A clan meeting.
Again.
The corner of Uchiha Jhin's mouth twitched. He rubbed his forehead as he could physically massage away the headache called "Fugaku." A sane leader understood the rule: small matters get handled quietly, big matters get handled with fewer mouths—or no meeting at all.
Most people don't have the ability to solve problems. They echo whatever they hear, get led around by the nose, and increase the risk of spies catching wind of everything. Ordinary clansmen only need one thing: execution.
When it comes to strategy, the fewer participants the better: people with authority, people who can command the middle ranks, people who can actually fix things.
But Fugaku?
He called meetings over everything, solved nothing, and lacked the decisiveness a Clan Head was supposed to have. It was like watching someone sit on a powder keg and complain about the heat.
"That Fugaku is trash."
"It's definitely about the disappearances and the rumors in the village."
"He can't even handle something this small—does he not have a brain?"
"He calls meetings at the drop of a hat. He's sick in the head."
Setsuna's brows knotted as he cursed openly. He hadn't always felt clan meetings were a problem, but after spending time with Jhin, the inefficiency started to look unbearable—wasted hours for nothing.
Jhin's actions since joining the radicals had proven the opposite approach: no grand meetings, no noisy debates. Just pick a few reliable people, give the order, and move.
Quiet. Efficient. No leaks.
And the results spoke for themselves.
Compared to that, Setsuna's lifetime of clan meetings felt like a joke—endless talk, zero outcomes.
"Enough complaining," Jhin said, waving it off. "We're free anyway. Fugaku is still the Clan Head. As long as it doesn't touch a bottom line, giving him a little face won't hurt us."
He turned his gaze to Tekka. "Tekka, take five elite jōnin from the radicals to help with appearances."
"Everyone else keeps patrols strict. Open posts and hidden posts watch the perimeter. Don't give Root a single opening."
Then he looked to Setsuna. "Let's go."
Jhin rose and walked out without hesitation. Setsuna followed close behind—making it clear to everyone, by sheer posture, who truly led the radicals now.
Ten minutes later, Jhin and Setsuna arrived at the Naka Shrine with Tekka and five unnamed elite jōnin behind them.
Their arrival drew frowns.
But unlike last time, quite a few lower-ranking Uchiha stared at the radicals with complicated, thoughtful expressions.
Recent events had started to prove something—quietly, relentlessly.
Uchiha were stubborn, hard-headed, and single-track… but not truly stupid. In comparison, even the slowest began to sense where the truth lay. They couldn't bring themselves to defect yet—years of trust in elders and faction leaders still held their feet in place.
"Elder Jhin. Elder Setsuna." Fugaku sat at the head seat, wearing a mask of authority. "Why did you bring a few radicals? Where are the rest? "
"Why aren't the other Uchiha attending the clan meeting?"
"That's against the rules."
If someone didn't know Fugaku, they might actually be fooled by the act. At least on the surface, he looked like a Clan Head.
But Jhin had already seen through him.
All polish, no backbone—an impressive spear made of wax.
Jhin took his seat, adjusted his robe, and smiled as if he were humoring a child. "The others are preventing an intrusion into our territory. That's why they can't attend."
Fugaku's face darkened.
The subtext was obvious.
Jhin was mocking him.
Before Fugaku could speak, Shisui cut in first. "Jhin-kun, you should trust the Clan Head and the Hokage."
"What the radicals are doing is too much—it's clearly distrust toward the Clan Head and the Hokage."
"This is wrong. I hope the radicals will remove their defenses."
Jhin didn't even lift his eyelids.
"I don't trust the Clan Head or Hiruzen Sarutobi."
Shisui froze.
He stared, mind going blank.
Fugaku was the clan head, and Hiruzen was the Hokage. Even if someone despised them, they should still show at least a minimum of respect.
But Jhin didn't care.
He spoke again, voice flat and merciless.
"People have died lately. And they're all three-tomoe Uchiha, aren't they?"
"I warned you at the last meeting. I didn't expect you idiots would really gamble your subordinates' lives on Fugaku's and Hiruzen's 'character.'"
"Impressive. Truly. Respect."
His smile sharpened into something colder.
"Fugaku has been indecisive for years. During the war, Uchiha earned merits, bled on the front lines—then couldn't even be honored at the Memorial Stone."
"Villagers didn't even know the Uchiha had fought to the death for Konoha."
"The Nine-Tails incident. Losing ancestral grounds. ANBU monitoring…"
"One after another. You people really don't learn."
He spread his hands.
"But fine."
"Good advice can't save someone determined to die. If you want to throw yourselves off a cliff, go ahead. I won't stop you."
"But understand this—"
"The radicals don't recognize Fugaku as Clan Head. I'm saying it openly now."
"I'm responsible for the lives of radical clansmen."
"So stop wasting time."
"Get to the point. I have more important things to do."
Jhin was blunt—deliberately.
Last time, he'd still called Fugaku "Clan Head" because he'd only just taken power and his footing wasn't firm.
But now?
The clan members had continued to disappear, while the radicals suffered no losses.
That alone was proof.
His capability had been demonstrated in blood.
His authority was built.
He didn't need to fear Fugaku anymore.
And the shrine proved it.
Jhin's words were outright disrespectful—yet the entire Naka Shrine fell silent.
No one stopped him.
Not the softliners. Not the moderates. Not even their elders.
Because the reason was painfully simple:
Everything that had happened these past days had already exposed Fugaku's incompetence.
They might not accept Jhin's extremism—but they didn't have to pretend Fugaku deserved their respect either.
They were tired of him.
Fugaku said nothing.
In the dead quiet, his expression shifted between light and dark. A vicious gleam flickered in his eyes—especially when he looked at Jhin.
He was on the verge of losing control.
In Fugaku's mind, he had endured humiliation beyond the compound, swallowed indignities, and bent his back for years—but for what?
To keep the village and the clan in balance.
To keep the Uchiha alive.
To make the Uchiha truly become part of Konoha one day.
So why—
Why couldn't these bastards understand?