The basement was empty. That was the first thing Renjiro noticed as he stood in the centre of the cavernous space, his arms folded across his chest, his dark eyes scanning the walls, the ceiling, the rough concrete floor with a critical, almost dissatisfied gaze. The room was large—larger than most basements in Konoha, certainly larger than the cramped workspace he currently used in his rented home. But it was not large enough.
"Is there truly no house with a larger basement?" he asked, his voice dry, almost amused, though the amusement did not reach his eyes.
Oshiro Tetsuya shifted nervously behind him, his hands clasped before him, his expression caught between deference and anxiety.
He was a small man, balding, with the particular softness of someone who had spent more time behind a desk than on a training ground. His profession—real estate agent—was not one that typically brought him into contact with shinobi of Renjiro's calibre, and he was clearly out of his depth.
"Renjiro-sama," Tetsuya said, his voice respectful, almost pleading, "this was the largest property we could locate that met all of your requirements. Privacy, structural integrity, distance from civilian traffic, and—as you requested—a basement suitable for particular work." He gestured helplessly at the room around them. "We searched extensively. This was the best available."
Miwa, standing at the far end of the basement near a small, grimy window, turned to face them. Her arms were crossed, her expression carrying the particular scepticism of someone who had known Renjiro long enough to question his judgment.
"The basement seems enormous to me," she said, her voice light but pointed. "Are you sure you're not overdoing it? How much space do you really need?"
Renjiro turned to face her, his expression unchanged.
"This space may look large now," he said, "but once production starts, it will become cramped. I plan to begin manufacturing stabilisation seals officially. Not just for myself but for the village." He paused, letting the weight of the statement settle. "Nara Shiba has already commissioned a supply for his clan. Other clan heads will follow once they see the results. And that's just the beginning."
Miwa's eyebrows rose slightly. "You're planning that far ahead?"
"I have to." Renjiro turned back to the room, his gaze sweeping the walls, measuring, calculating. "Demand will grow quickly. Konoha's shinobi forces will need a steady supply. The medical division will want reserves. And if the barrier project moves forward, I'll need space for that as well." He shook his head slowly. "This basement is adequate for now. But it won't be for long."
"And the clones?" Miwa asked, her voice carrying a note of concern. "You're planning to rely mainly on shadow clones for the delicate sealing work? Is that wise?"
Renjiro's expression did not change, but something in his posture shifted—a subtle acknowledgement of the question's validity.
"Only my clones can be trusted with this level of sensitive work," he said. "Or rather, only myself. I've trained for years to achieve the precision required for high-level fuinjutsu. Most shinobi don't have that training. Most don't have the patience, the control, the—" He stopped, as if realising he was about to lecture. "Suffice it to say, my clones are extensions of me. They share my knowledge, my skills, my standards. I trust them because I trust myself."
Miwa studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
"If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
Renjiro turned back to Tetsuya, who had been watching the exchange with the particular discomfort of someone who understood he was witnessing something private.
"Ignore the earlier restrictions," Renjiro said. "I want to know if there is any house with a larger basement available. Regardless of location."
Tetsuya's face brightened immediately—a flash of hope, of opportunity, of the commission that had seemed to be slipping away.
"There is one, Renjiro-sama," he said eagerly. "A property on the eastern edge of the village. The basement is significantly larger than this one—nearly twice the size, with reinforced walls and separate rooms for storage and work."
Renjiro's eyes narrowed. "Why wasn't this mentioned before?"
Tetsuya hesitated, his earlier nervousness returning. "The property is located near a shinobi clan residential district. I was concerned that the location might not meet your requirements for—"
"Which clan?" Miwa interrupted, her voice sharp.
Tetsuya swallowed. "The Uchiha clan district, Miwa-sama. The house is on the border of the compound, close to the main residential area."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with implication. Renjiro's jaw tightened—a small, almost imperceptible movement—but his expression remained otherwise unchanged. The irony was not lost on him. He was leaving the Uchiha clan to distance himself from its politics, its expectations, its endless internal conflicts. And yet the house that best suited his needs was located on the very edge of the compound he was trying to escape.
"I'll take it," he said.
Tetsuya blinked. "Renjiro-sama?"
"This house. I'll take it." Renjiro's voice was flat, final. "Finalise the paperwork. I want to move as soon as possible."
Tetsuya's face broke into a relieved smile. "Of course, Renjiro-sama. I'll begin the process immediately. When would you like to arrange payment?"
Renjiro's lips curved into a smile—thin, cold, not quite warm.
"Payment comes when everything is complete," he said. "The faster you work, the faster you get paid."
Tetsuya nodded eagerly, bowed, and hurried toward the basement stairs, his footsteps echoing on the concrete. The door at the top of the stairs opened and closed with a soft thud, and then he was gone, leaving Renjiro and Miwa alone in the empty room.
The silence returned, heavier now, weighted with unspoken questions.
Miwa walked towards Renjiro, her footsteps slow, deliberate. She stopped a few feet away, her dark eyes searching his face.
"Are you sure this is the right decision?" she asked.
Renjiro met her gaze without flinching.
"We already discussed this," he said. "I intend to distance myself from Uchiha clan politics. From the remaining Uzumaki survivor entanglements. From all of it." He paused. "I want independence. My own space. My own resources. My own future."
Miwa shook her head slowly. "I still can't believe things became so heated with Fugaku. That you nearly fought."
Renjiro stared ahead, his gaze fixed on the grime-covered window, on the sliver of evening light that filtered through.
"I was trying to drive some sense into him," he said, and there was something almost like humour in his voice—dark, dry, edged with bitterness.
"If a fight was required to do it, I was fine with that."
"And Itachi?" Miwa asked. "Did you expect him to appear?"
Renjiro's expression flickered—a shadow of something that might have been surprise, or regret, or simply acknowledgement.
"No," he said. "I did not expect Itachi to be the one to calm the enraged clan head. But I'm grateful he did. A fight between two Mangekyō users would have been… destructive."
"Then why risk it?" Miwa pressed. "Why risk fighting another Mangekyō user at all?"
Renjiro turned to face her fully, his dark eyes sharp, focused.
"It was a bigger risk for Fugaku than for me," he said. "Even if he somehow defeated me—which I consider nearly impossible—I still had one strategic advantage he could not match. I'd Win!"
Miwa's brow furrowed. "What advantage?"
"Fugaku cannot regenerate lost Sharingan," Renjiro said, his voice flat, clinical. "I can. Replace them, regenerate them—whatever you want to call it. If we had fought, if we had pushed each other to mutual damage, I could have come out ahead. He would have lost something he could never recover."
Miwa stared at him, her expression shifting from concern to something more complicated—fear, perhaps, or the recognition of a depth she had not fully appreciated.
"That's…" she began, then stopped.
"I'm not planning to do such a thing," Renjiro said quickly, his voice softening. "I'm only stating facts. The advantage exists. Whether I choose to use it is another matter."
Miwa was silent for a long moment. Then she nodded, slowly, as if coming to terms with something she had been avoiding.
"Leaving the clan sphere behind," Renjiro said, "will require adjustment. For me at least."
"Change can be growth," Miwa replied. "And growth is often uncomfortable."
Renjiro's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "When did you become so philosophical?"
"I've always been philosophical. You just never noticed."
Miwa smirked before continuing, "And now you're moving to a house out of the clan compound, which means I'll have to walk farther to check on you."
"You don't have to check on me."
"I'm your aunt. It's my job."
Renjiro sighed, but there was warmth beneath it. "Fine. Check on me. Just don't expect tea."
They stood in silence for a moment, the tension of the earlier conversation fading, replaced by the familiar comfort of long acquaintance.
Miwa glanced toward the stairs.
"I have to go," she said. "There are things I need to attend to before the evening is over."
"I need to leave as well," Renjiro said. "I'm working on another seal project with Kushina. A bijuu-powered concept."
Miwa's eyebrows rose. "Bijuu-powered? That sounds dangerous."
"Everything worth doing is dangerous."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"When do you plan to move into this new house?"
Renjiro turned toward the window, toward the fading light, toward the future that was waiting for him.
"Hopefully by the end of the week," he said.
=====
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