A choice of allegiance.
That was what Hizashi had made.
A quiet smile tugged at the corner of Furukawa Itoshiki's lips—brief, almost imperceptible. Gratification, yes—but fleeting.
He did not turn to look at his disciple again.
Instead, his gaze shifted back to Hyuga Raido seated in the place of power.
His voice was calm, composed—but carried the force of unwavering conviction.
"I have come today for my disciple, Hyuga Hizashi."
He paused, letting the words settle like stones on still water.
"I intend to request the removal of the Caged Bird seal from his forehead."
His tone sharpened slightly, pressing each word like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"Hizashi's potential should not be confined by that curse."
"He deserves a broader sky—one where his gifts are not shackled, but allowed to flourish."
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating stillness pressed down on the room.
Hyuga Raido remained unmoved, his face an unmoving mask of indifference. Only the hand wrapped around his teacup betrayed him—pausing mid-lift, a fractional stutter, then motion resumed.
But the elders flanking him did not share his restraint.
Color rushed to their faces—flesh turning taut, brows furrowing in disbelief and fury.
Then one moved.
The oldest of the elders, his white beard cascading like a waterfall onto his chest, lifted his head with sharp resolve.
He had received Raido's silent consent.
And now, he spoke.
"Jonin Furukawa—do you even understand the weight of what you've just said?"
His voice was steel wrapped in silk—barely restrained rage teetering on eruption.
"The Caged Bird Seal has existed since the founding days of the Hyuga clan!"
"It is not a punishment—it is a protection. For our Byakugan. For our bloodline. For the very structure that keeps our clan intact!"
He leaned forward, voice rising like a hammer striking steel.
"It preserves the sacred distinction between main and branch families."
"It protects our secrets from being stolen—by enemies, by rivals, by vultures hiding behind masks of friendship!"
The elder's breath hitched, his face flushed with righteous fury.
"From the Warring States era to this very day, countless foes have hungered for our Byakugan!" he thundered. "And every one of them paid in blood for daring to reach for it!"
"And you—" he spat the word, "—a mere jonin, war accolades or not—dare to come here and spit on the very foundation of the Hyuga name?"
His voice rang out, echoing in the wooden frame of the room like a judge's gavel.
Behind Furukawa, Hizashi trembled.
Not from fear.
But from the fury curling within him like a storm about to break.
His fists clenched tightly, fingernails biting into his palms, drawing faint beads of blood.
This was it.
The seal that had haunted him every waking moment, a silent brand etched into his flesh—was now being paraded before him.
Not as a shame.
But as honor.
As if shackles could be called tradition, and chains mistaken for protection.
And the one man who dared to challenge it—his teacher—was now being scorned for the audacity to demand his freedom.
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