Itachi's mind raced through calculations and consequences in the space of a heartbeat.
I can't tell him the truth. Not now. Not when he's still this weak.
Weakness was the original sin. The unforgivable crime in the shinobi world.
If he told Sasuke the real story—that the Uchiha clan had been planning a coup, that Konoha's leadership had ordered their elimination, that Danzo had given him an impossible choice—then Sasuke would hate the village. Would turn against Konoha completely.
And Konoha would never allow that. They'd kill Sasuke without hesitation.
Everything Itachi had sacrificed, everything he'd destroyed with his own hands, would be meaningless. His brother, the one person he'd protected at the cost of everything else, would end up dead anyway.
I can't let that happen.
Sasuke don't need to know those things
Sasuke just need to live in the light. he has Naruto now, good friends, a chance at happiness. Grow strong in that happiness. Restore the Uchiha name through his own achievements. Protect Konoha's peace.
The darkness? The dirty truth? That's his to carry. Itachi already the villain in Sasuke story anyway.
That's fine. I'll die with this sinful, dark image. Fall into hell with all the guilt. At least then you won't have any psychological burden when you finally kill me. Itachi thought.
The pain in his chest threatened to overwhelm him, but Itachi sealed it away with practiced discipline. His resolve hardened once more.
He let the mocking smile spread across his face again. This expression made Sasuke hate him, and that was exactly what he needed.
"Hahaha!" The laugh came out wild and cruel. "My foolish little brother, you haven't grown at all in five years! Still so pathetically stupid. Why can't you just believe what your own eyes showed you?"
"Though I suppose your stupidity has a certain... charm to it."
"You already know the truth, Sasuke. What are you running from? Only cowards run from reality. Your cowardice, your weakness—those are why you couldn't stop any of this."
"If you'd been strong enough that night, you could have prevented me from killing them. Instead you watched helplessly while I slaughtered everyone. You should thank your weakness, actually. Because you were so pathetically weak, you weren't worth killing. You couldn't have helped me grow stronger, so I lost interest."
"Hahaha! Everything is for power, little brother!"
"I wonder if you've gotten any stronger these past five years, or if you're still the same useless weakling. I do hope you've improved. Otherwise you won't be worthy of becoming part of my power... Hahaha!"
Itachi laughed wildly, his body swaying on the streetlamp with the force of it.
Sasuke watched his brother's performance, and the last traces of hope died in his heart.
A cold smile curved his lips. "You know, it must have been really hard digging through that cement. I should mention—I'm the one who poured it."
Across the clearing, Kisame—who'd just managed to stand up despite his injuries—choked. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he doubled over.
"You?!" Kisame wheezed, glaring at Sasuke with genuine outrage. "You little brat! That's disgusting! I want to beat you so badly right now! Do you know how long I spent digging through that?!"
"Your opponent is me," Naruto's booming voice reminded him.
"Right, almost forgot about you, giant." Kisame straightened despite the pain. "That kick really hurt, you know. Now I'm actually angry."
Naruto ignored the threat entirely. He'd used barely any force in that kick—maybe ten percent at most. If he'd applied real strength, Kisame would have been atomized on impact.
He was holding back deliberately. If Itachi saw Naruto's full power too early, he might flee before Sasuke could confront him properly.
When Itachi heard Sasuke's comment about the cement, his expression froze for a fraction of a second. Then he forced the wild laughter back, doubling down on the cruel persona.
Laugh. Just keep laughing. Make him hate you more.
But Sasuke was done hoping. After everything Itachi had just said, there was no room left for the brother who'd cooked him meals and waited on streetlamps after school.
That person was gone. Maybe he'd never really existed at all.
With cold precision, Sasuke drew two shuriken from his pouch and hurled them at Itachi.
Twin points of steel gleamed in Itachi's Sharingan vision. He relaxed fractionally. Good. Normal ninja combat. That means Sasuke hasn't changed like Naruto did.
I can still do this.
Without apparent concern, Itachi produced his own shuriken and flicked them out almost lazily.
CLANG! CLANG!
Metal struck metal in mid-air. The projectiles traced complicated arcs, meeting with precise force, then fell harmlessly to the ground with crystalline chimes.
The attack didn't stop there. Sasuke's hands blurred, launching shuriken in rapid succession—high, low, angled for Itachi's face and feet simultaneously.
Itachi responded with equal speed, his own throws intercepting each attack.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
Shuriken filled the air between them, colliding, deflecting, falling. Neither brother landed a single hit.
The exchange demonstrated perfect equality in this particular skill. Years of practice for both had created a stalemate.
After dozens of throws, Itachi remained standing on his streetlamp, clothes rippling in the breeze, feet planted in the exact same position. He hadn't needed to move even once.
I can't win like this, Sasuke realized. We both have trump cards we haven't revealed yet. I need to change the dynamic.
His eyes focused on the streetlamp beneath Itachi's feet.
That's his anchor. His psychological safe zone. As long as he's standing on that lamp, he feels invincible.
I have to get him off it.
Sasuke threw everything he had left, shuriken covering every possible angle of attack. For the first time, Itachi had to move, his feet shifting position to dodge what his hands couldn't intercept.
Good, Itachi thought, genuine pride flickering through his performance. He's grown. He's improved.
When Sasuke's shuriken supply ran out, he drew the Kusanagi sword from his back and charged directly at Itachi.
Itachi smiled slightly, drew two kunai, and leaped down from the streetlamp to meet his brother's advance.
"My foolish little brother," Itachi called out while rushing forward, "your strength has definitely increased. You might actually be worthy of becoming part of my power now!"
The taunt was tactical. Verbal attacks disrupted rhythm, threw opponents off-balance.
But Sasuke's face remained completely calm. No emotional fluctuation at all.
Excellent, Itachi noted with internal approval. He's learned psychological warfare too.
The distance between them closed to less than a meter. Both brothers swung their weapons simultaneously—
Itachi expected the clash of steel.
Instead, his heart lurched. He saw the corner of Sasuke's mouth curve upward in a smile. A smile of triumph.
"Flying Thunder God Technique (Hiraishin no Jutsu)!"
Right as their weapons should have connected, Sasuke vanished.
"Itachi! Stand up straight!"
Itachi's head whipped around, his expression transforming into genuine shock.
Sasuke had reappeared beneath the streetlamp. He gripped it with both hands, yanked it from the ground with a spray of dirt, and pointed it directly at Itachi.
No—
Itachi's feet moved on their own. Years of habit, countless hours standing on that particular lamp, muscle memory so deeply ingrained it bypassed conscious thought—
His body twisted in mid-air and landed perfectly balanced on top of the streetlamp Sasuke was holding.
The instant of disorientation, of realizing he'd been manipulated by his own habits, cost him everything.
Sasuke's other hand was already forming the familiar sphere of rotating chakra.
"Rasengan!"
The spiraling sphere drove upward toward Itachi's temporarily frozen form, promising devastating impact.
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