Blue-violet Chakra surged from Ryota's body.
Before the eyes of everyone present, it condensed rapidly into a massive hand—its form not even fully skeletal yet.
It couldn't even be called the complete initial stage of Susanoo.
And yet, even in this incomplete shape, the pressure it exuded descended like the will of a god, plunging the hall into an instant, suffocating silence.
That giant blue hand stretched across the ceiling, looming above every clan member's head, as though a simple clench could reduce the entire Uchiha Clan Grounds to dust.
Everyone stood frozen, shock, fear, and confusion etched across their faces.
For a moment, they couldn't even comprehend what they were seeing.
This wasn't a power they associated with the Sharingan—not even the domain of the Mangekyō.
It felt more like a casual strike from a god, crushing everything within the realm of mortals.
At the door, Itachi's eyes widened in disbelief, pupils contracting hard.
"You… how could you—"
"You don't even have a Mangekyō Sharingan!!"
In that instant, the composure he'd cultivated for years nearly shattered.
No—this was wrong. Completely wrong.
He knew the Uchiha's legacy better than anyone: Susanoo was one of the ultimate powers of the Mangekyō Sharingan.
Even he had only reached it after Shisui's death—when his spirit teetered on the brink of collapse.
But this boy…
He wasn't even Uchiha. He didn't have the Mangekyō.
And yet he could summon Susanoo at will!
And this wasn't any Susanoo he knew—
Just a single hand, and the crushing pressure was enough to make him feel like he couldn't breathe.
"What the hell are—"
But before he could finish, his eyes froze.
The Clan Head everyone was looking at—his eyes had changed.
The black pupils had, at some point, turned a deep violet, and within that violet swirled concentric ripple patterns.
Itachi's face paled in shock, and he instinctively stepped back, even forgetting to breathe.
"…The Rinnegan?!!"
In that instant, Itachi's mind went completely blank.
Susanoo… that overwhelming Chakra presence… and now—
The legendary ultimate dōjutsu: the Rinnegan.
Just what was this black-haired boy?
A god? A demon? Or something that didn't even belong to this world?
And in that oppressive stillness—
A faint murmur slipped through the air:
"Awaken."
Before anyone could react, a golden figure shot forward!
In a single breath, Ais was in front of Uchiha Itachi.
"!?"
Itachi's face twisted, a surge of danger flooding his senses.
He started to swing his blade to block—
Shhk!
A sharp stab of pain tore through his right arm as a slender silver blade pierced it clean through!
Ais's eyes held no emotion—only a battle will honed to the extreme.
"Damn it!"
Itachi gritted his teeth, his pupils twisting into the Mangekyō Sharingan.
But before he could even unleash a jutsu—
BOOM!
The blue hand descended from above the instant that thought formed.
Crack!
Ryota's Susanoo hand closed around Itachi in a crushing grip.
No matter how Itachi struggled, he couldn't break free.
"You were going to use a dōjutsu?"
Ryota gazed down at the figure pinned in his grasp, his voice laced with mocking amusement.
"Amaterasu?"
"Tsukuyomi?"
"Or were you planning to unleash—Susanoo?"
His tone wasn't loud, but every word peeled back Itachi's thoughts, exposing his entire hand.
In that moment, Uchiha Itachi was like a sheet of paper before him.
His body thrashed on instinct, but no matter how he moved or how much Chakra he poured out, that giant hand didn't budge—
As if it was binding not only his body, but his soul and will as well.
He'd been seen through.
Completely stripped of his defenses—his foundation crushed beneath absolute dominance.
And it had all happened too quickly; his dōjutsu hadn't even activated before it was utterly shut down.
"Who the hell are you…?"
The hall was deathly quiet.
The Uchiha standing around Ryota made no sound—no cheers, no outrage.
But in their eyes, beneath the silence, was a tidal wave of shock and upheaval.
"…That's Uchiha Itachi…" someone thought to themselves.
The boy hailed as the strongest heir of the Uchiha, who had joined Konoha's Anbu at a young age, awakened the Mangekyō, moved among the high council, and made his name known throughout the ninja world.
They had once pinned all their hope, pride, and even survival on him.
And now… this same boy couldn't even withstand the sword of the golden-haired girl at Ryota's side!
If even she was this formidable—what of the boy who controlled Susanoo, wielded the Rinnegan, and cowed the entire hall with nothing more than a smile?
The clan's eyes gradually converged on the figure seated calmly before the stone chair, looking down on everything with detached composure.
He hadn't drawn a weapon. He hadn't taken a single step.
And yet, he had crushed the Uchiha's greatest heir without leaving him any room to fight back.
Fear, awe, confusion… all of it twisted together into something called reverence.
And in that stunned silence, Uchiha Fugaku stood motionless.
His lips parted, eyes filled with a mix of emotions as they rested on the figure caught in midair.
That was his son—his pride—hailed as a genius and entrusted with the clan's future.
He wanted to step forward, to speak on Itachi's behalf.
To plead for mercy… to beg for his release…
But as soon as his foot moved, he stopped.
His eyes swept over the blue giant hand hovering behind Ryota… over Ais, still poised to strike at a moment's notice… over the silent clan members whose faces were etched with shock.
He suddenly understood.
Itachi's betrayal was a fact.
And his own weakness and compromise as clan head—that too was a fact.
If even Itachi dared to come into the clan grounds with a blade in hand to carry out an order to wipe them out—
What right did he have to speak on his behalf?
Fugaku gave a bitter laugh, murmuring under his breath:
"Even if I used my Mangekyō Sharingan, the next one being crushed in midair… would probably be me."
More than that, Fugaku knew full well that Ryota had already personally engraved a Falna onto him.
Though the golden marking was hidden beneath his clothes, he could clearly feel that if this boy ever felt the urge to kill him, with just a thought, this so-called former clan head would burst apart on the spot—nothing left but a cloud of blood.
No chance to resist at all.
Uchiha Fugaku looked at Ryota, his heart falling into silence.
Ryota, however, turned his cold gaze on him and said:
"The reason the Uchiha Clan ended up on the road to annihilation… you deserve much of the credit."
The words made Fugaku's whole body tremble, yet he couldn't refute them.
Because he knew—Ryota wasn't wrong.
Itachi showing up here tonight was clearly to carry out the massacre.
If Fugaku faced his own son, the odds were high he'd simply stand there and wait for death.
As for the other clansmen, they'd only fall even faster.
The more he thought about it, the darker Fugaku's expression grew. He simply lowered his head and stayed silent.
Ryota didn't bother with him any further, turning his gaze back to Uchiha Itachi, still trapped in the giant hand of Susanoo.
Itachi was still struggling, though his body was already exhausted.
"Madara… no."
"To be precise, it should be that idiot Obito—he's waiting for you not far from the village, isn't he?"
The icy composure in Itachi's eyes shattered in an instant, replaced by shock and trembling.
"You… how…"
His voice was hoarse, the words incomplete, as if he couldn't even form a proper sentence—only managing to rasp a few questioning fragments, as though demanding to know how Ryota could possibly know.
Ryota didn't explain. He simply gave a casual flick of his hand—
The blue-violet giant hand of Susanoo slammed downward.
BOOM!!!
The entire hall shook, the ground bursting open into a massive crater.
Uchiha Itachi was smashed into the floor, completely unconscious.
His ANBU uniform was torn to shreds, his long blade broken, his body lying in the dust.
Ryota withdrew Susanoo, the oppressive blue-violet Chakra gradually fading away.
He glanced at the unconscious Itachi buried in the dirt and said offhandedly:
"That guy's half-dead already."
"Take his eyes."
His tone carried no emotion, as though the one lying there wasn't the Uchiha's future, wasn't the genius boy's betrayal and struggle—
But simply a failed product worth harvesting for spare parts.
"E… eyes?!"
Uchiha Setsuna froze for a moment, a flicker of confusion and hesitation flashing across his face.
But when he caught Ryota's gaze, he immediately nodded and strode forward.
He drew a kunai, flipping his wrist.
Shhk—!
With a sharp, tearing sound, Uchiha Itachi let out a sudden, instinctive howl of pain.
It was the final cry before death, a last spasm of struggle.
His eyeballs were ripped out.
And so, the tragic son of the Uchiha who, in the original tale, bore hidden burdens and sacrificed himself for the so-called peace—
Couldn't even speak of his burden before, on this night, losing all meaning to his existence.
Uchiha Setsuna cupped the pair of eyes in his hands, carefully placing them into a cloth pouch before handing it to Ryota.
Ryota hefted the pouch in his hand, then lightly tossed it upward.
Before anyone could react—
Vrrm—
Ryota's right eye trembled, a vortex rippling into existence.
Kamui.
Space warped and collapsed, an invisible whirlpool opening like an endless abyss.
In the blink of an eye, the cloth pouch was swallowed into another dimension.
"Eyes from the Naruto world…"
He chuckled softly.
"They're always plug-and-play."
"Keeping them can't hurt."
Then, as if remembering something, Ryota added:
"…Time to deal with those two waiting to pick up the scraps."
At that, everyone froze.
"P… pick up the scraps?"
The clansmen glanced at each other, not understanding, but instinctively followed his gaze.
Ryota's eyes were fixed far beyond the clan grounds.
…
Meanwhile.
On a rocky rise not far from the Uchiha Clan Grounds, Shimura Danzō stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes locked on the section of the grounds cloaked in night.
His brow furrowed as he muttered to himself:
"…Too quiet."
From the moment Itachi slipped into the clan grounds, too much time had passed. Aside from the violent tremor earlier, the entire place had fallen utterly still.
No explosions, no sounds of fighting, not even the commotion of clansmen fleeing in fear.
It was as if the entire Uchiha Clan had fallen into complete deathly silence.
Just then, a shadow took form behind him.
A Root operative bowed low and spoke quietly:
"Lord Danzō."
"No abnormal reports so far. Everything is proceeding in silence."
"Itachi… hasn't acted yet?"
Danzō narrowed his eyes.
"Based on current intel, it appears not."
The Root member hesitated for a moment.
"Perhaps he encountered some… obstruction—"
"Impossible!"
Danzō snapped his sleeve.
"The Uchiha Clan? Stop Itachi?"
"They're just cornered beasts—they can't make any real waves!"
After a moment of silence, Danzō's tone turned cold:
"Take men inside. Check it out."
The Root member stiffened for a moment, but didn't dare argue, bowing respectfully:
"…Yes."
His figure melted back into the darkness.
Danzō remained where he was, staring hard at the grounds below, though a faint unease began to stir in his chest—one he had never felt before.
"What's gone wrong?"
His brow knit tighter and tighter.
The plan was supposed to be foolproof.
As long as Uchiha Itachi acted—
As long as the clansmen were all wiped out—
As long as his people appeared in the clan grounds at just the right moment…
Then all that would remain would be to harvest the spoils.
Sharingan.
Greed gleamed in Danzō's eyes, and the bandaged arm beneath his cloak twitched.
That arm wasn't ordinary—it held the cells of Hashirama Senju, one of the most dangerous powers in the shinobi world.
Though he had transplanted Hashirama's cells, he could never fully control them.
The power was too great—unrestrained, it would consume him.
The only thing that could suppress, balance, and keep it in check—was the Sharingan.
His orchestration of the massacre wasn't for so-called political stability, nor the legitimacy of the Will of Fire—it was to fulfill his own ambitions.
But now, this eerie silence was stirring that long-suppressed unease once more.
"The plan isn't wrong…"
"Then the problem… is who?"
As suspicion filled his mind—
Step… step… step…
Footsteps rang out suddenly behind him.
His expression darkened as he turned—
And the arm bound in layer upon layer of sealing bandages suddenly began to thrash violently!
The Hashirama cells!
The savagery and life force suppressed for so long seemed, in that instant, to be overwhelmed by some crushing force.
They were trembling, swelling, recoiling—no, it was like they were instinctively sensing the source.
"Something's wrong!"
Danzō's pupils contracted sharply, alarms blaring in his mind.
He clamped down on the seal with his right hand, the entire arm thrashing like a wild beast:
"What's going on… it's afraid?"
"The Hashirama cells… actually rejecting… someone approaching?"
"Who?!"
Danzō whipped around—
And saw a black-haired boy emerging slowly from the night.
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