The tension in the meeting room did not subside; in fact, it shifted form, from military solemnity to a political and lineage intrigue that felt as heavy as the air before a storm. The echoes of the rain that had lashed the village days ago still seemed to reverberate within the imposing stone walls of the Uchiha hall. Kenji stood firm, an unmovable rock amidst the piercing gazes of the elders, now entirely focused on Itori, the unseen child who was the center of their heated debate. The mere mention of his name seemed to evoke a mixture of fascination and repulsion in equal measure.
Uchiha Tadao, the Patriarch with his time-weathered face, scarred by battles and the weight of countless decisions, broke the silence that had fallen upon them. His voice, grave and resonant, was the sound of undeniable authority. "We have heard Kenji's report on his mission and his return. An undeniable success, despite the... unusual circumstances. Now, let us discuss his son, Itori. Uzumaki blood in our veins... is a delicate matter we cannot ignore." Tadao paused, his eyes scrutinizing each face in the room, gauging reactions.
Uchiha Hishiro, the Keeper of Ancient Scrolls, a thin man with small eyes that blinked like a hawk, was the first to speak, his voice dry as old leaves rustling in the winter wind. He spoke with the authority of past generations, of unbreakable tradition. "An abomination. The purity of Uchiha blood is sacred, Kenji. It is the essence of our power, the foundation of our Sharingan. We have fought and spilled our blood for generations to keep it immaculate. A half-breed, and worse, with an Uzumaki lineage, whose clans are known for their... peculiarity and their untamable chakra, is a stain on our name. We cannot accept this child as a true Uchiha. It is an inherent weakness, an unacceptable risk to the future of our clan." Hishiro gesticulated with his bony hand, as if trying to brush away an impurity. "Imagine the precedent we would set. Anarchy."
Beside him, Uchiha Kageyama, the Master of Assassinations and strategist in the shadows, a man of few words and a cold gaze, nodded slowly, his eyes like dying embers that still held a lethal heat. "A child with foreign blood within our walls could be a point of infiltration, a weakness exploitable by our more cunning enemies. His chakra, with that... Uzumaki vitality, could be undetectable or, worse yet, disruptive to our internal defenses, to our own chakra detection systems. Tradition demands purity, not only by heritage, but by security. It is a risk the clan should not take in these times of constant war." His voice was a guttural whisper that, nevertheless, filled the room with its weight.
The third elder against it was Uchiha Genbei, the Head of the Guard, a robust man with scars crisscrossing his face like maps of ancient battles, more accustomed to the sword than diplomatic words. His voice was a growl, like that of a protective wolf. "The children of Uchiha must be pure Uchiha, Kenji. Undiluted. We cannot set a precedent for anyone to bring outsiders into our bloodline. If we accept one, what's next? Dilute our strength until we are unrecognizable? The clan grew strong with pure blood, forged in the crucible of battle." Genbei struck the table with a clenched fist, making the cups vibrate.
Kenji clenched his fists under the table, his knuckles whitening. He could feel the heat of the Mangekyo Sharingan pulsing behind his eyelids, a warning of the fury boiling within him. The pain of losing Nara, so recent, mingled with anger and contempt for the absolute rejection of his son, his only living connection to the love he had found. He wanted to shout, to defy them, but he knew that reason would be his most effective weapon here.
But not everyone shared the same opinion. Uchiha Hiroshi, the Mission and Recruitment Manager, a more pragmatic and observant man, with a calculating mind and keen eyes, raised a hand, his fingers slender and long. "Elders, I perfectly understand the concerns about purity. It is the pillar of our identity. But power is also purity in these turbulent times. The child's mother, Uzumaki Nara, was from a clan with legendary vitality and astonishing chakra reserves, beyond what most of us can comprehend. If this child has inherited any of that, could it not be an undeniable strategic advantage for our clan? A unique source of power that would otherwise be inaccessible to us."
"Our clan needs strength, no less, in this era of constant war," added Uchiha Akemi, the Treasurer and Logistics Master, a shrewd and observant woman, whose sharpness was as keen as any katana. It was said that her Sharingan could see not only chakra, but the intrinsic value of every resource, every person. "Every capable shinobi is an invaluable asset. And if he is Kenji's son, who has proven to be one of our most valuable assets, whose Mangekyo Sharingan is already a living legend on the battlefields, his potential is undeniable. We can monitor him, yes, but we must train him. If he proves to be a weakness, then necessary measures will be taken. But to discard him without even testing his worth, without allowing him to show his potential, would be foolish, a waste of potential resources that our clan cannot afford." Akemi held her gaze firm, unyielding.
Tadao, the Patriarch, listened attentively, his eyes moving from one elder to another, weighing each argument, each inflection of voice. Finally, his gaze fell on Kenji, who had maintained his silence, a display of discipline forged in years of solitary missions. "Your silence, Kenji, is deafening. What do you have to say in defense of your son? Tell us about this 'miracle' you have brought."
Kenji stood up, his posture impeccable despite the tension. He took a deep breath, controlling his temper. "My son, Itori, is Uchiha. He carries my blood, my heritage, the essence of this clan in his veins. Uzumaki blood is not a weakness, Elders. It is a source of unheard-of resilience, of vitality that would allow them to overcome injuries that would be fatal to anyone else, and of chakra reserves that rival those of the Tailed Beasts. In these times, where every shinobi is cannon fodder on the battlefield, do we reject a possible unprecedented advantage solely for the rigidity of tradition? For a concept of purity that can limit our own growth?"
His voice, though calm, contained an intensity that silenced any objection. "He did not choose his birth, but I, his father, did. I chose to bring him into this world, knowing the implications. I swear to you, Patriarch, and to you, Elders, that Itori will be a shinobi loyal to the clan, stronger by the mixing of his blood, not weaker. I will personally oversee his training. I will instill in him the Uchiha values from his first breath—loyalty, strength, sacrifice for the clan. If the day comes when he proves to be a threat, if his Uzumaki blood ever corrupts the Uchiha essence within him, I myself, as his father and as a member of this clan, will take care of it. But I ask you, I implore you, to give him the opportunity to prove his worth. To allow him to live and grow under the emblem of our fan."
There was a tense silence. The air in the room vibrated with Kenji's words. Tadao pondered, his eyes half-closed, the cold logic of Hiroshi and Akemi. Kenji's power, undisputed and feared, was a vital asset. The need to strengthen the clan in times of war was imperative, and the unknown potential of the Uzumaki-Uchiha child was a gamble that could change the course of future battles.
Finally, Tadao nodded slowly, a decision made that would change the destiny of a child and, perhaps, that of the clan itself. "The war situation forces us to be pragmatic, as Hiroshi has pointed out. Kenji's proposal has merit, although not without risks. Itori will be accepted into the Uchiha clan, under Kenji's direct supervision. He will be trained like any other Uchiha child, without privileges or favoritism, but his development will be closely monitored by Akemi and Hiroshi, who will report directly to me. If he proves to be an asset, a valuable resource for the clan, then the clan will benefit him with our protection and our knowledge. If not..." The phrase hung in the air, a silent threat, no less potent for its omission. "Let it be clear to all present," Tadao continued, his voice rising to make the immutability of his verdict clear, "this does not set a precedent for future unions with external clans, much less with the Uzumaki. It is a unique exception, forced by Kenji's prolonged absence on a vital mission and the... unexpected nature of his return. It will not be repeated. The purity of our blood remains paramount."
Hishiro, Kageyama, and Genbei were not pleased; their expressions made that clear. Their gazes met, a tacit promise of vigilance. But the Patriarch's decision was final, unquestionable. Kenji felt a faint relief, barely a sigh in the storm that surrounded him, but he knew this was just the beginning. Itori's true battle for acceptance, for a place in a clan that viewed him with suspicion, had just begun. The seed of discord had been planted, and only time would tell if it would blossom into strength or destruction.