Fugaku recoiled as if struck, his face flushing with anger and something akin to shame. "How dare you—!"
"How dare I?" Nakada cut him off, her voice rising. "You bring up Father's pathetic scheme? Yes, he engaged me to Renjiro! A desperate ploy to bind a rising star to his faction! Do you think I'm blind? Do you think he wanted it?" She laughed, a harsh, brittle sound.
"Renjiro barely tolerates our family politics! He certainly didn't ask for me! But you know what, Fugaku? I thought… foolishly… that having Itachi, that seeing a child of your own blood… might have softened that stone you call a heart. Might have shown you that power isn't just about control and suspicion! That sometimes, protecting your own means standing up, not hiding away!" Her voice cracked with raw disappointment.
"But I see it didn't. You're still trapped in Father's shadow, just as afraid as he is. You're both reading this entirely wrong! I just hope that your mindset won't be the end of our clan!"
"Wrong?" Fugaku scoffed, though his voice lacked its earlier conviction. "How? How is inviting suspicion and fear 'reading it wrong'?"
"Because you see only threat!" Nakada shot back, her eyes blazing.
"What if… just what if… Renjiro's actions don't breed fear, but respect? What if the village sees an Uchiha not as a potential Madara, but as a protector? As someone who risked everything for Konoha shinobi when no one else would? What if this earns us trust, Fugaku? Real trust, not the wary tolerance we've endured for years? What if his power becomes a symbol of Konoha's strength, our strength, used for its defence?"
Fugaku stared at her, the arguments warring within him visible in the tightness around his mouth, the flicker in his dark eyes.
The image of Itachi, so young, so promising, flashed in his mind, complicating Nakada's accusation. He opened his mouth, perhaps to counter, perhaps to concede a sliver of her point, but the words died before they formed.
Nakada saw the hesitation, the ingrained suspicion battling a sliver of unwanted hope. She shook her head, the disappointment settling back in, colder and heavier than anger.
"You can't even entertain the possibility, can you? Trapped in your fortress of fear." She turned sharply, the half-peeled apple dropping from her hand with a soft thud onto the tatami.
"Brood on your scrolls and suspicions, Fugaku. I'm done."
Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the tent. The shoji screen slammed shut behind her with a sharp, final "WHACK!", rattling in its frame. The sound echoed in the sudden, heavy silence, leaving Fugaku alone amidst the deepening twilight shadows, the damning scroll on his desk, and the unsettling echo of his sister's words.
======
Deep beneath the earth, far from the prying eyes of Konoha, beyond the borders of the great nations, and far removed from the judgment of the sun or moon, a cavern yawned in silent secrecy.
The air was cold and damp, thick with the scent of wet stone, iron, and ancient decay. Bioluminescent fungi clung to the jagged walls, casting a faint, pulsing green glow that shimmered across natural rock formations twisted in grotesque shapes—like the frozen screams of those long since forgotten.
There was no sound but the rhythmic drip of condensation and the soft rustle of air through narrow tunnels.
Then, like ink bleeding through parchment, the very rock face began to ripple. A pair of figures emerged from the stone, one pale as bone, smooth and featureless except for a wide yellow eye that darted about with manic glee. The other was dark, jagged like volcanic glass, with a single crimson eye that burned steadily with ancient, malicious purpose.
Zetsu.
"Kukuku…" The white half giggled, its voice high and reedy, echoing like a taunting spectre through the cavern. Its yellow eye blinked rapidly, then focused on a ghostly image flickering in the centre of the chamber, a three-dimensional projection of the Elemental Nations. Borders etched in faint light, chakra pulses representing armies, and a flare of angry red light pulsing at the junction of the Earth and Wind territories.
"Look at them scurry, Black Zetsu!" White Zetsu crooned, tilting its head as if marvelling at a child's tantrum. "Like ants whose hill got kicked! Oh, what a delightful mess!"
"Hmph," Black Zetsu growled, his voice like grinding stone. He stared at the map with narrowed contempt. "Predictable. Shinobis always respond to fear with aggression. The Tsuchikage's paranoia, the Kazekage's wounded pride… fertile ground. All it took was the right push."
"The tiniest spark," White Zetsu added gleefully, twirling on one heel. "That genjutsu on the Onoki girl—ohhh, you should've seen her flail inside her own mind! We gave her nightmares for days! Father's little soldier, unravelling in front of everyone!"
"It served its purpose," Black Zetsu said. "We needed to introduce doubt at the highest levels. Undermine trust. Sow discord. That illusion… that whisper in her mind, it suggested sabotage. The old fool leapt to conclusions we never had to state."
"Old men and their grudges," White Zetsu snickered. "Easy to twist. And once the supply village was gone—boom!" He mimed an explosion with his hands, even though no sound accompanied it. "They were practically begging for someone to blame."
"And Suna was the most convenient target," Black Zetsu added with grim satisfaction. "Long-held suspicions. Trade tensions. Border patrol skirmishes. All Tinder waiting for flame. Now the fire spreads."
"See? SEE?" White Zetsu clapped its pale hands together, silent but wild. "They're already mobilizing! Look! Look how the chakra flares pulse—troops marching, envoys intercepted! Iwa's on the brink, and Suna's got their hands full explaining something they didn't even do! All because of us! Kukuku!"
A pause, heavy with anticipation.
"I told you genjutsu was underappreciated," White Zetsu added proudly. "It's not just for Uchiha melodrama anymore!"
Black Zetsu said nothing for a moment, then slowly inclined his head. "Subtlety has its uses… especially now. With every diplomatic collapse, with every skirmish, we get one step closer to the real goal."
"Mother," White Zetsu breathed, almost reverently.
"Yes," Black Zetsu hissed, crimson eye narrowing further. "Her revival demands chaos. Isolation. Desperation. These fools busy themselves with petty grudges and phantom threats. They have no idea how thoroughly they are being played."
"I love when they think they're in control!" White Zetsu sang. "Each Kage like a puppet who cut his own strings. And the best part? They blame each other. Not us. Never us. We're just whispers. Shadows. No one sees the mould beneath the surface until the foundation crumbles!"
Black Zetsu's eye fixed on the pulsing point where Iwa's border met Suna's. "The Hidden Stone will demand reparations. The Hidden Sand will refuse. Skirmishes will escalate. Peace treaties will break. And soon…"
"BOOM!" White Zetsu shouted again, stretching his arms outward. "Shinobi world war! Round… four?"
"Round final," Black Zetsu corrected coldly.
"Ohhh, dramatic," White Zetsu cooed. "I like it. But tell me, Brother—do you think the Leaf will intervene? That self-righteous Hokage and his merry little band of moralists?"
"They will try," Black Zetsu murmured. "And fail. Konoha is stretched thin. Their enemies lie within and without. The Will of Fire will flicker."
White Zetsu wiggled gleefully. "Kukuku… let them all burn. We just sit back… and enjoy the show."
"For now," Black Zetsu agreed. "But when the time is right, we strike. Quietly. Surgically. The era of shinobi will fall… and a new one will rise. One where Mother reigns again."
Slowly, deliberately, the two figures began to sink back into the wall, their forms dissolving like oil into water. Their laughter—one high and unhinged, the other low and ominous—echoed through the cavern, lingering even after their forms vanished.
The spectral map remained for a few seconds longer, flickering, glitching as if reacting to the lingering malice. Then, with a final pulsing blink, it vanished—leaving only the cold drip of water, the glow of sickly green fungi, and the sense that somewhere, the world above had already started to bleed.