"Kai-kun, don't bring this up again."
Uchiha Fugaku's expression grew even more severe. "Respect the will of the deceased."
"Patriarch, I apologize."
Uchiha Osamu bowed slightly, maintaining decorum. "I understand your sentiment, and I, too, respect Uchiha Obito's wishes. However, his Sharingan is a matter concerning the clan. It is our most guarded secret. With respect, I cannot agree to simply leave it in the hands of an outsider. I believe many in the clan share my view."
His tone was careful—measured. But the implication was clear. The Sharingan was the Uchiha's bloodline legacy—not something to be left in the possession of Hatake Kakashi, even if it had been Obito's dying wish.
Obito had, knowingly or not, broken one of the Uchiha's fundamental taboos—giving the Sharingan to someone outside the clan. That act, in the eyes of the more hardline members, could not be overlooked.
Osamu's mention of "many clansmen" wasn't a casual remark either. It was a veiled threat. He was signaling political will—a faction growing restless.
Fugaku was no fool. His brow furrowed even more. This could become a wedge issue. Minor on the surface, but serious underneath. The hawkish voices in the clan would seize on this to pressure the village—another opportunity to accuse Konoha of coveting the kekkei genkai of powerful clans.
Today it's the Uchiha. Tomorrow, could it be the Hyuga? Or the Akimichi? The Nara?
And Kakashi—student of the Fourth Hokage, who was trained by Jiraiya, a disciple of the Third Hokage himself—was politically untouchable. To accuse him of stealing the Sharingan was to indirectly challenge the highest echelons of Konoha's leadership.
Even if Fugaku suspected Danzo's hand in all this, he knew—the Third Hokage would never allow the village to be seen as predatory toward its own clans. The public image of peace and unity had to be maintained.
And if Osamu's gambit succeeded, they might be able to extract concessions from the Hokage's office. It wouldn't be the first time. But Fugaku… Fugaku didn't want to play this game.
He may have had his frustrations with Hiruzen and the council, but deep down, he wanted peace—for the village and for the clan.
Short-term gain, long-term ruin. That's what this would bring.
And while Fugaku was deep in thought, trying to navigate his next move, a voice suddenly cut through the tension.
"Do you even hear yourself?"
Uchiha Kai stood up, a mocking smile tugging at his lips as he faced Osamu. "Using the clan's name to trample over a comrade's dying wish? Willing to start a fire just to stroke your ego? Should I call you shortsighted—or just brainless?"
The room buzzed with sudden energy. Eyes turned toward the young man.
"Kai Uchiha... I've heard of you," Osamu said flatly, turning toward him. "A battlefield hero, yes. But clearly lacking the wisdom to grasp deeper matters. You mistake what you see for what you understand. Sit down and don't interrupt. Understand?"
"If I weren't qualified to speak, I wouldn't be here," Kai shot back, unbothered by Osamu's glare or the silence in the room. "If that's unacceptable, I'll leave."
Fugaku raised a hand. "Kai-kun, speak your mind."
He was displeased, yes. But Kai had earned his place here. Three tomoe in his Sharingan. Commended by the village. A rising star. If anyone had the right to speak, it was him.
"Thank you, Patriarch." Kai turned back to Osamu. "Let me ask: What's more important—the clan's secrets, or the clan's survival?"
"The survival of the clan, of course."
Osamu answered immediately, though his frown deepened.
"Then have you considered what it would cost to take the Sharingan from Kakashi Hatake?" Kei's tone turned razor-sharp. "You think the village will just hand it over because we raise our voices? You see Konoha flinch, and you assume they'll fold. Maybe you're even dreaming of using this moment to bargain for power or concessions."
"But that's foolish. Reckless. You're pushing the clan toward destruction, all over one eye."
"Watch your mouth, Kai!"
A new voice rang out—Uchiha Isamu, Osamu's younger brother. His eyes spun with a sudden bloom of three-tomoe Sharingan. "You insult my brother again and I'll—"
But before he could finish, Kai's own eyes lit up—his Sharingan flaring, calm and cold.
"I also bear the three-tomoe Sharingan," Kai said evenly. "And you're threatening me? In front of the Patriarch? At a formal clan meeting?"
The weight of his words settled over the room. It wasn't bravado. It was a warning—subtle, but sharp.
To raise a hand here was to declare war on the clan's unity itself.
And if Isamu was truly prepared to throw a punch here, in front of everyone, then he had no place in the clan's leadership at all.
"Enough!"
Fugaku's voice cracked through the chamber like a whip. He rose from his seat, eyes narrow and filled with suppressed fury.
"I am still the Patriarch. Show restraint, all of you!"
He turned to Kai. Then Osamu. Then Isamu. Finally, he returned his gaze to Kai.
"Kai-kun, please continue."
"Yes, Patriarch."