Uchiha Honoha knew that although his granddaughter was gentle by nature, she was by no means someone who would bestow kindness indiscriminately without reason.
The orphans who had lost their parents for various reasons within Konoha were certainly pitiful, but there were just as many clan members within the Uchiha who had lost their parents at a young age.
Even though the Uchiha clan had always been wealthy, a large clan also had large expenses, and money flowed out like water.
Moreover, according to the three major rules upheld by most shinobi—no alcohol, no extravagance, and no lust—the clan’s welfare system actually treated orphans without a source of income no differently from ordinary civilians.
They were not given particularly generous benefits.
However, after Uchiha Anlan awakened his Three-Tomoe Sharingan, this situation quietly began to change.
As he gradually gained influence within the clan and began making his own voice heard, ordinary members of the hawk faction began opening shops and introducing many novel products that had never been seen in Konoha before.
The quality of life among the hawk faction’s clansmen visibly improved.
It could not be called extravagant, but new clothes and high-quality ninja tools had become standard possessions.
With full purses and respectable clothing, the entire hawk faction seemed to have taken on a completely new spirit.
What concerned Uchiha Honoha even more was that almost at the same time, his own granddaughter, Mikoto, had begun making similar arrangements.
Not only had she kept pace with the development of the hawk faction, she had also continued providing financial support to several orphanages.
She had even extended an olive branch to the many Uchiha scattered outside the clan, including the women who had married into other clans.
Because the clan members had always been proud, there were not many women who married outside the clan.
But over the decades, the number of Uchiha descendants connected to the clan by blood had surpassed three hundred.
Although these clansmen with diluted bloodlines did not have a high probability of awakening the clan’s Sharingan, most of them possessed the aptitude to become shinobi.
After several years, quite a few had become chūnin.
The most outstanding among them was Uchiha Hazuki, who possessed a Three-Tomoe Sharingan.
This was a tremendous boost to the overall strength of the dove faction.
Upon hearing this, Uchiha Mikoto’s eyes curved into crescents.
She gently placed the chopsticks in her hands across the rim of her bowl.
As she stood, the sleeves of the home kimono she had changed into earlier brushed against the edge of the table, carrying with them a faint floral fragrance.
“Grandpa, what could I possibly be hiding from you? Haven’t you been watching everything I’ve done?”
The girl’s slender, fair fingers brushed across the edges of the dishes, her movements smooth and graceful.
She carefully arranged the leftover food on the left side of the tray, stacked the bowls and chopsticks according to size, and wiped the tabletop with a cotton cloth each time she cleared away a piece of tableware.
The lamplight fell across her lowered eyelashes, casting a gentle curve at the corners of her eyes.
Watching his granddaughter deliberately avoid the subject, the words caught in Honoha’s chest turned into a complaint tinged with jealousy and envy.
“Girls really do stop caring about their families once they grow up.”
He pushed himself up with one hand on his knee.
His wooden sandals made dull sounds against the stairs.
She lowered her head and pretended not to hear her grandfather’s dissatisfaction, humming the children’s song Anlan had taught her.
Amid the sound of running water, she placed the washed porcelain bowls upside down in a bamboo basket to drain.
Every movement was practiced and familiar—
It was the ease cultivated through frequently handling household chores, but also the sweet anticipation she held for the life that awaited her.
Compared to a life of fighting and killing as a shinobi, Mikoto hoped to become a wife who supported her husband and raised their children, caring for the family she loved deeply.
As she wiped down the stove, she looked up.
Her warm, dark eyes swept over the sunflower Anlan had given her, standing in a flowerpot.
It was as though she could already see the figure of her beloved sitting beside the dining table that would one day belong to the two of them.
Uchiha Honoha slowly climbed the creaking stairs.
The candlelight in the corridor stretched his shadow longer and shorter with each step.
He pushed open the sliding door to the Japanese-style room at the end of the corridor.
Moonlight streamed through the window lattice and spilled before the household shrine—
Two memorial portraits stood side by side there, the edges of their frames still gleaming from careful cleaning.
“Keita, Reiko…”
He knelt on the cushion and took three incense sticks from the incense box.
As the flame flickered between his fingers, the fragrance of agarwood gradually filled the room.
“Mikoto has found a man she loves. It’s Anlan from the Setsuna family—the boy you two only met once.”
Thin wisps of incense smoke curled upward, drifting across the resolute brows of his son and the gentle smile of his daughter-in-law captured in the photographs.
“People often say that the dead become stars in the sky. I wonder if the two of you can see it from up there.”
“When Mikoto talks about Anlan, the expression between her brows is exactly the same as yours was back when you were about to marry Keita.”
“Both of you looked that happy.”
Honoha reached out and caressed the cold glass of the frame.
His knuckles whitened slightly from the force.
“The clan is slowly changing. Those bloodstained old affairs… are finally being pushed aside by new growth.”
During the clan’s old blood feuds, Uchiha from every faction had stained their hands with the blood of their own clansmen.
The irony was almost laughable.
Beneath those scarlet, cold tomoe, it seemed there was no one in the world whom they could not kill.
The wind chime beneath the eaves suddenly rang softly.
Honoha raised his eyes toward the courtyard, where moonlight bathed the hydrangeas, their blossoms swaying gently in the night breeze.
“I just don’t know whether these old bones of mine will live long enough to see the day Mikoto puts on her wedding dress…”
“Heh. Kirigakure of the Land of Water.”
Honoha’s thoughts gradually withdrew from his family and finally settled upon the Kirigakure that would soon clash with them.
His heavy gaze fell upon the dusty armor in the corner of the room.
Amid its mottled paint, it still carried the cold gleam unique to forged steel.
Deep within his cloudy pupils, crimson suddenly burst forth.
Three tomoe slowly revolved in the darkness, staining the moonlight filling the room scarlet.
“The blade of Kirigakure…”
The old man’s voice carried the distant thunder of steel and bloodshed.
He smiled at the armor, forty years of war and hardship trembling within the wrinkles of his face.
“Perfect. Let this old man’s Sharingan cross paths with the secret techniques of the Land of Water once more.”
“Where the leaves of Konoha dance, so too does the fire burn endlessly. Its light will continue illuminating the village and allowing new leaves to sprout.”
“This ‘fire’ is the ‘fire’ passed down through the generations of the Uchiha!”
The old man’s proud and resolute words scattered into the darkness with the wind.
Downstairs, after Uchiha Mikoto finished tidying the dining room, she took out a calming tea powder made from lavender and matcha.
Fresh spring water, just beginning to boil in the copper kettle, broke through the thick layer of milk foam, while the rising steam blurred the moon outside the window.
The teacup on the tray rippled faintly with each step she took, while the cypress stairs gave out a gentle creak at just the right intervals.
She stopped before the sliding door.
Through the washi paper, she could see her grandfather’s silhouette cast upon the shoji.
For some reason, that figure carried the same sharpness as a ninja blade being drawn from its sheath.
Grandpa must be remembering the past again.
Her memories of her parents had long since grown blurred with the passage of time, leaving behind only a few fragmented images from childhood.
Mikoto had grown up surrounded by love and acceptance.
Though there was sadness in her heart, there was even more calm and quiet strength.
She stood at the doorway, her voice as gentle as a spring breeze.
“Grandpa, you should have a cup of milk tea and get some rest early.”