Asuma Sarutobi's eyes widened in sheer disbelief when he saw the figure of Indra standing before him. For a fleeting second, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. His heart skipped a beat, his expression stiffened, and his lips parted without words escaping.
To be precise, Asuma had completely forgotten about Indra. The man standing before him, exuding such overwhelming presence and ruthlessness, was a shadow in his memories, something he never considered important enough to remember.
The last time Asuma had seen him was when Indra was still very small — a boy training clumsily yet stubbornly alongside Anko and Kurenai. At that time, Asuma had dismissed him as nothing more than a child with no importance, someone who would remain in the background forever.
And honestly, Asuma would have never thought, not even in his wildest dreams, that the kid he had brushed off so casually back then… would be the one standing before him today, mocking his existence, and preparing to turn his world upside down.
The irony stung his heart.
Indra, noticing Asuma's hesitation, tilted his head slightly and let out a dramatic sigh. His voice dripped with playful cruelty as he said:
"Asuma-senpai, you forgot about me? How cruel… I am feeling so sad…"
He widened his eyes in a comical display of innocence, clasped his hands to his chest, and acted like a pitiful lost kitten abandoned in the rain. His mocking tone, deliberately exaggerated, contrasted sharply with the bloodlust hidden in his eyes.
Kurenai, who stood nearby, could not hold back a chuckle. The corners of her lips curled into an unintentional smile, and a soft laugh slipped past her lips. Her laughter was brief, yet its sound echoed sweetly like bells in the silent tension.
For Asuma, that single laugh was enough to melt his heart. He was mesmerized. His eyes locked onto Kurenai's lips, the way they curved, the faint dimples that appeared, and the glimmer of joy in her eyes. In that instant, his heart pounded, and a vivid image filled his imagination.
He pictured a future where that laughter belonged only to him, where he would wake up every morning beside her, where he would be the reason she smiled, laughed, and lived happily.
It was a beautiful future. It was the future he wanted.
And yet, in reality, that laughter was not meant for him.
Asuma, in his clumsy attempt to find a rational explanation for the strange interaction between Indra and Kurenai, began to think wildly.
'Could this kid… maybe be related to Kurenai? Maybe her cousin? Or perhaps… Anko's younger brother?'
The thought spun in his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Whatever the relation might be, it was irrelevant to him. He decided not to dwell on such matters and forced himself to laugh lightly, brushing the situation off as if it were nothing.
"My bad," Asuma said with a half-smile, raising a hand dismissively, "for forgetting you."
Indra, however, was not finished with his mockery. He stepped forward slowly, his eyes glinting as he spoke in a soft, almost nostalgic tone:
"But Asuma-senpai… you met me when you were my age. I was still small back then, training with Anko and Kurenai. Do you remember? You even gave me some snacks."
The words struck Asuma like a dart piercing through the fog of his sluggish memory. His brain, which was relatively slower to process such recollections, began to churn rapidly.
Fragments of memory came back — a small boy with dark eyes training awkwardly, Anko's fiery voice shouting at him, Kurenai's gentle corrections. And yes, the moment he had casually tossed some snacks to the boy, never expecting that small act of kindness to ever matter.
A laugh broke from Asuma's lips, forced and uneasy. "You're right. I remember now. How are you these days, huh?"
He reached out and patted Indra's shoulder with exaggerated friendliness, trying to cover up the awkwardness. His words flowed into a string of nonsense, filled with the typical arrogance he used whenever he wanted to boast about himself.
He started talking about his so-called great adventures in the Fire Nation, how he had met important people, and how significant his role was for the Fire Daimyo. He exaggerated every detail, puffing himself up like a proud bird, trying to make his life seem grander than it truly was.
All of this was done with one goal — to create a more impactful impression in front of Kurenai.
But unfortunately, his efforts were wasted.
Kurenai's attention was not on him. Her eyes lingered only on Indra. Every small movement Indra made, every word he uttered, drew her in deeper.
For Asuma, this realization was like a dagger twisting in his chest. Yet he tried to hide the jealousy burning in his eyes, keeping his fake smile intact.
In a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation, Asuma suddenly asked, "Wait, Indra. Do you… have a girlfriend? With such a beautiful face, I assume you must have a lot of girls falling for you."
The words were meant as a light joke, but beneath them lay Asuma's own insecurity, a subtle attempt to redirect Kurenai's attention toward himself by implying Indra was already occupied.
Indra, catching the hidden intent, acted embarrassed. His eyes lowered, a faint blush painted his cheeks, and he said slyly:
"Asuma-senpai, you are also looking so manly."
The praise, though sharp with hidden mockery, landed exactly where Indra intended.
Hearing those words, Asuma's chest swelled with pride. He secretly glanced toward Kurenai, hoping she had noticed the compliment. And indeed, he caught her gaze — though it wasn't admiration for him, but rather curiosity still directed at Indra.
Nevertheless, Asuma's fragile ego was satisfied, and for a brief moment, he felt a rush of happiness, convinced he had scored some small victory.
But then, in the very next heartbeat, everything crumbled.
Indra suddenly stepped forward, closing the distance, and came to Kurenai's side. The swiftness of his movement surprised Asuma, leaving him stunned.
And before he could process what was happening, before he could utter a word of protest, Asuma saw something that shattered his fragile dreams like glass breaking into pieces.
Indra hugged Kurenai, pulling her into his arms.
Kurenai, though shy, did not resist. Her cheeks flushed red, her lips trembled slightly, but her eyes softened.
Then Indra lowered his head and kissed her lips passionately.
The soundless moment burned into Asuma's eyes, searing his heart with a pain he had never felt before.
Asuma's entire body stiffened when his eyes fell upon the scene before him. His breath caught in his throat, his heart thudded violently inside his chest, and his mind screamed in denial.
Indra's lips pressed against Kurenai's in a bold, passionate kiss. The image burned itself into his vision like an unshakable curse, forcing him to watch every second of it, to witness the betrayal of his hopes, his dreams, and the fragile future he had built in his imagination.
Asuma's eyes trembled, his vision turning red with rage and despair. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked, and veins bulged along his forehead.
For years, he had enjoyed the thrill of intimacy with women who belonged to others, the dark pleasure of taking what was not his. It had been his indulgence, his sin, his twisted satisfaction — to betray others and justify it with false bravado.
But now… now the tables had turned.
Today, he was the one being betrayed. He was the one being humiliated. He was the one watching another man kiss the woman he desired more than anything.
It felt like hell itself had opened before his eyes.
His rage exploded. Bloodlust filled his gaze, sharp and murderous. His breathing grew ragged, and his entire body shook violently under the weight of his fury.
His chest heaved, and with a sudden convulsion, blood erupted from his lips. The metallic taste filled his mouth, but even through the pain, his eyes remained fixed on Kurenai and Indra, who were still locked in that intimate embrace.
It was unbearable.
It was torture.
It was humiliation carved into his very soul.
Indra slowly pulled away from Kurenai, the faint trace of a smirk playing on his lips. His golden eyes glowed with merciless amusement as he turned his head.
He locked his gaze directly onto Asuma — not merely looking at him, but piercing into the deepest layers of his anguish, savoring every shred of his suffering.
And then, with deliberate cruelty, Indra's smirk widened.
It wasn't just a smile.
It was the smile of someone who had orchestrated this entire nightmare solely for the sake of watching another man crumble.
Asuma's lips trembled. His throat opened, but no sound came out. He wanted to scream, to curse, to attack, but his body betrayed him.
All he could do was cough out another spurt of blood as his eyes turned even redder with seething rage.
Far in the background, the Third Hokage stood frozen, his hands tightening around the bag he had caught earlier. His wrinkles twitched, his face pale, his heart crushed beneath the weight of the genjutsu Indra had trapped him in.
Every image, every sound, every moment was being forcefully carved into his vision.
He saw his son's humiliation.
He saw Kurenai's indifference.
He saw Indra's merciless smile.
The pain was unbearable. The sorrow was endless. His chest felt like it was splitting open.
And yet, he could not look away.
Indra's voice rang out, smooth and cruel, echoing across the illusion:
"This… Asuma-senpai… is the price you pay for forgetting me. For dismissing me. For daring to believe you could own what was never yours."
He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate, each step sending another ripple of torment through the genjutsu.
Asuma's body shook violently. His teeth ground against each other, blood dripped down his lips, and his eyes blazed with unquenchable fury.
He wanted to fight back. He wanted to strike. He wanted to tear Indra apart.
But his body was powerless.
The illusion chained him, forcing him to witness everything.
And then…
With a sharp movement, Indra's hand reached forward. His fingers, glowing with sinister chakra, plunged into Asuma's face.
A scream tore from Asuma's throat — raw, guttural, filled with both agony and despair.
Indra's fingers wrapped around Asuma's eyes, and with a violent pull, he ripped them out.
Blood splattered across the ground. Asuma's screams echoed, his body thrashing wildly as his vision turned into endless darkness.
The Third Hokage's face twisted in sheer horror. His lips quivered, his hands shook, his chest tightened as he watched his son's eyes being taken away before him.
His breath faltered. His knees nearly buckled. His entire being screamed in silent pain.
This was beyond cruelty.
This was torture designed specifically for him.
Indra held the bloody eyes in his palm and raised them before the Third Hokage, his smile sharp and mocking.
"This," Indra said coldly, "is my charge for letting him witness what he was never meant to see. A kiss that belonged to me."
His words stabbed into the Hokage's heart like poisoned daggers.
Asuma, blinded and screaming, collapsed to his knees. Blood dripped down his cheeks like rivers, staining the ground.
Every breath was agony, every movement torment, every heartbeat a reminder of his humiliation.
But Indra wasn't finished.
He leaned closer, his voice lowering to a whisper that echoed like thunder:
"Now… you will watch the rest."
His hand moved again, this time toward Asuma's neck. His fingers curved like claws, pressing against the vulnerable skin.
The tension in the illusion thickened. The Hokage's chest heaved violently, his eyes widened in horror, and every nerve in his body screamed to move, to intervene, to stop what was about to happen.
But the genjutsu held him still.
He was trapped, forced to watch, powerless.
Indra's smirk deepened as he tightened his grip, pressing his fingers against Asuma's throat.
Kurenai, standing nearby within the illusion, did not flinch. She did not cry. She did not scream. Her face was calm, her eyes cold, her silence louder than any words could ever be.
Because she had seen the truth.
She had seen Asuma's shamelessness.
She had seen his betrayal with other women.
She had heard his justification that it was all "for her sake."
And in her heart, she felt no guilt for what was happening now.
The Hokage's chest caved under the crushing despair. His wrinkled face twisted, tears brimmed in his eyes, and his lips trembled as a broken whisper escaped:
"Asuma…"
His voice cracked, drenched in sorrow, shattering like brittle glass.
Indra's eyes flickered with merciless amusement as he raised his hand higher, as if ready to tear off Asuma's head completely.
The air trembled with tension. The ground seemed to pulse with each heartbeat. The illusion held every soul within it on the edge of collapse.
Asuma, blinded and broken, gasped desperately, his body trembling, his mind swimming in pain and despair.
The Hokage's body shook violently, his will crushed beneath the unbearable torment.
Indra's fingers tensed — the motion clear, the intention undeniable.
And then…
The scene froze.
The image of Indra about to strike burned vividly in the Third Hokage's eyes, holding him in a state of absolute dread.
The illusion did not end.
But neither did the strike fall.
It lingered, poised at the edge, leaving the outcome uncertain, dangling the Hokage's heart over the abyss of despair.
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End of Chapter
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