutsu scrolls were arguably the cheapest, most undervalued commodity the Uchiha possessed.

Why spend hundreds of hours agonizing over a scroll, trying to decipher complex chakra flow diagrams and hand seals, when an Uchiha could simply activate their Sharingan, watch an enemy perform the jutsu once, and instantly copy it perfectly? The Uchiha relied entirely on their visual prowess. Their library was mostly just a dusty archive, a backup system of stolen knowledge that very few clan members ever bothered to read manually.

“You are a strange child, Yami, but I respect a thirst for knowledge,” Fugaku said smoothly, waving his hand dismissively. “The request is granted without hesitation. I will issue you a personalized entry token tomorrow morning. You may read any scroll on the first two floors to your heart’s content.”

Yami bowed his head deeply, hiding the massive, victorious grin that threatened to split his face.

“Thank you, Fugaku-sama,” Yami said sincerely.

Yami’s mind already racing through the elemental affinities and jutsu requirements he would need to trigger the system.

He had the Patriarch’s blessing. He had the keys to the kingdom. The cowards path to ultimate survival was officially open.