"Itachi, what are you doing?"
Uchiha Shisui stared at the blood-soaked figure of Uchiha Itachi, shock plastered across his face.
"What am I doing?" Itachi's voice was flat. "Saving the Uchiha, I suppose."
He wouldn't say such a thing to just anyone. But if the person asking was Shisui, he could speak his mind.
Their friendship had always been strong. A more accurate term now, considering their opposing sides, would be 'clandestine confidants.'
But at this moment, their minds couldn't be farther apart.
"Saving them? No. This is slaughter." Itachi's words and actions were diametrically opposed, striking Shisui as both absurd and heartbreaking.
"Any salvation requires sacrifice, Shisui."
A principle that was correct. But this wasn't sacrifice. This was… different.
"So you save the clan by exterminating its radicals? Killing doesn't solve problems, Itachi. It creates more."
Shisui understood Itachi's goal now. And he had to stop him. For the clan's sake, and for Itachi's own.
Unlike Itachi, Shisui wasn't an extremist. His methods were softer, more conventional—closer to Fugaku's, truth be told.
He searched for perfect solutions. Admirable. The problem was, perfect solutions didn't exist. So he just… hesitated.
Swift action, decisive judgment—that was Itachi's way.
"If the radicals disappear completely, the problem is solved. This is an internal Uchiha matter. It won't affect our relations with the Leaf. And… someone will shoulder the blame."
The arrow was loosed. There was no turning back. Itachi had chosen his path and would walk it into darkness. Even Shisui's pleas wouldn't change that.
It was in his nature. And navigating between the Leaf, the moderates, and the radicals gave Itachi a perspective Shisui lacked. Did Shisui truly grasp the radicals' plans? The damage they'd inflict on the clan, on the village?
He did not. Itachi did.
Shisui was the type to subconsciously romanticize the Uchiha. Itachi was the opposite.
"You can't do this, Itachi."
"I can't? Then give me a better solution. A practical one. We're out of time."
"We need more time! However you look at it, this is a mistake. You'll become a villain in the history of both the clan and the Leaf."
It felt like talking to a wall. No solution? Then nothing left to say.
Shisui just kept repeating the problem could be solved slowly, no need for extremes, offering no concrete alternative. Pathetic.
"Shisui! What are you doing? A preemptive strike? Has the Leaf finally moved against us?"
A radical Uchiha had spotted them. His first instinct: if radicals were dying, it must be Shisui. Never Itachi.
Chaos. Itachi had no choice. He moved.
While Shisui stood frozen, figuring out how to explain, the shouting man's head was already leaving his shoulders.
Shisui couldn't intervene. His position was too precarious. If he was seen here, it would look like the Fourth Hokage had ordered him to purge the radicals.
It would drag the Leaf into this mess. Ruin Shisui's reputation. Create an unbridgeable chasm between the clan and the village.
Itachi realized things were spiraling. He needed to wipe out the radicals' fighting force, fast. Now, Shisui was in the way.
"Itachi… Maybe I can take the radicals away from Konoha. Disappear into some forgotten corner of the world…"
Shisui's words—his solution, one that mirrored the radicals' own desires—sealed Itachi's resolve.
Shisui was out of place. He was one of the biggest beneficiaries of the new policies. The Hokage's trusted confidant. If a man like that left with the radicals, it would signal the new policy's total failure. The Uchiha's status in Konoha would be dragged right back into the gutter.
No one would sympathize. Public opinion would deem it their own fault. The Hokage showed them such favor, and still they betrayed him? What does that prove?
It proves a dog can't change its nature.
Itachi stopped. He turned. His gaze, calm yet icy, settled on Shisui. His pupils morphed, twisting into the pattern of the Mangekyō Sharingan.
"Shisui. You shouldn't be here. And you definitely shouldn't say things like that."
"Itachi… your eyes…"
"The radicals oppose registering eye abilities. Isn't that why they are radicals?"
...
Within the surveillance perimeter the ANBU had secretly established, a man with a spiraled mask strolled as if on a leisurely walk.
"A one-man army. Can he do it? If he can… that temperament makes for good material."
The masked man was, of course, keeping tabs on the Uchiha. The Akatsuki was still building strength. He had free time. A visit home was only natural.
He called himself Madara Uchiha. He was not Madara. Nor was he Obito Uchiha.
The "All is Ruined, My Love is Lost" plan had failed. Obito never fully transformed into that crucial piece. Unwilling to miss the opportunity, Black Zetsu chose a different path: to enter the game himself.
Obito was now, effectively, his mount. Black Zetsu, through a special method, constrained and steered Obito's consciousness. They weren't fused, but it kept Obito on the intended rails.
He didn't cling to Obito's body; he'd invaded his mind, constantly 'correcting' Obito's thoughts. Their combined intelligence, averaged out, probably still hovered around 'mediocre.'
Dual Kamui Obito was a fine mount, in theory. After getting used to it, Black Zetsu had no major complaints.
As the masked man pondered whether to harvest a few spare Sharingan, a thunderous crash from nearby made him pause.
He looked up. Two Susano'o, locked in combat.
And he saw something else that made his pupils constrict. Someone else was here. Watching the show, perfectly calm.
Silhouetted against the moonlit sky, a lone figure sat on the roof ridge of a building ahead, intently observing the distant fight.
Then the figure turned his head. He'd noticed the masked man.
In a blink, he was standing beside him.
"Akatsuki?"
As the true mastermind, the masked man knew the Akatsuki's roster. A moment's thought identified this man. Who else could it be but Konoha's "good friend," the famous… well, that figure.
"One of Konoha's founders, interested in its chaos?" the masked man retorted. Even facing a supposed ally, his guard was up.
"I'm no founder. Just a follower of the founders. I've no particular interest in modern Konoha. Just a whim." Yūshin adhered to his persona—a follower of himself.
He had been interested in the Hokage's approach to the Uchiha, but it seemed disappointingly conventional.
At least the masked man provided some entertainment. He'd never guess this was the man who'd hunted him all those years ago.
"You're not wearing the uniform." A veiled accusation. The black cloak with red clouds he wore was ostensibly how Yūshin identified him.
"It's not mission hours. And… at my age, I find that outfit a bit too… teenage angst for my taste."
Yūshin thought, You really think I'm a member? I just showed up to watch.
"I don't know your code name. Best to confirm…"
"You can call me Tobi. My organizational codename is 'Gen.'"
"Ah, matches. Good. Avoids unnecessary conflict." This meant Yūshin was doing his due diligence. If this were some imposter, he'd have to eliminate him.
"Your thoughts on the two fighting? Itachi and Shisui?" The masked man probed, unbothered by the caution.
"Which is the pawn? Or is it the eyes you're after?"
No beating around the bush. Yūshin cut straight to the heart.
Sharp, the masked man thought. Old-timers have sharp eyes. This 'elderly' aura… useful for playing Madara. Worth learning.
He even wanted to study Yūshin's acting.
"Itachi has only one path left: defecting from the Leaf. Now's the perfect time to make contact."
"By all means."
'Making contact' was just a pretext. The masked man wanted Shisui's eyes. Kotoamatsukami was a potent threat.
Yūshin didn't care. For one, such a Genjutsu posed little threat to him—his pure Byakugan alone could handle it. For another, snatching Shisui's eyes wouldn't be easy.
Unlike the detached Yūshin, the masked man sought spoils from the chaos. His form melted into the night.
Clashing with those close to you was a shinobi's fate. It was hard to say who was stronger between Itachi and Shisui. But now, the masked man was tipping the scales in Itachi's favor.
Two Mangekyō pairs against one. The balance shifted instantly.
Sometime later, the masked man returned to Yūshin's side. His face was hidden, but his entire demeanor radiated dark, frustrated energy. Things had clearly not gone his way.
"Get Shisui's eyes?"
"No. But I got a firsthand look at an Uzumaki's Reverse Four Symbols Sealing… Did you know about this all along?"
Seeing Yūshin's complete lack of surprise, the masked man's question carried a hint of embarrassed anger.
"I left Konoha years ago. How would I know such specific intel? It's just…"
"Just what?"
"Just… why would you assume eyes that important wouldn't have a protective seal?"
"..."
The masked man was stunned.
In any case, failing to obtain Kotoamatsukami was significant. Yūshin might not fear it, but if the masked man had gotten it, the entire shinobi world would've been on edge.
Fortunately, Konoha and the Hokage weren't fools. They knew how to protect such an asset.
"Don't get angry. Get angry, you'll get serious, and then everyone will realize you're actually…"
Yūshin trailed off. As he stepped past the masked man, he spoke again.
"You're… what, in your early twenties?"
The masked man tried to project age and gravitas, but he'd acted far too green. Even without prior knowledge, Yūshin could tell this was some wet-behind-the-ears kid.
A cold sweat broke out under the mask. For a moment, he couldn't even muster a retort. A derisive snort would've been something.
His initial silence spoke volumes.
By the time he realized he couldn't stay quiet, that he needed to say something, he looked up.
Yūshin was already gone.
Damn old man and his mind-reading. The masked man decided he'd either avoid such people in the future, or… find a chance to eliminate them.
Well. 'Eliminate' was too strong. Trying that would likely trigger an immediate 'Game Over.'
...
Having observed the Uchiha sample, Yūshin used the Yomotsu Hirasaka to return to the Core Dimension of Amenominaka.
"The Chakra Fruit still not ripe?" he asked his shadow clone.
The clone, wearing a straw hat and holding a teacup, lounged on a deck chair like an old farmer watching his melon patch.
"Patience. A few more years. If you're really craving melon, you can eat it now. Seven-tenths ripe isn't inedible. Just a bit… tart."
"I'm not in a hurry. It's just… never mind. As long as we're faster than the Akatsuki."
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