Fugaku hadn’t expected to be summoned to the Hokage’s tower on short notice.
Hiruzen gestured him toward the chair across the desk without much ceremony.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” “Of course, Lord Hokage.” Fugaku took the seat, keeping his posture even.
“Is there a concern?” “A few, actually.” Hiruzen folded his hands atop a small stack of reports Fugaku recognized without needing to read them, the Academy graduation summary, most likely, and whatever internal notes had accumulated since.
“I want to start by saying I have no objection to how you’ve placed the two children.
It’s within the clan’s authority, and their evaluations more than justify the arrangement.” “But.” Hiruzen allowed a faint, tired smile.
“But you already know there’s a but, or you wouldn’t be sitting so carefully.” Fugaku said nothing, which was its own kind of answer.
“The village talks, Fugaku.
You know this better than most, given how much of it concerns your clan already.” Hiruzen’s tone stayed level, almost gentle, the way a man speaks when he wants to be heard as a concerned ally rather than an adversary.
“Two of the most exceptional graduates in a generation, and the story making its way through the market stalls isn’t about their talent.
It’s about where that talent ended up.
Kept inside the village.
While every other family in this village sends someone out to the front and hopes they come home.” “They are eight and seven years old.” “I’m aware.
So is everyone else muttering about it, and it hasn’t stopped them from talkiing.” Hiruzen leaned back slightly.
“I’m not asking you to send children into a war zone, Fugaku.
I would refuse that request myself if you brought it to me.
What I am suggesting is that a properly scoped mission appropriately escorted would do more for how this village views your clan than another year of police work inside district walls ever will.
Right now, the narrative writing itself is that the Uchiha do not care about the village and only protect themm selves.
You have an opportunity to interrupt that story before it becomes a truth.” Fugaku ponderd it carefully.
It cost him nothing to admit, that the reasoning was sound, the same resentment he’d already caught fragments of himself, in market conversations would only solidify further the longer the clan’s two most talented children stayed visibly tucked away from any real risk.
“What did you have in mind,” he said, “specifically.” “A border reconnaissance assignment.
Nothing that should see real contact, the region’s been quiet for months.
low actual risk given the intelligence we currently hold.” Hiruzen slid a thin folder across the desk.
“It solves two problems for you at once.
It demonstrates the clan’s willingness to contribute where it matters, and it gives your two prodigies field experience they’ll need eventually.” Fugaku studied the folder without opening it yet.
“And if something changes between now and the mission itself?” “Send a jōnin to go with them.” Hiruzen’s expression didn’t waver.
“I wouldn’t propose this if I believed there was meaningful risk, Fugaku.” Fugaku considered it a moment longer, then opened the folder and began to read.
The door closed behind Fugaku, and for a long moment Hiruzen simply sat there, the practiced warmth gone from his face the instant there was no one left in the room.
His expression settled into something dark.
Your turn to make a move, Danzo, he thought, staring at the closed door.
Let’s see what you do with it.
By the time Fugaku left the tower, the mission had been approved.
— Word of the assignment reached Danzo.
He read the mission parameters twice.
A border reconnaissance assignment, low expected risk, jōnin escort, two Uchiha children attached for field experience.
Low expected risk was an assessment built entirely on current intelligence.
Intelligence, Danzo reflected, was a variable he happened to have some influence over.
He was already aware, through channels neither Hiruzen’s office nor Fugaku’s clan would ever trace back to him, of an enemy patrol currently operating along a stretch of border adjacent to, though not quite inside, the region the mission’s current intelligence marked as quiet.
Three jōnin.
Five chūnin.
A force considerably larger than anything the mission’s planners had accounted for, because the mission’s planners simply didn’t know it was there.
He started to ponder it.
If the patrol’s position were to become known to the mission planners in advance, the assignment would almost certainly be canceled or rerouted.
If it remained unknown, and the mission proceeded exactly as currently planned, one of two outcomes would follow.
Either the girl would die, resolving a problem he had.
Or she would survive and he would have to deal with the problem him self.
And if the outcome began tilting towards a direction he did not find acceptable, that too could be changed.
A word passed through the right channel, timed correctly, could just as easily alert that same patrol to exactly where the border team would be, nudging the encounter into existence rather than relying on luck.
He closed the file.
It cost him nothing to wait and see what the outcome was.