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Chapter Text

The next few months passed fairly quickly in retrospect, but very slowly in the moment. He continued to meditate with Kaa-san regularly, and by now he had a good feel for his chakra but both of his parents insisted that he wasn’t yet ready to move onto jutsu, which annoyed him to no end. Still, it wasn't like he could argue with them.

The Academy was, unfortunately, boring. All of the academic classes were so below his level that he could’ve done them in his sleep. He was no genius, but if you put any adult, or even a teenager, in elementary school classes, there was bound to be friction. There was nothing to challenge him.

Except maybe for the propaganda - excuse him, history classes about Konoha and Fire Country. The Will of Fire was the cultural creed of Konohagakure. In a world where loyalty was everything, it was a way of pushing civilians and shinobi alike into feeling some kind of national identity, though it wasn't technically a religion. The Uchiha, as some of the oldest clans, still kept to the old ways and religion, but were discreet about it. 

Classes on basic arithmetic, reading and comprehension skills, left him impossibly disinterested. Normal, everday, ordinary school things. He hadn't missed them.

Aside from that, there was a lot of physical activity, which was perhaps the only thing enjoyed. He’d never been a fitness freak, but he liked having the motivation to stay in shape, which he’d not found in the Before... not that he had looked very hard.

They were taught the Academy taijutsu form, which was different from the one the Uchiha were taught -- he knew this because he saw Mohira having the same troubles that he did in adjusting. The Clan kids definitely had a massive advantage, because they had been taught their forms for years before attending. Meanwhile, many of the civilian-born kids had never even held a kunai before, let alone run through a kata.

“You are letting your elbow drift too wide,” he said evenly to one of the children - Nishitake Momon, he thought it was; the first kid to be introduced on their first day. Momon frowned.

“What?” He said. His feet were positioned awkwardly, far too close together, and there was no sense of balance in his movements. He was just kind of standing.

“That is why your throws are veering left." Momon blinked, so Aozen continued, "If you keep your shoulder relaxed and follow through straighter, your aim will stabilize. Your strength is not the issue; your form is."

Here Momon scowled. "You think you know better than me? You're what -- six?"

“Yes. But I have hit the target twenty-four times today," he points out, "and you have only hit it seven times."

Momon's scowl deepens, and he steps closer to Aozen, tense. "Maybe if I had all day to play with blocks instead of working, I'd be some little genius too."

Aozen frowns, head canting. "I am not trying to insult you," he says, confused. "I thought you would want to improve."

Momon scoffs. "I'll tell you what I don't want, is some Uchiha brat lecturing me in front of everyone. You think because you're an Uchiha you can tell me what to do?"

Aozen looks around. A few of the other students had turned to look on curiously. "I thought since I noticed something and I could help, I should." He straightens. "It seems I was wrong."

"Yeah, you were," says Momon, and turns back to the target.

Aozen stares a moment longer, then turns to find the Sensei. "Even if I was right," he adds to himself, under his breath. When he finds Tajiro-sensei, he tugs on his shirt. 

“Yes, Aozen?” Tajiro-sensei turned to look down at him.

“Momon needs help on his form. I tried to tell him, but he got angry. I thought if you told him, you might help him fix it.”

Tajiro-sensei glanced over Aozen's shoulder for a long moment, then back down at him. “I see. Is that why you've come to me? Because you want to help him?"

Aozen nods. "If it does not get fixed now, he may form a habit that hurts him later."

Tajiro-sensei chuckles. "You really are a little shinobi already." Aozen blinks at that, but Tajiro continues, "Alright. I'll keep an eye on him. And I'll adjust the drills tomorrow so he doesn't even realize he's being corrected."

Aozen nods, satisfied. "That is good."

"But listen, Aozen." Tajiro-sensei leans a little closer and speaks a little quieter. "A word of advice. People don't always like being corrected when they're wrong, especially not by someone younger. Even when you're right."

Aozen nods once. "I know."

Tajiro-sensei raises a brow. "Do you? Because if you keep doing it you may make enemies before you make friends."

Aozen considers this, then shrugs. "That's fine. Next time, I can be right, but quietly."

Tajiro-sensei chuckles again. "Smart kid. Now, make sure everyone's kunai supply is stocked. We've still got another twenty minutes before this block is over."

Aozen dips his head obediently. "Hai, Sensei."

========================================

The war began in October. The Second, as he'd originally thought. It placed him earlier in time than he had thought, but he wasn't sure what to do with the information yet.

At first, Aozen’s only indication was a general darkening of the mood around the Compound. There were fewer Uchiha about, and of the ones who were still around, it was mostly the Obaa-chan’s-next-door, who were no longer talking openly and laughing in their rocking chairs but muttering quietly amongst themselves, knitting and shaking their heads to themselves.

He wouldn’t know why until later, but Tajiro-sensei was especially tense for the first few days, as though mustering the energy to teach the class was a struggle. Most of the kids, it seemed, were similarly kept in the dark, as none of them had really changed in any of the ways he’d seen adults do.

Aozen came home one day with his mother to see Tou-san in the dining room, reading from a scroll. It was not of a kind he’d ever seen before, standard parchment but with a dull orange tag attached to it. He felt more than saw Kaa-san stiffen next to him.

“Tell me that isn’t what I think it is,” Kaa-san asked his father, and he sighed, placing it down on the table.

“I’d prefer not to lie,” he said. Aozen frowned.

“Is this something I can hear?” he asked, looking between the two of them. There was a long moment where his parents were communicating by glances and facial expressions. Finally, Tou-san sighed.

"It’s probably something you should hear.” Kaa-san led him over to the table and they sat. He looked between them, waiting for one of them to speak first. He didn't like the tension in the air. It reminded him of when they'd asked him about the Academy. They exchanged glances, and Tou-san's lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke.

“I’m being placed back on the active duty roster. That means that I’m going to be sent on missions, sometimes for long periods of time.” said his father solemnly. Aozen stared, considering.

"War?" He asked.

The word alone seemed to take something out of his father. "Yes," he agrees, weary even to his young ears. "War. As a shinobi, I have a duty to our clan and our village, and that means I have to do what the Hokage asks of me." A part of him - the small child that lives in the small of his breast - thinks that, doesn't he have a duty to him as his father? But that part is small and selfish, he knows better than to let that out. 

“And you?" He looks at his mom instead.

"I'm remaining in-village. Support with the KPD." That was a relief, at least. But even so...

"And me?" he can't help but ask. He doesn't like the sound of his voice.

"Nothing changes for you," Kaa-san reassures him. "Your classes will continue, as well as the rest of your training."

He looks to her, then to the table, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thinks. He looks back up to his father.

“You’ll come back.” It was less of a question and more of a statement. Tou-san smiled wanly.

“I will, Ao-kun. I’ll always come back.” He said, reaching over to take one of his hands in his. Aozen nods slowly.

But it wasn’t a fact, was it?

The possibility was very real that his father wouldn’t return from a mission. Uchiha were almost always combat-proficient if not focused, and though he’d never seen it, he wouldn’t be too surprised if Tou-san had his Sharingan. He’d be sent on the difficult missions, probably.

Looking up at him, he couldn’t bring himself to say that he knew that might not be true. He was just a child, no matter how intelligent, and he wasn’t supposed to know these things. He was supposed to be sad that they were leaving, maybe a little scared, but perhaps instilled with the childish naivete that meant he would be absolutely certain of his parents returning. Instead, there was doubt and anxiety beginning to gnaw at his stomach. He didn’t want to face that yet.

Instead, Aozen started forward to hug him. Only moments later, he felt the steady presence of Kaa-san behind him, wrapping him up in her arms too.

========================================

“What is this?” Aozen asked when an unopened scroll was placed in front of him by Kaa-san.

“This,” began Kaa-san, taking a seat, “is the scroll for a jutsu.” Aozen's attention was caught instantly, prompting a knowing smirk from Kaa-san. “In the Uchiha clan, it is considered a rite of passage to be able to perform the Gōkakyū no Jutsu.” Aozen blinked.

Grand Fireball.

That… was a whole jutsu. Like, a whole jutsu. It was traditional for an Uchiha to learn it as a coming-of-age ritual, but he had thought that might've been a few years away. He hadn't even learned the Academy Three yet. 

“You don’t seem as excited as I expected," said Kaa-san, but she sounded amused.

“I am,” he said truthfully. “I am surprised, that's all. I had expected something smaller - like the Henge, or Kawarimi no jutsu.” What was the Grand Fireball? D-rank? C-rank? It couldn’t be B-ranked, right? 

Kaa-san raised a brow. “I'm surprised you haven't tried to learn them yourself,” she continued wryly. “Don’t worry, Ao-kun, I don’t expect to take you to the training grounds and have you attempt it right away.” She reached over to open the scroll, revealing several passages of text and diagrams. Were those -

“These are the hand-seals for the jutsu. Before you even think about molding your chakra, you are going to drill these until you’re doing them in your sleep. These seals, among others, will form the foundation of all other jutsu you perform. Do you understand?”

He bobbed his head obediently. More memorization. How very civilian.

...Maybe he could find the instructions for the Academy jutsu somewhere?

“Kaa-san,” he asked a few moments later, “where is the library?” Kaa-san narrowed her eyes at him, and he tensed, knowing he was caught out.

“If you’re trying to find information on new jutsu, don’t even *think* about practicing them on your own, Ao-kun.” She used his name affectionately, but there was a clear undertone of promised reprimand.

“I - I would not do that,” he says, a blatant lie. Kaa-san crinkles her nose at him.

“Mhm," she hums, unconvinced. "Regardless, you’ve an assignment to be working on right now. Get to it - I’ll be making dinner. Your father should be home soon, and perhaps you’ll be able to show him your progress.” At that, Aozen perked up, then dove into the jutsu scroll with vigor.

========================================

The day that Tou-san left for his first mission was a sad one, and Aozen was not in the least ashamed to have shed a tear. Though he'd had the idea the Uchiha were emotionally constipated (as though Sasuke was a typical example), theirs was a fairly heartwarming goodbye, full of hugs and kisses and well-wishes.

A full week while he and his mother held their breath, waiting for the missing piece of their family to return. Aozen wasn't sure whether his understanding of the situation made it better or worse. He settled uneasily into the waiting until the day Tou-san walked through the door unharmed.

At the very least, Tou-san made a cake when he returned. He was hopeless with normal foods, but for whatever reason he was a phenomenal baker. He said once that it was all about ratios and math, while cooking was nonsensical and chaotic. Kaa-san had wrinkled her nose in disagreement.

There were more missions, naturally. And on most of those days, Aozen visited the Uchiha training grounds to train. Training was an easy way to occupy his thoughts, and leave him tired enough to sleep without thinking too hard about the future.

The training grounds were often active. The Uchiha would be foolish not to take advantage of their private grounds, away from prying eyes. Most gatherings were sporadic, but once a week, the entire Clan -- those who weren't on assignment, at least -- gathered, as a Clan, to train. So many Uchiha in one place looked like a celebration, and felt like one, too. There was food, laughter, and conversation. No fireworks save the occasional Katon jutsu.

Fushima-sama oversaw the entire thing from the porch of the main dojo where he could see the entire field. A man who Aozen was pretty sure was Fugaku started the day sometime before noon by leading everyone in a basic though fairly vigorous stretching routine, before continuing onto katas of the clan’s taijutsu style, the kind that every Uchiha learned once they were able. With the war starting up, Fugaku was only around maybe once or twice a month for these occasions, however, in which case another Uchiha took over.

Aozen had gotten looks when he’d started alongside them, some intrigued and some confused, but he elected to ignore them whenever he went. Tou-san often watched over him, but sometimes Aozen went of his own volition when Tou-san had an early patrol. At least, he had done a few times. Eventually, the attention he got from other Uchiha made him so embarrassed that he stopped going alone as much. Mikoni-obaa-sama once said that he “looks just like Hikaku-sama did at that age”, whatever that meant. Fushima-sama had never spoken to him, fortunately, but he was certain he caught the clan head observing him from his seat on the porch more than once.

After general katas, everyone broke off from formation for other training, finding new sparring partners or teachers, with the most experienced Uchiha leading small groups or lessons.

It was incredible to witness. Aozen had never had a large family, and this was a part of his Clan that had never made it into the story of Before. This was organic, and real, it gave life to something warm in his chest even to see it. There was a sense of peace and joy about the compound that he couldn't have imagined before. There was laughter, a sense of community. The elderly folk tended to congregate around Fushima-sama to form cliques of chair-sitting observers, whilst some of the old war dogs would talk amongst themselves. The younger shinobi were tutored by the elder, and spars were had amongst friends, ending with one the victor but both as comrades.

He felt privileged to see it. It cemented his desire to prevent the future tragedy. He had the knowledge, and eventually, he would have the skill. It was within his power to do something, and if that something could preserve... this? He would do it everytime.

He stopped being disregarded as too young after he’d become a regular enough presence that his fellow Uchiha knew what he was about, and although he was uncomfortable with conversation, his presence on the sidelines, watching spars and trying to learn all he could from sight, was accepted if not actively encouraged.

Although the really destructive fights were saved for the village’s larger training grounds, there were still plenty of opportunities to see dazzling jutsu used in interesting ways. The Uchiha propensity for Katon was on full display, although there were some Raiton and Doton jutsus used every now and again.

Kaa-san had had a late patrol and was sleeping off the effects, whilst Tou-san was on a mission. In-village, he thought, but a mission nonetheless.

He watched a spar between two teenaged Uchiha that consisted mostly of taijutsu, but at some point the two separated. There was a tense beat before -

“Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu!” one cried, and from his mouth he blew a shaped orb of bright orange flames at his opponent. He had seen this jutsu before, of course, but he had never been this close to it. The heat washed over him in a faint wave, rippling the grass. Several observers clapped and cheered.

He was too late to mimic it properly, but he ran through the hand seals for the jutsu anyway, having long since committed them to memory.

“Those are the hand seals for the Gōkakyū no Jutsu, are they not?” came a baritone voice from his left. He jumped, startled, and turned to see - oh. That was Uchiha Fugaku. Uchiha Fugaku who was clearly amused at his reaction. The man didn’t look particularly old, perhaps in his early twenties, but had a stern enough countenance to make up for it, no doubt preparing for later in life when he would be the Clan Head.

“I - er, yes, Fugaku-sama,” Aozen managed to say after a few moments to adjust, because he’d the man was not only particularly close, but also should have been visible in his peripheral vision before speaking.

Mentally, he scoffed. Shinobi.

“Hm. You are Kojuka’s boy, aren't you?” Fugaku inquired, fixing Aozen with an unreadable look.

Wasn’t this the guy they called… Fearsome Eye Fugaku, or something? Wicked Eye Fugaku? And he was making prolonged eye-contact with him?

“Yes, Fugaku-sama,” he said after a beat. Fugaku nodded at that, and looked out amongst the field.

"Your father and I are good friends," he states neutrally.

Aozen nods, slowly. "Tou-san is very friendly." At that, Fugaku smiles.

The spar Aozen had been watching ends when one flips and pins the other with his arm behind his back. Shinobi fights didn't last very long on average. The point was for a warrior to get a quick, clean kill, after all. When they stood again, they shook hands with a laugh and took up position to start another spar.

“Show me the hand-seals for the jutsu, Aozen-san.” Aozen blinked at the relatively formal address. He was used to four-year-olds receiving the ‘-kun’ or ‘-chan’ treatment, but eventually nodded and did as asked.

He’d been practicing the seals for a few months now and, as Kaa-san had said, could almost certainly do them in his sleep. He was proud of the speed, but true to his promise, and out of fear of Kaa-san’s retribution, had not yet tried to actually channel chakra into them.

“Have you performed the jutsu before?” Fugaku continued, still with that placid, unreadable expression.

“No, Fugaku-sama. Kaa-san said I had to perform and memorize all of the hand-seals before I was allowed to channel chakra.”

Fugaku seemed to find that amusing, judging by the slight upturning of his lips. “And one must always listen to their Kaa-san, mustn't we?”

Aozen didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he simply nodded and said, “Very much so, Fugaku-sama.”

“Hm. Well, I will leave you to your observations, Aozen-san.” Fugaku minutely inclined his head before turning, presumably to flit to some other conversation or clan heir business. Aozen had no idea what prompted the short swelling of panic at the sudden farewell, but it was that flare of panic that prompted him to speak.

“I have had them memorized for many months, Fugaku-sama.” He spoke quickly, and Fugaku aborted his motion to turn back to him, a single brow raised. “I -” he paused, then pushed on, “How do I channel chakra?” he asked at last, deciding that because he was still young and he had the privilege of being blunt in some respects.

Fugaku gave him a distinctly appraising glance, and Aozen couldn’t help but focus on a point over his shoulder instead of meeting his eyes.

“You believe you’re prepared to mold chakra into a jutsu?” Fugaku asked.

“No,” he answered earnestly. “But I would like to try. And - if you are here, then you can make sure I do not do anything wrong.” Fugaku looked at him even more intensely at that, for several seconds.

“Alright, then. Let’s step onto the field,” Fugaku said at last, turning away. Aozen stared for several seconds, shocked that it had actually worked. 

He was going to learn how to use chakra! Maybe. The effort he’d put into not trying to use it during meditations or when bored at home was monumental - but now he might even be able to do a jutsu!

“Have you felt your chakra before?” Fugaku began evenly. Aozen nods.

“It... moves like breath, like something alive. If I could shape my breath like that, then I could convince it to take form?" He'd gone over it in his mind so many times, imagining what it might be like. 

Fugaku doesn't respond right away, staring at Aozen so long that he almost starts to fidget. "That's the right idea," Fugaku says at last. "That's the purpose of hand-seals. When combined with chakra and focus, they guide the chakra into the correct form. The hand-seals do nothing alone, just as chakra sits unused inside of you."

Aozen bobs his head appropriately, digesting his words. He knew all of it already, but he was not about to throw away his first real opportunity to learn by being impatient.

"Close your eyes," Fugaku commands. "Breathe in slowly. Focus behind your navel -- that's where the chakra flows from." Aozen breathes, letting his mind fall silent. It's like meditation; all about the rhythm of the silence and the breath. Fugaku is quiet for several moments.

"Now feel the second current, coiling near your heart. That's your spiritual energy. In Uchiha, it is sharper. Wilder." Because of their Sharingan, he knows. 'Coiling' is the right word; it feels like a slumbering animal laying about the center of his chest.

"It's hot," he murmurs. 

"Good," Fugaku affirms. "Now, take the heat and pull it downward. Mix it with the flow from your gut. Slowly. Don't force it." Like his breath, Aozen imagines it merely shifting and flowing from one place to another. They teach the nature of yin and yang in the Academy to first-years, and he imagines molding the taijitu out of chakra in his torso. Apart, and yet always connected. Two halves the same whole that only needed to be joined. 

The air seems to still around them. "Now direct that energy into your lungs. Shape it, build your intent, but don't release it yet." 

It takes shape, ballooning in his chest and threatening to rise. "Heavy," he murmurs, struggling with the effort to keep it from continuing on upwards and out. 

"It should be," Fugaku says. "It's your chakra beginning to move. Now, the handseals. Let the seals focus your chakra even further."

The seals were no problem to think up, and even less issue to do: Snake, then Ram, then Monkey, then Boar, then Horse, then Tiger --

The pressure in his chest builds until, with the final Tiger seal, he can't hold it anymore, and he lets it release. There's a sputter; and then a thin burst of brilliant golden flame bursts from his lips. It barely lasts a moment, but in that moment it is alive and beautiful. The effort of it forces Aozen forward, hands releasing from the seals to catch himself before he faceplants. His chest is heaving.

A few beats before Fugaku comes and kneels at his side. "You just channeled your chakra for the first time. And managed to release some of it as fire. Most children faint from that alone."

Aozen looks up, a smile wide enough to hurt his cheeks splitting his face. "I did it?" he says, breathless. 

Fugaku's expression is stern, but kind. He doesn't have the stress lines that would characterize his uncompromising gaze in the future yet. "It's a start," he concedes. "That you managed it at all it impressive. You should take your progress to your parents. I wouldn't wish to take this opportunity away from them."

Aozen didn’t notice the veiled intrigue in his gaze, nor did he notice the other Uchiha who were looking at him from afar.

His gaze widened. "I need to tell Kaa-san!" he blurts, rising. He turns to sprint back to his home before remembering his manners, turning back to the older Uchiha and bowing. "Thank you, Fugaku-oji-sama!"

Kaa-san would be so proud! He’d kinda-sorta performed a jutsu!

(she would also be mortified in her own reserved way that her son had referred to the clan heir as his uncle, but Fugaku would simply be amused. Aozen was oblivious.)

========================================

Aozen was being moved up not one, but two years in the Academy. It had been a few weeks since he’d almost done the Grand Fireball with Fugaku-oji-sama’s help, and though both of his parents were indeed very proud of him, he was informed that he was absolutely, under no circumstances, allowed to practice jutsu (especially the Gōkakyū) inside the house, or without an adult present.

A small price to pay, really.

He recognised that his display at the training grounds probably had something to do with his sudden advancement, but really, the classes for first-years were enough to bore him to tears. With a new class, he’d ideally be able to practice more jutsu.

Mohira was heartbroken that his only friend would be going away. Aozen’s assurances that they’d still be able to work together at home in the compound were only somewhat mollifying.

Mohira was probably the next smartest in Aozen’s first class, aside from the Nara, but he wasn’t a genius. Then again, neither was Aozen, not really. He just cheated. At heart, Mohira was still a six-year-old boy who knew that Aozen was smart but wasn’t really comfortable with the concept of him leaving.

Aozen was sad because Mohira was sad, but he wasn't very broken up about it. He wouldn't take back his advanced progression for anything - and if he was being honest, it was probably fated that he and Mohira would grow apart anyway.

His first year class hadn’t been too bad - even if he was definitely younger and a bit smaller than the other kids, it was only by a year or two.

He had, however, jumped *two* years. Which meant that he was still six years old, and most of his new classmates were ten. Nearly double his age. They might even be double his size - he had no idea how tall ten-year-olds were supposed to be.

The answer was, very tall, apparently. Or at least, very tall compared to him. Being short was frustrating, and not a problem he had too much experience with confronting.

He also was still six. Irksome. Could he turn seven already? Would that fix things? Seven was, by all accounts, better than six. 

He wasn’t bullied, mostly because he didn't care enough about the opinions of others, but taijutsu lessons were certainly interesting. They had never really sparred in his first year. It was all introductory katas and physical conditioning to prepare for the inevitable time that they'd be allowed to hit each other. That inevitable time came in the second year, which meant that, by the third year, everyone had already had a full year's worth of practice. That amounted to regular days of bruises and soreness. 

He liked to think he held his own, and it wasn’t like he got annihilated in every spa. Far from it. The other students had much more training in the academy’s taijutsu style, so he simply had to make up for his weaknesses with his understanding of the Uchiha style.

The superior reach and strength of a ten-year old was difficult to overcome, though. He was just glad he never had to face the Hyuuga student. There was very little gentle about their Gentle Fist style, even in the early levels of proficiency.

The academic curriculum became more intense. There were actual lessons on chakra theory, as well as more in-depth discussions of the Hidden Villages, which amounted to introductory classes on politics. Aozen was keen enough to recognize the early signs of propagandist indoctrination, if it could be called that, but was very mild, all things considered. Konohagakure was indisputedly the most powerful Village and all the other Villages had crippling weaknesses that meant they rarely stood a chance against them... things like that. 

They were taught the art of war and tactics, though only in broad terms. Despite the ongoing war, things were framed like stories; the Warring Clans era was but a distant memory, and they focused on exciting confrontations like the famed battles between Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama, as well as their brothers, Izuna and Tobirama.

Nevermind that he was pretty sure Fushima-sama had probably been born right at the end of those battles, and that Mikoni-obaa-sama had definitely known Madara and Izuna personally.

Regardless, even with the increased complexity of classes, academics were no trouble for him (nor had they ever been).

He remained an outlier in most of his classes. His size and his age would have been enough to single him out, nevermind the fact that he was the highest-performing student academically. The other students saw him as much too young to be friends with, which did not bother him. He had never been a social person. 

The rest of the third year (still technically his first) passed quickly, and right at the end of the year, he turned seven, after what had felt like an eternity of being six.

Over the summer, he learned that he was being moved up another year. Did this happen with everyone? He thought not. But hey, that’s fine. Not like he was still half of everyone’s age, or anything. Twelve year olds instead of ten year olds. He was seven years old now, at least, not that it appeared to make much difference.

Aozen tried to stay in touch with Mohira, but it was hard when every visit became something akin to a tutoring session. Not that Aozen minded teaching him things. Before, once upon a time, he had wanted to be a teacher. Still, the relationship was stilted, and...

Well, he missed his friends from the Before. He missed having normal conversations, too, with someone who actually understood him. He still spent a lot of time with Kaa-san, and Tou-san whenever he could, and they, at the least, didn’t treat him completely like a child - but they were also his parents, and though he loved them, it wasn’t quite the same.

Aozen performed the Grand Fireball jutsu fully and properly at long last, having divined the feeling of the jutsu on his own time. Though it was under Tou-san's watchful eye, it had been his accomplishment, in a way that few things were. There’d been no ceremony involved, as the performance of the jutsu was only an unofficial rite of passage, but his parents had been ecstatic.

========================================

It was around that time that Fushima-sama invited his parents, and by extension, him, to dinner.

He couldn’t tell how they felt about it, but there was no refusing a formal invitation from the Clan Head. This wasn’t a full ceremony, but it was still justification enough to dress him a crimson-topped hakama and haori. He wondered how expensive it was.

His father dressed similarly, although his top was patterned and dark blue. Kaa-san dressed in a pretty maroon kimono, patterned in plain flowers. They had made it very clear that to have dinner with the clan head was an important honor, and that he was to be on his best behavior.

As if he didn’t know how to behave. The Uchiha were a noble clan still, and formal dinner training was instilled in every one of them from when they were young. Mikoni-obaa-sama was a strict teacher, and most every Uchiha child learned their lessons well.

They arrived without fanfare. Uchiha Mikoto greeted them in a black kimono with a blood-red obi, looking striking. Aozen noted with some fascination that Uchiha Mikoto was very pretty. 

“Mikoto-sama,” Tou-san greeted, and both of his parents bowed their heads. Aozen quickly followed their example.

“Kojuka-san. Yuhoki-san.” Mikoto greets pleasantly, smiling prettily. She probably did most things that way, though. “It is a pleasure to receive you. Please, come inside.” She shifted away from the door frame to allow them entrance.

“It is a pleasure to have been invited, Mikoto-sama.” Kaa-san responded, just as pleasant.

“Please, come this way. The food is almost ready.” Mikoto-sama led the way, moving through the house with a grace he was quickly beginning to associate with a fully-trained kunoichi. His mother moved similarly. It was interesting to watch the differences in their stride. Mikoto seemed to glide, hardly any dip or sway in her posture, while Kaa-san took longer but more deliberate steps.

The clan head’s house was large, standing sentinel over the rest of the Uchiha Clan compound, but the path to the dining room was not so very long. 

Fushima-sama was already inside, sitting at the far end at the kamiza, the seat of honor. Fugaku-oji-sama sat to his left. He and Fugaku hadn’t really talked much since the man taught him how to channel chakra several months ago, though that favor had earned him Aozen’s admiration.

“Kojuka-san, Yuhoki-san. Aozen-kun.” greeted Fushima-sama, and it was the first time Aozen had heard him speak up close. The head of the Uchiha clan was old, liver spots dotting his face like spots.

His eyes appear to have attained a permanent semi-squint, resulting in the crow’s feet beneath them becoming more pronounced. He had a small scar along his cheek and looked to be freshly shaven - but then, the same could also be said for Fugaku, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen an Uchiha with facial hair.

“Fushima-sama,” greeted Tou-san with a small smile - one of his real ones, Aozen noted. Mikoto sat next to her husband. At least, he assumed they were married.

“Come, sit.” The Uchiha elder gestured, and the three of them obliged. Tou-san sat closest to Fushima-sama, across from Fugaku-oji-sama, whilst Kaa-san sat across from Mikoto-sama, and he was left furthest away.

A Uchiha woman younger than Mikoto-sama came in with a tray of food, followed by another with another tray. They quickly set up the dishes, which were quite an array of delicious looking food. He didn’t know if it would beat Kaa-san’s cooking, but he thought he’d enjoy it nonetheless. Drinks were poured; likely sake for the adults, but he only got water.

Once it was all set out, the five of them mutually looked to Fushima-sama, who nodded.

“Itadakimasu,” Aozen said quietly, but in the silence of the room was heard easily. Apparently that wasn’t something one said in a formal setting, because no one repeated it, and he thought he heard Kaa-san sigh very slightly.

“He is as polite as you said, Fukagu.” Fushima-sama said, sounding amused. Aozen felt his cheeks blush and quickly went about eating his first dish, not looking at anyone else. Fugaku had spoken about him?

His parents and the clan head’s family exchanged pleasantries for the beginning of the meal, commenting on simple observations from the clan’s training days, the state of the Police Force, and other, mundane matters of each other’s lives. Fugaku and Tou-san seemed to be familiar with each other enough to trade subtle, friendly jabs. Fugaku had mentioned that they were friends, though his father had never mentioned him. 

“How go your studies, young Aozen?” Fushima-sama spoke up. The others fell quiet in response. Aozen cleared his throat.

“Very well, Fushima-sama. I am in year five now.” He paused. “I am in the top rankings of my class.” It was a perfunctory reveal. His performance was only what was expected of him. Fushima-sama raises an eyebrow, though Aozen has little doubt he knew this already.

“Both Kagami-san and Hikaku-sama would be proud, I am certain.” Aozen minutely frowns, and glances at his parents. He had heard the name Kagami before, but this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the name ‘Hikaku’ in reference to him.

“Fushima-sama,” he begins, “who is - Hikaku-sama? Mikoni-obaa-sama says I look like him.” He can feel Kaa-chan stiffen up beside him, and he wonders if he asked the wrong question.

Fushima-sama raises his eyebrow again, and looks at his parents. “You have not told the boy of his lineage?” He tuts. He doesn’t give either of them time to respond when he looks back at Aozen. “Hikaku-sama is your father’s grandfather. He was one of Madara-sama’s finest commanders, among the strongest of them, and one of the final casualties of the conflict between our clan and the Senju.” Fushima-sama was too in control of himself to let his tone be anything but calm, but Aozen wouldn’t be surprised if there was bitterness behind that statement. Fushima-sama was old enough to remember those times, if only as a child.

“Oh,” he murmured, looking between all of the adults present. “He - sounds - nice.” He says haltingly, uncertain of what he was supposed to say. ‘Nice’ seemed like a reliable kind of descriptor in these sorts of situations.

Fushima-sama's expression morphs into the distant cousin of a smile. “I don’t know that he was ‘nice’. But he was a fine Uchiha.” He looks at his parents, who seem to relax a little when Fushima finishes speaking.

“...then I am glad to be descended from him,” he says a moment later, because that sounded appropriate.

Fushima-sama ‘hrmph’d. “One should hope so.” he says evenly. “I hear that you’ve been playing with fire.”

It takes a moment for Aozen to follow his meaning. “Aa,” he says. “I have recently performed the Gōkakyū, Fushima-sama. Some time ago, Fugaku — sama,” he has to check himself lest he adds the -oji honorific, “was kind enough to show me the first steps.”

“He showed great skill with the handseals and asked for the knowledge to channel chakra for the jutsu,” Fugaku chimes. “He produced fire on his first try.”

Fushima coughs, then turns his keen gaze on Aozen. “An enthusiastic child. Seek forgiveness, not permission, eh?”

Aozen blushes. “I felt ready to take the next steps, Fushima-sama. Fugaku-sama was the one who gave me guidance.”

His mother interjects, sounding proud, “Quiet, but never unsure, Fushima-sama.” Aozen’s not sure how true that is. Sometimes it’s as if he’s never anything but unsure.

"The flame of ambition, Fushima-sama," adds his father, smiling broadly. Aozen’s not particularly keen on the way they’re trying to sell him.

Fushima hums, then sets his chopsticks down. "Come, Aozen-kun. Walk with me." Aozen blinks, mouth opening without a response. He looks to his parents. Both of them look as surprised as he does, but it's Kaa-san who gives him the nod.

“O-of course, Fushima-sama.” He stands, and rounds the table to follow the clan head, having no idea what he’d somehow gotten himself into.

The elder Uchiha led him through a set of sliding doors onto a porch, and then continued out into the well-kept gardens of the clan house. It was nearing sunset, with the sun providing just enough light to paint the sky a pale orange, casting a beautiful light upon the different species of perfectly-manicured plants and flowers.

Once upon the groomed path which winded its way through the gardens, Fushima-sama seemed content to adopt a much slower pace that one would ordinarily expect of someone of advanced age, though he was quite certain the man could move much faster. An old shinobi is old for a reason.

Suddenly, the man lets out a hacking cough, surprising Aozen. The cough continues for several seconds before he clears his throat, shaking his head.

“Are - are you okay, Fushima-sama?” He asks hesitantly. The man waves a hand.

“Yes, fine. Simply a consequence of growing old.” the man mutters, and here was the bitterness he’d not shown earlier. He recovered quickly. “You know who I am, don't you?”

An odd question. He answers hesitantly, "You are the Clan Head, Fushima-sama. My mother said you have led the Clan admirably for nearly forty years."

Fushima smiles faintly then pauses, reaching out to gently examine a pretty purple bloom. Kaa-san would know what kind of flower it was, but he didn't. "She flatters me. Yes, I have seen many summers. And many young Uchiha... some loud. Some clever. Some dangerous."

The whole conversation felt strange. He felt underequipped to speak with the man, but he knew enough to see that he was leading him somewhere. He just wasn't sure where.

"Which one am I, Fushima-sama?" he dares to ask.

"I do not yet know. That is what makes you so curious." Fushima places a hand against his chest as he coughs softly. "But then, I've seen a hundred children praised for their promise. Most amount to nothing. Some die before they can bloom. A few - very few - become something the Clan can be proud of."

The silence stretched uncomfortably long before Aozen found the words to respond. "I intend to be the latter, Fushima-sama."

The clan head turns to look at Aozen, expression stern, almost disdainful. "Intent matters little without results. Your mastery of the Gōkakyū is admirable, but nothing that any other child couldn't have done. A curious child, in more ways than one, perhaps, but curiosity is not legacy." He purses his lips. "Power is what matters. The flame of ambition is nothing if not tended and cultivated. The Uchiha know that flame must serve."

Aozen swallows under the man's severe gaze, but presses on. "I am not trying to impress anyone, Fushima-sama. I want to understand things. I do not wish to be reckless."

Fushima considers something before responding. "No,” he says. “Like most children, you do not wish to be wrong." Aozen almost recoils at the statement, but knows even as he hears it that it's true. "That is not caution. That is fear. Of failure." Aozen is spared from further reprimand when the man turns away and begins another slow shuffle onward.

"There are worse things to be motivated by, Fushima-sama," he says quietly. In the man's shadow he now feels small and inconsequential. 

"You will grow strong, Aozen-kun," the elder continues as if he hadn't heard him. "I am certain of it. But if you grow strong only for yourself - if that flame of yours burns only inward, then you will sputter and die out. And I will waste neither time nor respect on talent that does not serve with purpose."

"I am young, Fushima-sama. I have much to learn." It's a retreat, he knows, but it's all he can do merely to keep up with the Uchiha in conversation. 

Fushima breathes in to respond, but then is interrupted by another fit of coughing that lasts even longer than the previous time. He reaches for a low pine tree, gnarled and old, for support. Then he lets out a long grunt.

"This Clan will not survive on pride and history alone," he continues. "The Senju used to say that we were driven by emotion, as though that were our weakness. I say we are driven by purpose. Those who forget that will burn from the inside out." He turns back to look at Aozen, and it's all he can do to prevent taking a step back.

"You are young," he says, grave. "But one day, the eyes of this clan may turn to you. And when they do, you must already know who you are. Or they’ll tell you who to be. And that... is a terrible fate."

"Who am I meant to be, Fushima-sama?" he asks, and he hates how small he sounds when he says it. But he cannot help it. His parents have told him they love him, that they know he is bound for great things, but it is so general, so broad, that he never knows what is truly expected of him. He hates the uncertainty of it. But Fushima, for all his terrible gravitas, has answers. When the older man looks down at him with a questioning glance, Aozen adds, "If I do not live for myself... am I a weapon? A tool? A symbol?"

A beat. Fushima seems taken aback by the question, but he answers quickly enough. "You are a foundation. You are meant to bear the weight."

They pass under the crooked arch of a willow tree. They've reached the outer wall of the compound now, and the path curves to continue alongside it. The wind rustles the thin leaves of the tree and the flowers alongside them.

"That sounds heavy," Aozen says softly. He has been avoiding considering the weight that he knows is his. 

"Does it?" Fushima asks, then continues, "Good. If you feel it now, you may not break underneath it later."

"Is that what happened to the others?" The younger Uchiha ventures. "The ones who amounted to nothing?"

Fushima takes a moment to consider this. "Some faltered because the world is cruel. Others because they were too soft. I mourn the first; I scorn the second."

Harsh, but unsurprising. Aozen looks on at the garden. There is a koi pond nearby. They walk slowly up to it, then stop in front of its pale blue waters. The fish swim gracefully on in its depths, ignorant of the entire world beyond them. It sounds peaceful.

Fushima speaks again, "Do not think too hard about death, boy. It comes for us all. Worry about what you leave behind."

"Legacy?"

"Names written on memorial stones... no. Those fade, and all too quickly." He reaches into a pocket and brings out some breadcrumbs, taken from their dinner, and tosses them into the koi pond. "What you teach. What you build. The ones who grow stronger because you were the one who stood beside them. That's the only real immortality." The man falls silent again, long gaze set upon the fish in the pond. After the solemn exchange moments ago, such sentimentality seemed out of place. What inspired this speech? Is it Aozen's youth, or Fushima's age?

Aozen looks up at his wizened face that could have been carved from stone. He wonders aloud, "Do you ever laugh?"

Fushima looks at him, his bushy eyebrows rustling. "Only when no one's looking."

That prompts a smile. "That's suspicious." This is another kind of retreat, but he doesn't think he can bear more ominous prognosticating.

He raises a challenging brow. "So is growing up too fast."

"Is that why you invited us to dinner? Because I am suspicious?"

Fushima grunts in a fashion that could charitably be called amused. "No. That was Fugaku's idea. I only paid for it and endured the noise."

Aozen can't help but laugh a little. "The noise? We are not so bad, surely?"

Fushima coughs a little. "Mikoto is tolerable. Your mother talks too much. Your father laughs too easily. You... ask too many questions."

A pause. Then, "But I am your favorite. Yes?"

Fushima's eyebrows do a weird dance, like they can't decide whether to frown or reach for his hairline. After too long a wait, he says, "Don't be ridiculous." Then he gestures back towards the house. "Come. You have indulged an old man long enough."