Itachi Uchiha stared at his little brother Sasuke, who'd just jerked his chin back up like a pissed-off sapling refusing to stay bent. The kid's black eyes were straight-up blazing, nostrils flaring, cheeks flushed red from pure adrenaline. Classic Sasuke energy.
Itachi's gaze softened for half a second, then got all tangled up with something heavier—like someone dumped a handful of broken glass into a midnight sky.
His fingers lingered in Sasuke's spiky black hair before he just went for it and scrubbed harder, turning that hedgehog cut into a straight-up bird's nest.
He didn't say a single soul-crushing word. Not one.
Because Itachi knew better than anyone that when the clan called Makoto Uchiha "the future of the Uchiha," they weren't blowing smoke. The kid could talk circles around anyone—turned white into black, left the Hokage's advisors and Danzo eating dirt, and somehow sweet-talked Orochimaru—one of the damn Sannin—into handing over goodies for free.
And the talent? Freaking ridiculous. Opened his two-tomoe Sharingan younger than Itachi ever did, with zero side effects. Normally awakening that early fries a kid's body like cheap ramen in the microwave. Not Makoto. Dude's cruising like it's nothing.
Even their dad—who Makoto roasts on the regular—brags about him constantly, eyes sparkling like a proud soccer mom at regionals.
Once the big welcome parade wrapped and the Cloud ninja delegation disappeared into their fancy meeting room, the streets emptied faster than a dive bar at last call.
Confetti swirled in the evening breeze like a bunch of drunk butterflies—some stuck to the Uchiha police force's boots, some hanging off tree branches like they gave up on life.
Konoha finally shut the hell up for once. The air felt thick, like the whole village had been holding its breath and finally exhaled.
The setting sun dragged the Hokage Monument's shadows all the way to the main gates. Orange bled into deep purple, then straight black—like the sky got dipped in ink. Stars popped out, the moon played peek-a-boo behind some clouds, and silvery light dripped over the Uchiha compound rooftops, painting mossy corners in patchy moonlight.
Makoto Uchiha had napped like a king all afternoon. Now he was perched on the compound wall, twirling a dead leaf between his fingers. The serrated edge tickled his skin.
He stared at the half-hidden moon, smirking like he knew something the rest of us didn't.
"Tonight's gonna be anything but quiet," he muttered to himself. "But hey—chaos is the best ladder to climb."
He went to hop the wall when an angry kitten voice piped up behind him.
"Makoto! Spar me. Right now!"
Sasuke stood there in the moonlight, tiny fists clenched, hair still damp from washing up, bangs half-covering eyes that screamed cocky little gremlin. Cheeks red—either from sprinting over here or sheer hype. Kid was trying to look tough by jutting his chin out like a discount anime protagonist.
Makoto raised an eyebrow and glanced at the sky like he was checking for brain damage. "It's not even sunny out, dude."
"How the hell is Optimus Prime back in fighting mode? Who force-fed this kid the premium motivational Red Bull?"
He spun around and flicked Sasuke square in the forehead—thunk. Instant red dot.
"Sasuke, I'm actually busy," Makoto drawled, doing his best Itachi impression, dragging the words out like syrup. "Forgive me… this definitely won't be the last time."
Normally Sasuke would've whined like a squeaky toy, but tonight? Kid took it like a champ. Just huffed through his nose, eyes burning like he'd aged ten years in three days.
"Right now!" Sasuke snapped.
He knew Makoto only cared about stuff with a payoff, so he went all-in: "You win? I'll do whatever you say from now on. Anything I own is yours—no questions asked."
He took a shaky breath, voice cracking with that ride-or-die energy. "I'm betting everything. Fight me."
"If you lose? You don't owe me jack."
Makoto actually blinked. He didn't have Itachi's god-tier "throw the fight without looking like you're throwing the fight" skills. Canon Itachi let three-tomoe Sasuke beat Mangekyo Itachi while half-dead—that was some galaxy-brain trolling. One slip-up and Sasuke would be eating dirt and therapy bills.
But staring into those crazy-confident eyes, Makoto felt the corner of his mouth twitch.
"My foolish little brother…" he said, dropping his voice into perfect brooding Itachi cosplay, a dark chuckle underneath. "If you want to beat me… hate me. Loathe me!"
"Come find me again when you have eyes like mine."
Crimson spun to life—two blood-red tomoe swirling under the moonlight, looking demonic as hell. Then he just… walked off.
Light on his feet, gone like a shadow on Red Bull, leaving only a single leaf fluttering down behind him.
Sasuke stood there puffing up like a blowfish, forehead still throbbing.
"Just you wait!" he yelled into the empty alley, voice cracking but fierce. "I'll prove it—I don't even need the Sharingan to kick your two-tomoe ass!"
His words bounced off silent walls, startling a couple dogs. Then he scooped up his cat, Little White, and stomped inside to sulk-sleep.
Moonlight spilled over the roof tiles like crumpled tinfoil. In the shadows, Itachi had been watching the whole time. His eyes got more complicated than a tax form.
Two little brothers. Zero chill between them.
But thinking about their dumb determined grins, even Itachi cracked the tiniest smile and sighed, breath fogging in the cold.
The night was still young.
Couldn't sleep anyway, so he body-flickered off to go bother his best friend, Shisui.
…
Makoto's geta clacked across the Hyuga compound's pebble paths—zero attempt at stealth.
Because the entire Hyuga clan was currently lost in their own little royal fantasy, not giving a single damn about Konoha's leadership looking like clowns.
On this particular day—right after signing a peace treaty with Cloud—they decided to throw a massive birthday bash for the main-branch princess, Hinata. Invited every major clan head. Even the Cloud delegation.
Translation: "Our family drama > village politics. Deal with it."
Even a dog would watch their political instincts and shake its head.
Or maybe the noble Hyuga really believed they didn't need allies. Cool story.
The whole compound was lit up like Vegas—red lanterns strung from the gate all the way to the main house, each one embroidered with the Hyuga crest, swaying like judgmental eyeballs.
But the vibe? Super weird. Like throwing a rager the day after a funeral.
Not a single Konoha higher-up showed. Just some lackey dropping off generic gifts.
Danzo and the Third? Didn't even send a houseplant. Danzo was probably in his damp little root basement plotting how to screw the Hyuga harder because of this stunt.
The other big clans? Sent random cousins at best. The proud Uchiha didn't even bother with a plus-one.
So the "VIPs" at this party? Just the Cloud ninja—who were all smirking behind their sleeves.
Makoto didn't walk in. He posted up on a rooftop, scoping the scene like a hawk.
Then the main house doors slid open with a dramatic shiiiine. Hyuga Hiashi stepped out, leading a tiny girl by the hand.
Little Hinata—wearing a flower-patterned kimono, butterfly bow at the collar, pink tassels swaying from her twin buns. Cheeks round and flushed like she'd just come out of a hot spring.
Pure white Byakugan eyes peeked shyly from under long lashes, blinking like a baby deer that just realized the world is scary. Fingers white-knuckled on her dad's sleeve, whole body trembling, but she still forced a tiny bow.
"Th-thank you all for coming…" Barely louder than a mosquito.
Painfully shy, ridiculously cute. Way more likable than the fossil squad running her clan.
Makoto raised an eyebrow, about to look away—then froze.
In the crowd, two people stood out like neon signs in a blackout.
Clothes completely wrong for the Hidden Leaf. Hell, wrong for the entire damn continent.
These two weren't even from this world.