Naruto: Legacy of the Byakugan Chapter 7

Consequences 

October 4, 34 bNb

.

The rain had stopped, but the clouds still hung low over the Hyuga estate, grey and unmoving.

Hina walked in silence beside her father.

Her hand clutched his tightly, too small to truly hold his, but grasping it nonetheless.

Each step across the stones of the garden path echoed loudly.

The seal didn’t burn anymore.

But it did ache lightly.

She could feel it behind her eyes—dull, quiet, coiled beneath her skin.

She kept her gaze down.

She didn’t want to see the others. She didn’t want them to see her.

Because they would see the mark.

A part of her still didn’t understand why it happened. Why was it her? Why hadn’t her father stopped it before it reached her skin?

Hotaka had said he wouldn’t. That he couldn’t.

That he was Hyuga first.

She hadn’t wanted to believe that.

But the ink dried across her brow made it hard to refute.

And even now, part of her didn’t know whether she was walking beside her father or the man who had let it happen.

She blinked hard.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

She remembered when she’d screamed.

When the ink had flared, and the pain had twisted her entire body, and worst of all, how no one had stopped it.

No one except—

Her hand tightened.

She remembered her brother’s voice.

The way it had cracked when he saw her.

The way he had lunged—Byakugan activated—and struck out.

She remembered the sound his body made when it hit the wall.

He had been thrown back.

He hadn’t gotten back up.

And no one had cared.

She’d called his name.

But her voice hadn’t mattered.

She swallowed.

She had thought he was dead.

She still woke up sometimes, gasping, reaching for him.

The fingers in her father’s hand trembled again.

He noticed.

And slowed his pace.

He didn’t look down at her, but he spoke to her.

“I should have been here.”

His voice was low and quiet. 

“I wasn’t,” he said. “That’s my failure.”

She looked up—only briefly.

There was no rage in his face now.

Only guilt.

“I made your mother a promise,” he added, softer. “That I would protect you both. That I would keep you safe. And I failed.”

She stopped.

So did he.

He didn’t drop her hand.

But he closed his eyes for a long moment—just once.

As if he couldn’t bear to keep them open.

“I’ve failed you both more than anyone knows.”

His voice didn’t shake.

But hers did.

“…No.”

His eyes snapped open.

She was staring at him now—tears welling, lip trembling, but trying hard to stay still.

“…You came.”

That was all she said.

He knelt, so they were level.

And gently—delicately—touched her cheek.

“I always will.”

She threw her arms around him, not caring who saw.

And he held her tightly.

The mark still sat on her brow.

It didn’t vanish. It didn’t change.

But for the first time since the ceremony, it felt just a little less heavy.

Because someone had reached for her: not to play a role, not even to instruct as a branch child, but as a daughter.

And it wasn’t the clan who was supposed to protect her, but had forsaken her without hesitation.

It was him.

Perhaps, too late to stop it.

But still him.

It was her father. 

They walked again.

Toward the inner gate.

This time, she didn’t let go. Not even once.

.

The door slid open.

And inside, slumped over a scroll-strewn table, sat Hiroto.

He looked up.

The dark bags beneath his eyes said he hadn’t slept. Likely, not in days. His hair was uncombed. His robe hung unevenly over one shoulder. His ink brush lay dry in his hand, the scroll unfinished.

He didn’t look like a dignified clan heir in the slightest.

He stared.

Then stood, fast. His chair scraped against the floor.

“Hina?”

She didn’t have time to answer.

He crossed the floor in an instant, arms wrapping around her before either of them could say another word.

She stood frozen for half a second.

Then buried herself against him.

Her hands clutched his sleeve, her face pressed to his chest. She didn’t cry—not that she could. There was nothing left: her tears had long run dry.

But that didn’t matter, because she was with her brother.

.

POV: Hiroto

She was shaking, but she was warm—alive. In his arms.

He could barely believe it.

He had tried so hard.

.

The night after the sealing—

He had awoken to an empty hallway. Servants muttered something about “upsetting the elders” and how “Lord Hiro would handle it.”

He hadn’t paid them any mind.

He had gone straight to the branch estate. They stopped him. Said she was sleeping.

The next day: she was meditating.

Then: undergoing instruction.

Always beyond reach.

He had enough of it. This was his sister.

So he tried in the dead of night.

Creeping through the halls barefoot, quiet as he could possibly be.

He had made it to the final corridor—

And there he was.

Hiromasa. Waiting.

“Did you really think you could fool my eyes, boy?”

Hiroto had backed away that night.

But the rage hadn’t.

It built. With every failure.

Every time he thought of a new way to escape, it was always the same sight: his grandfather—no, the Grand Elder—standing there already, waiting. 

One time, he’d tried to fight.

The next thing he remembered was waking up in his own bed. No bruises, no wounds, and no explanation.

But that silence said enough.

It told him that he had lost—and more than that, it warned him.

The Grand Elder’s patience was wearing thin.

And if he kept trying, if he pushed again, the next consequence wouldn’t fall on him.

It would fall on her.

So he stopped.

And that was the worst part.

To sit in that compound, only a courtyard away, and do nothing. Be able to do nothing.

To wait—every night—with clenched fists, knowing that she was close, yet still too far to reach.

It was agony.

He paced the floors, staring at the walls until dawn, praying for an opportunity.

None came.

And worse still, he didn’t even know if his father would come back in time.

Didn’t know if, when he did, he would even care.

But that was all Hiroto had left.

Hope.

Hope that his father would return.

And stop pretending that silence was protection.

.

They sat by the koi pond later, the water dark with the fading light. The fish danced below the surface.

Hiroto crouched beside her.

She didn’t speak much. Didn’t tease him. Didn’t pout or jab or boast.

Just looked forward.

He leaned closer.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said.

She nodded faintly.

“Do you want me to punch Hotaka again?”

A small sound escaped her.

It might’ve been a laugh.

He smiled.

But it faded when she turned away slightly, hair falling across her face.

“…Do you hate me?” he asked.

His voice was quiet. 

Hina blinked, surprised. She turned her head just slightly, as if she hadn’t heard him right.

“What?”

He didn’t repeat it. Just looked ahead, eyes fixed on the rippling pond.

“I was supposed to protect you,” he said. “That’s what a big brother is meant to do. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I said I would always be there, and then I wasn’t. I couldn’t even reach you.”

His fingers dug slightly into the wood beneath them.

“I couldn’t stop them. Not even once.”

A breath.

​​“I promised I’d always be there,” he said. “And I wasn’t.”

He thought of that night—her scream, the pain in her eyes, the seal burned into her skin.

He thought of another promise.

Another little sister.

Another time, he’d sworn he’d be enough.

He hadn’t been then either.

The guilt twisted in his chest. 

He had failed them both.

“No,” she said, “I don’t hate you.”

Her hand reached for his. Grasped it and squeezed.

He looked at her.

And this time, she didn’t look away.

“You tried,” she said, voice trembling now. “You tried so hard. I saw it.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes.

“You were the only one who did.”

Hiroto swallowed hard.

And without a word, he pulled her in.

She curled against him, small and shaking, and he held her.

They stayed that way.

.

The rain had stopped.

The Hokage’s office was quiet—too quiet, even for this hour. The scrolls had been put away. The windows shut. Only one lantern remained lit, its low flame casting shadows across the polished wood floor.

Hiro stood at the center of the room. Still cloaked, robes still damp. His eyes, pale and unreadable, remained on Tobirama.

Tobirama leaned against the edge of his desk, arms folded.

“It was him, then,” Tobirama said. “Kiruai.”

Hiro nodded. “North of a merchant crossing. He was tracking a diplomat’s trail from what I managed to glean. Likely one of ours.”

Tobirama’s gaze sharpened. “How strong?”

Hiro tilted his head slightly. “Storm Release. Agile. Used ranged lightning arcs—mixed in wind for instability. A few close-range jutsu as distractions.”

“And?”

Hiro's expression didn't shift. “Nothing special.”

That made Tobirama pause.

“Explain.”

“He relied on flair,” Hiro continued. “Storm Release is dangerous in theory. But his was more of a spectacle than anything else. He wasted chakra on wide-range attacks that missed. Tried to overwhelm with flash. Didn’t have the precision to finish anything.”

“So he used a bloodline limit as a gimmick,” Tobirama murmured.

Hiro inclined his head. “He wasn’t slow, but far from fast enough. His control was decent enough—he had some skill, but nothing exceptional.”

There was a long silence.

Then Tobirama glanced over, one brow faintly raised.

“Most shinobi would’ve been dead in under a minute.”

Hiro didn’t respond at first.

Then, after a beat: “I’m not most shinobi.”

“No,” Tobirama said. “You’re not.”

He stepped away from the desk, hands slipping behind his back, and sighed.

“Your report confirms it.”

“Kiruai,” he said, “is considered one of the five weakest among the Kinkaku Force.”

“The weakest,” Tobirama repeated. “And he crossed our border without hesitation.”

Hiro’s voice was low. “He wasn’t scouting.”

“No,” Tobirama agreed. “He was bait.”

It was a probe.

A test.

He turned, facing the window, peering out at the Senju residence.

“Kumo has been waiting for an excuse,” Tobirama said. “Ever since we sold them the Tailed Beasts, their pride has grown tremendously, and so has their dissatisfaction. They want more power—yes. But above all, they want the Nine-Tails.”

Hiro’s brow furrowed.

“They believed the First would cave eventually,” Tobirama let out a rare huff of laughter—his brother’s will was not so weak. “That some treaty or alliance would place the Nine-Tails in their hands. But when that didn’t happen…”

He let the words fade.

“Well, you see the result. The moment Hashirama began showing signs of illness, they acted.”

“The Kinkaku Force,” Hiro murmured. “Mercenaries from three nations. Independent contracts.”

Tobirama turned again to face Hiro fully.

“I’ve tried diplomacy. Silence. Even threats despite my brother’s discontent. I’ve tried deterring them with numbers, with alliances, even with false information.”

“It’s not enough.”

Hiro didn’t flinch.

“They think they’ve seen weakness,” his voice lowered, “and now, there will be war.”

Hiro’s shifted, straightening. “When?”

Tobirama shook his head. “Not right away. Likely, not even for the next couple of months. But soon.”

He stepped forward.

“I need you prepared.”

“I always am.”

“Not just you,” Tobirama said. “The Hyuga. The elders. I need them ready to move. Ready to die.”

Hiro’s expression did not change.

“I have no intention of killing them.”

Tobirama studied him for a moment. Then gave a nod.

“I didn’t think you would,” he said. “But I had to be sure.”

“They’re still Leaf shinobi,” Hiro continued. “As am I. The laws apply to all of us.”

Tobirama stepped away from the window, arms folding behind his back again. “Yes. And the stronger you are, the heavier those laws are.”

Hiro inclined his head.

“You were there,” Tobirama added. “You know why.”

“If we permitted strength to dictate justice,” Hiro said, “Konoha would’ve collapsed before it ever knew peace.”

Tobirama nodded, his thoughts moving elsewhere.

Hiromasa Hyuga. The Grand Elder.

One of the few men in this village, Tobirama considered both respected and dangerous, certainly not for his physical strength, but because of what he represented: institutional power. He had been the head of the Hyuga long before Hiro had been born.

And he was still a citizen.

A man who was, even with all of his faults, protected by the laws of the village.

Tobirama didn’t like it. But he had written those laws himself. If he made exceptions now, then everything they’d worked so hard to build would crack.

Hiro spoke again.

“I won’t kill them. But I will act. The clan may serve the village, but it's still its own being. You granted every clan autonomy. That was the bargain.”

Tobirama raised a brow.

“And you wish to invoke that?”

“Yes,” Hiro said. “Formally.”

“What do you intend?”

Hiro stepped forward.

“I want a seal master,” he said. “To seal away the Grand Elder—my father’s—chakra.”

Tobirama blinked.

“That… has never been done before,” he said.

“There’s a first for everything.”

Tobirama turned slowly.

“To be clear, you’re not asking for his arrest.”

“No,” Hiro said. “He has broken no law—a trial would be bound to fail.”

“So you want to strip him of the title?”

“I want him silenced,” Hiro replied. “He may speak. But he will lose his chakra, and with that he will lose his voice and influence.”

Tobirama folded his arms again.

“In all the years since your clan’s founding,” he paused, “the Grand Elder has stepped down before, sure. But they have never been removed from the position.”

“Then let this be precedent.”

Tobirama was quiet for a long time.

And then—

“I will arrange it.”

“Personally,” Tobirama added. “The seal master I have in mind is the best I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t speak the name.

There really was no need.

Hiro bowed. “Thank you.”

Tobirama gave a small nod.

“You do this… and there will be consequences,” he said. “The other clans will take note.”

“I expect them to,” Hiro said. “It’s time they remember the Hyuga does whatever is needed for it to thrive.”

Tobirama studied him a moment longer. Then turned back toward the desk.

“You have my support.”

Hiro stepped back and inclined his head in thanks.

.

It was only in the earliest hours of the morning that Hiro made it back to the clan compound.

Leaves, caught by the wind, flew across the courtyard. 

Beneath the camellia tree, Hiroto sat cross-legged, sound asleep. His head tilted slightly back against the bark. Hina lay curled at his side, one arm looped loosely around his, her breath slow and even.

Their hands were still linked.

Hiro did not speak.

A servant appeared at his side. “Shall I wake them, my lord?”

“No,” Hiro said.

“Let the elders know there is to be a meeting in the evening,” he added quietly. 

The servant bowed low. “At once, my lord.”

.

It was late afternoon by the time the chamber was prepared.

The meeting room of the Hyuga clan—a hall carved of wood and stone—was long and open, designed to echo. 

Lantern light flickered, casting long silhouettes of those seated within. Five elders sat in a line facing forward, each draped in white. 

And no one sat higher than the man who now stepped through the door.

Hiro Hyuga crossed the tatami mats with slow, silent steps. He did not bow. He didn’t even spare the elders a glance.

He stepped up onto the raised dais reserved for clan heads.

Hiromasa sat directly across from him.

Now, for the first time in memory, it was Hiro who looked down at him.

“I’ve called this meeting,” Hiro began, “to correct a mistake.”

The words were quiet, yet they still echoed through the hall.

Four pairs of eyes turned toward him.

“I am revoking the title of Grand Elder.”

The room did not breathe for a moment.

It took the elders a second to gain their bearings, and once they did, Homoro gripped the edge of his cane. “You—what?”

Hiro’s eyes never wavered. “The position of Grand Elder exists to uphold Hyuga stability. To advise the clan head. To preserve our order and values. When the man in that seat begins making decisions in defiance of the clan leader’s word, he no longer pursues that purpose.”

“You would erase our entire tradition?” Homoro rasped. “This seat has passed from elder to elder without interference for generations. You cannot just strip it away!”

“Your job is to teach, not to babble,” Hiro said, still calm. “If you have trouble adjusting, I’ll find someone who won’t.”

The cane stopped tapping.

Haruka was next.

“Hiro,” she said, more gently than Homoro, but with hesitation nonetheless. “If you do this, it sends the wrong message. It shows division. The other clans will see weakness. They will see us splintering apart.”

Hiro waited for her to finish.

Then: “Are you done?”

Haruka froze.

“What shows weakness,” Hiro said, “is elders going against direct instructions from the leader of their clan. What shows division is ignoring the only voice in this house that has fought and bled to keep it afloat.”

“I allowed you power because your advice was once sound. I’m beginning to regret that generosity.”

“In other eras, the elders were necessary to prevent collapse. Tell me—what threat exists now? What danger do we face that I cannot meet?”

None of them answered.

Not even Hiromasa.

But he did lean back. His face, always carved from stone, twitched slightly.

“If that is all,” Hiromasa said finally, with cold finality, “I will return to my estate. The next elder may inherit what I’ve left behind.”

He stood.

Hiro didn’t stop him.

Instead, he turned and stepped down from the platform.

And opened the chamber door.

“I apologize for the wait,” he said, bowing slightly. “Thank you for coming.”

The figure on the other side of the door smiled.

She stepped into the room, her hair crimson, and her eyes sharp with amusement.

Mito Uzumaki.

The Uzumaki Matron. The Hokage’s wife.

Certainly not a woman who needed to prove her power.

“I was told to come personally by Tobi,” she said, unfazed by the silence in the room. “I suppose I should’ve brought tea.”

Hiromasa turned sharply. “You brought an outsider into clan business?”

Hiro didn’t flinch. “I’ve invoked my right as clan head to dictate internal proceedings. Including disciplinary action against those who defy orders.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Hiromasa Hyuga, you knowingly defied the directive of your clan head. You oversaw the sealing of my daughter, without consent, and under the pretense of tradition. That seal is irreversible.”

Gasps rippled through the council.

Hiromasa took a step forward. “You cannot do this—”

“I can,” Hiro said. “And I will.”

Mito stepped forward now. She set down a small scroll case, twisted it open, and pulled a single tag laced with complex symbols.

She raised her fingers, humming softly under her breath.

No long ritual. No chant. No delay.

She pressed the tag to Hiromasa’s back.

Chakra burst out from it, and in a second, Hiromasa dropped to one knee.

His eyes went wide.

The room was frozen.

A Hyuga’s chakra suppressed.

Completely.

Even Hiro’s gaze sharpened at the speed. Normally, sealing took time. Preparation. A matrix, if not a full ritual.

Mito had done it in a breath.

She stepped back, dusting her hands. “He won’t be accessing anything anytime soon. Maybe send someone to fetch him a bedtime story.”

The elders said nothing.

Hiromasa glared up at her, but there was no fury.

Only helplessness.

And Hiro, still calm, stepped forward once more.

“This is the price of defiance,” he said.

.

When the chamber emptied, Mito remained.

She turned slightly, eyes drifting to where Hiromasa Hyuga had knelt moments ago. The space he’d occupied looked smaller now.

Then her gaze shifted.

Hiro Hyuga stood by the high windows, arms loosely folded, posture unchanged from the moment she'd finished the seal. But Mito noticed what most wouldn’t—the minute tension in his shoulders.

She had heard of him, of course. Everyone had. The All-Seeing. The calm eye in the center of war. She’d watched him on the field once—how still he was in battle, how little he moved to end men twice his size. And never, not once, had she seen him raise his voice or lose control.

Not until last night.

And even now, his silence held—not because he lacked emotion, but because he held himself to the same strict standards she had seen in only one other person: Tobirama Senju.

She exhaled lightly through her nose, then crossed her arms.

“I apologize if this oversteps,” she said, casually—because she was Mito Uzumaki, and no one had ever chastised her for speaking her mind, “but if you feel so strongly about what happened… why not remove the seal yourself?”

There was no challenge in her voice. Just curiosity. Kindness, even.

For a moment, Hiro didn’t move.

Then he spoke.

“There is no method,” he said quietly. “None left behind by the one who created it. If there ever was a way, it’s long gone now.”

His tone did not falter. 

“In the early days, some Hyuga tried. Quietly. A few with enough knowledge in fūinjutsu hoped to unravel it… but none succeeded.”

He turned to her then, just slightly. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, she saw something behind them.

Hope. 

“Does the Uzumaki Clan have anything?” he asked. “Any record, even fragments—of how it was designed?”

Mito’s lips parted.

Then slowly, she shook her head.

“No,” she said gently. “We’ve archived thousands of seals. But the one used on your clan… it’s not among them.”

The silence that followed was crushing.

She saw it in the way his eyes dipped toward the floor.

Then he straightened. A single breath. Then another. Controlled again.

He bowed.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “And… for assisting with the seal.”

Mito waved a hand, amused. “You Hyuga are so formal,” she said lightly. “Tobi asked me to help, so I came. Besides…” She smiled faintly. “Both he and Hashirama speak very highly of you. I was curious.”

Hiro didn’t answer.

She studied him for a moment longer—then gave a nod, turned, and walked toward the courtyard. Her footsteps made no sound on the polished wood.

As she reached the threshold, she glanced back once.

“You’re not wrong to be angry,” she said.

And then, without waiting for a reply, she left.

.

The sun had barely cleared the upper eaves of the compound when Hiroto stirred.

His neck ached.

He blinked groggily, light cutting across his eyelids as he shifted beneath the camellia tree. The bark behind him was rougher than he remembered. His back protested as he straightened, muscles sore from holding the same position too long.

He glanced down.

Hina wasn’t there.

For a second, his chest tightened—but then he remembered. One of the attendants had taken her to her room after she’d fallen asleep. He vaguely recalled someone asking, muffled through the haze of sleep, and him nodding.

He exhaled slowly.

It had been days—no, just about a week—since he’d truly rested.

And yet last night, with Hina beside him, with her hand looped in his… he'd finally closed his eyes without feeling like the world would collapse.

But the ache in his chest hadn’t left.

He rose to his feet, stretching slightly, and began walking toward the inner wing of the compound. The ground was warm beneath his feet, and the koi pond shimmered in the corner of his eye.

Still, his thoughts remained troubled.

His father had come.

Had acted.

But...

He hadn’t come when it mattered most.

Not when the seal was inked into her skin.

Not when Hina screamed.

Not when the Grand Elder made her kneel.

That man still lived. Still breathed. And Hiroto had seen firsthand—he would not hesitate to use the seal again. Not if Hina defied them. Not if she did so much as speak out of turn.

The fear of such a thing was rooted deep now. 

He had to speak to his father. He had to know what would be done. Not with words. Not with vague reassurances. But with action. With guarantees. 

And yet…

He could breathe again.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he could look at the sky and not feel like it was falling. He didn’t feel like shouting or breaking something anymore.

Hina was home.

It didn’t fix everything. But it was a start.

He turned the corner of the garden, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck—then froze.

There was a woman approaching from the far wing.

She moved with an easy, practiced gait—her robe was a deep, royal red, sleeved with patterned gold threads. Her hair was crimson, tied into two buns at the back, held with pins that glinted in the light. Three small clips fastened the front, holding back loose strands.

She smiled when she saw him.

And waved.

He stared.

Then blinked.

He didn’t need memories from another world to recognize her.

The red hair was enough.

The presence, even more so.

Mito Uzumaki.

The First Hokage’s wife. A sealing master beyond compare. The host of the Nine-Tails. A living legend in a village full of them.

She was famous.

No—beloved.

Her name carried weight in every corner of Konoha. She hadn’t even taken the Senju name after marriage, because the Uzumaki had been that close to the founding of the Leaf. And yet despite her power, her lineage, her reputation…

She was waving at him.

He raised a hand and waved back, slightly stiff.

She smiled wider, then turned and disappeared down the garden path, humming something light under her breath.

Hiroto stood still for a moment longer.

Then he exhaled—and for the first time since the seal had been inked into his sister’s skin…

He let himself smile.

.

A/N: Finally done with all the depressing chapters, thank god, lol. This should just about wrap up the pre-academy arc. The world building, characters, motivations, and all other important details are now complete. 

Now, this story should begin to focus much more heavily on our main character, and his strength and development. His main motivator will be shown next chapter, and way more background information, including: the Caged Bird Seal and how it came to be, and why there is no known way to remove it. 

I always hated the way it was never spoken about, even in Boruto, I’m pretty sure they don’t touch on the seal at all, and if it was abolished or not. They really put no respect on Neji’s name lol.

Either way, we sought to correct that.

Have a great day, and that’s it from me.