The morning was sunny. In the square before the academy, rows of future first-graders stood, their joyful excitement infecting even the parents. Chunin teachers stood at attention behind the Hokage, who was giving the opening speech, and one of them—a very young guy—desperately reminded Sarada of the principal from her time's academy.
She examined the Third especially closely. This little wrinkled old man with a pipe in his teeth was a living legend, the Third Hokage nicknamed "the Professor." It was strange to realize, looking at his dry elderly figure, that this man was still capable of fighting—not just performing the routine duties of Hokage, but stepping up to defend the Hidden Leaf Village in a crisis.
Grandpa of Konohamaru-sensei. He died during Orochimaru's invasion... Or rather, will die. But not soon.
Sarada stood with the family. Grandma Mikoto waved to Sasuke, who had turned around, while Grandpa Fugaku watched the ceremony with a heavy gaze, arms crossed over his chest. Noticing his father, Sasuke darkened and turned away.
The Hokage finished his speech. The first-graders relaxed a bit and started chattering.
"Sasuke-kun!" came a girlish squeak. And another. And another.
Sarada stared at the crowd of children in confusion. Pink hair, then light-colored, and other girls... All gazing at Sasuke adoringly, while he ignored the world, hands in pockets.
"He was always such a brat," Sarada thought angrily.
Mom was entering the academy too. That pink head was Sakura, who else. She watched Sasuke as if nothing else existed: no academy, no friends, no parents.
He already captivates her. Mommy...
It hurt Sarada to watch little Sakura's pure feelings crash against the concrete wall of Dad's indifference. She knew it well herself. But it would be fine. He'd end up with Mom, not all these girls. And her own existence proved it.
Naruto, squinting, looked at the crowd of parents. Meeting Sarada's gaze, he suddenly perked up and grinned. She waved, and Nanadaime, squinting happily, waved back.
Why is he so attached to me? Though Uncle probably thinks the same about me.
Her chest tightened. Now, standing at the ceremony in the academy courtyard amid peaceful Konoha—her uncle was somewhere fighting a deadly battle against an incredibly strong enemy. Maybe at this moment he had already won and was heading home. Or, conversely, wounded and bleeding out with no one to help. Or already dead.
The only person she could be open with.
The academy courtyard, Grandma and Grandpa, Nanadaime and haughty Sasuke—all that was far away and not with her. With her remained only the thudding pulse and mental prayers: "Please, Uncle, come back!"
Kohinata Mukai flicked his lighter and inhaled with pleasure. Strong cigarette smoke spread through the air. This shinobi had peculiar habits. In moments of danger, he relaxed and indulged his weaknesses: smoked, swigged sake from a silver flask. But Itachi knew well that after this, Mukai became especially dangerous and fought at full strength.
Around them on the ground lay shinobi of the Hidden Mist, over a dozen. He and Shisui had defeated all opponents alone. Only Mukai remained: their main target and the toughest.
Shisui activated his Sharingan and shouted:
"Kohinata Mukai! Surrender peacefully. Maybe Hokage-sama will be merciful and not execute you!"
Mukai smirked, spat thick saliva on the ground, and took a swig of sake from his flask.
"Shisui of the Body Flicker," the traitor said. "Heard of you, we know. You're a famous figure. But it seems to me you only walk the sunny side..."
Shisui frowned. Mukai opened his right eye, avoiding the Sharingan.
"...or are you just still a child?"
He mockingly curled his lips and stubbed out his cigarette in a portable ashtray.
"You know what I did. No point in surrendering. Eh, who would've thought two Uchiha clan geniuses would come for my life. Flattering. Very flattering. But I won't hold back, kids."
His chakra volume surged. Veins bulged around his left eye.
"Byakugan!" Itachi exclaimed.
The ceremony ended. The whole family headed home, but Sasuke stayed at the academy for classes on his first school day. Grandma and Grandpa were silent, and Sarada felt a bit uneasy. She had the warmest relations with Mikoto, but with Fugaku... Sarada was a bit afraid of her Grandpa with his eternally stern face, and they rarely talked.
"Sarada," Grandpa suddenly said.
"Yes, Fugaku-san."
"How are your trainings?"
The same question every time.
You're not really interested, Grandpa. You ask just for politeness.
"Everything's good. I train with Izumi and sometimes with Itachi-san if he has free time."
"Uchiha Izumi. Hazuki's daughter... I recall."
They continued in silence. But Grandpa unexpectedly spoke again:
"I want to see your skills."
Sarada's chest went cold.
"I need to know what to expect from you. Arrange with Izumi in a few days for a spar. In my presence."
"Alright," Sarada squeezed out.
Really scary. She felt she'd grown stronger over the past month: trainings with Itachi and Izumi hadn't been in vain. In her future academy, Sarada had no worthy rival, and training with a stronger opponent made you learn much faster. But would her level satisfy the clan leader? Sarada suspected Grandpa was incredibly strong. She'd surely look pathetic in his eyes, no matter how hard she tried.
"Then he'll say I'm a failure and kick me out. No, Uncle won't let him. But Uncle's on a mission, and he might... No. Don't think about it!"
Sarada gritted her teeth and clenched her fists tight.
The battle unfolded in a valley three or four hours north of Konoha. The rocky terrain had no grass, but plenty of good spots for ambush.
The main strategy was to catch Mukai in genjutsu. Itachi distracted the enemy with a shadow clone, hid behind rocks and lay in wait, while Shisui boldly engaged the Byakugan bearer in close combat. He kept trying to maneuver the opponent into a good position for Itachi to use the illusion technique.
If only a tiny crack in his mind. Then push through a stronger illusion, and mission accomplished.
Several times Itachi thought their gazes had met, but the perfect chance never came. Thanks to his colossal experience, Mukai successfully avoided the Sharingan.
Shisui used the Great Fireball Technique. Mukai stood in Gentle Fist stance, arm extended ahead, unmoving, as if he didn't see the wall of flame bearing down on him head-on. Shisui's Fireball was enormous. Only Fugaku, the clan leader, could create a technique of such power—no one else.
Direct hit.
It'll all be over now.
The fireball slammed into the motionless man and suddenly split in two, as if hitting an invisible barrier. Mukai stood in place, grinning smugly.
"Damn. His Gentle Fist broke the fire technique?!" Itachi thought in despair.
They closed in again. Mukai turned from Shisui to avoid genjutsu. But that was exactly what his friend wanted. Mukai's gaze swept the terrain—right toward where Itachi lay hidden. Their eyes met.
Now!
No... They should have. Something went wrong. Mukai instantly left Shisui and leaped upward.
Damn. He spotted me.
The enemy nimbly bounded over the rocks straight for Itachi's cover. Shisui, left alone, suddenly grinned and vanished. The next instant, he appeared before Mukai and smashed a full-force kick into his face. The monstrous blow hurled Mukai against a sheer rock wall. He hit his head, fell, and lay still.
He... He smashed his head.
But the jonin's body suddenly turned into a half-split wooden log.
"Replacement!" Itachi exclaimed in panic.
"Exactly," a voice replied from behind.
Itachi whipped around. Kohinata Mukai stood right before him.
His heart dropped to his heels.
Mukai struck Itachi's stomach with two palms lightning-fast. Agonizing pain pierced his innards.
Four strikes.
Itachi gasped. He feverishly thought of a counter, but Mukai unleashed another barrage: eight this time. He struck instantly. All eight hits slammed into the body simultaneously. His guts cramped, arms and feet went numb in places.
"No," the desperate thought pounded in his head. "If he finishes his combo—I'm dead."
Mukai reared for another attack: sixteen strikes. From the corner of his eye, Itachi saw Shisui blur into view. With a wild yell, he charged Mukai from the right—from the Byakugan's blind spot. Mukai broke off the Gentle Fist combo, leaving Itachi alone for the moment, dodged the attack with astonishing ease, grabbed Shisui by the throat, and hoisted him high off the ground.
"Shisui..." Itachi whispered.
His friend was choking. He writhed and thrashed, clutching Mukai's wrist, futilely trying to break the iron grip crushing his throat.
"It's called 'training,'" Mukai hissed. "Working on your weaknesses. You underestimated this old man, kids."
"Kohinata Mukai..." Itachi said and stepped toward him.
He could do nothing. The Gentle Fist combo had sealed his chakra flow; counterattacking was foolish, but his legs kept stepping toward Mukai, as if that could save Shisui.
"Want me to kill him?"
Mukai tightened on Shisui's throat, aiming to crush his windpipe. His friend wheezed.
"Stop!" Itachi cried, nearly in tears.
Chakra rushed to his eyes on its own, activating the Sharingan.
Mukai sneered contemptuously.
"Such genjutsu won't work on me."
He turned back to his victim.
Shisui's Sharingan transformed. The tomoe spun, merging into a strange sharp pattern like a shuriken, and the pupil vanished—turning red like the entire iris. Mukai instantly looked away. If their eyes met, it was for a thousandth of a second, though Itachi bet they didn't at all. Trapping someone in genjutsu in such a short time was impossible.
But Shisui managed.
The hand choking his throat slackened, and Shisui collapsed gasping to the ground. A kunai gleamed in Mukai's fist.
"No!" Itachi cried.
But he suddenly slashed his own belly with the blade. His legs buckled, and the weakened body toppled sideways.
"Mukai!" Shisui rasped and coughed dryly.
He rose to his knees and crawled to the fallen enemy.
Mukai tried to speak, and blood streamed from his mouth.
"Any interference in my brain triggers the implant to make me kill myself; I'm a spy, after all..."
They silently watched him die. His staccato voice grew quieter and quieter.
"And you, kid... devilish... First time I see such..."
Shisui didn't answer.
"Anything you want to say last?" Itachi asked.
"It's all me..." Mukai muttered, convulsing. "Wife and kids... n-not involved... they... They didn't know..."
With a trembling hand, he reached for his pocket.
"Maybe I ask t-too... much..."
Itachi pushed aside Mukai's weak fingers, reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes—the one he craved so much.
"...fire..." Mukai exhaled with his last strength, cigarette stuck to his lip.
Shisui reached into another pocket, flicked the lighter, and held the flame to the cigarette's end.
Mukai inhaled and blissfully closed his eyes.
"So that's h-how shinobi die..."
He removed the cigarette from his mouth, and his whole body relaxed.
"I'll be waiting for you there..."
His blind eyes stared blankly at the sky, while the half-smoked cigarette continued smoldering between the fingers of his motionless hand.
"It's over," Shisui whispered hoarsely.
Itachi limped slowly toward home through the dark Uchiha District. He had already reported to Danzou and visited Kirei at the hospital, but his innards still ached. They said he wouldn't be able to go on missions or even train for some time. Gentle Fist was no joke.
Flashes of the recent battle washed over him, muscles numbing in fear each time the vision revived: choking Shisui in Mukai's hands.
He nearly died because of me. How weak I am. Damn!
Itachi imagined for a moment what it would be like if his friend really hadn't survived. An abyss of loneliness unfolded before his inner eye, and a deadly chill gripped him. He could never be as open with anyone else as he was with Shisui. No one understood him better. Danzou might have the ability to read his thoughts, but Danzou wasn't a friend—he used that knowledge to manipulate him, which made it even worse.
The house greeted him with dead silence. Itachi entered the entryway, took off his shoes, and heavily climbed the step. Each step echoed with pain inside. He wanted to call out habitually, "I'm home!", but everyone was already asleep.
They have no idea what I went through. I don't want to see anyone.
Itachi shuffled to his room in the darkness, as quietly as possible so as not to wake the household. Somewhere in the gloom of the corridor, a dull rustle sounded, a rectangle of pale moonlight spilled from the slightly open shoji into the corridor, and a small figure appeared on the threshold.
"Uncle?" a familiar voice breathed out almost inaudibly.
Sarada was in her usual casual clothes, not pajamas. Had she not been sleeping? She came so close that Itachi held his breath.
What are you do…
Her hands, without a second's hesitation, slid onto his back. She hugged him and pressed so hard that his insides cramped again. Burying her nose in his shoulder, Sarada murmured:
"Uncle, you're alive…"
Her niece's cheek accidentally brushed his neck, and Itachi felt it was cold and wet with tears.
"Sarada," he squeezed out and gently added, "It hurts."
She pulled away, lifted her glasses, and wiped her eyes.
"Thank you," Itachi sighed, running his hand over his stomach.
Sarada avoided looking him in the face, probably ashamed of her impulse. But Itachi unexpectedly realized he was happy. In this house, there was still someone who cared about him and, while he fought Mukade, hadn't thought about household chores, the first lesson at the academy, or the greatness and glory of the Uchiha clan, but about him—and prayed that Uchiha Itachi would survive.
What to say to her? I have to say something. She needs to know I'm grateful. But I can't… Shisui's right. I have no idea how to talk to people.
"Thank you, Sarada," he said again. He thought and repeated once more, "Thank you."
Not for stopping the hug, but for starting it. For waiting. For the tear-streaked cheeks. For everything at once.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan