Naruto: The Senju After the Age of Gods

Uchiha Makoto sat alone in his room.

His expression was as cold and composed as ever, but his eyes were unfocused—he was clearly absentminded.

It had been some time since he last met with Hikaru, yet the "seed" Hikaru had planted in his heart hadn’t faded in the slightest. If anything, it had only grown worse—spreading deeper by the day, until it was impossible to ignore.

Clan Head.

That was the bait Hikaru had dangled before him—an offer wrapped in temptation and threat alike.

Hikaru wanted him to push Fugaku aside and take the position himself.

It was an irresistible lure.

Makoto wanted the Uchiha to improve. He wanted his clan to reclaim its former glory. More than anything, he wanted the clan and the village to return to harmony.

And by Hikaru’s logic, the reason the Uchiha kept making disastrous choices was simple: Uchiha Fugaku.

Fugaku wasn’t a man of conviction. He didn’t choose what was right—he chose what looked powerful. Whoever had the upper hand, he leaned that way. A clan head like that, especially at a critical turning point, could only lead the entire clan to ruin.

So Makoto couldn’t help thinking—

What if I were the one controlling the Uchiha?

But temptation always comes with risk.

If he truly acted, the clan would inevitably be shaken—perhaps torn apart.

And beneath the lure was a heavy, unspoken pressure: Hikaru’s backing.

Makoto didn’t know who stood behind Hikaru, but Hikaru wouldn’t speak so boldly without confidence. That confidence meant strength, influence, and the ability to make good on his words.

And the terrifying part was—Hikaru wouldn’t even need to do much.

If the village merely nudged things in the right direction, the Uchiha could be forced into internal conflict—bloody, brutal, and irreversible.

Makoto had fewer choices than he wanted to admit.

Once he chose, he would be staking the entire clan on it.

"Grandpa?"

A soft voice came from behind him.

Makoto snapped back to reality. Turning, he saw his granddaughter—Uchiha Saya.

"Saya," he said, forcing a smile. "You’re back so early?"

"Mm. I finished my training quota, so I came home." She sat down, studying him with quiet concern. "Grandpa... you haven’t been able to focus lately. Is something bothering you?" 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Makoto hesitated.

"Clan matters... and..." He stopped himself mid-sentence and changed his wording. "And some things about Shisui. I’ve been thinking them over."

It wasn’t entirely a lie. This involved the whole clan, and Shisui was undeniably tied to it.

But he would not tell anyone what Hikaru had said—not even Saya.

Shisui had been present that day, but the boy didn’t truly understand what they were facing. Makoto had already warned him once: whatever he heard must rot in his stomach. He could not let this leak.

"I’m sorry you have to carry so much," Saya said gently.

Then she looked at him again, curiosity surfacing.

"Grandpa... earlier, you asked about Hikaru. Do you need him for something?"

At the name, Makoto’s body reacted instinctively—his fingers twitched.

"Hikaru..." he nearly said Captain Hikaru out of habit, but caught himself and quickly corrected his tone.

"He’s talented," Makoto said calmly. "And he was your classmate. He also helped you when you were little. It’s natural I’d be interested."

Saya frowned slightly.

She didn’t remember her grandfather knowing that story. Had he investigated recently? And why had he reacted so strangely at Hikaru’s name?

All of it felt off.

And on top of that, she hadn’t seen Hikaru in a long time. His movements were always shrouded in secrecy—mysterious to an unsettling degree.

"Grandpa... do you know what Hikaru’s been doing lately?" she asked. "I haven’t seen him in ages."

Makoto’s mouth tightened.

"I’m not sure," he said slowly. "Maybe... he’s just buried in missions."

In truth, he really didn’t know. Hikaru was ANBU—far beyond ordinary ANBU, at that. Their assignments were not shared with regular ninja, and certainly not with the Uchiha.

Makoto looked at his granddaughter and felt a complicated mix of amusement and helplessness.

She clearly thought well of that boy.

And Makoto also sensed something else: Hikaru hadn’t intended to give him much time. If Makoto delayed too long, the "choice" might be made for him.

He exhaled.

The seed in his heart had already sprouted. He could no longer pretend it wasn’t there.

If he couldn’t stop it from growing, then the only option left was to guide how it grew.

I need to see Hikaru again, Makoto decided. Soon.

"Captain, are you going home for lunch?"

At midday, as Hikaru strolled out from Third Squad’s base, he ran into Pakura.

"Yes," Hikaru replied with an easy smile. "Want to come?"

"I don’t think I have time," Pakura said at once, shaking her head. "I still have training. I’ll eat at the mess hall. Captain... when can we start taking missions?"

"When you’re fully cleared and your training is up to standard," Hikaru answered, waving casually as he kept walking.

Others might be sent out sooner, but Pakura was different. Her situation required time—time to reshape, time to integrate, time to let the village believe the version of her that Hikaru wanted them to see.

Still, that "waiting" likely wouldn’t be too long.

Because Danzō had taken a hard hit.

As an ANBU captain, Hikaru knew Danzō’s position had worsened after the incident. Danzō’s private meeting with the Hokage had clearly gone badly—so badly that new rules soon appeared within ANBU:

All ANBU personnel transfers were immune to outside interference. ANBU answered only to the Hokage.

That alone said enough: Danzō would no longer be allowed to reach into ANBU and move people around at will.

A pity, Hikaru thought. I’m still not close enough to the real core to see the full punishment. But this is good enough for now.

He walked through the streets toward home, free to spend his midday as he wished—privilege that ordinary ANBU did not have.

As he moved, he noticed someone watching him.

When he glanced over, he saw the Police Force.

The Police Force was technically a village department, but everyone knew what it really was now: the Uchiha’s private domain.

One of them approached him.

"You’re... Fukami Hikaru, right?"

"That’s me," Hikaru said, smiling warmly. "Is something wrong?"

"Our elder wants to meet you," the Uchiha ninja said, unusually restrained. His eyes held a flicker of curiosity—he didn’t understand why their elder cared about this man, nor why the elder had emphasized that they must remain respectful and avoid offending him.

Hikaru’s smile deepened.

He understood immediately.

Uchiha Makoto had finally made his decision.

"I understand," Hikaru said. "Where is your elder?"

"He said he’ll be waiting at the usual place," the Uchiha replied, clearly displeased by Hikaru’s calm attitude.

Hikaru nodded. "Thank you."

And he turned, heading for the tea house.

As he left, another Uchiha stepped up beside the messenger, frowning.

"Who is this guy? Why is the elder so interested in him—enough to make us treat him politely?"

"How would I know?" the first Uchiha scoffed. "But that smile of his... I don’t know why, it makes me want to hit him."

"Forget it," the other said with a shake of his head. "Just do your job. Whatever the elder’s thinking has nothing to do with us."

They didn’t notice that once they left, several masked ANBU appeared briefly in the shadows where they had stood, watching until the two Uchiha disappeared—then vanishing without a trace.

"I wonder what you intend to do, calling me here again."

Hikaru sat across from Uchiha Makoto, smiling softly.

This time, Makoto wasn’t alone. Uchiha Shisui was here again, too.

Hikaru took that as a clear sign: things were moving exactly as planned.

But he didn’t speak first about what he wanted.

He waited—calm, patient, forcing Makoto to say it himself.

"Captain Hikaru," Makoto said slowly, "I wouldn’t have done this without reason. I believe you already know why."

"I know something," Hikaru replied, "but I’m not certain. So I’d like you to be more explicit."

He lifted his cup and took a slow sip, then looked at Makoto without pressing further.

Makoto sighed.

That boy gave away nothing.

But Makoto had already brought Shisui. He had already come here. He had already decided.

The moment he sat across from Hikaru again, the seed inside him surged—growing wild, feeding on every buried desire:

Clan headship. Control of the Uchiha. Restoring the clan’s place. Ending the rift with the village.

Hikaru felt like a devil—one who kept tapping at the forbidden hunger in his heart.

But if he did nothing, what had their ancestors refused Madara for?

If the Uchiha were only heading toward disaster, then why had they ever stayed?

Makoto’s gaze sharpened.

He became unnervingly calm.

"I want Shisui to receive the ANBU slot," Makoto said evenly. "And I’m willing to accept... certain opinions and guidance from you."

Hikaru’s smile didn’t change, but his eyes grew colder.

"Is that all?"

Makoto drew a deep breath.

Then, with deliberate seriousness, he said:

"I will demonstrate my sincerity—through action. I will prove that the Uchiha are Konoha’s Uchiha. That the Uchiha and Konoha will no longer be divided."

Hikaru nodded.

"That answer," he said, "I like."

It was exactly what he wanted to hear.

Because now he could move openly—at least in the shadows.

Makoto’s "allegiance" wasn’t really to Hikaru, of course. It was to what Makoto believed stood behind him: the Hokage—most likely Minato.

That was natural. Minato was young, he wasn’t openly hostile to the Uchiha, and as long as he remained, the clan could hope to rejoin the village without being targeted.

But in Hikaru’s plan...

Makoto would be disappointed.

Even so, Minato’s remaining authority could still protect the Uchiha from immediate pressure, and Hikaru had no intention of abandoning them. Makoto wanted the clan head seat—then he would need to accept advice and direction from the one pulling the strings.

"Then Shisui will be in your care," Makoto said, standing as if to leave.

"No need to rush," Hikaru said, cutting him off gently. "If you have time, I’d like to ask something."

Makoto paused, then sat back down.

Hikaru leaned forward slightly.

"Tell me," he said, "do you have a clear blueprint for the Uchiha’s future? A concrete goal and set of steps?"

Makoto blinked.

"...A blueprint?"

"You can’t succeed with only a feeling," Hikaru said calmly. "You need an objective. A framework. An action plan."

Makoto frowned, then slowly nodded.

He had a goal, yes—but beyond that, his plan was vague. Emotional. Impulsive.

And that was dangerous.

"What guidance do you have?" he asked quietly.

Hikaru smiled.

"Simple. What is your goal? Think carefully. Answer carefully. This benefits both of us."

Makoto’s jaw tightened.

"My goal..." He paused, then said with fierce certainty, "is to remove the current clan head, become the new one, and lead the Uchiha back into Konoha!"

"So your true goal," Hikaru summarized, tapping the table lightly, "is to secure the Uchiha’s future by reintegrating with Konoha. Everything else—the power struggle, the bloodshed, the backlash—those are steps along the way."

Makoto froze.

Then, strangely, he felt... lighter.

By framing it this way, the ugliness became "process," and the ideal became "destination." It didn’t erase guilt—but it made it easier to move.

"Yes," Makoto said firmly. "That is my goal. For the Uchiha’s future—we must return to Konoha."

"And your plan?" Hikaru asked. "Your rules of action? How will you achieve it?"

Makoto’s eyes hardened.

"There will be blood," he said. "I’ll eliminate the people who push the clan toward the wrong path. I’ll consolidate those who will follow me."

Hikaru shook his head.

"Not enough," he said simply. "That’s the lowest-grade method."

Makoto’s brow twitched. "Then what do you propose?"

Hikaru looked at him steadily.

"I told you before—use the smallest cost to seize the greatest authority. Most of the clan aren’t irredeemable. They’re being guided into wrong choices. Your job is to guide them back."

He tapped the table again.

"Blood can’t be avoided, because you do need to remove the ones doing the guiding. But after that, your voice must become the loudest in the clan."

Then Hikaru’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"So here’s my advice: wait. Wait for Fugaku to make a mistake."

Makoto frowned.

"Wait for him to make a mistake?"

Fugaku made plenty—small ones, daily ones. But small mistakes wouldn’t topple a clan head.

Makoto opened his mouth to speak, but Hikaru raised a hand.

"Not yet," he said. "First—answer me this: how much influence do you have in the Police Force?"

Makoto blinked.

"Not much," he admitted. "The Police Force has three squads. Only one squad is on our side."

"That’s enough to start," Hikaru said, smiling.

"If your goal is to reintegrate with Konoha—then answer this:

Is the Police Force Konoha’s Police Force... or the Uchiha’s Police Force?"

Makoto’s eyes widened slightly.

"You mean..."

"Give a squad half its slots to civilian ninja," Hikaru said bluntly. "That’s the most basic step. And you’ll need to revise your behavior codes too—because you know how much civilian ninja hate the Police Force."

He continued evenly:

"As for the Uchiha who lose their positions, don’t panic. The Police Force will still be yours in the future. They won’t be ’unemployed.’"

Hikaru’s smile sharpened—bright, gentle, and somehow dangerous.

"And once you truly control the department, why not absorb members from other clans as well?"

"Then the Police Force becomes Konoha’s Police Force again," he said softly, "and the Uchiha become Konoha’s Uchiha again."

He finished his tea in one drink and stood.

As he rose, the surrounding tea patrons rose as well—silent, coordinated, and walked out without making a sound.

Hikaru set his cup down and looked at Makoto one last time.

"Waiting doesn’t mean doing nothing," he said. "It means acting in ways that force your opponent to expose a fatal opening."

He turned slightly.

"Alright. That’s all. Let the kid follow the others. I’ll take my leave."

Flying Thunder God activated.

Hikaru vanished—and reappeared in an old estate.

This was the Uzumaki clan’s former residence in Konoha, a place left behind long ago. As a member of the Senju line, he knew exactly where it was. Uzumaki Mito had once lived here, and the estate still carried the remnants of her work.

The moment he arrived, Hikaru’s sensory field expanded violently.

In an instant, he identified every sealing array in the area.

He ignored them all.

Step by step, he walked forward in the quiet. The place was isolated—no footsteps, no presence, no witnesses.

Perfect.

Then—

"I’ve found it."

Through his senses, he located the room where the masks were stored.

His chakra spread, and a Flying Thunder God marker quietly formed beneath the floor.

In the next heartbeat, he blinked into the room.

Rows upon rows of masks filled his vision.

Hikaru’s gaze locked onto one in particular—plain in appearance, yet pulsing with an eerie chakra.

The corners of his mouth lifted into a faint smile.

And in that stillness, the air seemed to turn cold.

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