Kushina Uzumaki The Sage Of The Yuri Path

The Uchiha compound was quiet under the soft glow of the evening lanterns. Mikoto Uchiha stood alone in her personal training hall, her three-tomoe Sharingan spinning lazily as she stared at the ruined remains of multiple training dummies scattered across the floor.

She had trained for hours, her strikes fast, precise, and brutal. The kunai in her hands gleamed under the soft moonlight filtering through the open windows.

And yet, despite shattering every single target in the room, she still felt restless.

She clenched her fists, inhaling slowly.

I should feel at peace after a good training session.

But she wasn't.

Because Raven's words would not leave her mind.

She could still hear her voice, playful and smug:

"Mikoto, you deserve better. You already know it. You just won't admit it yet."

Mikoto's left eye twitched violently.

Raven was a menace.

For years, she had whispered her nonsense in Mikoto's ears, casually planting thoughts that Mikoto had tried to ignore.

But lately… she had stopped ignoring them.

She was too strong now. Too aware.

Her eyes drifted toward the reflection in the polished floors of the training hall. A warrior stared back at her.

She had surpassed her husband.

She had surpassed her son.

She wasn't the docile Uchiha wife anymore.

She was something else.

Something greater.

Mikoto's thoughts snapped back to reality when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind her.

She didn't even have to turn around.

"Itachi," she said, her tone cool and unimpressed. "You're late for training."

A flicker of movement—and then Itachi appeared, standing a few meters away, his own Sharingan active, his expression carefully neutral.

"I was handling clan affairs," he said smoothly. "Father—"

THWACK!

Itachi barely had time to react before Mikoto's wooden training staff came down on his head, knocking him forward with enough force to make him stumble.

"M-Mother—"

"Excuses," Mikoto said simply, twirling the staff in her hand effortlessly. "Again."

Itachi, who had faced countless dangerous shinobi, survived Anbu training, and been groomed as the future of the Uchiha clan, looked more afraid now than he had ever been in his life.

He straightened immediately, nodding stiffly. "Y-Yes, Mother."

Mikoto sighed dramatically, stretching her arms. "Honestly, Itachi, I don't know how you expect to become Hokage if you can't even dodge your own mother's attacks."

Itachi flinched. "That's not—"

Mikoto vanished before he could finish his sentence.

In a blur of motion, she appeared behind him, her staff swinging for his ribs.

Itachi barely managed to flip backward, his Sharingan trying to predict her movements—but Mikoto's speed was faster than he had anticipated.

She was playing with him.

Itachi landed lightly on his feet, breathing heavily.

Mikoto lowered her staff, watching him calmly. "Still too slow."

Itachi frowned, clenching his fists. "Father—"

"Don't mention him."

Itachi froze.

Mikoto's eyes gleamed dangerously. "I'm the one training you, Itachi. Not your father."

Itachi pressed his lips together, choosing his words carefully. "You've… changed."

Mikoto arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Itachi hesitated before saying, "You've grown stronger. More than I expected."

Mikoto smirked. "And why shouldn't I?" She tilted her head. "Did you think only men were allowed to be strong, Itachi?"

Itachi opened his mouth—then promptly closed it.

Mikoto's smirk widened.

"That's what I thought."

Later that evening, Mikoto sat on her veranda, watching the lanterns flicker in the distance. A soft breeze ruffled her hair, but her thoughts remained turbulent.

Her Sharingan had been activating on its own lately, showing her fragments of futures that had not yet come to pass.

Some were clear—like the path that awaited Itachi if she didn't intervene.

Others were mysterious—like the unshakable feeling of pure irritation she got every time she looked at Sasuke.

She loved her son. She did. But something about his future self made her want to punch something.

She sighed heavily, rubbing her temples.

And then she saw another vision.

A future where she stayed with Fugaku.

She wasn't unhappy.

But she wasn't happy either.

It was dull. Predictable.

She was a weapon for the clan. Nothing more.

The vision shifted.

And she saw herself standing beside another woman.

A different kind of future. One where she wasn't tied to duty, but to something else.

Mikoto's breath hitched.

Her Sharingan snapped back to normal, and she gritted her teeth.

"Damn you, Raven."

Her words were half curse, half whispered admission.

Raven had put this idea in her head.

And now she couldn't stop thinking about it.

She was too strong to be ignored. Too powerful to be silent.

And she knew, deep down…

She couldn't live like this much longer.

Mikoto found her husband exactly where she expected—in his study, reading another boring clan report.

She stood in the doorway, watching him for a long moment.

He didn't even notice she was there.

Typical.

"Fugaku."

Her voice was calm, controlled.

He glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Mikoto?"

She stepped into the room, crossing her arms. "I need to ask you something."

He sighed, setting his scroll aside. "What is it?"

She held his gaze, her three-tomoe Sharingan spinning slowly. "Do you love me?"

Fugaku blinked. "What?"

She didn't repeat herself. She just waited.

Fugaku exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. "Of course I do. You're my wife."

Mikoto felt nothing at those words.

No warmth. No sincerity. Just duty.

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I see."

Fugaku frowned slightly. "Mikoto, what's this about?"

She shook her head, already turning to leave. "Nothing. Just something I needed to hear."

As she stepped out of the study, her mind was clearer than ever.

Her Sharingan pulsed, showing her another glimpse of her future.

And in none of them was she standing beside Fugaku.

She smiled to herself.

For the first time in years, she felt free.

And she knew…

It was only a matter of time before she left him behind for something greater—a future she knew she was destined to shape, a revolution in the making. The thought made her smirk with anticipation.

After all, the Uchiha were nothing if not unhinged, and what was more outrageous—more rebellious—than one woman daring to love another?

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