The Uchiha compound was quiet in the early dawn, the kind of stillness that felt like the world holding its breath. Akira sat on the roof of his family's home, his legs dangling over the edge, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the first light of day bled into the sky. His two-tomoe Sharingan, newly awakened from the self-inflicted genjutsu, ached faintly, a reminder of the price he'd paid. The memory of the illusion, his parents' lifeless bodies, the compound in flames, lingered like a bruise on his soul. He pressed his palms against his eyes, willing the images away, but they clung stubbornly, as if mocking his resolve.
He hadn't slept. Not really. The stolen scrolls from the Naka Shrine lay hidden beneath his floorboards, their forbidden knowledge a constant hum in his mind. The *Fire Release: Dragon Flame Jutsu* was beyond his current skill, its chakra demands too great for his twelve-year-old body. The genjutsu scrolls were more promising, offering techniques to bend perception and twist thoughts, but they required precision he hadn't yet mastered. Time was his enemy, ticking down to the massacre he knew was coming. Three months, less now, maybe ten weeks if he was lucky. He needed to move faster, think sharper, be better.
The crow from last night haunted him. Its black eyes had felt too knowing, too deliberate. Akira wasn't superstitious, but the *Naruto* visions had shown him Itachi's affinity for crows, their connection to his genjutsu and his secrets. Had Itachi seen him at the shrine? Did he suspect something? Akira's fingers tightened around the kunai at his hip. He couldn't afford to be careless, not when the clan's prodigy was a shadow looming over his every move.
A soft creak from the street below snapped him out of his thoughts. He peered over the edge, his Sharingan flickering to life. It was Kenta, his cousin, slipping out of his house with a purposeful stride. Akira's lips curved into a faint, calculated smile. Kenta had been restless since their conversation at the training grounds, his paranoia stoked by Akira's carefully planted words about spies and betrayal. Now was the time to nudge him further, to turn doubt into action.
Akira dropped silently to the ground, his movements practiced but not flawless, and followed Kenta at a distance. The older boy's path led to the clan's central meeting hall, a low building adorned with the Uchiha fan crest. Akira knew the elders sometimes gathered there at dawn to discuss matters they didn't want the younger members to hear, matters like the coup. He crouched behind a cluster of bushes, his Sharingan scanning for witnesses. The compound was still asleep, save for a few early risers tending to morning chores. He was safe, for now.
Kenta hesitated at the hall's entrance, glancing over his shoulder. Akira ducked lower, holding his breath. Had he been seen? But Kenta's gaze swept past him, unfocused, and he slipped inside. Akira waited, counting heartbeats, before creeping closer. He pressed his ear against the wooden wall, the faint hum of voices filtering through.
"…growing reckless," an elder's voice grumbled, low and gravelly. "The village tightens its grip, and we sit here debating."
"Patience, Yoshiro," another voice, Fugaku's, Akira realized with a jolt. "The plan is in motion. We cannot afford mistakes."
Kenta's voice cut in, sharp and unsteady. "What if there *are* mistakes? What if someone's already talking to the Hokage's men? I've heard whispers, doubts among the younger ones. We can't trust everyone."
Akira's heart raced, a mix of triumph and dread. Kenta had taken the bait, amplifying the seed of doubt Akira had planted. But the elder's response was cold, cutting. "You speak out of turn, Kenta. Accusations without proof are dangerous. Name names, or hold your tongue."
Silence followed, heavy and tense. Akira could imagine Kenta's face, flushed with frustration, his pride warring with his uncertainty. He hadn't named anyone, Akira had been careful not to point fingers directly, but the damage was done. The elders would be watching their own now, suspicious of betrayal. It was a small fracture, but fractures could grow.
Akira slipped away before Kenta emerged, his mind buzzing with possibilities. He needed to keep Kenta off-balance, to make him a voice of dissent without realizing he was being guided. But he also needed to be careful. If the elders grew too paranoid, they might accelerate the coup, forcing Itachi's hand sooner. Akira's stomach twisted at the thought. He wasn't ready to face Itachi, not yet.
---
Back at home, Akira sat in his room, the stolen scrolls spread before him. The genjutsu techniques were complex, requiring a finesse he lacked, but one caught his eye: *Illusory Whisper*, a subtle jutsu that planted suggestions in a target's mind, making them believe the thoughts were their own. It was perfect for manipulation, for turning allies into unwitting pawns. If he could master it, he could influence more than just Kenta, he could sway entire groups within the clan.
He practiced the hand signs, his fingers clumsy at first, his chakra wavering. The visions had given him knowledge, but not muscle memory. He gritted his teeth, forcing his hands to move faster, smoother. Hours passed, the morning light giving way to midday heat, sweat beading on his forehead. Finally, he felt a spark, a faint pulse of chakra that resonated with the technique. He closed his eyes, focusing on a simple suggestion: *You're tired.* He cast the jutsu on himself, a test.
The effect was immediate. His limbs grew heavy, his eyelids drooping as an unnatural exhaustion settled over him. He broke the genjutsu with a shake of his head, gasping. It worked. It was weak, barely a whisper, but it worked. With practice, he could refine it, make it subtle enough to plant doubts or shift loyalties without detection. A smile tugged at his lips, but it faded quickly. This was power, yes, but it was also a step into darkness. Was he becoming the kind of shinobi he'd despised in the visions, someone like Danzō, who twisted minds for his own ends?
He pushed the thought away. Morality was a luxury he couldn't afford. Not when his family's lives, his own survival, hung in the balance.
---
That afternoon, Akira sought out Kenta again, this time at the training grounds. The older boy was alone, practicing shurikenjutsu with a ferocity that betrayed his agitation. Akira approached cautiously, his expression one of innocent concern.
"Kenta, you okay?" he asked, keeping his voice soft. "You seem… tense."
Kenta hurled a shuriken, embedding it deep in the target's center. "It's nothing," he snapped, but his eyes betrayed him, flickering with unease. "Just… clan stuff. You wouldn't understand."
Akira tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "Is it about what I heard? About spies? I didn't mean to worry you, but… I'm scared, Kenta. What if the village turns on us?"
Kenta's jaw clenched, his Sharingan flashing briefly. "Don't talk like that, Akira. You're just a kid. Stay out of it."
But Akira didn't back down. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know I'm young, but I see things. The way the village guards look at us, the way the elders argue… Kenta, what if someone's already betrayed us? What if we're walking into a trap?"
He wove the *Illusory Whisper* as he spoke, his chakra threading the suggestion into Kenta's mind: *Someone's hiding something.* It was a risk, his first real test of the jutsu, but Kenta's reaction told him it worked. The older boy's eyes widened, his hand pausing mid-throw. "A trap?" he muttered, almost to himself. "No… that's ridiculous. But…"
Akira held his breath, watching as Kenta's thoughts churned. The jutsu was subtle, not forcing belief but nudging it, planting a seed that would grow on its own. Kenta shook his head, as if clearing a fog, and turned back to his target. "Go train, Akira. Leave the worrying to me."
Akira nodded, retreating, but inside, he was elated. Kenta was hooked. With a few more nudges, he'd start questioning the elders, maybe even confront them. The clan's unity would crack, buying Akira time to prepare for the massacre. But the victory felt hollow. Kenta was family, not just a pawn. Using him like this, twisting his mind… it left a bitter taste in Akira's mouth.
---
That night, Akira lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The crow's cry echoed in his memory, a warning he couldn't shake. He needed to be faster, stronger, smarter. The scrolls were a start, the genjutsu a weapon, but his Sharingan was still his greatest asset, and his greatest risk. The visions had shown him the Mangekyō's power, but also its cost. Itachi's blindness, Sasuke's torment, could he endure that path? Could he inflict that kind of pain on himself again?
He rolled onto his side, his eyes falling on the kunai by his bedside. The visions had given him a map, but not a guide. Every step he took pushed him further from the boy he'd been, the boy who'd laughed with his parents and dreamed of being a great shinobi. Now, he was something else, a schemer, a manipulator, a survivor. He didn't know if he liked this new self, but he knew he needed it.
As sleep finally claimed him, a shadow moved outside his window, silent and fleeting. A crow took flight, its wings cutting through the night. And somewhere in the darkness, eyes watched, patient and unyielding.