"What a waste of time those extra classes were... Nii-san shouldn't have had to go on a mission today," young Sasuke grumbled, his small legs pumping as he ran through the night. "I could've spent the afternoon with him... and eaten Mom's delicious cooking..."
The stars above offered no comfort. Only the empty streets stretched ahead, leading him closer to the Uchiha clan's compound.
Unbeknownst to him, teams had already infiltrated the area—pillaging the clan's treasures and stealing the coveted Sharingan from the dead.
By the time Sasuke arrived, the looters had already vanished.
"…Weird," he murmured, staring at the open gate. "It's so quiet…"
He froze for a moment.
It wasn't bedtime yet—normally the district would still be bustling with life. But now... nothing. Not even a whisper. A chill ran down his spine.
A strange unease clawed at him.
With a sinking feeling, Sasuke broke into a run, racing toward his house.
The moment he entered the clan grounds, a strong metallic stench hit him.
He stopped, confused. It was unfamiliar... sharp… foul.
He didn't yet know it was the scent of blood.
He had seen blood before—scraped knees, minor cuts—but never like this. Never so much that it stained the air itself.
Meanwhile, Sarutobi Hiruzen sat in his office, silently observing everything unfold through his crystal ball.
He watched as both his own operatives and Danzo's agents ransacked the Uchiha compound.
He saw it all.
He even watched little Sasuke return.
He watched as the boy stumbled across a neighbor's corpse, lying lifeless in a darkened doorway—watched his eyes widen in terror.
He watched as Sasuke ran home—heart pounding, calling for his mother and father.
He watched as disbelief twisted into heartbreak… and heartbreak into a scream… before the boy finally collapsed unconscious.
Hiruzen didn't look away.
He studied every reaction—every flicker of emotion.
Because what came next would define Sasuke's path.
Should the boy be eliminated? Imprisoned? Conditioned?
Or… could he be spared?
Could he be allowed to live a normal childhood, as much as that was still possible?
The room remained still for a long time.
Smoke curled lazily from Hiruzen's pipe as he sat in silence, weighed down by years and regrets.
Finally, his voice, tired and hoarse, broke the stillness.
"…Let's go."
He exhaled slowly.
This child is Uchiha Sasuke... Named after his own father, Sarutobi Sasuke. Fugaku himself asked for permission before naming his son.
Perhaps it's fate.
The murderous thoughts faded.
Now came the harder part: crafting a perfect lie—an explanation so seamless that not even a grown-up, calculating Sasuke would see through.
—
Elsewhere, under the pale moonlight, Itachi stood in silence.
He slowly untied the Leaf forehead protector from his brow.
Then, crouching, he picked up a kunai.
With deliberate force, he stabbed the blade into the metal plate and dragged it across.
The engraved symbol of Konoha—once a mark of pride—was slashed clean through.
A sign of betrayal. A declaration.
"You're bold, kid," came a calm voice from behind him. "Breaking your forehead protector in front of me… declaring yourself a traitor so openly. You've got guts."
Itachi remained silent, the moon casting a silver glow on his face as he tied the slashed protector back on.
Then he turned, his voice low and curious.
"…You're from Root. Why didn't you attack me directly?"
He stared at the masked figure perched on the branch above, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes.
"Danzo-sama asked me to deliver a message," the Root agent said coldly. "The Akatsuki isn't as simple as it looks. Be cautious. Also, the ones pursuing you earlier? ANBU in disguise."
With that, the Root member turned and vanished into the night, leaving behind nothing but tension in the air.
Itachi stood still for a moment, brows slightly furrowed.
'Danzo… What are you playing at now? It seems a reminder similar to the original timeline is needed.'
With that he created a shadow clone; its job clear, the clone vanished, moving back towards Konoha.
The warning sounded more like a veiled threat than a gesture of goodwill. Yet, knowing Danzo's track record—his talent for manipulation, secrecy, and dirty politics—Itachi wasn't surprised. The man didn't reveal intentions; he layered them.
'I don't get his game yet,' Itachi thought, 'but once I grow stronger, all the schemes and shadows will become irrelevant.'
The forest around him was quiet now. Sensing no one nearby, Itachi reached for a sealed container strapped to his side. It was time to inspect his father's eyes—Fugaku's Sharingan.
He had held off back in the village. Obito was too close, watching. But here, under the moonlight, he had privacy.
'The Mangekyō... it's not the same as the Eternal Mangekyō.'
With the Eternal Mangekyo, one could wield its immense power continuously—enough to unleash the final form of Susanoo, the fourth stage. The standard Mangekyō came at a cost: diminishing eyesight with each use, like trading vision for power.
Use it once to create a full Susanoo, and you might as well sign up to be a blind man forever.
He opened the container. Inside, blood still clung to a pair of lifeless eyes. A heavy silence settled over him as he activated his own Sharingan, scanning the lingering chakra.
Yes. It was Mangekyō.
But something felt... off.
His father had concealed something—something deeper. The famed Wicked-eyed Fugaku had died without using his power. Why? A mystery wrapped in irony.
Itachi chuckled bitterly.
'I guess the art of letting others live runs in the family...'
His father never used the Mangekyō in that final moment.
Itachi felt torn.
A part of him wanted to take those eyes, replace his own, and ascend to the Eternal Mangekyō. But doubt crept in.
He didn't know medical ninjutsu well enough to attempt the transplant safely—and botching it would be a disaster.
More importantly, he had to move forward.
Joining the Akatsuki was next.
Orochimaru was still a member then, and Itachi had his own reasons for joining.
His true prize: Hashirama's cells—a treasure that Orochimaru likely possessed.
The sooner he acquired them, the better.
It wasn't just about power. It was survival.
He sealed the container carefully inside a storage scroll, tucked it into his robe, and tied it securely against his chest. Now that he knew these were Mangekyō eyes, he couldn't afford to be careless. These had to be given to his Crow summons for safekeeping, similar to Shisui's eye.
This isn't something I can eat or spit out. If I drop it, I lose everything. If I guard it too closely, I draw attention.
He lingered a little while longer, mind racing.
He had a backup plan now. The idea of testing out his current Mangekyō in battle felt… liberating.
Blindness? Blood disease? Bring it on.
With the Eternal Mangekyō, he could dominate this early ninja world.
Sage Body? He'd obtain one.
And if blood disease ruined it… well, he'd cross that bridge when it came.
—
"…Strange. Still no one following me?"
Itachi glanced over his shoulder.
Half an hour had passed. No pursuit.
He found a riverside, lit a fire, and finally let his shoulders relax.
This new state of mind was different—liberating.
Before, he had rushed to flee, eager to link up with Obito, conserving chakra, fearing overuse of the Mangekyō, and terrified of early blindness or unknown afflictions.
He had been cautious to the point of paranoia. Alone, without allies or cover, there was no room for recklessness.
And he hadn't even been sure Fugaku's eyes held the Mangekyō.
Hope had been too dangerous to entertain.
Now, he ate grilled fish in silence, leaned against a thick tree, and decided to rest a few hours.
No need to hurry.
Obito could wait.
In fact, if conditions allowed, Itachi wanted to test his strength—against Obito himself.
He wondered, would Tsukuyomi work on another Mangekyō user?
It was a hypothesis worth testing. After all, Tsukuyomi—and Shisui's Kotoamatsukami—were near-invincible genjutsu.
If they could affect Mangekyō users, then Itachi would have no natural enemies. None at all.
That thought lit a spark in him.
He remembered the eye embedded in Danzo's socket. The one he had implanted in a summoned beast. The endless manipulation.
Then Orochimaru's face appeared in his mind.
Strangely, his excitement over Fugaku's Mangekyō… faded a bit.
Perhaps it was time to look beyond that.
After all, anything worth doing now had to go through him—Orochimaru, the legendary sannin.
And that discussion… was coming soon.
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