The ceremony concluded with the emissaries departing in satisfaction—most already scheming, plotting, and strategizing around the new development that had unfolded under the guise of an infant's birth.
And so, days passed within the milk-white walls and soft curtains of the Hyuga Estate.
The heir, Hamura Hyuga, had grown. At the mere age of four, he had already far outclassed not only his peers but many from previous generations. Only a handful remained who could still rightfully address Hamura as a child.
His proficiency with the Byakugan-powered Gentle Fist fighting style was terrifying. His intelligence and memory? Nothing short of surgical. He had memorized the position of every tenketsu—able to shut them off without even using his eyes.
With power came prestige. He was not only respected and revered as the heir, but also feared and exalted as the pinnacle of Hyuga potential by members of both the main and branch families. And befitting an heir, arrogance took root. A sense of superiority—almost divinity—had begun to seep into him. He believed tradition made him untouchable, titles made him insurmountable, and blood—blood made him invincible.
These, according to the elders, were the traits of an ideal heir.
But one fine day, far from the Hyuga compound, fate came to collect her due.
The sky turned red as fire rained from above. The heavens wept flame and ash as death loomed over the Hidden Leaf Village. The Nine-Tailed Beast had awakened, rampaging with the fury of something never meant to be chained. This was nature's wrath—untamable and pure. The jinchūriki, whose identity had long been shrouded in secrecy, had been compromised.
As death danced in the heart of the village, ninja forces scrambled to evacuate civilians into the safety bunkers carved within the Hokage mountain.
Amidst this chaos, a question surfaced on young Hamura's lips. He turned to the elder beside him and asked, "Why aren't we helping them take down that horrid beast? I mean, we're certainly strong enough to do it. We're the Hyuga—the strongest clan in the world."
Elder Hoshi smiled gently, as if moved by the noble spirit of a child, and replied:
"My dearest heir, your concern is admirable. Truly. But what matters now is the survival of the clan. If we were to suffer casualties, our rightful position as the strongest could be challenged by those less deserving. A weakened bloodline would weaken the main family's standing... and most importantly, it would compromise your safety."
Hamura nodded solemnly. Of course, he thought. He was right. The clan is supreme. The village is just wood and stone—it can be rebuilt any number of times. But the clan... the clan is sacred.
The Crimson Night ended when the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze, quelled the rampage—sealing the beast into a newborn, sacrificing his own life in the process. The child, though born of legacy, was not revered. He was cursed. Cursed to live with hatred and disdain from those around him.
The year that followed saw Hamura's abilities grow even further. He began correcting instructors when they misstated even the slightest fact. He started observing the training sessions of new branch family members, noting everything—from the exceptional to the failures.
Now came the next step in his journey. A formality more than a necessity: the Ninja Academy.
It was a bright, sunny day. Hustle and bustle filled the air as children from various clans vied for dominance—eager to establish themselves as leaders, as elite. Those without clans tried to fit in, flattery their only weapon. Some tried to stand as equals, but most chose subservience and silence.
None of this mattered to Hamura. In his eyes, he was already far above them. His superiority was infinite—unquestioned, unchallenged.
But as he silently dismissed the petty social games around him, his eyes caught something unusual.
A boy.
He sat perfectly still in his chair, unmoving. As if he were a sculpture placed in the chaotic sea of the academy. The boy was of average height, with black hair and a widow's-peak hairline. He looked neither curious nor intimidated. Just calm. Unbothered. Meditative.
Hamura took a mental note.
Soon after, the introductions began. The children spoke one after the other, each trying to present a version of themselves—loud, proud, and mostly exaggerated.
Eventually, it was the black-haired boy's turn.
He rose with quiet grace and said, in a voice as bland as it was still:
"My name is Itachi Uchiha."
Then, he sat back down.
The name struck a chord in Hamura's mind. An Uchiha, huh? This might actually be interesting. Maybe coming here wasn't a total waste after all.
The Uchihas—alongside the Hyuga—had long been regarded as the most dangerous, feared, and powerful clan in the village. Though comrades in war, neither had been able to truly prove their superiority, bound as they were to the same side.
But now... now, two heirs of these legendary clans would study side by side. Inevitably, one would rise above the other. And when that happened, the points earned would belong not just to a boy—but to a name. A legacy. A clan.
The rivalry had already begun.