The answer from the Hyūga clan arrived, silent and heavy as a tombstone.
It was not a scroll, nor a messenger with fanfare. A simple folded parchment, delivered to the guest house where Takama Gin had remained in quiet vigilance. The message: the elders had convened, deliberated, and chosen to leave the final decision in the hands of Hiashi Hyūga, head of the main family—and Hinata's father.
A private meeting was arranged.
Takama entered the inner chambers of the Hyūga estate with steps steady as steel, his presence calm yet undeniable. He wore no sword. This was not a meeting of warriors.
Hiashi sat at a low table, his posture perfect, expression unreadable. He gestured for Takama to sit.
No words of politeness were exchanged.
"I will speak plainly," Takama said. "Not as a samurai. Not even as a man wronged. But as a father."
Hiashi's fingers tightened slightly on his sleeve.
"I lost my first wife, Naomi, and my daughter Hana in the Second Great Ninja War. That was twenty-seven years ago. I was young. Foolish. I couldn't protect them. Years later, a few years before the Third Great Ninja War, I found love again. My son Akio, born twenty-one years ago, vanished a month past—swallowed by the shadows I once thought I could outrun. Taken. And his future, like my daughter's before him, has slipped beyond my reach."
Hiashi said nothing.
Takama continued. "And then I met her—your daughter. She saved my life. A child discarded, blinded, crippled, yet she fought to keep me alive. That kind of will cannot be taught. It is not bred from noble bloodlines or shinobi ranks. It is spirit."
Hiashi's face remained still, but his eyes had shifted.
"You have cast her aside. Her chakra sealed, her Byakugan lost to the traditions you hold sacred. You will not care for her. That much is clear. Let me take her. Let her live. I will give her a future."
A heavy silence settled. Then Hiashi spoke.
"She has no place among the Hyūga anymore," he said, voice low, measured. "No potential. No bloodline to protect. Her destiny ended the moment the seal completed."
Takama stood.
"Then release her. And let her begin again."
Hiashi did not respond.
But long after Takama had gone, the Hyūga head remained seated, staring at a small lacquered box he had drawn from a cabinet.
Inside: a ribbon, pale and frayed from years of handling. A letter, childish and misspelled, addressed to "Daddy."
He held them in silence.
<<<< o >>>>
Takama returned to the hospital in silence.
The evening light cast gold through the windows as he entered Hinata's room.
She was seated, eyes closed, posture upright, her hand resting on Kuro's back.
When she heard him, she moved.
Slowly, carefully, Hinata stood.
She did not speak. But her hands reached for his.
Takama bowed his head.
It was enough.