Tamamo didn't move.
Sasuke didn't blink.
Across from them sat their father — the elusive, formidable, rarely-seen-at-breakfast Fugaku Uchiha.
The rice in Tamamo's bowl had gone cold. Not that she could eat. The sheer gravity in the room made chewing feel like a betrayal of the silence.
'He's just a man.' Tamamo thought desperately. 'A man made of steel and disappointment.'
Across the table, Sasuke shifted only his eyes to look at her. 'Why is he here? He's never here.'
'I don't know.' she replied mentally. 'But I think if we breathe wrong, we're going to get disowned.'
Sasuke's expression didn't change. 'I think if we blink too loud, we're going to get disowned.'
Fugaku raised his tea cup.
Both children flinched slightly, synchronized in their movements.
Tamamo forced herself to pick up her chopsticks. She took a single bite of rice. Swallowed like it was a kunai.
Fugaku's eyes flicked between them.
More silence.
'Do you think he can hear our thoughts?' Tamamo asked, chewing slowly as to not arise suspicion.
'I wouldn't be surprised seeing the looks he's giving us.'
Tamamo's fingers twitched as she adjusted her grip on the chopsticks.
'If I start crying, do you think he'll leave?'
'No,' Sasuke replied. 'He'll make you explain why. Using a pie chart.'
Tamamo swallowed again.
Fugaku set his cup down with the sound of final judgment.
"Tamamo. Sasuke. With me."
His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of command. Not a request. A decree.
He stood, straightened his cloak, and walked toward the front door without another word.
Tamamo and Sasuke blinked.
They turned, in perfect unison, to Mikoto.
She looked up from where she was rinsing bowls in the sink and gave them a serene, almost amused smile — the kind that said you'll be fine, but I'm not telling you anything.
Tamamo leaned toward Sasuke, whispering out of the corner of her mouth. "Are we getting arrested?"
Sasuke didn't take his eyes off their retreating father. "What did you do?"
Tamamo's voice was low. "Nothing. I thought you did something."
"I haven't even left the house all week."
She paused. "Okay, fair. But maybe he's just… doing dad stuff?"
"Since when?"
Tamamo looked down. "…Since never."
Sasuke sighed. "So we're probably in trouble."
She gave him a sideways glance. "Well, if this is about the squirrel, I'd like to clarify it was a research project."
Sasuke blinked. "What squirrel?"
They stared at each other.
"Don't worry about it."
They exchanged one last glance — equal parts dread and curiosity — and followed.
The front door slid shut behind them with an ominous click.
—-
The moment they stepped outside, Tamamo and Sasuke knew something was different.
Their father didn't walk — he moved. Quietly. Efficiently. Like someone who never questioned his path. The soft click of his sandals on the stone echoed through the air with rhythmic precision, as if even the ground knew to obey.
Tamamo and Sasuke trailed behind, one on either side, maintaining an almost subconscious symmetry. The mood between them was unusually solemn… but not quite silent.
"Is it just me," Tamamo murmured under her breath, "or does walking behind him feel like we're escorting a daimyo?"
Sasuke's lips barely moved. "More like a general."
"Same thing."
"Not really."
"Semantics."
They passed the first bend of the estate path and the whispers began — not from them, but from the villagers.
"Fugaku-sama."
"Good morning, Uchiha-dono."
Heads bowed. Civilians stepped aside without being asked. Even shinobi — off-duty and seasoned — paused and acknowledged their presence with rigid formality.
Tamamo tilted her head and muttered, "Are they bowing to us too?"
"One of them called me '-kun,'" Sasuke said, brows drawn together like he wasn't sure how to feel.
Tamamo gave a theatrical gasp. "Look at you! You're officially important."
He rolled his eyes. "You got a '-chan.'"
"Naturally. I'm adorable."
Fugaku walked on, undisturbed by the attention. He returned no greetings, gave no nods. But he didn't need to. His presence alone seemed to do the speaking.
When a pair of Uchiha Police officers crossed their path, they straightened up instinctively, saluting with crisp formality.
Tamamo leaned closer to Sasuke, whispering, "That guy over there—the one with the scar on his chin? He caught me sneaking dango from the storage hut last month."
Sasuke gave her a side-eye. "Did he arrest you?"
"No, worse," she muttered. "He made me explain, in detail, why I needed six sticks of dango for 'training purposes.'"
"…What'd you say?"
"That sugar boosts reaction time."
"And?"
"He gave me seven."
They continued in step, their chatter growing quieter as the estate path began to change — moss replacing stone, the air cooling. The hum of village life fell away behind them, replaced by birdsong and the occasional rustle of wind in the trees.
They were leaving the heart of the compound behind.
Sasuke glanced sideways. "Think we're getting lectured?"
Tamamo frowned. "If we were in trouble, Mom would've given us the look."
"…True."
They crossed a small wooden bridge, its planks weathered smooth by time and countless footsteps. The stream beneath bubbled gently — peaceful, rhythmic.
Fugaku's cloak shifted as he turned, taking a narrow trail that sloped downward through a veil of trees. Sunlight filtered in sharp beams between the leaves.
"Okay," Tamamo said, voice quieter now, "so we're not getting arrested."
"Not yet," Sasuke replied.
She nudged his arm lightly. "If you see him reach for a kunai, run. I'll try to delay him."
Sasuke swallowed then nodded.
They passed the final bend, and the lake finally came into view — glassy, wide, reflecting the canopy above in still perfection. It was quiet here, almost reverent.
Tamamo squinted as they walked, a memory creeping in like a stealth mission gone wrong.
'Hey,' she thought toward Sasuke, 'remember when we snuck out into the garden in the middle of the night to spar?'
Sasuke didn't look at her. 'You mean the night we thought fighting half-asleep was a good idea?'
Tamamo nodded. 'In hindsight, not our brightest tactical decision.'
'And then...'
They both shuddered internally.
'He just appeared, Sasuke. No footsteps. No warning. Just—bam. Disappointment with a face.'
Sasuke mimicked Fugaku internally, deadpan, 'Training can wait. Sleep is essential. Disgraceful.'
Tamamo nearly tripped over her own feet trying not to laugh. She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes watering.
'That's exactly how he said it! No context! No yelling! Just a bedtime order with the weight of an imperial decree.'
'He didn't even blink,' Sasuke added. 'I thought he was a genjutsu at first.'
They bumped shoulders lightly. Both grinned at the same time — quick, private, and mischievous. A shared victory in surviving that night.
Tamamo glanced forward at their father. Still walking. Still silent.
'… No but seriously, do you think he can hear our thoughts?'
'Tamamo,' Sasuke replied, grim, 'if he could, we'd be meditating in seperate cells by now.'
They straightened their posture instinctively.
Just in case.