How to Survive as an Uchiha

Minato asked this question quite earnestly, his blue eyes studying the Uchiha with quiet intensity.

Masashi replied with equal sincerity. "It's about the balance between rights and responsibilities. Enjoying rights and fulfilling obligations should be reciprocal."

To be fair, the dispute between the Hokage's office and the Uchiha clan had had both sides to blame.

It was true that the Hokage administration had suppressed the Uchiha.

But the Uchiha had often prioritized clan interests over those of the village. When they had contributed to the village, they hadn't held back on asking for compensation.

Just like children demanding candy for doing their chores, Masashi thought, though he kept that observation to himself.

From a legal perspective, the Hokage had been the direct superior of the Police Force, yet this had often led to tensions and awkward situations.

What leader would appreciate a subordinate department behaving like this?

"Reciprocity, huh..." Minato thought this was an acceptable answer, tapping his finger thoughtfully on his desk.

But he doubted the elders would see it the same way. It wasn't that the Third Hokage would reject this logic, but that the elders themselves had lacked even the most basic trust.

They neither had dared to trust nor could bring themselves to.

The depth of the divide between companions of the same village gave Minato a headache just thinking about it.

"Absolute fairness doesn't exist. The village is vast and has to accommodate many people, especially when most are contributing to it," he tried to express his thoughts, or rather, the Hokage office's viewpoint, in a more tactful way.

"At this point, it's not about who's right or wrong, but about making trade-offs."

"That's fair," Masashi nodded. "It's really just a matter of trust." And trust is easier to build than to repair.

After organizing his words carefully, he spoke earnestly to Minato, "Hokage-sama, the era of 'clan exclusivity' is long gone. We're all part of one village; we see each other every day. The elders might think differently from us, but if everyone's willing to let go of their biases, there's nothing we can't discuss."

In fact, looking at the Hokage administration's policies over the years, they hadn't severely hindered the Uchiha clan's strength or development.

A clan's growth had relied on population, techniques, and finances. The Hokage's office had merely limited the Uchiha's power, but even a single Police Force role had been enough to sustain the clan's typical growth.

Thus, in Masashi's view, it had been unrealistic to say the Hokage office had seen the Uchiha as enemies.

They had still regarded the Uchiha as a subordinate department overly focused on its self-interests, an internal instability. Essentially, they had viewed the Uchiha no differently from other clans.

In fact, none of Konoha's clans had been able to join the decision-making ranks. The Nara clan had only had a slight advantage due to their intellectual acumen.

Even Sarutobi Hiruzen's clan hadn't benefited much from his leadership—at most, financially. But the clans in Konoha that had survived until then all had had their own ways of making money, so none were truly lacking in funds.

"Trust, huh... I think I get where you're coming from," Minato believed that Masashi was being truthful. He's different from the typical Uchiha... interesting.

Honestly, he didn't sense the typical Uchiha pride in him. Or rather, Masashi's pride went beyond the Uchiha clan.

"I'm strong because I'm strong, not because my clan is strong."

Although Masashi didn't say this outright, Minato was confident that's what he thought.

"But in that case, things might not be so easy for you." he couldn't help but laugh, imagining future scenarios. Walking between two worlds never is.

Masashi was baffled. What exactly does he see coming?

"I'm looking forward to seeing what you do next," Minato said, picking up his teacup. "Alright, I won't keep you from heading home. Say hello to your parents for me."

"Understood, Hokage-sama."

Not sure what Minato was hinting at, Masashi decided it was time to go. He quickly got up and left, his mind already shifting to practical matters.

His first stop after leaving was the mission hall, where he collected his mission rewards.

There was a funny moment when the young lady handling the payout was stunned by how skillfully Masashi counted his money, thanks to his Sharingan.

Three-tomoe had its everyday uses too.

By the time he stepped out of the Hokage building, Masashi already had a clear plan in mind for how to spend the 700,000 ryō he'd earned.

Just because the clan was wealthy didn't mean every individual in it was financially comfortable. The higher one's rank, the more costly their training became. Though Masashi trained diligently, he wasn't exactly a monk; he spent money as fast as he earned it.

A textbook example of living paycheck to paycheck.

Though he had missions to cover him then, leaving the Police Force meant those income streams temporarily dried up.

Adding it all up, while his total income had risen, his expenses remained tight due to his current focus on his Yang Release training.

He'd have to cut back. No more tea until he achieved a breakthrough with his Yang Release.

Most importantly, he'd need to find a way to get an S-rank mission. The limit for A-rank missions was 1 million ryō, but S-rank missions started above that and had no upper limit.

Excluding wars contracted by other countries, S-rank missions usually involved assassinating important foreign figures or escorting confidential documents. Given that the relations between the Hokage office and the Uchiha had been strained, it was quite challenging for Uchiha shinobi to secure S-rank missions.

But Minato seemed open-minded as Hokage, so Masashi felt hopeful. If anyone could see beyond clan politics, it was him.

Just like he had told Shisui, he had full faith in the Hokage.

If he couldn't get an S-rank mission, he might be emotionally scarred and lose his faith in others. But the Hokage wouldn't let a comrade suffer such psychological trauma.

When he returned to the clan grounds, he was intercepted by Tetsuka before he could stash his earnings.

"Masashi, you're finally back!" he shouted, "The clan leader's looking for you—he wants to see you right away."

No avoiding this now. News traveled fast in the compound. Masashi had no chance to dodge; everyone knew he'd returned from the Hokage building.

"Got it."

With no choice, he followed the overly excited Tetsuka to clan leader's residence. Fugaku's home was a mansion among mansions within the Uchiha clan's district.

Even though it wasn't Masashi's first time visiting, he was still awed by its grandeur. A symbol of power, both old and new.

There was no way to match it. Fugaku's family had been wealthy even before he had become clan leader, known for their business acumen.

Thanks to his wealth, once he had become the leader, he had funneled his family's profits back to help fund training resources for other clan members.

Masashi received a stipend every month because of this. Despite Fugaku's stoic demeanor, Masashi always considered him incredibly impressive.

When he arrived, Fugaku was busy writing with a calligraphy brush, each stroke precise and measured.

Upon seeing Masashi, he asked him a question that cut straight to the heart of matters.

"Masashi, if you were to spar with Shisui, what do you think your chances of winning are?"

"Shisui?" Masashi didn't quite understand the clan leader's question. "Why would I fight one of our own?"

"You're always so cautious, Masashi," Fugaku said, upgrading his expressionless look to show he wasn't satisfied with that answer. "Even back home, you don't feel like speaking the truth?"

Hmm? Home? Was he offering me a house? Could it be converted to cash?

But seeing Fugaku's expression, it didn't seem the right time for jokes.

"Fugaku-sama, when two Uchiha fight, there's no real winner, is there?"

The Mangekyō Sharingan had its risks, and Masashi wasn't sure he could withstand it. If Shisui couldn't handle losing and hit him with Kotoamatsukami, making him think he was in some alternative universe… well, why bother with reality then?

And without using the Mangekyō? Wouldn't that be a waste of time?

With everyone in the shinobi world scrambling for missions, how could he waste his own time?

"Winning and losing isn't the point. The purpose is to observe the differences between the two of you," Fugaku said, setting down his brush and cleaning his hands.

Masashi glanced at the calligraphy and thought it could use some improvement.

"Come over and have a seat." Fugaku opened a side door, revealing a tea room.

The tea was already brewed, and a woman was tidying the table. When the door opened, she rose to her feet..

"Thank you, Mikoto." Fugaku's expression softened slightly.

"It's nothing; I was just idle anyway. You two go ahead and talk; I'll head out for a bit." Mikoto seemed pleased, probably heading off to meet some friends.

"Alright." Fugaku nodded, then asked, "And where's Itachi? He should be training at this hour."

"Shisui took him out."

"Oh."

What kind of father was this, letting his son skip training to go play?

Not that he had anything against Itachi; he just felt Itachi might not go down that path eight years later if he had been disciplined a bit more as a child.

The Uchiha, once they got too proud, often fell into the 'everyone else is ignorant, I alone am awake' mindset. It was a sickness that needed curing.

"Sit," Fugaku invited, seating himself first and sipping his tea.

Masashi sat and took a sip as well. Knew it. It's the same tea.

"How's your Yang Release training coming along?" Fugaku suddenly asked.

"It's going well."

"The Ice Release doesn't match the Sharingan's power. If you'd followed the clan's tradition, perhaps you'd have eyes like Shisui's by now."

As if power is only measured by our eyes.

"That'd be rather inconvenient," he said, pouring himself more tea. "Use it too much, and you go blind."

"Just replace them with new eyes," Fugaku replied nonchalantly. "The Sharingan is the core of our clan. There's a reason why members leave their Sharingan behind after they pass."

"I only like my own eyes," Masashi felt they were getting off-topic. And I'd rather keep my vision intact, thank you very much.

Weren't they just discussing Yang Release?

"No matter. Your choice will show results soon enough. You're four years older than Shisui; everyone believes this is fair."

"Alright, I'll follow the arrangement." As if I have a choice in this...

"Good. But if you lose, the clan won't support your Yang Release training anymore. Your monthly allowance will be like everyone else's. Just giving you a heads-up."

"Oh."

Masashi didn't mind; after all, the clan had a lot of members, and his extra share might mean someone else received less. Before, it would have been an issue, but since he was a jonin, cutting that extra portion was reasonable.

At least they're being direct about the stakes.

In this aspect, the Uchiha did well—not giving more to the strong or less to the weak. Overall, the clan's leadership was quite competent and had a sense of fairness.

Their more ruthless side was reserved for the Hokage building.

After a bit more casual conversation, seeing that Fugaku had nothing further, Masashi took his leave. The message had been clear enough—prove your worth or fall in line.

Back at home, the scent of fried eggplant and grilled fish greeted him. His mother appeared at the entrance, drying her hands on her apron.

"Welcome back." She stepped aside to let him in. "The bath is ready if you want to wash up."

"Thanks, but I should store these first." Masashi patted his mission rewards pouch.

"Of course." She stayed at the doorway. "I made extra today. That last mission must have been tiring."

His father's voice carried from the living room, accompanied by the distinct smell of... garlic?

"Masashi, good timing! Come look at this new maintenance technique I've discovered. The sulfur compounds in garlic actually create a protective layer when mixed with the right oil. Been testing it on my own kunai for weeks—not a spot of rust!"

Masashi noticed the slight tremor in his mother's voice as she interjected, "The food first, dear. Your experiments can wait."

After securing his earnings, he returned to find the table filled with dishes—grilled saury, fried eggplant with miso, fresh tomatoes, and a pot of rice with red beans.

All his favorites, arranged with careful precision.

"That sword of yours still holding up?" His father looked up from his seat, several kunai and a bowl of crushed garlic laid out beside him. "I've been reading about this technique from the Land of Iron—they use specific vegetable enzymes to—"

"Let the boy eat first," his mother cut in, serving Masashi an extra large portion. "You'll need your strength." She paused, chopsticks hovering. "I heard you'll be sparring with Shisui."

"News travels fast." Masashi picked up his chopsticks. "The clan wants to see if their investment in my training is worthwhile."

"Speaking of investments," his father perked up, "did you know that coating your blade with a mixture of garlic oil and iron filings creates a microtextured surface that actually—"

"Dear," his mother's tone was gentle but firm, "perhaps after dinner?"

His father chuckled, setting aside a half-polished kunai. "Right. Though Masashi, you should really let me show you later. This could give you an edge tomorrow—get it? Edge?"

Father and his experiments...

"You've always done things your own way," his father added, reaching for more fish. "The clan just needs reminding sometimes. Like how everyone laughed at my pickled radish polish until the they started requesting it."

His mother added another helping of eggplant to Masashi's bowl. "Shisui is such a nice boy, but in a spar..."

"Don't worry." Masashi sampled the eggplant. Perfect as always.

"It's just a demonstration. Though I wouldn't mind if they redirected my training funds into the shop. Father could buy more... exotic ingredients for his experiments."

"Always thinking about money," his mother sighed, but her shoulders relaxed slightly. If her son could still joke, things couldn't be too serious.

After dinner, his father predictably dragged him to examine his equipment, enthusiastically demonstrating his latest garlic-based innovation.

They spent the next hour methodically checking and maintaining his gear, his father alternating between practical advice and increasingly elaborate theories about vegetable-based metallurgy that Masashi only half-listened to, as he always did.

Some of his ideas sound crazy, but I haven't had a rusted weapon in years. It's so boring to listen to his detailed explanation...

After the equipment check, Masashi spent the rest of the day helping around the house. His mother had him dusting the shelves while she cleaned the kitchen, her worried glances now mixed with gentle reminders about spots he'd missed.

"The fish haven't been fed yet," his father called from the garden. "Did you know koi can actually help predict weather patterns? The way they swim changes with barometric pressure. Could be useful in a fight!"

"Dear, that's goldfish, not koi," his mother corrected, but his father was already rushing to the pond, a notebook in one hand and fish food in the other.

Masashi followed him out, watching as his father enthusiastically scattered food while scribbling observations. "Look, look! See how that orange one moves? Clear sign of... well, something. I'm still working on the details. But imagine if we could apply this to combat strategies!"

"I think they're just hungry, Father." Masashi grabbed a handful of feed, watching the fish swirl beneath the surface. Though I have to admit, their movements do look different today.

"Hungry? No, no, this is clearly a response to atmospheric conditions. Or maybe it's the garlic on my hands from earlier? Quick, write this down—'Potential correlation between garlic-based weapon polish and koi behavior...'"

"The laundry still needs folding!" his mother's voice drifted from inside, saving Masashi from his father's impromptu fish behavior study.

Some things never change, Masashi thought, heading back inside as his father continued his enthusiastic documentation of the 'tactically significant' koi movements.

A few days passed without a new mission, probably because the clan was organizing his spar with Shisui, which he'd been informed would be a public match.

Using this method to decide whether to continue supporting his Yang Release training was fair. It was just a bit embarrassing if he lost, especially since he was older than Shisui.

The idea that Uchiha didn't care about age and only strength was just a public image, a way to make others think the Uchiha had a strong, competitive culture.

After about seven or eight days, Masashi felt no pressure. He continued to eat, train, and go about his routine until he finally spotted Shisui on the way back.

He looked travel-worn, clearly just returned.

"Masashi-nii." his eyes sparkled with excitement. "They told me as soon as I got back."

"Yeah, same here," Masashi replied, smiling. "I hadn't even put away my money before they dragged me in for a lecture."

"Masashi-nii, you always talk about money."

"Gotta be practical."

"Well, Masashi-nii, I look forward to learning from you tomorrow! I've been eager to see your skills for a long time!"

"Noted…"

Seeing Shisui so fired up, Masashi patted his shoulder. "We're like family; no need to be so formal."

"Got it! I'll be sure to go all out!"

"That sounds like a challenge… alright, do what makes you happy."

Sending off the spirited Mangekyō user, he continued on home.

Despite his friendly demeanor, Shisui was every bit as intense as the typical Uchiha; faced with a worthy opponent, he got worked up as if he'd taken a shot of adrenaline.

At least Shisui showed good judgment, not assuming he'd win just because Masashi chose a non-traditional path.

Tomorrow, he'd hold back a bit, be cautious, and keep things respectful.

After a good meal and chat with his parents, he went to bed early.

Then, the next morning, following the clan's notice, he went to the training grounds.

For ease in sparring, the training grounds included an indoor arena, resembling a basketball court, with a second-floor viewing area for spectators, allowing the fighters to fully display their skills without distraction.

This way, even if the building took a beating, it'd be fine. Behind the audience were windows, and for a shinobi, jumping out a window was no big deal—maximum safety.

When Masashi arrived, many clan members had gathered.

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