"Understood, Clan Head."
Uchiha Mu lowered his head respectfully before stepping back, leaving the matter hanging in the air.
Marriage.
Within the Uchiha Clan, internal unions had always been the norm. Only by preserving the purity of their bloodline could they ensure stronger descendants—children with a higher chance of awakening the Sharingan. It wasn't romance that guided such decisions, but necessity, strategy… survival.
Ryujin paused where he stood, the word lingering in his thoughts longer than expected.
He hadn't anticipated it.
Nor had he ever truly considered it.
At eighteen, by the standards of his previous life, he had only just stepped into adulthood. But in this world, eighteen was already beyond that threshold. It was an age where one was expected to shoulder responsibility, to lead, to fight—and, if necessary, to marry.
The shinobi world did not allow time for hesitation.
Children as young as eleven or twelve were already sent to the battlefield, especially in weaker villages that lacked manpower. War forced people to grow up early—far earlier than they should.
By the time they reached their mid-teens, many had already experienced life, death… and everything in between.
Ryujin exhaled quietly, letting the thought settle before pushing it aside for now.
"Go back for now. I'll think about it."
"Yes, Clan Head."
With that, Mu withdrew.
Pushing open the door, Ryujin stepped into his residence.
As the Clan Head of the Uchiha, his home naturally stood at the center of the compound—larger, more refined, and more heavily guarded than any other. Every detail within it spoke of authority and status, a silent reminder of the position he held.
Yet despite its grandeur…
It felt empty.
Not quiet.
Not peaceful.
Just… empty.
For a brief moment, his gaze lingered across the room, and memories surfaced unbidden.
Once—
He had not been alone.
There had been voices.
Warmth.
A family.
But that had been a long time ago.
His parents had died when he was still very young, killed by enemy shinobi during one of the countless conflicts that plagued this world. Back then, he had been too weak to do anything but grieve.
And he had grieved.
For longer than he cared to remember.
It was during that time… that something awakened within him.
The Mangekyō Sharingan.
In the end, he had taken revenge. Every single one responsible had paid the price.
But revenge…
Never brought anything back.
From that day onward, the house had remained as it was now.
Silent.
Still.
Empty.
Though…
Not entirely.
Occasionally, there was someone who came.
A small figure.
Quiet.
Persistent.
Her name was Mikoto.
Sometimes she brought food. Sometimes she said nothing at all and simply sat nearby, as if her presence alone was enough.
And over time, Ryujin had allowed it.
To outsiders, it was nothing unusual—just a young girl serving the Clan Head, an act seen as an honor within the Uchiha Clan. No one questioned it.
If anything…
They envied her.
Because among the entire clan, very few could approach Ryujin so casually.
A soft knocking sound broke the silence.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Clan Head… are you home? It's Mikoto."
Her voice was gentle, carrying a trace of hesitation.
Ryujin paused briefly, then pulled on a loose robe before walking toward the door.
When he opened it—
A small figure stood outside.
Long black hair framed her delicate face, her petite frame barely reaching even a meter in height. She held a small basket carefully with both hands, as though afraid of dropping it.
The moment she saw him, her expression brightened instantly.
"Clan Head, you're back! I came to bring you—"
Her words stopped abruptly.
Her eyes widened.
Because Ryujin wasn't fully dressed.
The loose robe hung casually over his shoulders, revealing part of his chest—lean muscle shaped through years of relentless training. Combined with his pale complexion and sharp, refined features, the sight carried an unexpected impact.
Mikoto's face flushed red almost instantly.
"C-Clan Head… I… I came to bring… I mean… this is…"
Her voice trembled as her thoughts tangled, unable to form a complete sentence.
Though she was only eight or nine, the shinobi world did not allow innocence to last. She already understood enough to realize what she was seeing—and that realization only made her more flustered.
Ryujin, however, didn't think much of it.
To him, it was nothing more than casual exposure, and in his eyes, she was still just a child.
"Come inside first."
He stepped aside slightly, his tone as calm as ever.
"Yes… y-yes…"
Mikoto hurried in, clutching the basket tightly, as though it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her face remained flushed, her gaze fixed downward, not daring to look at him again.
Like Ryujin, she had lost her parents at a young age.
An orphan.
Perhaps that was why she came so often.
To her, Ryujin wasn't merely the Clan Head.
He was something closer to family.
And perhaps because he had allowed her to stay—
She had managed to grow up without losing her warmth.
"Mikoto, sit for a bit. I'll wash up first."
"Mm… okay…"
She nodded quickly, lowering her head even further.
Not because she didn't want to look—
But because she felt like she shouldn't.
Her heart beat faster than usual, and she didn't quite understand why.
"…Stop using honorifics, Mikoto," Ryujin said as he walked toward the bathing room. "I've told you before."
"…I understand… Clan Head…"
He shook his head slightly.
Some habits…
Were difficult to change.
Still, there was something faintly amusing about it.
If his memory was correct, this shy, easily flustered girl would one day become—
Uchiha Sasuke's mother.
Even now, the traces were already there.
Quiet.
Reserved.
And unexpectedly adorable.
After washing up, Ryujin changed into a simple set of clothes and returned.
Mikoto had already arranged everything neatly on the table. The food was set carefully, each utensil placed with attention and care, as though the act itself held meaning.
"You brought fish today?"
He caught the scent immediately.
Mikoto looked up slightly, her earlier embarrassment easing just a little.
"Mm. I caught it yesterday by the river. It was really big."
There was a hint of pride in her voice—small, but genuine.
Ryujin smiled faintly.
"Then I'll have to see how it tastes."
The room fell into a quiet calm.
Outside, war loomed. Schemes unfolded. Bloodshed drew closer with every passing moment.
But inside—
For this brief, fragile pause—
Everything felt still.
And for once…
That was enough.