When Deidara's explosion shook the dining room, Hikari already knew who she'd be fighting. The Sharingan had read her loved ones' choices — like formulas on a chalkboard. The arrangement was obvious: each had their target, everything rational, everything calculated. She was left with the final piece on the board.
Konan.
After the blast, she soared into the sky, giant paper wings unfurling behind her like those of an angel.
Hikari didn't hesitate. She shot after her, light as a shadow, gliding along the walls beneath the cold snowfall.
They stopped on a wide rooftop — Konan hovered above it, suspended in the air, translucent and elegant, made of a thousand thin sheets. Her body shimmered in shades of white and gray, like paper come alive. She radiated absolute calm.
Hikari looked up. Snow landed on the lenses of her glasses. The Sharingan saw everything that mattered — chakra flow, micro-movements, intentions. Everything.
In her father's dossier, Konan was listed as one of the most dangerous. Elusive. Nearly untouchable. Paper that scattered when attacked, then reassembled itself. Physical strikes were useless, and even the genjutsu of the Sharingan seemed ineffective.
Hikari narrowed her eyes. Her gaze slid over her opponent's pupils. No spark. No tremor. Amber, steady — like the eyes of someone whose soul had long since died, leaving only a shell behind.
Once, Hikari had eyes like that too.
If she pushed her Mangekyō illusion to the limit, maybe she could pierce through the defense… but her father had forbidden it. He said: Mangekyō only as a last resort. When there's nothing else left. When the cost is justified.
"You poor innocent child," Konan said softly. Her voice was strange — not judgmental or cruel. More mournful. "How old are you?"
"Eleven," Hikari answered without blinking.
Snow settled on Konan's paper wings, soaking into them like they were a living canvas. The paper barely dampened.
"It's tragic," Konan continued. "When children must pay for their parents' sins. You must die for peace. For Pain's goal. I promise — if you don't resist, I'll make it quick."
"Your offer is meaningless," Hikari replied dryly. "I fear death. But not pain."
"A shame," Konan whispered. "Paper cuts are the most agonizing."
The next instant, the ground vanished beneath her.
The rooftop under Hikari disintegrated into paper — white, hungry, predatory. But the Sharingan had already calculated the move. In a blink, the girl vanished with a shunshin, leaving behind a whirl of black hair and dissolving snowflakes.
She reappeared on a chimney — narrow, higher, but safe. Snowflakes and sheets of paper fell from the sky. White and white. Death and winter. Amid it all, the girl looked fragile, almost helpless. But that was an illusion.
Within a second, her left glove began to transform. Metal, fūin, fabric — all merged into the curved shape of a short battle bow. Her father's design. Her mother's refinement.
Red script flared on her right glove — storage seals ignited. Arrows began to appear one after another — perfectly balanced, chakra-hardened, sharpened to a deadly point. Crafted by Shisui and Itachi. A family arsenal.
Hikari's fingers moved faster than thought. Two arrows — shot. Three more — shot. Five — a fan-shaped volley. The bowstring screeched like a living thing, and every arrow flew, anticipating the enemy's next move.
Konan whirled in the air, shifting trajectory, gliding on the wind, breaking into paper segments and reassembling. But even she couldn't fool the Sharingan. Hikari wasn't just shooting — she was reading. Calculating. Blocking escape routes.
An arrow with a ridiculous red boxing glove instead of a tip hit Konan square in the cheek with a dull thud. It wasn't lethal, but strong enough to jerk her head sideways like a doll. She hovered in the air, slightly swaying, then slowly brought her head back into position. Her paper face began to regenerate.
"A boxing glove? Seriously?" Konan's voice sounded more surprised than annoyed. "Are you sure you're a kunoichi, and not just a child playing ninja?"
"Brother Itachi said humor can weaken an enemy's focus," Hikari replied calmly, keeping her aim steady. "And Brother Shisui noted that skin is the perfect medium for activating a copied fūin seal."
Konan barely had time to narrow her eyes before a red runic mark flared on her cheek.
And in the next second, flames erupted.
The flash was instant — as if she had ignited from within. Konan screamed and, losing control, plummeted into a snowbank on the rooftop. The white flakes evaporated the moment they touched her.
But even snow couldn't extinguish the fire fueled by Shisui's cursed seal. Konan writhed, burning from head to toe like a torch. Her paper crackled, turned to ash, reformed — and burned again.
Hikari watched in silence. No emotion on her face. There was no cruelty in her — only analysis. Like a guard evaluating whether to shoot a fawn now or wait until it grows into a full-grown moose.
Everyone in her family had killed. And her father had always taught: never leave an enemy behind. But he also said — interrogating a foe can save you from traps.
When Konan's screams turned hoarse and nearly silent, Hikari drew another arrow — this time without the glove. A different fūin seal glimmered on the tip.
She fired into the snow beside the woman.
There was a wet pop, and a lump of thick, blue, icy slime burst from the seal. It wrapped around Konan's body, smothered the flames, locked her limbs, and sealed the remaining chakra. The fiery torture stopped.
Konan went limp. A faint, almost grateful smile touched her burned face.
"You said a paper cut is the worst pain," Hikari noted calmly, checking her remaining arrows. "But for some reason, no one seems to enjoy burning."
///
When Deidara unleashed his explosion, most fell back.
Sasuke didn't.
He jumped straight into the epicenter.
Perched on his head like a crown of darkness was Reibi — a purple bat the size of a cat. She spread her wings, and waves of dark chakra wrapped around Sasuke like a shield.
He slipped through fire and sparks — and punched Deidara straight in the face.
"You little runt!" Deidara growled, spitting blood. "I'll rip your ears off and feed them to the birds!"
"Catch me first, loser," Sasuke smirked, darting up to the second floor.
Deidara, for all his mannerisms and looks, wasn't just a seasoned killer — he was fast. He charged up the stairs after him like a rabid badger, fists swinging. He nearly caught up.
But Sasuke hadn't trained with his father for nothing. He stopped short and planted himself in the middle of the hallway.
Face to face. Shoulders tense. Direct stare. The hallway became a dueling arena.
Reibi, still clinging to his hair, squinted like a theater critic.
"How dare you punch me?!" Deidara raged. "You're a kid! You're supposed to be doing homework and running around your little school!"
"First of all, I'm already eight," Sasuke said proudly, puffing out his chest. "Second, I finished the Academy. In one year. Record time."
"Still weaker than Hikari," Reibi sniffed. "Your sister did it in five months."
"That doesn't count!" Sasuke protested, keeping his combat stance. "She enrolled later and studied from home. She had an advantage."
"I only wanted to finish the Academy in one month for one reason," Reibi declared from atop his head, wings crossed smugly. "To wipe that smug grin off your face. What do you think? Will the smartest, prettiest bat in Konoha get accepted?"
"Well… if they accepted Kiba," Sasuke muttered with a mocking twist of his mouth, "you're guaranteed."
"It's decided!" Reibi flapped her wings. "I'll get an education and become a kunoichi! Then — Hokage!"
"Learn to write first," Sasuke grumbled.
"Are you kidding me?!" Deidara exploded. "You're seriously discussing career paths while I'm standing here with live explosives?! Die already!"
He flung his arms forward — a flock of white clay birds burst from his palms. They flapped their wings violently, charged with chakra, and dove at them.
Sasuke didn't even flinch. He stood still, arms crossed.
"Reibi-chan, if you please."
The bat huffed, leapt from his head — and mid-air, her mouth began to widen. Then widen more. It stretched to unnatural proportions, until it looked like a portal.
The birds flew into it one by one — and exploded inside. There was a muffled boom, Reibi puffed up like a balloon, then sharply deflated, releasing a puff of hot black smoke, and returned to her normal size with a smug grin.
It didn't look like a ninja technique. It looked like something out of a children's cartoon.
Deidara's eye twitched.
"What… the hell… are you?!"
"That's Reibi-chan," Sasuke replied flatly, as if that explained everything. "But for you — it's Reibi-sama."
"Bow before me, bipedal speck!" Reibi trilled, putting on airs. "I am terror, I am the night, I am—"
"Enough!" Deidara roared, completely losing it. "Forget the mission! I'm blowing this whole damn house to pieces!"
He reached into his pouch for another batch of clay—only to realize Sasuke and Reibi were gone. As if they'd never been there.
"What the—?!"
"Never look an Uchiha in the eyes, dumbass," Sasuke's voice whispered behind him.
The last thing Deidara saw was darkness. One clean strike to the base of the skull — and he dropped like a stone.
"Came into the Uchiha house without genjutsu defense," Sasuke snorted. "I'm starting to think Akatsuki only hires idiots."
///
After the explosion in the dinner room, only two remained.
Fugaku stood among the wreckage like a tiger poised to strike — shoulders tense, eyes drilling into the shadows, fingers flexing and unflexing. He could smell gunpowder and foreign chakra. His body was coiled, waiting for combat.
Obito, by contrast, stood relaxed — as if nothing serious had happened. As if he was in complete control. Even his posture said, "I'm just messing around."
"Let's just… sit down. Or, well, stand. Have a chat." he asked lazily. "What I'm about to tell you might change everything you think you know about me. But first, we have to fight a little. Shinobi battles usually don't last more than five minutes. So don't rush."
Fugaku said nothing. He watched as firelight danced across his own face. The Sharingan burned in his eyes, but he didn't move.
He knew this type. People who talked before a fight fell into two categories: either they were already preparing to die — and wanted to be remembered by the one who killed them. Or they were stalling, waiting for an explosive seal, a trap, or a shadow clone to activate.
Fugaku didn't intend to find out which type Obito was. He was an Uchiha. He was Hokage. He was a father.
And he didn't allow risk — not when his family was nearby.
He opened two of the Gates at once and charged. His body ignited with chakra, muscles demanding to break free of all restraint. Taijutsu was his native language, and he spoke it with a roar of flesh and fury.
Obito was fast — even in that grotesquely altered body. A kick came straight for Fugaku's head, but he saw it in time: slipped sideways, sidestepped, readied a counterpunch—when spikes burst from Obito's back like carnivorous plant traps.
Fugaku sprang back, recalculating.
"Wood release genome," he observed, not surprised — intrigued. He studied the pale viscous substance making up half of Obito's body. "You integrated metamorph DNA into yourself."
"Metamorph?" Obito raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. "Oh, you mean White Zetsu. Yeah, that's him. I could tell you how to stabilize the Wood Release, extend your life… even avoid going blind from the Mangekyō."
He spoke casually, without menace — like offering a good deal at the market.
"All I ask in return," he continued, glancing at his watch, "is three more minutes of sparring."
Fugaku didn't answer. He inhaled — and exhaled a fireball the size of a giant cauldron, roaring toward Obito like a comet.
Obito countered with his own fire — far weaker. A lazy shadow of the clan's signature move. His flames were swallowed by Fugaku's inferno. He had to leap away, ducking behind a wall that started to melt.
Fugaku, face impassive, felt his family approaching. The signal ring on his finger pulsed once — a short burst of will transmitted through the air.
They were done. They were coming.
He deactivated the Gates, stood tall, folded his arms across his chest.
"You wanted to talk." His voice was calm — no anger, no curiosity. "Talk."
Obito brushed dust from his face, rolled his shoulders.
"Finally!" he said brightly. "Let your loved ones hear it too. This concerns all of you."
Mikoto emerged from the shadows first — her eyes already tracking every movement. Behind her came Itachi, calm and silent, medical bag in hand. Sasuke, Shisui, Reibi, and Hikari followed close behind. The family gathered.
Obito tilted his head toward the ceiling, as if waiting for a spotlight, then spoke with theatrical flair, as though he had reached a grand climax:
"So. My true goal. My great secret." He inhaled deeply. "I serve Uchiha Madara."
In that moment, his body jerked. His eyes widened. Blood gushed from his mouth. He clutched his chest with one hand, staggered forward — and collapsed.
Instant silence. Everyone waited for the trick — a clone, an explosion tag, a transformation. Anything. But not this.
"Itachi," Fugaku said without moving, "check him. Carefully."
Itachi created a shadow clone, which immediately activated diagnostic techniques. The clone worked quickly, crouched beside the body.
"It's not a puppet. Not a clone," the clone reported in a neutral voice. "His heart burst from the inside. Very precise. Most likely an internal self-destruction fūin seal — someone made sure this would happen."
"Can you save him?" Fugaku didn't move. Only his eyes narrowed.
"If we get him to the basement and hook him up to the Jiongu — maybe. But…" He looked at his father. "Are you sure he deserves saving?"
"No," Fugaku clenched his fingers. "But he has answers I need."