Renjiro remained still, every muscle in his frame coiled with a tension he hadn't realized had settled in. Then, his eyes caught a familiar figure standing near the far side of the room—tall, broad-shouldered, his posture unmistakably composed. Kagami Uchiha.
A flicker of nostalgia passed through Renjiro's thoughts. Kagami's presence, though expected for someone of his standing, struck a particular chord. The memories surfaced unbidden—times past in the Fujioka Squad when he was younger. Kagami had always exuded an aura of maturity that belied his age. It was no surprise when he had been chosen to form his own squad several months prior. It was even clearer now that he was a squad captain.
Renjiro's gaze lingered for a moment, watching as Kagami nodded to another squad captain, then moved toward one of the four commanders.
'How long has it been since we last worked together?' Renjiro thought, his eyes narrowing slightly. 'He must be even sharper now.'
His thoughts drifted momentarily to Shisui. Kagami's son. A child now, bright-eyed and brimming with raw potential. By now, he would be nearing the start of his Academy tenure—or perhaps already through it.
'It won't be long now,' Renjiro mused, shifting his weight slightly, the hem of his flak vest rustling against his tunic. 'Knowing that master… Shisui'll be wearing a forehead protector and flipping through jutsu scrolls before most kids stop wetting the bed.'
The thought elicited a faint smirk, quickly extinguished by the reality of his own situation.
'I forgot Kagami was also a squad captain now,' he realized. 'Maybe I should ask him for advice. Not on tactics—he's too by-the-book for that—but cutting corners... heh, now that's a skill.'
Commander Fugaku Uchiha stepped forward. The crisp click of his sandals against the wooden floor echoed like a blade drawn from its scabbard. His expression was as impassive as stone, but there was a steeliness in his posture that suggested he was now assuming the helm of this assembly.
"As you've all been informed," he began, voice clipped and authoritative, "the division of squads has now been finalized."
He raised a sealed scroll in one hand and continued. "Each of you will be responsible for ten squads under your jurisdiction. The assignments have been determined based on tactical evaluations, past field performance, and compatibility across formations."
A shinobi with dark-rimmed eyes and a notepad moved swiftly through the room, distributing identical scrolls to each captain. When one reached Renjiro, he accepted it without comment, his gaze still half-focused on Fugaku.
"You will find the designations of each subordinate squad in your document," Fugaku continued. "Including the names of squad leaders, current active personnel, and any provisional additions due to the war's expanding requirements. Your operational units—whether Reconnaissance, Suppression, Defense, Assault, or Logistics—have been strategically balanced across the command structure."
Renjiro's fingers slowly unrolled the scroll. Black ink, crisp and formal, listed the squads assigned to his command. Ten teams. Six of them were fully combat-ready. Three were in transition from training to active service. One was a mixed unit specialized in infiltration and sabotage—more up his alley.
His eyes scanned the columns, cataloguing familiar names and unfamiliar ones. Shoda and Akira were among them. A small mercy.
Commander Fugaku continued, "You will also be informed of the other captains assigned from non-Uchiha clans within the same division. These individuals hold equivalent rank and authority within their respective clan structures. Cooperation will be essential. You are to report any breakdown in coordination directly to your division commander."
A murmur passed through the line of captains. The implications were clear: this was no longer just an internal Uchiha affair. Konoha's war machine was awakening, and it demanded unity—however strained.
Renjiro absorbed this information with little outward reaction. But inwardly, he bristled. He had never had difficulty working with non-Uchiha shinobi—he had, in fact, grown up outside the clan compound—but now, with the political lines drawn so sharply, inter-clan cooperation would be a matter of strategic necessity, not camaraderie.
He was about to return to his scroll, intent on scanning the detailed notes appended to each squad, when Daichi's voice cut through the air once more.
"Renjiro. Stay behind."
The words were calm. Cold. Unblinking.
Renjiro's posture stiffened immediately, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling with instinctual unease. It was not a request. It was not a suggestion. It was an order veiled in civility.
The other squad captains paused for a moment, glancing toward him. A few raised their brows in silent curiosity before returning to their scrolls and conversations. One by one, they began to file out again, leaving Renjiro standing alone in the echoing hall with Daichi and a few of the elders observing the interaction from afar.
Renjiro approached with measured steps. His body moved like a coiled spring—controlled, but ready.
"You wanted to speak, Daichi-sama?" he asked, voice steady, eyes unreadable.
Daichi nodded slightly, folding his arms behind his back as he turned away, walking toward the edge of the clan dais where a low-burning lantern crackled quietly in a brass sconce.
"There's been communication from the Hokage's office," Daichi said, his tone devoid of ceremony. "It concerns you."
Renjiro didn't respond immediately, allowing the silence to stretch, calculating.
"The Hokage has approved additional tasks for you—tasks that will require you to be periodically absent from your assigned unit," Daichi continued. "They are classified under direct command operations. He did not elaborate."
Renjiro's eyes narrowed slightly.
"I assume these tasks will be ANBU-adjacent?" he asked, voice low. Though he was already aware of them.
"Likely," Daichi replied. "But that is not my concern. My concern is what happens to your unit in your absence."
He turned back toward Renjiro now, expression unreadable, but the weight in his gaze undeniable.
"You'll require an assistant. Someone who can assume control over your squads under your authority. The Hokage's original plan included the promotion of one such individual to squad captain... but the structure couldn't accommodate an additional appointment."
Renjiro understood immediately. Budgetary limitations. Political limits. Numbers already stretched thin.
Daichi continued, "You will instead work closely with him. Train him. Coordinate with him. When you are deployed elsewhere, he will serve as acting captain over your assigned squads—specifically, your Assault and Recon units."
Renjiro inclined his head slightly. "Who is it?"
Daichi's lips tightened subtly.
"Arata Kamizuki."
The name brought a faint reaction—only a flicker—but Daichi noticed.
"He was considered for full promotion," Daichi said. "Lacks the lineage, but not the skill. He's young. Decisive. Ambitious. Too ambitious, perhaps. But that's not your problem."
Renjiro absorbed the name in silence. He had met Arata once or twice—mostly during joint exercises. The Kamizuki clan was not known for political clout, but their ninjutsu versatility was valued, and Arata in particular had demonstrated a penchant for creative combat tactics and unconventional problem-solving. He was among the few shinobi in the force who weren't from the Uchiha clan.
"I'm to report to him?" Renjiro asked, almost rhetorically.
"No," Daichi said flatly. "He will answer to you. But you would do well to establish a rapport. Trust is not optional in your absence. You must delegate without compromising operational integrity. If Arata fails, it reflects on you."
Renjiro gave a short nod.
Daichi's expression softened—marginally.
"You're not being punished," he added. "But this role comes with expectations. Konoha doesn't hand out promotions lightly—especially not in wartime."
He stepped forward once more until only a foot of space remained between them.
"Form a working relationship with him. Mentor him, if you must. He'll command your unit when you're off completing whatever mess Sarutobi throws your way."
Renjiro held his gaze for a moment, then nodded once.
"Understood."
Daichi said nothing else. He merely turned back toward the lantern, his silhouette casting a long shadow across the hall.
Renjiro remained in place for a moment longer before silently turning away. The other captains were long gone. The hall felt colder now, emptier—less ceremonial and more strategic, like the inside of a command tent before battle.
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