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Chapter 51. A girl who had never eaten a piece of candy in her life
🕑 Added 2025-07-18 17:32:21 +0000 UTCWhen Fugaku and Mikoto returned home, the sun was already high in the sky. The moment they opened the door, they were met with a surprise. Three figures stood lined up at the entrance—Shisui, Itachi, and Sasuke—as if they were on a silent mission to intercept shinobi returning from a classified operation.
Itachi, arms crossed over his chest, gave his father a sharp once-over. His gaze immediately locked onto one detail that clashed violently with the clan head’s usual image—a hat perched proudly on Fugaku’s head, bearing the words “I ♥ Hot Springs.”
“What are you wearing?” he asked calmly, but with a distinct note of suspicion, raising an eyebrow.
Fugaku took off the hat and reluctantly turned it over in his hands, examining it like a piece of evidence found at a crime scene.
“A souvenir,” he muttered, clearly aware of how ridiculous it looked.
Before he could hide the incriminating object, Mikoto snatched it away with a quick motion.
“I won’t let you throw this out,” she whispered, almost playfully. “I’ll hang it in our bedroom. We’ll look at it on cold nights and remember the time you almost relaxed.”
Fugaku shot her a look—a mix of irritation and… mild embarrassment. He said nothing, wisely deciding silence was better than any defense.
“Looks like you two had a good time,” Shisui noted with a light, almost teasing smile. He was leaning against the doorframe, clearly seeing this as another amusing episode for his private collection of family moments.
“Did you bring us anything?” Sasuke piped up, far more interested in a different matter than the older two. His eyes sparkled—not with suspicion, but with anticipation.
“Something like that,” Fugaku muttered, stepping outside.
A few seconds later, he returned—and this time, there was a girl with him. She looked no older than nine. She stood quietly, like a shadow. She wore a black yukata with the Uchiha crest—slightly too large for her thin frame. Her eyes were huge, black, seemingly bottomless. She didn’t speak. She just stared at them, unmoving.
“This is Uchiha Hikari,” Fugaku said calmly. “She’ll be living with us. For a while.”
The three boys said nothing. Their gazes were fixed on the girl—then, in perfect sync, they turned their eyes to their father. The message was clear: Explain. Now.
Fugaku didn’t waste time on formalities.
“Uruchi,” he called out.
An elderly woman appeared from deeper inside the house.
“Yes, Fugaku-sama,” she said with a respectful bow.
“Take our guest. She needs a bath.”
“Of course,” Uruchi replied, turning to the girl. “Come, Hikari-chan.”
But the girl didn’t move. She kept staring ahead, as if the words hadn’t even reached her.
Fugaku didn’t raise his voice—he just said, slightly hoarse:
“Go with her.”
Slowly, like waking from a dream, the girl finally took a step, then another. Uruchi waited for her by the stairs. Not a sound—only the faint rustle of her yukata’s fabric.
When they disappeared around the corner, Mikoto, who had stood silently all this time, turned to her husband:
“I’ll take care of the luggage.”
Fugaku nodded, and she walked off deeper into the house.
He gestured for the boys to follow him to the kitchen. A second later, the chakra rings of their comms flared to life. The secure channel was open.
“All right, start talking,” Shisui said as he smoothly spread a tablecloth across the table.
“Did you read the archive scrolls?” Fugaku asked. “All of them—including the sealed ones in the basement?”
Three heads nodded. One by one.
“Then you must’ve come across mentions of a weapon so dangerous even the Senju considered it a threat.”
A pause followed. Itachi, composed as ever, slowly pulled utensils from a drawer. Shisui narrowed his eyes. Sasuke, standing by the fridge, forgot what he was looking for.
“Hikari is that weapon,” Fugaku said.
A quiet scoff of disbelief rolled through the kitchen.
“And what exactly makes her so special?” Itachi asked evenly, though a spark of interest had crept into his voice. “Is she the reincarnation of the Moon Princess? Did she awaken the Wood Release?”
“Nothing so complicated,” Fugaku replied. “She has a Mangekyō Sharingan. She awakened it when Senju shinobi killed her mother right in front of her.”
Another silence. Sasuke’s hands trembled slightly as he closed the fridge.
“But… she’s just a kid,” he whispered. “So small and fragile… and her eyes evolved before mine.”
“All of you—Sasuke, Shisui, Itachi—you have the Mangekyō,” Fugaku said, glancing at each of them. “You know what those eyes cost. You know the pain behind them. And the power.”
“Yeah, but…” Shisui shook his head. “I get that Mangekyō is strong. But strong enough that the entire Senju clan runs from her like she’s a tailed beast? Especially Hashirama? That man laughed in Madara’s face. He had the Wood Release. Immunity to genjutsu. He never feared the Sharingan. Ever.”
Itachi gave a slight nod in agreement. So did Sasuke.
Fugaku smirked—subtly, almost imperceptibly, as if he had been expecting that question.
“You're right. All the clan records about Hikari are exaggerated.”
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.
“In reality, it happened differently. Hikari appeared on the battlefield a few times, burning entire armies to ash with Amaterasu. Hashirama arrived with a squad to aid his allies—but there was no one left to save. He chose not to risk his men and withdrew.”
“And then?” Itachi asked.
“Two months later, they met again. One-on-one. Hashirama won. Quickly. Easily. That was it. That’s how the legend of the ‘terrifying Uchiha weapon’ ended.”
“How do you know?” Shisui asked.
“She told me herself,” Fugaku replied.
“Wait... Hikari can talk?” Sasuke exclaimed in surprise. “I thought she was mute.”
“Hikari’s vocal cords are perfectly functional,” Fugaku confirmed grimly. “But she only speaks to the head of the Uchiha clan.”
He set down several cups on the table with a soft clink of porcelain. His expression remained stony.
“She was trained that way. Tajima Uchiha—Madara’s father—turned her into a weapon. One that answers only to the clan leader.”
Shisui and Itachi exchanged a silent glance. Both their eyes darkened. Those who had served in ANBU knew exactly what it took to create something like that. How long you had to subject a child to physical and psychological torment to break and rebuild them like that.
“Did you tell her?” Itachi asked quietly. “That she’s in the future?”
“Yes,” Fugaku said simply. “She lived in a cage since she was four. Only released for battle. Not much has changed for her. Right now, Hikari is discovering the world for the first time.”
Silence thickened. Even the encrypted comms link seemed to pause, as if the chakra rings themselves could feel the weight of those words.
“So what are you going to do with her?” Shisui asked. His tone was no longer teasing—it was low, serious.
Fugaku didn’t answer.
The kitchen door creaked open. All four of them immediately cut the comms and switched to regular speech. Their expressions went neutral, as if a conversation about someone’s fate had never happened at all.
Uruchi appeared in the doorway. Standing beside her was Hikari, now dressed in a neat blue dress that Mikoto had bought on the way home. The dress was plain, but against her black eyes and pale skin, it looked almost festive. Only the girl herself still looked like she was in a prison.
“Lunch is ready,” Uruchi announced and began placing bowls of hot soup on the table.
One by one, they all took their seats. Hikari sat down last—silently, eyes downcast. Her posture was straight, her movements sharp and mechanical. Her whole presence seemed to say: I must not disturb. I must not be seen.
“It’s not poisoned,” Shisui tried to reassure her with a wink, as he usually would.
Hikari didn’t react. No smile. No flicker of emotion. She just sat there.
“Hikari, eat,” Fugaku ordered without changing his tone.
The girl immediately picked up the bowl with both hands and brought it to her mouth, clearly intending to drink the soup in one go, as if someone might snatch it away at any moment.
“Slowly,” Fugaku said, more firmly this time. “Use the spoon. Like we do.”
She froze. Set the bowl down. Picked up the spoon—awkwardly, as if it was her first time. She began to eat. Silently. With intense focus. As if she were completing a mission.
Lunch passed in quiet, broken only by the soft clink of spoons. The adults ate calmly, but the boys—especially Sasuke—kept sneaking glances at Hikari. There was no spark of life in her eyes, but they kept hoping.
Eventually, Sasuke couldn’t take it anymore.
“Hikari,” he said softly, trying not to sound pushy, “do you have any hobbies? Or a dream?”
The girl didn’t look up. Didn’t move.
“Answer him,” said Fugaku. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the weight of a command.
“All free time must be spent on training,” Hikari answered, her voice completely flat. “My purpose is to serve the Uchiha clan.”
A heavier silence fell.
“That’s clear,” Sasuke said gently, refusing to give up. “But is there anything you like? Just something you enjoy?”
Again—no reply.
Fugaku didn’t even lift his gaze from his bowl.
“Answer him.”
“I do not possess preferences or dislikes,” Hikari replied in the same emotionless tone. “I am a weapon. I must obey my master.”
Mikoto lowered her eyes. The gesture was quiet, but full of unspoken sympathy for a child whose soul had been burned away, leaving only a shell.
Shisui looked away. Even he—the cheerful, sarcastic, quick-witted one—had no joke to offer.
It seemed that if Fugaku hadn’t ordered her to eat, Hikari would’ve starved to death staring at a full plate.
“Now, dessert,” Mikoto broke the silence. She stood up and returned a minute later, placing a neat box on the table. “We bought these sweets at the Hot Springs. You won’t find anything like them in the Land of Fire.”
She handed out one large chocolate to each of them. The wrappers shimmered, and a sweet aroma immediately filled the kitchen.
Hikari looked at the candy like it was some foreign object. No curiosity. No desire.
“Eat,” said Fugaku.
The girl immediately brought the chocolate to her mouth and swallowed it—wrapper and all. She chewed slowly, painfully. Her face twisted ever so slightly—from discomfort, from the unfamiliar taste, from the strange crinkle of foil inside. But she kept obeying.
“Spit it out,” Fugaku ordered calmly.
Hikari obeyed without a word. Like a soldier receiving new orders on the battlefield.
Itachi had been watching her the whole time from across the table. He didn’t criticize. He simply stared at the wrapper, now bearing the marks of teeth. There was sadness in his eyes.
And in that moment, even Sasuke—with all his blunt, youthful confidence—couldn’t bring himself to make a joke.
It was hard to imagine a scene less funny.
A girl who had never eaten a piece of candy in her life.
///
After lunch, Fugaku took Hikari to the hospital for a check-up.
The Konoha Hospital greeted them with sterile coolness and the scent of disinfectant.
He stood in the hallway, arms crossed, leaning against the cold wall. On his left, a foggy window through which the sun was beginning to set. On his right, the closed door to Itachi’s office. Inside—Hikari, the girl who didn’t seem to feel pain unless ordered to.
“Come in,” came Itachi’s calm voice from behind the door.
Fugaku straightened and stepped inside.
The office was clean, almost austere—scroll shelves, a few rows of medical supplies, a writing desk lit by a lamp. Itachi sat behind the desk, leaning on the edge, still wearing medical gloves as he finished a note in her chart. His expression was calm as always, but there was a hint of weariness in his eyes—like someone who had seen too much pain that day to talk about it.
On the medical couch, Hikari sat perfectly still. Her back was straight, eyes downcast. Hands folded on her knees, legs together. As if waiting for a command.
Fugaku closed the door behind him and stepped closer.
“I’ll start with the good news,” Itachi said, removing his gloves and tossing them into the bin. “Her chakra is stable. I found no lasting effects from her time sealed within the mark. No abnormalities, no mutations. Her body and mind have been preserved remarkably well.”
Fugaku gave a slow nod. That was the most important question. Long-term sealing should have damaged her body’s structure. But Hikari was stubborn. Even reality hadn’t been able to break her. He knew she hadn’t survived by accident.
“And now the bad news,” Itachi continued, flipping through her chart. His voice turned drier, more clinical. “She suffers from chronic childhood malnutrition. Her body’s severely depleted, with multiple vitamin and mineral deficiencies. There’s mild spinal curvature—likely from years of living in a cage. On her back, I found dozens of old scars. From whippings.”
Fugaku lowered his gaze. He clenched his jaw.
“Disgusting,” he exhaled, as if the air itself had turned foul. “Turning a child into a weapon is already a crime. But starving her... beating her... locking her in a cage…”
He stopped mid-sentence, as if the words themselves began to choke him. Tajima was to blame for all of it. But he’d died a hundred years ago. And somehow, the fact that he died unpunished—that stung the most.
Itachi said nothing. He only looked at his father and Hikari, as if quietly committing this moment to memory—not as a doctor, but as a son who had just seen that his father truly hated what the Uchiha clan had once been.
“How long will the treatment take? Scar removal, spinal realignment?” Fugaku asked after a pause.
“It’s not complicated,” Itachi replied, crossing his arms. “Standard rehabilitation protocols for war prisoners apply. With hospitalization, she’d be fully physically restored in a week.”
“Hospitalization is out of the question,” Fugaku cut in. “Hikari isn’t registered in Konoha’s system.”
He didn’t add why. He still hadn’t decided how to register her on the official records: a bastard of an unknown Uchiha? Or maybe she shouldn’t stay in Konoha at all?
“Then outpatient care is the only option,” Itachi said with a curt nod. “At home, it’ll take about three weeks. Daily checkups, two chakra therapy sessions per day. Consistent meals. Vitamins. I can handle it.”
“Acceptable,” Fugaku replied, though her psychological state worried him far more.
“One more thing,” Itachi added quietly. “Her vision… it’s down by forty percent.”
Fugaku didn’t need to ask why. He already knew that using the girl in battle wouldn’t come without consequences. Hikari was going blind from overusing the Mangekyō.
“I can’t heal it by conventional means,” Itachi admitted. “But I issued a prescription for glasses. That should restore ten percent of her sight. I know it’s not a full solution, but it’s the best I can offer.”
He slid the prescription over to his father. The writing was clean and precise. Everything under control—Itachi as always.
Fugaku took the paper without looking. There was fire in his eyes.
He looked at Hikari. She was sitting exactly as before—calm, motionless, her shoulders slumped. As if she hadn’t heard the conversation. Or had, but didn’t register it—because there hadn’t been an order.
He stepped toward her and knelt down on one knee, looking her straight in the eye.
“No one will ever touch you again,” he said. “And if you go blind, it’ll be because you chose to use your power. Not because someone ordered you to fight.”
Hikari flinched slightly. Her lips pressed together. But she didn’t speak. Not yet.
Still, for the first time, she looked at him—not as a “master,” but as something else.
///
Dinner and breakfast passed almost identically. Same table. Same faces. Same silence. Only the change of dishes reminded them that time was moving. Everyone—Sasuke, Itachi, Shisui, and Mikoto—tried to talk to Hikari. They asked her about anything: food, favorite season, whether she liked birds. She gave no answer. Not a word. Not even a glance. Only if the question came from Fugaku did she respond—with a restrained answer. Cold. Polished. As if every phrase had to pass through an approval filter.
Fugaku noticed it. And it made him feel even more clearly just how deeply Tajima had carved into her soul.
Around ten in the morning, there was a knock at the door. Fugaku opened it, expecting nothing special—but standing there was a courier holding a small, neat package.
“Glasses,” he said, handing over the parcel. “For Uchiha Itachi. Urgent delivery.”
“That was fast,” Fugaku muttered, handing over the payment. He didn’t ask how the pharmacy had processed the order overnight—when you worked with Konoha’s elite, things moved on a different schedule by default.
He closed the door and returned inside. Hikari was standing by the window, as motionless as always, as if she needed a command just to exist.
“Put these on,” said Fugaku, holding out the glasses. The frames were red and square. The lenses were slightly thick—clearly medical, not cosmetic.
Hikari took them carefully. She put them on. And—for the first time—paused, as if she were reassessing the world around her. Her eyes looked even larger behind the lenses.
“Is your vision better?” Fugaku asked.
“Yes,” she replied in the same cold, flat tone.
But Fugaku wasn’t just a soldier. He was a detective. And he saw it—the flicker of real joy in her eyes. Just for a second. Quickly hidden, as if showing it might bring punishment.
He caught himself thinking: She can still be saved. Her mind wasn’t yet fully encased in the cement of blind obedience. But how?
With other children, he kept things simple: he’d pass them off to Shisui or Mikoto. But the usual pattern didn’t work here. Hikari didn’t react to anyone except him.
He stepped closer. Lowered his voice slightly, almost confidentially.
“What do you want to do today?”
Hikari straightened at once, like she’d heard a challenge.
“I must train to serve the clan effectively,” she reported, as if reading from a manual.
“Wrong answer,” Fugaku said. Not angry, but firm.
Hikari flinched. In her eyes—for the first time—something like anxiety. A spark of fear.
“I must train from morning to night to serve my master effectively,” she corrected, posture rigid.
“Wrong answer,” he repeated, louder.
“I must—”
“Wrong answer!” Fugaku’s voice cracked like a whip. “Stop telling me what you must do. I’m asking what you want, Hikari. And I suggest you don’t answer too quickly. Because if you get it wrong again—you’ll be punished.”
He saw her swallow the lump in her throat. Loudly. Awkwardly. It was fear of punishment. In her internal system, there was no correct answer to a question like that. He had asked the impossible.
Fugaku understood how cruel it was to use Tajima’s own system against her. But he also knew: sometimes, to break the system, you have to mirror it for a moment. Otherwise, Hikari simply wouldn’t understand that life could be different.
Two minutes passed. Long. Heavy. Hikari said nothing. Then—without a word, without explanation—she turned and left the room.
Fugaku followed her.
She entered the boys’ bedroom, carefully walked around Sasuke’s bed, and stopped near the wall. There, gathering dust beside a shelf, was a battered bow and an old quiver. Sasuke had once loved archery, but eventually outgrew it, realized kunai were more practical, and forgot about arrows.
Hikari didn’t touch it. She just looked.
“You want to shoot the bow?” Fugaku asked.
Hikari gave the faintest nod. Cautious, as if even wanting something was already a crime. As if even nodding could earn her a beating.
Tajima would have.
Fugaku never would.
“Take it and let’s go,” he said, heading for the door.
The Uchiha training field was empty. Green grass, clean-cut targets, silence. The morning sun glinted off the metal kunai stands, and the breeze chased stray petals along the ground. Life in Konoha carried on, and no one suspected that here, at the edge of the field, a miracle was happening: a girl raised to be a weapon was making her first real choice.
“Shoot,” Fugaku said, stepping into the shade. He didn’t come closer. Didn’t want to intrude.
Hikari adjusted her glasses. Took an arrow. Drew the string. The first shot—uncertain, wide. The second—better. The third—nearly hit the center.
She kept shooting. One after another. Faster. Straighter. Then—she turned. Looked at Fugaku. He just nodded.
“Keep going. Until you’re tired of it.”
And she did.
Fugaku didn’t say a word until lunchtime. He simply stood there, watching as, with every shot, the girl stopped being an instrument. As something alive awakened in her. Something real.
He stopped thinking about what he should do with her. This was one of those rare moments where the answer didn’t need to be logical—it just had to be right.
///
After lunch, when everyone was already seated at the table, Fugaku tapped lightly on his glass to get their attention. The whole family turned toward him. Hikari too.
“Sons,” he began. “What would you say if I—”
But he didn’t finish—Mikoto placed a hand on his wrist. Her gaze was firm, her voice clear:
“If we adopt Hikari.”
For a moment, silence hung in the air.
Hikari sat off to the side, motionless. As if the question had nothing to do with her.
The boys exchanged glances. Sasuke looked at his mother, then his father, then at Hikari. Shisui brought a finger to his chin, pretending to think deeply. Itachi—as always—remained silent, yet was the first to say the most important thing.
“I assumed that decision had already been made,” he said calmly. “Besides, as her attending physician, I strongly oppose her moving anywhere else. She needs a stable home. And a family.”
“I’ve said it before,” Shisui added, giving a thumbs-up, “I’m all for expanding the family. Always wanted a sister.”
“If no one else objects…” Sasuke shrugged. “Then I don’t either. I just hope my sister becomes a little more talkative.”
Fugaku turned to Hikari. Stepped closer. Gently tapped her on the shoulder.
“Welcome to the family,” he said.
She looked at him. And for the first time, the corners of her lips twitched upward. Not a smile. Not joy. But… the beginning of one.
The family moment was suddenly interrupted by a rustling of leaves—and in the next instant, a monkey flew through the window. A real one. Wearing a kimono, a headband on its paw, and a bag slung over its shoulder.
“Urgent message from Sarutobi Hiruzen for Uchiha Fugaku!” it cried, panting. “News from the Daimyō’s palace! Shimura Danzo has been chosen as the Fifth Hokage!”
Fugaku clenched his fists.
It was happening again.
The moment he let himself relax… the moment he allowed himself a taste of family happiness… the nightmare came crashing back into his life.
Comments
Bigbowser
since danzo attempted an assassination with the 3rd it's only fair he and the Daimyo receives one as well
