Hiruzen Sarutobi nearly cursed Fugaku Uchiha. Was this whole plan wrong from the start?
Could a fool like Fugaku really hold Uchiha Jhin in check?
He'd believed it once. Because Uchiha Jhin had risen too fast, too sharply, Hiruzen had started treating Fugaku as an ally—someone he could elevate with the Hokage's authority, a counterweight he could lean on to restrain that new force inside the Uchiha Clan.
But damn it.
He'd known Fugaku was weak. He just hadn't expected him to be weak like this—soft, sagging, useless the moment pressure touched him.
And now, staring at the man in front of him, Hiruzen couldn't stop the thought from circling back: Could this scrap of mud ever be shaped into something that would split the Uchiha from within?
No. Too hard. Almost impossible.
The idea turned sour in his stomach.
And yet—
Inside the Uchiha Clan, did he have any other option?
None.
Shisui Uchiha was a good piece in Hokage's hand and strong enough to matter. But the boy was painfully naive—and worse, he was Uchiha Kagami's grandson. That bloodline made him a target in its own quiet way: the clan never fully accepted him, and because he stood too close to the Hokage, they rejected him on instinct.
Shisui was loyal, yes. But he wasn't the kind of man who could become the head of a faction. He could be a blade—clean, sharp, obedient.
He couldn't build a power base. Furthermore, he was unable to play that game.
So… it came back to Fugaku.
No choice.
Danzo Shimura—his "black glove"—wouldn't dirty his hands this time. Even with the Sharingan, he wouldn't go after the so-called radicals head-on. If Hiruzen wanted to stop Uchiha Jhin's rise, then even if Fugaku was rotten clay, he still had to be propped up.
Hiruzen let out a long breath.
A sin, all of it.
The thought of calling someone like Fugaku an ally left a taste in his mouth like he'd swallowed something foul.
At last, he looked from Fugaku—who had fully slipped into a lifeless, defeated posture—to Uchiha Jhin.
"Jhin-kun," Hiruzen said, voice measured, "do you know that Konoha is already in chaos?"
"I don't," Uchiha Jhin replied flatly. "And I'm not interested."
"I'm only a freelance ninja. If there's no mission, I stay in the clan district. I haven't paid attention to what's happening outside."
A vein jumped at Hiruzen's temple.
Freelance ninja?
Was this a joke?
A man who'd hollowed out the clan head's authority, who was practically tightening his grip around the entire Uchiha Clan—and he wanted to stand here and call himself "freelance"?
Hiruzen drew in a slow breath, forcing the anger down into something colder.
"Jhin-kun, stop playing games," he said, voice deepening. "You're the leader of the radical faction. If you're merely a freelance ninja, then what are the rest of Konoha's shinobi supposed to be?"
Uchiha Jhin's expression didn't change. He only shrugged, casual—almost bored.
"I don't really understand what you're saying, Hokage-sama."
"Radical faction? Never heard of it."
"I'm just a freelance ninja. I don't hold any authority. I'm not even in the police force."
Hiruzen's face darkened at once.
Uchiha Jhin wasn't taking the bait. Every word slid off him, leaving Hiruzen swinging at air—his fist meeting cotton, no impact, no leverage.
And the worst part was that, officially, the boy wasn't lying.
The so-called "Uchiha radicals" weren't an organization registered with Konoha. They were internal—an unofficial group within the clan. If Uchiha Jhin refused to acknowledge it, there was nothing Hiruzen could lawfully point to and say, This is your post. This is your responsibility.
On paper, in the village records, Uchiha Jhin was simply a Chūnin—one of the village's many "freelance" shinobi.
His squad had died in the Third Shinobi War. And because the Uchiha situation was… complicated—every war cost them lives, but it also opened Sharingan in large numbers—Hiruzen had ordered them kept inside Konoha, barred from freely taking missions.
That was why Uchiha Jhin's official standing amounted to little more than a Chūnin promotion for battlefield contribution.
Jōnin?
Hiruzen almost laughed at the idea.
Jōnin weren't something you plucked off the street. They were Konoha's privileged tier—the ones with a voice in village decisions. That rank wasn't his to hand to Uchiha Jhin on a whim.
So now—
Now it was trouble.
Because if they went strictly by authority and procedure, Hiruzen didn't actually have the will to pick a fight with him for now.
Konoha's unrest… and a single Chūnin should bear the blame?
If that story got out, Hiruzen's name as Hokage would rot overnight.
"Uchiha… Jhin."
The words came out like ice. Hiruzen's hand clenched—and the smoking pipe in his grip cracked apart.
Uchiha Jhin didn't flinch.
He looked at Hiruzen Sarutobi with calm eyes full of contempt—quiet, effortless, as though the Hokage's fury was something small.
And in his mind, the truth was simple.
Every shortcut has a price.
Power and responsibility had to match. That was iron law.
If the village—if Hiruzen—refused to grant him the status of Jōnin for the sake of their own schemes, then they didn't get to toss the village's failures onto his shoulders afterward.
That, more than anything, was why Uchiha Jhin had never raged at being denied promotion.
And why he'd never bothered to "fix" it.
Because he understood one thing: strength was what mattered most.
If his power was enough, then whether he ever became Jōnin didn't matter in the slightest.
If anything, it worked in his favor.
Since he didn't hold the position, then no one got to pin responsibility on him.
Even if he was an elder of the Uchiha "radicals," even if the Uchiha listened to him in the shadows, even if the village lost the police force and collapsed into disorder—Hiruzen Sarutobi still wouldn't get to shove the blame onto him.
Because on the surface, in the daylight, he was just Chūnin.
Hiruzen had used the Jōnin promotion as a leash.
So now it was time for Hiruzen to pay the price for that choice.
"Hokage-sama, don't get so worked up."
"If there's something you want, say it slowly. Too much anger is bad for your health."
"Do you need this Chūnin to carry out a mission?"
"But… what a shame."
"I don't even have a single teammate right now. By Konoha's rules, that means the highest I'm allowed to take is a C-rank mission."
"Someone's cat missing? Someone needs a babysitter?"
"Or should I go clear a riverbed?"
"I'm ready to contribute to Konoha—so please, Hokage-sama, issue the mission directly."
Uchiha Jhin smiled as he spoke.
The tone stayed mild, almost courteous, but the mockery was so obvious it didn't need sharpening.
That was the truth of it: a registered Chūnin with no squad didn't get handed anything bigger than trivial work.
Even if Konoha wanted to frame him, it was difficult because, officially, Uchiha Jhin didn't even have the standing to accept B-rank missions.
Hiruzen Sarutobi trembled, not from fear, but from the helpless frustration of it.
This boy was too slippery.
No wonder he'd never once applied for Jōnin evaluation. No wonder he hadn't asked for a new team. No wonder he'd never pushed to enter the police force—he'd acted indifferent from the beginning.
So that was it.
This had been the point all along.