At exactly 9:00 a.m., Uchiha Mo stepped into the Third Squad office of the Police Force.
The moment the door opened, he already knew what he would see. Uchiha Yashiro stood behind his desk, buried in paperwork, his brows tightly furrowed as irritation lingered beneath the surface. There was no need to guess the reason—complaints from Konoha's civilians, once again.
"Good morning, Captain."
Yashiro glanced up briefly, offering a simple "Mm" before returning his attention to the documents.
Mo didn't mind. He turned to greet the others instead. Most responded with a nod, while a few forced polite smiles.
"Morning, Mo."
Familiar. Routine. Forgettable.
This was the life of a nobody. You greeted people, and they recognized your face—but not your name. And that was exactly how he liked it.
But that had been before.
Because no one—no Uchiha—could live their entire life without ambition. Not you, not me, not even gods. And that empty throne at the top… that unreachable summit…
Was meant to be claimed.
A faint flicker passed through Uchiha Mo's eyes.
System… activate.
Deep within his consciousness, the shattered platform trembled as cold information surfaced.
[Low-energy coordinate signal detected… decaying][Estimated window: 71 hours][Warning: signal unstable. Collapse imminent]
Time was running out.
For the Uchiha.
And for him.
Mo walked to his seat, his gaze sweeping calmly across the room. Yashiro. Izumi. Tekka. Yakumi. Hideki. Inabi. Seven members.
Four hardliners. One moderate. One fence-sitter. One hidden variable.
The conclusion was obvious—the hardliners had already taken control.
But did it matter?
What did they actually have?
Nothing.
"Mo. Why are you spacing out?"
Yashiro's voice cut through his thoughts. Mo immediately straightened, a faint, perfectly timed embarrassed smile appearing on his face.
"Sorry, Captain. Stayed up late organizing reports."
Inside, he cursed himself. Thinking about rising to the top… and I still act like this? This broken system really ruined me.
Yashiro didn't pursue the matter. Instead, he picked up a mission ledger and tapped it lightly.
"Izumi. Hideki. You two—team up with Mo. Patrol Area Seven."
"Yes, Captain."
Izumi stood instantly, her response crisp and decisive. Hideki simply nodded, as quiet and unnoticed as always.
Yashiro's tone grew heavier. "The situation has changed. If you encounter provocation, endure it. Do not act like before."
It was a warning—directed at Izumi and Mo.
The former was a hardliner; force was her answer to everything. The latter had adapted—submissive within the clan, ruthless outside. His rule was simple: pick on whoever was easier.
"Understood."
Mo didn't hesitate. Orders were orders.
"Dismissed."
The three left together.
Area Seven lay between the commercial and residential districts—crowded, chaotic, a breeding ground for conflict.
Izumi led the way, her back straight, the Uchiha crest on her back impossible to ignore. Mo followed behind her, calm and expressionless, while Hideki trailed at the rear like a shadow.
Eyes followed them wherever they went.
Disgust. Fear. Resentment.
Barely concealed.
"Tch… Uchiha again."
"Lower your voice."
"What are you afraid of? They can't arrest people for nothing."
The whispers buzzed like flies.
Izumi's fists clenched, but she endured.
Mo, on the other hand, didn't care.
To him, these people were already dead.
The patrol continued—minor disputes, routine inspections, paperwork. Everything went smoothly, and yet the distance remained, like an invisible wall separating them from everyone else.
By noon, they sat together at Ichiraku Ramen.
Izumi bit into her rice ball, frustration written plainly across her face. "They look at us like criminals. What did we even do wrong?"
"Nothing," Mo replied calmly as he opened his lunchbox. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "Or maybe… everything."
Izumi frowned. "What does that mean?"
Mo didn't look at her. "Once people decide you're guilty, even breathing becomes a crime."
Silence settled between them.
"The clan's current approach is only making that wall thicker," he continued. "It solves nothing."
Izumi wanted to argue—but she couldn't. Because he wasn't wrong.
She turned to the third member of their team. "Hideki?"
Caught off guard, Hideki adjusted his glasses. "I… think Mo is right. But… the elders must have their reasons…"
A perfect fence-sitter answer.
Mo fell silent, his gaze lingering on Hideki as he observed him carefully.
Too perfect.
Too balanced.
Too… controlled.
In a clan of extremes, such mediocrity was suspicious.
Was it real?
Or merely a mask?