Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

Renjiro shut the door to his house, the faint click of the latch breaking the heavy silence within. His hand lingered on the handle for a moment before he exhaled deeply as if releasing the weight of the morning.

The interior was dim, with only a few rays of sunlight streaming through the windows, casting long, golden streaks on the wooden floor. The contrast between the serene glow and the storm in his mind was almost ironic.

He kicked off his sandals at the entrance and trudged toward the sitting area, his footsteps heavy against the floorboards. As he sank into his chair, it creaked softly beneath him. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head hang low.

"This is just great," he muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm.

He dragged a hand down his face before straightening up and staring blankly at the empty space in front of him. His Sharingan had long deactivated, leaving his red hair as the sole reminder of his Uzumaki lineage. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips.

"I didn't expect Daichi to hoard the information about the Mangekyō Sharingan," he said to no one in particular. "Then again… if I were him, I'd probably do the same thing."

The edge of his lips twitched into a faint, humourless smile. Annoyance and admiration churned within him in equal measure. While his primary emotion was frustration over the dead end he'd hit at the private library, he couldn't help but appreciate the brilliance of Daichi's strategy.

Renjiro leaned back in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests as his mind began to analyze. Information was power—it was a truth as undeniable as gravity. And in a clan as volatile and ambitious as the Uchiha, controlling knowledge about the Mangekyō Sharingan was akin to wielding a loaded kunai. Daichi wasn't just safeguarding secrets; he was orchestrating control over those who dared to seek power beyond their reach.

"If someone awakens the Mangekyō," Renjiro mused aloud, "they'd have no choice but to turn to Daichi for guidance." He chuckled darkly. "And if they actually submit to him, he might even go as far as to help them attain the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan."

The thought lingered, and Renjiro's brow furrowed. Was Daichi truly that calculated? Probably. Renjiro had seen enough of the clan head's machinations to know he wasn't one to leave loose ends. Yet, even for Daichi, the idea of facilitating the Eternal Mangekyō seemed extreme.

"Then again," Renjiro muttered, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest, "this is Daichi we're talking about. I wouldn't put it past him."

The deeper Renjiro delved into his thoughts, the more Daichi's long game came into focus. The clan head wasn't just consolidating power for his own sake; he was laying the groundwork for Fugaku's ascension.

Contrary to what outsiders believed, the Uchiha clan's leadership wasn't hereditary. It was a role earned through strength, influence, and loyalty. But Daichi was cleverly reshaping that tradition, steering it toward a pseudo-dynasty.

"His father—what was his name again? Hoshirou?" Renjiro muttered, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, that sounds right. The man was Madara's nephew and the former clan head, and now Daichi's in charge. And it's clear as day that Fugaku is next in line."

Renjiro shook his head, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "This guy's turning the clan headship into a family business."

Daichi's strategy was painfully transparent to someone like Renjiro, who was aware of how things played out in the future. By monopolizing knowledge about the Mangekyō Sharingan, Daichi was effectively eliminating competition for Fugaku. No rival in Fugaku's generation could threaten his path to leadership without risking being outmanoeuvred by Daichi's control of vital information.

"If someone else from Fugaku's age group awakened the Mangekyō, it'd tip the scales," Renjiro mused. "They could sway the elders, maybe even challenge Fugaku for the clan head position."

Renjiro leaned forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands. The thought hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. Daichi's actions weren't just about safeguarding the clan's secrets; they were about shaping its future.

"Good thing I'm not in Fugaku's generation," Renjiro muttered with a faint smirk.

The age gap between him and Fugaku was substantial—around fifteen years, if his memory served him right, which it always did. That distance was enough to place Renjiro well outside the realm of competition. If anything, he was closer in age to Itachi, Fugaku's son, than to Fugaku himself. Mikoto was currently pregnant after all.

The thought brought Renjiro a fleeting sense of relief. He wasn't a threat to Daichi's plans, which meant he could continue to operate under the radar—for now.

A sudden realization hit him like a cold gust of wind. His eyes widened slightly as he muttered, "Wait a second. If Daichi's this meticulous about controlling information, he'll know I've been looking into the Mangekyō."

The air in the room felt heavier, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Renjiro's mind raced. Daichi wasn't just guarding the secrets of the Mangekyō Sharingan; he was likely monitoring who sought them out. Anyone probing too deeply would immediately draw his attention—and suspicion.

Renjiro sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Great. Just great. That's exactly what I needed—more eyes on me."

But panic didn't set in. Renjiro had not spent too much time navigating the treacherous waters of clan politics but he was not afraid to dip his toes in. He knew his intentions weren't aligned with Daichi's, but he also had no desire to challenge the man's authority.

"Anyway, it's not like I'm gunning for the clan head position," Renjiro said aloud, his voice steady.

The truth was, that the idea of leading the Uchiha clan was a nightmare. The clan's relationship with Konoha was deteriorating by the day, and tensions were nearing a breaking point. It was only a matter of time before whispers of rebellion turned into full-blown plans for a coup.

Renjiro leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. "Daichi's the only reason the clan hasn't imploded yet," he muttered. "Once he's gone… it's going to be chaos."

The thought was sobering. Renjiro wanted no part in the clan's inevitable downfall like before. His only concern was ensuring his own survival, preferably as far removed from the brewing storm as possible. But if it fits his interest, then he might get involved.

"But this begs the question," Renjiro said, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Does Daichi already have the Mangekyō?"

It was a possibility he couldn't ignore. The level of control and foresight Daichi exhibited suggested a deeper understanding of the Sharingan's potential.

Perhaps he had already unlocked its secrets and was using that knowledge to maintain his iron grip on the clan.

"Wouldn't be surprising," Renjiro murmured. "The only way to control others is to have something they want—or something they fear."

The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. If Daichi possessed the Mangekyō, it would explain his meticulous control over its information. But even if he didn't, his actions were still calculated and effective.

Renjiro stood, the chair creaking softly as he rose. He stretched, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that had built up during his introspection.

"Anyway," he said with a chuckle, "it's not like they're going to turn on me anytime soon."

A sly grin spread across his face as he added, "And even if they do, I've memorized the Izanami and Izanagi. As long as I stockpile a few extra Sharingan, I'll be untouchable."

The room fell silent again, the only sound the faint rustling of leaves outside the window. Renjiro's mind was calm now, his path clearer. Daichi's actions were a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. All Renjiro had to do was play his cards right—and, above all, stay one step ahead.

Renjiro stood up, stretching his arms over his head. The day wasn't over yet, and there was still another avenue he could pursue. If the clan's private library was a dead end, there was one person who might have the answers he sought.

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