Reina’s wound wasn’t life-threatening, but it had been close.

  The bde had sliced through skin, muscle, and narrowly missed the artery running along her upper arm. She spent two days in the hospital under chakra-assisted healing, most of it unconscious or drugged.

  Ken visited on the second day.

  Not out of obligation—but because he needed to see her alive.

  She was sitting upright when he arrived, arm wrapped in a fresh bandage, IV line gently feeding into her wrist. Her face was pale, but her eyes were sharp. Tired—but very much there.

  He didn’t knock. Just stepped into the room and stood by the window.

  Reina smiled faintly. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

  Ken shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”

  “Same.” She tilted her head slightly. “You were the first person I saw when I woke up, you know.”

  He blinked. “You remembered that?”

  “Yeah.” She paused, then looked down. “I thought I was going to die out there.”

  Ken didn’t offer comfort. He offered honesty.

  “You didn’t.”

  That made her ugh—a soft, tired sound.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes before she asked, “You really knew where they were coming from? All of them?”

  Ken nodded. “Not by sight. Just… something felt wrong.”

  Reina studied him. “Your eyes changed again.”

  “I know.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  Ken looked out the window. “No. That’s the problem.”

  Daisuke showed up an hour ter, carrying a half-eaten rice ball and a bag of oranges.

  “Hospital food is garbage,” he said. “So I brought backup.”

  Reina grinned. “You brought food after eating half of it?”

  “I’m generous, not a saint.”

  Ken didn’t say much, but he stayed the whole visit.

  And when Reina finally dozed off, Daisuke gnced at him and muttered, “Thanks. For getting us through that.”

  Ken just nodded. “Don’t get used to me giving speeches.”

  “I’m not,” Daisuke said. “You’re more the ‘hit a guy in the neck’ type.”

  That almost earned a smile.

  Three days ter, Reina was discharged.

  The team met that evening—not to train, not to pn, but to sit together by the river behind their training ground. No jutsu. No sparring. Just quiet.

  Reina brought tea. Daisuke brought snacks. Ken brought nothing but himself.

  And for the first time, they talked like people—not soldiers.

  Reina spoke about her mother, a retired medic-nin who now ran a clinic in the east district. Daisuke shared stories about his twin little sisters, one of whom had once bitten a civilian for insulting their father’s armor polish.

  Ken listened.

  When Reina asked about his parents, he said simply, “They’re alive. Quiet. Branch family. Nothing like the rest of the cn.”

  “Are they proud of you?” she asked.

  Ken paused. “I don’t think they know what to be proud of yet.”

  The next morning, Ken returned home to find Daiki sitting in the center room, his expression unreadable.

  Airi stood behind him, wringing her hands. Her eyes were red.

  “Sit,” Daiki said.

  Ken obeyed.

  Daiki slid a small, sealed scroll across the table. It bore the Uchiha cn’s insignia—deep crimson wax, stamped with the Elder sigil.

  “They want to see you.”

  Ken didn’t flinch.

  “They want you to report. In person.”

  “When?”

  “Today.”

  Ken gnced at his mother. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  The inner compound had never felt colder.

  He entered the council chamber just before noon. Three Elders sat waiting, shrouded in their usual half-light.

  Elder Nakano, at the center, folded his hands.

  “Ken Uchiha. You’ve completed your first C-rank. There are details in the report we wish to crify.”

  Ken stood straight. “The facts are accurate.”

  “Indeed.” Nakano paused. “You showed initiative. Tactical awareness. Leadership. You awakened your Sharingan—twice now. That is… significant.”

  Ken said nothing.

  Another Elder leaned forward. “And yet, your techniques still rely on water and wind. No fire. No Uchiha style. No cn legacy.”

  Ken met his gaze. “I used what was necessary to keep my team alive.”

  Nakano’s mouth twitched.

  “And what of loyalty?” he asked. “To your blood. Your cn. Do you value your own methods over our traditions?”

  Ken’s voice didn’t rise. “I value results. The mission succeeded.”

  “The mission is not everything.”

  Ken’s jaw clenched. “No. But surviving it is.”

  The third Elder spoke—his voice softer, more deliberate.

  “Ken, the cn is not your enemy. But your isotion, your deviation—it worries us. Your talents could serve our future. But only if you walk the proper path.”

  Ken said nothing.

  Nakano leaned back. “We’ve spoken with your parents.”

  Ken’s eyes darkened.

  “They are… unsure of your direction. Concerned about your safety. They’ve entrusted your future to us.”

  Ken stepped forward, controlled. “If you touch them—”

  Nakano raised a hand. “We don’t need to touch anyone. But Daiki’s position, Airi’s medical access—both are within the cn’s purview. They benefit from our protection. Would be unfortunate… if that changed.”

  Ken stared at him.

  Long.

  Cold.

  Dead still.

  The Sharingan fred behind his eyes—but he didn’t activate it. He just watched them.

  And when he finally spoke, his voice was low.

  “You think using them makes me weaker?”

  Nakano didn’t answer.

  Ken continued. “It doesn’t.”

  He turned toward the door.

  “But it makes you smaller.”

  Then he left.

  That night, he sat alone on the rooftop.

  The stars were out. The wind was cold. His hands rested on his bde, unmoving.

  He didn’t tell Daiki what had been said. He didn’t ask Airi if she knew.

  He just watched the sky.

  He was stronger now. Sharper. Focused.

  But the cn wasn’t going to let go.

  And now, they’d touched something that mattered.

  His team.

  His parents.

  That changed everything.