Chapter 96 -- The Unspoken Law
of genuine irritation mixing with profound confusion across his face.
"What did I just say? You're not my brother," he repeated sharply, his voice tight with disbelief, laced with the fatigue of fighting an Ōtsutsuki.
His mind churned as he looked between the group—Minato, Akira, Kakashi, Chōza, and Shibi—wondering why they all seemed so calm about this absurd, impossible claim.
Akira only grinned lightly, stepping closer, utterly unconcerned by the future legend's hostility.
"Come on, Sasuke. I'm Itachi's older brother. If Itachi's your brother, that makes me your brother too. It's simple Uchiha math."
Sasuke froze, the words hitting him with the force of a sudden lightning strike. His gaze locked onto Akira, disbelief etched across his features.
"Wait… what did you say?" he asked, the aggressive edge momentarily gone, replaced by a deep, unsettling wonder. "You're… Itachi's older brother?"
For a moment, even the wind through the broken towers of Rōran seemed to stop entirely. Sasuke's eyes, the Rinnegan subdued, searched Akira's face, trying to find a lie, a trick—anything that could explain this impossible, fundamental alteration to his life story. But the calm certainty in Akira's expression felt real. Too real.
I don't remember having an older brother other than Itachi. Sasuke's mind raced through his memories of the Uchiha clan massacre and the years leading up to it. Itachi never mentioned him. He arrived at the only possible conclusion that fit the context of this time: I may have had an older brother other than Itachi, but he must have died tragically around the time of the Third Great Ninja War—perhaps before my memory even properly formed, or his existence was erased by a prior temporal disruption.
On the other side of the square, Minato had fallen utterly silent. Emotion welled up within him—the urge to speak to Naruto, to ask a thousand questions he already knew the answers to: Is Kushina safe? Am I a good father? What happened to me?
But he stopped himself, his heart aching with self-control.
He understood something few in the present era ever could. If the future and the past touched for too long, if they exchanged too much critical information, the balance of time itself might shatter. The world's flow could twist in ways no one could predict.
Minato's thoughts ran deep: If I change even a single word, even a single choice now… would Naruto's world still exist? Would the future I see in his eyes ever be born at all?
Naruto knew this as well. He could see it in his father's eyes—the quiet restraint, the unspoken bond that only deepened the silence between them. He understood the cosmic gravity of their reunion.
So, he didn't say anything either. He simply nodded, a message passed between father and son across the chasm of time.
Even Sasuke, usually brash and unflinching, realized the terrifying danger in this fragile moment of information exchange. The stakes weren't their lives—they were the fabric of the universe.
"It's better if we stop talking," he said quietly, his gaze sweeping over the scene. "Any more… and things might fundamentally change."
Akira blinked in confusion, tilting his head slightly, he also known about this things but he didn't find any point in it. After all he himself is the abnormal existence. So what will happen had already changed and going change more. The only way to stop it's to kill him.
"Come on, what's with everyone? Why did you all just stop talking suddenly? Did I say something wrong?"
Minato took a slow, steadying breath and answered, his tone calm but firm.
"Akira, it might not be a good idea to speak too much with people from the future. If the future changes from what it should be… the consequences could be grave."
The Law of Temporal Integrity
When two distinct points of time—past and future—collide, the universe trembles. Every action, every word exchanged between them becomes a fragile thread that can unravel destiny.
If the past is altered, the future begins to fade, erased by the very hand that reached out to save it. The world itself resists such change, acting as a powerful self-correcting mechanism. It balances, it erases, and sometimes… the ultimate cost of knowing the truth is existence itself.
The heroes stood in a moment of fragile, enforced silence, where the biggest enemy was not the puppet master Mukade, but the very flow of time they were desperately trying to uphold.