Yashiro Uchiha stood in dead silence.
It felt as though his heart had sunk into a glacier, chilled to the core from the inside out, until even the physical pain of his body faded into numbness.
It was a strange, unsettling feeling.
Until Aomizu had questioned him so directly today, Yashiro had never truly confronted the stark reality of their combat strength.
The gap between the two sides was so overwhelming, so vast that it was almost laughable…
Although the present-day Uchiha Clan still possessed a fair number of Three-Tomoe Sharingan wielders, the Second Hokage’s policy regarding the Police Force meant that most clan members lacked actual combat experience in their daily training.
Their true fighting strength was a massive question mark.
Across the thousand-year history of the Uchiha Clan, this seemed to be the only era where not a single pair of Mangekyo Sharingan existed.
To put it bluntly, it was embarrassing…
No matter how powerful a Three-Tomoe’s visual prowess was, it was still just a Three-Tomoe…
Even Aomizu, standing right in front of Yashiro.
Yashiro mentally ran through every Three-Tomoe user he knew: Tekka, Inabi, Setsuna, Fugaku…
Could these Uchiha, who were stronger than him, really subdue Aomizu with ease?
And if they couldn’t even defeat Aomizu, what right did the Uchiha hawks have to clash head-on with Konoha?
By relying on reckless passion alone?
Tears began to stream slowly down Yashiro’s face.
He wasn’t sure whether he was weeping for himself or for the Uchiha Clan.
Aomizu, who had been somewhat annoyed, couldn’t help but chuckle at this absurd sight.
“Yashiro Uchiha, how old are you?
Crying like a child…” “The Uchiha Clan is finished…
I—I’ve failed my grandfather!
I’ve failed my ancestors…” Yashiro’s tears burst through the floodgates.
The misery of being thoroughly beaten by Aomizu today mixed with the deep, haunting anxiety he harbored for his clan.
He burst into wretched sobs, sniffling like an aggrieved thirty-year-old child.
“Foolish,” Aomizu said, slowly shaking his head.
“Do you think Hiruzen Sarutobi could beat all those people I named if they fought him together?
You still don’t understand the fundamental way Konoha operates…” “If you want to change the Uchiha Clan’s standing, it’s simple.
Either you possess the overwhelming might of Madara Uchiha—sweeping away all monsters and demons with absolute dominance to stand atop the Ninja World…” “Or you abide by Konoha’s rules of the game and become one of them.” Sprawled on his back on the ground as if he had given up entirely, Yashiro muttered in a low voice, “How could I not understand?
I do…
To become Hokage, you have to be part of their master-disciple lineage.
That’s Konoha’s open secret.” “Even Sakumo Hatake, at the height of his prestige—anyone with half a brain knows he’ll never become Hokage.
That is Konoha.
So what choice does our Uchiha Clan have?” “Forget Hokage—what about Hokage Assistant, or even an advisor position?
Does our Uchiha Clan not even deserve a single seat among Konoha’s higher-ups?
We were core founders of this village!” By the end, Yashiro was pouring out his innermost thoughts—the shared voice of most in the Uchiha Clan.
It wasn’t that they didn’t realize an Uchiha was virtually barred from becoming Hokage, but was a high-level administrative seat really too much to ask?
The problem was that the requirements for becoming an advisor were practically identical to becoming Hokage: you had to belong to the Hokage’s master-disciple system…
That was the inner circle of power, and the Uchiha Clan was clearly excluded from it.
This sense of powerlessness had broken the hope of many Uchiha.
Gradually, they chose to ignore the disparity in strength, using the facade of hawkish aggression to conceal the panic in their hearts.
Yashiro Uchiha was a prime example.
Aomizu looked down at the sobbing Yashiro and shook his head.
“If you see it so clearly, why did you act so stupidly?” “Because I saw it so clearly, I felt I had no choice!” Yashiro replied between breathless sobs.
“You still don’t understand,” Aomizu said.
“The reason you felt hopeless was that the Uchiha had no one integrated into the Hokage’s master-disciple lineage.
Before I appeared, your line of thinking had some merit…” “But now I am here.
Do you think I’ll be denied that chance?” Yashiro’s crying cut off dramatically.
“Eh…?” An Uchiha who championed the Will of Fire, publicly criticized the Sharingan, treated civilian ninjas with kindness, and had already caught the Third Hokage’s eye back in the Academy…
Most importantly, Aomizu was a descendant of Kagami Uchiha—his direct grandson!
Strictly speaking, Aomizu was born into the Hokage’s master-disciple system through the tightest bond of blood.
Yashiro stared blankly at Aomizu.
All of Aomizu’s past actions flashed through his mind like lightning, every single move suddenly revealing layers of profound foresight.
He couldn’t see through Aomizu at all anymore—just as he hadn’t been able to tell whether the Aomizu in his illusion was Izuna Uchiha or Tobirama Senju…
“I have no desire to abandon the Uchiha Clan, but you cannot drag me down, Yashiro,” Aomizu said slowly, crouching beside him.
“Whether in talent, combat power, lineage, or intellect—only I can save the Uchiha.” “I’m telling you all this because I don’t want the clan to lose a Three-Tomoe wielder.
You aren’t useless trash like Setsuna Uchiha, who ties his personal selfishness to the clan’s future.
You are still worth saving.” “But now, I am telling you—I’m disillusioned.
I’m tired.” Aomizu let out a heavy sigh, his eyes brimming with sorrow.
Yashiro panicked instantly.
Ignoring the tearing pain from his injuries, he scrambled up into a half-kneeling position and looked at Aomizu with desperate urgency.
“No, no…
Lord Aomizu, Aomizu, you can’t…” “This is the clan’s fault—no, no!
This is my fault!
It’s that bastard Setsuna Uchiha’s fault!
You can’t lose heart in the clan!
I beg you, please don’t lose heart in the clan!” Looking at Aomizu’s weary face, Yashiro was devoured by an overwhelming wave of guilt and regret.
He was desperate to do something…
He had a terrifying premonition: if Aomizu truly turned his back on the Uchiha Clan, Yashiro would go down in history as one of the clan’s greatest sinners!
Right then, Yashiro caught sight of Muramasa’s gleaming blade.
Gritting his teeth, a brutal resolve gripped his heart, and he roared, “Aomizu-kun, let me apologize to you with my life!
I only ask that you forgive the Uchiha Clan!” As he lunged forward to hurl his chest onto the edge of Muramasa, Aomizu kicked him back down to the earth and said impassively, “I don’t need my clansmen to apologize with their lives…” “If you think I’m right, turn over onto your stomach.” Yashiro froze.
*Turn over for what?* Still, he scrambled onto his stomach, lying obediently flat against the ground, not daring to move a muscle.
An emerald green light shimmered on Yashiro’s back.
As Aomizu healed him with the Mystical Palm Technique, he muttered softly with a helpless sigh, “I’m still too soft-hearted, Yashiro…” Feeling the warmth radiating through his back, Yashiro dug his fingers deep into the dirt.
Tears and blood mingled on his face, his expression exploding with remorse.
At this moment, he felt like he was the absolute biggest bastard in the entire Uchiha Clan!