"Long live the patriarch!"
"Long live the patriarch!"
"Long live the patriarch!"
"…"
As Uchiha Fugaku's voice faded, an eerie silence blanketed the Naka Shrine. Yet just moments later, a single voice rose—then another—and soon the whole shrine thundered with synchronized cries of loyalty and support, shaking the very air with their fervor.
If not for the barrier seals strategically deployed earlier to contain the sound, the roar would have undoubtedly reached the ears of the entire Hidden Leaf Village.
At that point, forget about disturbing the villagers—Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, would've surely been jolted into suspicion, possibly deploying Anbu to investigate the noise. The Konoha Council, including the ever-watchful Mitokado Homura and Utatane Koharu, would also grow uneasy, potentially stirring new waves of political unrest.
"Alright, quiet down, everyone!" Uchiha Yue raised his hand slightly, a smile tugging at his lips at the clan's overwhelming support. "Our former Patriarch, Fugaku-sama, still has something to say. Please, I ask you to listen carefully."
His words carried a dual meaning—not only calming the atmosphere but also subtly lending Fugaku his authority. This moment, this respect, was Yue's silent gesture of support for the man who had once borne the weight of the clan.
Though Yue had seized the reins of leadership, he still allowed Fugaku to borrow the momentum of the crowd. After all, Fugaku had shown no intention of pleading for Itachi earlier, remaining silent when Yue had declared the consequences of his rebellion. That alone earned him Yue's approval.
"Phew… Everyone," Fugaku began, drawing a deep breath. "There is one more request I, Uchiha Fugaku, must make."
His voice was steady, yet the weight behind it was palpable.
"I ask, for the sake of the decades I have dedicated to our clan—for my service, my loyalty—that we show mercy to my son, Uchiha Itachi. I ask only that we spare his life. This is my one request—please!"
With a deep, formal bow that bent him almost in half, Fugaku offered everything he had—his pride, his dignity—as he begged his people.
The Shrine, which had moments earlier echoed with celebration, now fell into a somber hush once more.
For those whose families had been unharmed during the massacre, their expressions were soft—eyes filled with pity and reluctant understanding.
Yet for those who had lost loved ones—brothers, children, friends—bitterness swelled in their chests. Their faces twisted in conflicting emotions.
Though Yue considered Fugaku a failure as a patriarch, someone who had been paralyzed into inaction during the Nine-Tails' attack and the clan's gradual marginalization, the reality was more nuanced.
In truth, Fugaku's standing in the clan was solid. Many owed him favors. Despite his flaws, he had carried the burden of the clan's survival when they were forcibly relocated after the Kyūbi incident—a political slight disguised as "security."
It was precisely that quiet loyalty and political tact that had let him maintain the clan's unity and the title of patriarch until now. In that regard, Fugaku was no mere figurehead—he had real influence.
And now, standing before them stripped of title but not of honor, his heartfelt plea caused many to reflect.
"Lord Fugaku," came a voice from among the crowd after what felt like an eternity. "Itachi's crime—slaughtering his kin—is unforgivable. But if what we've learned is true—that Konoha's higher-ups coerced him, that he was made to choose between village and clan—then… having lost his Sharingan, having suffered humiliation and injury, perhaps… that is punishment enough."
With that, the seal broke.
Others followed. Slowly at first, then more quickly, voices spoke up, echoing varying levels of reluctant acceptance. They would not forget. They would not forgive easily. But they would let Itachi live.
A few still could not find peace. Their eyes stayed cold. Their silence spoke volumes.
But thanks to the repeated pleas from both Fugaku and Mikoto, who had stepped forward with tears in her eyes, and Itachi himself kneeling and bowing to the ground in apology, even they eventually acquiesced—albeit bitterly.
Thus, the question of Itachi's death was finally laid to rest.
His punishment, now a matter for the families of the victims, would be determined by them in the days ahead. Restitution, servitude, surveillance—whatever they demanded, Itachi would endure.
Throughout all this, Uchiha Yue remained an observer. Silent. Detached.
Only after the final consensus was reached did he step forward, announce the decision as the newly inaugurated clan head, and then quietly retreat once more from the limelight.
It's worth noting that when it came to Uchiha Obito—the masked man revealed to be complicit in the massacre—Yue had declared that he still had "value." That interrogation and disposal would be delayed.
No one objected.
After all, every ninja present understood the need for intelligence gathering. So long as Yue didn't declare Obito innocent, no one was in any rush to deny him the torture he likely deserved.
With Itachi's fate settled and the matter of Obito postponed, the clan meeting was at last nearing its conclusion.
Seeing that dawn was fast approaching, and that many Uchiha were exhausted both physically and emotionally, Yue raised his voice once more:
"This assembly is now concluded. All clan members are dismissed!"
Of course, "dismissed" didn't mean everyone simply went home. The memory of near-extermination still haunted them. No one felt safe returning to dark, vulnerable homes just yet.
Besides, moving around the village at night wasn't exactly safe or convenient. Not every Uchiha was a full-fledged shinobi—there were elders, children, civilians among them.
And so, for many reasons, most of the clan remained at the Naka Shrine overnight, huddled in groups, keeping watch.
Time passed swiftly.
Before long, morning light filtered into the ancient shrine.
Despite the cramped conditions and restless sleep, the Uchiha rose with vigor. After surviving a night they feared might be their last, simply waking up felt like victory.
"Lord Patriarch," a trusted jōnin and Yue's personal subordinate reported, "I've conducted a sweep of the clan district. There's no sign of enemy presence. It seems Konoha has indeed halted any operations for now."
"Very good," Yue responded calmly. "In that case, let everyone return to their homes. The Naka Shrine is a place of worship and history, not shelter. One night here is enough."
His tone was even, but internally, Yue was not surprised.
Though Danzo was dead—eliminated by Yue's hand—he had also taken a trip to the Hokage Tower and forcibly obtained the Scroll of Seals. With such bold actions, he had left behind traces. Even without Root's spies, Yue had directly listened in on the council meeting between Hiruzen and Homura the previous night, thanks to carefully planted chakra threads.
He knew full well that Hiruzen Sarutobi would not act rashly—not without Jiraiya or Tsunade back in the village.
In truth, Yue couldn't help but lament Konoha's current state.
Despite its massive size, and despite its high-tier shinobi system, Konoha was frighteningly hollow at the top.
Aside from Hiruzen, there were no Kage-level fighters among the active ranks.
Which made it all the more absurd that, in the original timeline, a Konoha this weak had dared to pressure the Uchiha into genocide.
Now, with Uchiha Yue, Fugaku, Shisui, and even Itachi—three Mangekyō wielders united—how could such a clan ever have been cornered to the point of annihilation?
If only they had stood together back then.
If only they had refused to bow.
The tragedy might never have happened.