Ken hadn’t moved in hours.

  Bandages wound across his ribs like coiled rope. His left shoulder had been reset but not fully sealed—ANBU medics warned against accelerated recovery after internal trauma that deep.

  The white walls of the Konoha hospital were clean, quiet, and suffocating.

  He hated the smell of disinfectant now.

  More than blood. More than death.

  Because it reminded him he’d failed to stop what mattered most.

  His ANBU leave was made official two days after the massacre.

  “Medical recovery,” the file had said. “Standard procedure.”

  But Ken knew better.

  They needed time to sweep the ashes. To spin the narrative.

  They needed silence from someone who had seen too much—and wasn’t afraid to say it.

  And Ken?

  Ken needed to breathe.

  The door creaked open mid-morning.

  He didn’t look up. Thought it was another nurse.

  Until he heard the steps—light, careful, hesitant.

  His mother stepped into view.

  Airi wore her medic robes, but her eyes were softer than usual. And behind her, Daiki hovered in the doorway, arms crossed like he didn’t know if he should be angry or grateful.

  Airi walked to his bedside and sat gently on the edge of the chair.

  “I told you not to get killed,” she whispered.

  Ken gave the faintest smile.

  “You said that five years ago.”

  “I still mean it.”

  Daiki sighed and stepped in.

  “You saved us.”

  Ken looked at them. “I got you out just in time. That’s all.”

  “You were ready for this,” Daiki said. “Weren’t you?”

  Ken nodded.

  “I just wasn’t ready for how fast it came.”

  They stayed for a while. Airi changed his dressings herself—ignoring the assigned medics. Daiki helped rewrap the seals on his chakra regutors.

  And for the first time in years, they didn’t argue about the cn.

  Because there was nothing left to argue about.

  The knock on the door came midafternoon.

  It was soft. Awkward.

  Ken turned his head slowly.

  The door opened—and a group of Uchiha children stepped in.

  Six of them.

  Eyes wide. Faces pale. Posture uncertain.

  At the front was a boy with dark hair and sharper eyes than his age deserved.

  Sasuke.

  Ken didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

  He just waited.

  Sasuke stepped forward.

  “The others wanted to see you.”

  Ken looked past him—at the children he hadn’t seen in years. Some had been toddlers. Some had parents who had died in front of them. All of them looked at him like he was someone.

  And Sasuke spoke again.

  “You told Itachi to spare us.”

  Ken nodded once. “I did.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “I did,” Ken said. “Because you’re the only part of us left.”

  The room went quiet.

  Sasuke stepped closer.

  “What do we do now?”

  Ken sat up a little straighter.

  “I’m not part of the cn anymore.”

  “But you are,” one of the younger boys whispered. “You’re the only one who wasn’t afraid to stand.”

  Ken’s voice dropped low. Measured. Controlled.

  “I can’t lead you. I can’t raise you. But he can.”

  He looked directly at Sasuke.

  “You’re the head of the Uchiha now.”

  Sasuke flinched. “I’m not ready.”

  “No one is,” Ken said. “But it’s not about being ready. It’s about being the one left.”

  Sasuke swallowed hard. He didn’t nod. Didn’t speak.

  But he didn’t deny it either.

  Ken looked at the others.

  “Follow him. Protect each other. Learn. Grow. Survive.”

  He met Sasuke’s eyes again.

  “And one day, when you're strong enough—decide what the Uchiha name means again. Not for revenge. Not for blood. But for choice.”

  Sasuke nodded.

  And for the first time since the massacre, he stood tall.

  The children left quietly.

  No tears.

  Just silence.

  And maybe... hope.

  Later that evening, two more visitors arrived—this time unannounced.

  One entered with calm steps and a gloved hand in his pocket.

  The other burst through like a hurricane.

  Kakashi and Guy.

  Ken raised an eyebrow.

  “Didn’t think I was popur.”

  Guy beamed. “Ken! My youthful rival-in-training! I heard about the battle! I wept! You must’ve been magnificent!”

  Kakashi just waved zily. “Heard you got body-smmed by a guy with a swirl mask. Cssic rookie mistake.”

  Ken groaned. “Gd to know I almost died for your amusement.”

  Guy leaned over, genuinely serious now.

  “You saved children. You stood in front of monsters. That’s no small thing.”

  Kakashi nodded. “And you gave Hiruzen the ammo to end Root. Danzo’s out. That was… necessary.”

  Ken looked away. “Not enough.”

  “Maybe not,” Kakashi said. “But it’s a start.”

  Guy sat at the foot of the bed, casual as ever.

  “You’re off the field for a while, but once you’re up again...”

  Ken groaned. “No. No youth drills. I’m recovering.”

  Guy grinned wider. “I wasn’t going to ask!”

  Ken stared at him.

  “…Yes, you were.”

  Kakashi chuckled under his breath.

  When they left, the room was quiet again.

  But it didn’t feel empty.

  Ken leaned back, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling.

  His bones hurt.

  His chakra was unstable.

  His mind was still scarred.

  But the children lived.

  And maybe that was enough—for now.