"Apologize?"
Holding the small vial that contained the Sharingan, Feng, who was just about to step out, paused, glancing over his shoulder at Hiko, eyebrows raised slightly as if to ask whether he was seriously expected to deliver a heartfelt apology to Kakashi along the way.
"You still don't believe me when I say you're too rigid," Yan muttered under his breath with a cold chuckle.
"If we really went and apologized outright, it'd backfire. What we need is controlled silence. Just deliver the Sharingan, maybe buy some supplements along the way. No need for anything else."
"So that's the game..." Shisui murmured with a slight nod, feeling like he'd just unlocked another layer of understanding.
"Remember this well," Yan continued, his expression darkening slightly. "From today onward, everyone's going to act furious—but we're going to keep it bottled up.
I don't need you to be good actors. Just keep a sullen face and look dead inside. If anyone talks to you, don't respond—just snort in annoyance."
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes!" came the collective, immediate response.
Yan waved his hand dismissively. "Alright. Go back to your business. This matter's closed."
The other Uchiha dispersed quietly, leaving Yan with Shisui.
"Shisui, you and Itachi are both sharp—but your flaw is your inflexibility. You take everything at face value. Yes, we took Kakashi's Sharingan, and yes, it created a mess.
But it's not really a big deal.
As long as we give the Hokage something to work with—a gesture that lets them save face and calms public tension—the whole situation becomes manageable."
"There's flexibility in everything. Even between the village and our clan."
Shisui fell into a thoughtful silence. Yan's words carried weight, yet still didn't sit fully right with him.
But the facts didn't lie. Yan had steered the family through storm after storm. Shisui, by contrast, always found himself in situations where his actions intensified conflicts.
"Maybe that's why you help the family... and I nearly destroy it," Shisui muttered quietly.
If understanding failed, then he'd stop thinking so hard.
Shisui's resolve hardened. Yan stood at the forefront, guiding Uchiha's course—toward reconciliation, toward transformation. Toward peace with the village.
He, Uchiha Shisui, would handle the darkness that paved the way.
It didn't need to make sense. Even Yan admitted as much—he didn't fully grasp it either. But what they did know was simple: the Third Hokage wouldn't truly turn on the Uchiha. And that truth alone created room to maneuver.
Shisui, I'm operating on a level so high, even I don't get it myself.
Whatever the world sees in you doesn't matter. If I can shift your perspective even a little, make you a weapon for our cause, then that's enough.
The rest is irrelevant.
Meanwhile, inside Kakashi's room, both Tsunade and Shizune were present. Tsunade had come to relay the latest message from the village. Shizune was there to begin the eye transplant procedure.
"Lady Tsunade," Feng announced, voice flat, face stiff with restrained anger as he strode in. He bowed slightly, avoided looking at Kakashi entirely, and placed the container on a nearby table before promptly turning around and walking out.
Not a word of apology. Not even a glance.
He nailed the act: deeply furious, but just barely holding himself together.
The absence of both Yan and Shisui was telling.
Sticking her tongue out slightly, Shizune leaned over and whispered, "Looks like the Uchiha are really pissed."
"That's to be expected," Tsunade said matter-of-factly, not the least bit offended by Feng's frosty demeanor.
"They surrounded their own fellow shinobi in the village, risked everything for that Sharingan. And now, after all that, they're expected to return it and apologize?
They've already swallowed a lot to send the eye back—and even added some gifts. Asking them to apologize on top of that is pushing it."
"If it weren't for pressure from the higher-ups, I doubt they'd even return the eye."
"Alright, enough gossip. This kid still remembers you—he left you snacks. Let's get on with the transplant."
"No need to tease!" Shizune blushed, trying to appear stern.
Tsunade rolled her eyes and walked out into the yard.
The rest was up to Shizune now—she wasn't in the mood to watch any gory medical scenes today.
Once outside, Tsunade grit her teeth and muttered under her breath:
"Damn brat. I stuck my neck out for you, said so many nice things to the Hokage. And what did I get? Not even a bottle of sake!"
He gave snacks to Shizune... but not a drop of alcohol for her?
Unacceptable.
Back inside, Shizune awkwardly smiled as she heard Tsunade's muffled complaints and said to Kakashi:
"Kakashi... please don't hold it against Yan. Everything he does—it's for the clan. He really doesn't mean it personally..."
"Don't worry," Kakashi replied calmly, lying back and preparing himself. "As long as I can regain Obito's gift, that's enough for me."
Shizune began removing the gauze, preparing to reinstall the Sharingan.
The procedure went smoothly. But as soon as the surgery was complete, Kakashi felt a throbbing, persistent pain pulsing in his head.
Something wasn't right.
Before he could speak up, Shizune offered an explanation:
"Technically, anyone can transplant a Sharingan, but... well, you're not an Uchiha. You don't share their bloodline, and that creates a natural rejection.
You should avoid fighting with this eye for a while—it needs time to settle."
"Got it."
That cleared up his concern. Of course there'd be resistance—this eye was never truly his.
When the procedure wrapped up, Shizune joyfully opened the bag of snacks Feng left, munching away in small, quiet bites.
Kakashi reflexively reached for his forehead protector, adjusting it over his freshly transplanted eye.
"...It's done?"
Tsunade returned, glanced around, and sighed as she caught Shizune with her cheeks puffed out full of crackers.
"A pack of snacks was all it took to get you grinning again."
"Lady Tsunade, want some?"
"Childish."
As if she would ever eat those.
Tsunade made a face, did one last check on Kakashi's vitals, and then tugged Shizune by the arm as they exited the room.
Now alone, Kakashi lay back in silence.
His hand reached toward his eye—still bandaged—guarding it protectively.
Obito's gift had been taken from him once.
He wouldn't let it happen again.
Far away in the Land of Fire's capital, the Daimyo himself was enjoying the ongoing political drama like it was theater.
Konoha's shinobi attacking one of their own and seizing the Sharingan? Absolutely scandalous. Riveting, really.
The Daimyo munched on roasted seeds as he reviewed the intelligence. Kakashi had lost the Sharingan. And then regained it. Quite the back-and-forth.
But in truth... the conclusion left a bitter aftertaste.
With Konoha's leadership stepping in, Uchiha had backed down. At least, that's how it looked to the Daimyo. They'd returned the eye and, according to the official record, even offered some gifts.
Tsunade's diplomacy and the Third Hokage's restraint had ultimately prevented an escalation. The negotiations between Konoha and the capital were finalized just before the Daimyo's guests began arriving.
The daimyos from other lands—the Wind, Earth, Lightning, Water—all came to the Fire Country's palace. A massive event.
The city gates bustled with crowds. Endless lines of nobles and retainers streamed in.
"Why do these daimyos bring an army every time they travel?" Histitis asked, clearly baffled.
"This is the shinobi world. If a real ninja attacks, these guards are just deadweight."
Yan, perched on the city wall and casually eating melon seeds, answered without even glancing at him.
"You don't get it. It's all about style."
The daimyos of smaller countries came modestly. But those from major nations—Wind, Earth, Lightning, Water—arrived in over-the-top fashion.
Hundreds of guards. Dozens of carriages. Endless pomp.
It was extravagant. Wasteful. But undeniably impressive.
With all that money spent on guards, they could probably hire entire divisions of ninja... but the village systems wouldn't allow that.
Since they couldn't keep their own private ninja armies, the daimyos compensated with pageantry. Useless guards made them look powerful.
And so the palace transformed into a grand stage.
Banquets. Wine. Exotic dancers. Performances all day and night. And when the daimyos grew tired of revelry, they simply gathered around the gambling tables.
"It seems the conflict between Konoha and the Fire Daimyo has been smoothed over," said the Wind Daimyo slyly as he flicked a card across the gambling table.
He glanced sideways, voice casual but tinged with challenge.
"In my opinion, the Uchiha are bold to the point of recklessness.
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