The old scroll felt fragile between Uchiha Soren's fingers—its corners yellowed, the ink on some lines blurred beyond recognition. Yet even through age and incomplete script, the records burned with secrets.
The Lost Girl of Mangekyō
"During the Warring States era, an Uchiha girl named Hikari awakened the Mangekyō Sharingan. Her ability was known as Eight Thousand Spears. To withstand Senju pressure, she was raised as a living weapon, enhanced with transplanted ocular powers. But because her strength grew too overwhelming, the Senju and Sarutobi combined forces to seal her."
Soren frowned.
"Sarutobi? They had the caliber to seal an Uchiha Mangekyō user?"
Then his eyes narrowed further.
"And the sealing site isn't recorded? Truly useless."
He flipped the page again—only to find the account abruptly ending mid-sentence. No map, no coordinates, not even a clan witness.
He stared at the page as if it personally offended him.
If you don't know—don't write it down!
(Ask the clan elders? They likely know nothing.)
(Ask Sarutobi Sasuke? Much better.)
(If Hikari still exists somewhere… another Mangekyō pair is worth a thousand armies.)
He closed the scroll—but another entry caught his eye.
The Blood Pond Clan — Blood Dragon Eyes
One page listed a long-dead clan:
"The Blood Pond Clan… bearers of the Blood Dragon Eye, a kekkei genkai that rivaled Uchiha illusions."
According to the record, the Lightning Daimyō once hired the Uchiha to annihilate them.
The Blood Pond Clan, stripped of their power, fled into the Hell Valley of the Land of Hot Water.
Soren tapped his finger on the old ink.
"The Paradise World entrance is also in the Land of Hot Water… and Hell Valley sits nearby."
Opportunity upon opportunity.
"Once I find Hikari's seal, I'll check Hell Valley as well."
Banquet of the New Era
After a quick report to Uchiha Sifang and the elders, Soren changed into ceremonial robes and departed for the evening banquet.
The daimyo's envoy, Minamoto Kazuhiko, had been waiting in restless anxiety. When he heard that the Uchiha and Senju had reached a political understanding in under a day, his shock nearly broke his composure.
Uchiha becomes Hokage →
Senju stabilizes →
Village avoids civil war.
It was everything a nervous heir could ask for.
(Trusting Senju Moriki was a mistake. His head is full of clouds.)
Kazuhiko adjusted his courtly attire, faked a serene noble expression, and walked out to greet arrivals.
But after witnessing Soren's colossal Susanoo earlier, he no longer dared hold his chin high. He treated every shinobi clan head like an elder of the daimyo's palace.
Konoha guarded the Fire Country.
Konoha enabled prosperity.
Konoha made daimyo rule meaningful.
And if his sister married into the Uchiha…
Perhaps one day, the Minamoto name would influence Konoha itself.
His ambition soared—until the doors opened.
"Sarutobi Clan Head—welcome," he greeted respectfully. "Please follow me."
One by one, the leaders of every major clan entered.
When Third Hokage Uchiha Soren stepped inside with his three elders, the banquet officially began.
A Toast to the Future
Soren raised his cup. The hall hushed immediately.
Today, every eye followed him.
Every breath aligned with his.
He felt it—true authority.
The kind that shaped nations, not battles.
The kind that spread like flame through a forest.
"Tonight begins a new chapter in Konoha," he said, voice steady.
Power hummed beneath every syllable.
In that moment, he understood something deep, intoxicating:
Authority is the greatest genjutsu.
"Where the leaves dance, the fire continues to burn. The fire will illuminate the village and give life to new leaves."
He poured new meaning into the old Will of Fire.
"With this cup," he declared, "let us cast aside the past. The Uchiha are ready to build a new future with you all."
"Cheers!"
Cups clinked. Warmth flooded the hall as laughter, firelight, and voices filled the evening.
The Uchiha elders—Sifang, Shana, Hien—were surrounded by younger shinobi pestering them for Warring States stories.
Captains Rei, Baru, and Naka were dragged into drinking challenges they had no chance of winning.
Only one person avoided alcohol entirely:
Uchiha Zhili.
Quiet. Focused. Graceful.
A winter plum blossom among roaring bonfires.
And she sat beside Soren.
Her profile in lantern light—soft lips, pale skin, purple hair flowing like silk—struck him harder than any jutsu.
Something dangerous stirred.
He leaned closer.
Zhili blinked, her cheeks dusted pink.
Soren reached out—took her hand.
Her fingertips trembled under his touch.
"Zhili…" he said, voice low, "will you be my wife?"
For a heartbeat, silence consumed the hall.
Even Kazuhiko nearly fainted—
Why didn't I bring Kaori?! She could still be the concubine!
Zhili stared at Soren.
For the briefest moment, emotion flickered across her eyes—warm, shy, luminous.
Then she exhaled softly.
"Young Lord… you're drunk."
Soren froze.
(Why did that make me think of hugging Juno…?)
Before he could react, dizziness washed over him—liquor, exhaustion, adrenaline all crashing at once.
And Konoha's Third Hokage collapsed—
directly into Zhili's arms.
She caught him gently, her expression somewhere between flustered, fond, and bewildered.
A new era had begun.
And already, it was outpacing everyone's expectations.
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