The twilight was as dark as ink, pressing heavily upon the small courtyard where Shisui was temporarily staying.
He sat cross-legged on the cold veranda, his back straight as a ramrod, yet he resembled a sculpture whose soul had been hollowed out.
The distant lights of the Star City blurred into a hazy glow, failing to reflect in his newly regenerated, slowly spinning Three-Tomoe Sharingan.
Kanon's words were like icy, venomous vines that had long taken root deep within him, now frantically draining his past beliefs and twisting his heart and mind to the point of agony.
The destiny of the Uchiha Clan in Konoha?
He closed his eyes, and chaotic images surged in the darkness. Beneath the colossal waterfall of the Valley of the End was the world-shattering duel between Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara.
'In the end, the two most powerful souls could only conclude with one falling. Was this the fate of the co-founders from the very beginning? Had the seeds of conflict been sown from the start?'
The scene shifted abruptly.
In the solemn Hokage's office, the Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama, with hair as silver as snow, was sternly instructing a young Uchiha Clan's Ninja. The young man had a calm face and focused eyes… it was Shisui's grandfather, Uchiha Kagami.
The Second Hokage pointed at a scroll, explaining the intricacies of a certain sealing technique. Though his expression was stern, it lacked the deep-seated wariness he showed toward other Uchiha Clan's members.
The master-disciple legacy… this had once been the warmest glimmer of light in Shisui's heart, symbolizing that the divide was not insurmountable.
Next came the warm, sunlike smile of the Fourth Hokage, Namikaze Minato. Beside him stood the gentle Uzumaki Kushina, facing Fugaku and Mikoto.
The two couples raised their glasses in a small private room of a tavern. Fugaku, who is usually stern, showed a rare look of relaxation, while Minato laughed and patted his shoulder, seemingly sharing some amusing story.
The scene shifted again to before the mission at the Kannabi Bridge, where Minato solemnly handed a Flying Thunder God Kunai to the always-late but fiercely determined Uchiha boy… Uchiha Obito.
'Fourth Hokage-sama… he had genuinely accepted the Uchiha Clan.'
As his thoughts receded like the tide, they left behind cold, hard rocks… the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen.
Shisui strained to recall, but his memories seemed shrouded in a thick layer of dust. The Third Hokage always smiled kindly, giving speeches before the Memorial Stone, overlooking the village from the Hokage Rock.
What had he said to the Uchiha Clan? What tangible actions had he taken to bridge the gap, like the Second Hokage taking on a disciple or the Fourth Hokage forming friendships?
None.
There were only the vague, ambiguous phrases Fugaku brought back after each Konoha's council meeting: 'understanding', 'waiting for the right moment', 'considering the bigger picture'.
Behind the old man's gentle smile lay an unfathomable alienation and a suffocating sense of distance.
A deliberately forgotten answer, a shelved example!
"Cough."
A faint cough broke the deathly silence, like a stone dropped into a deep pool.
Shisui jolted in alarm, his Sharingan instantly locking onto the source of the sound.
The shadows in the courtyard seemed to come alive, silently coalescing into a figure. A black robe remained motionless in the night breeze, the dark patterns of the Nine-Masked Beasts on the cloak shimmering with an eerie glow under the moonlight.
A white three-eyed fox mask concealed the visitor's face, revealing only a pair of eyes as deep as abysses.
"It seems Kanon's words have given you much to think about." Shura's voice came through the mask, low and steady, betraying no emotion. He did not approach but leaned casually against a pillar as if merging with the shadows.
Every muscle in Shisui's body tensed instantly. His newly regenerated Sharingan spun wildly, attempting to capture even the slightest flaw in the other, but all he sensed was an unfathomable Chakra, vast and oceanic, hiding destructive power beneath its calm surface.
He forced himself to suppress his turbulent emotions, his voice hoarse from tension: "What guidance do you have, visiting so late, Shura-sama?"
"Guidance is not the word." Shura's gaze seemed to pierce through the mask, settling on Shisui's newly transplanted Sharingan.
He walked over and sat down casually beside him, his movements carrying an innate ease.
Shura walked over to him and sat down casually, his movements showing an innate calmness.
"She has seen much from the rise and fall of the Uzumaki Clan. She asked me…" Shura turned his head slightly, the eyeholes of the mask seeming to stare directly into Shisui's soul. With a tone of utter calm, he posed a question weighty as a mountain: "Has the Uchiha Clan ever owed Konoha anything?"
'Owed?'
The word pierced through Shisui's heavy confusion like a needle.
Almost without hesitation, he instinctively straightened his back, his newly regenerated Sharingan sharp and blazing: "No! The blood shed by the Uchiha Clan for Konoha, the sacrifices made, are second to none among any clan! From the village's founding to every Great Ninja War, the Uchiha's Sharingan has always been one of the sharpest blades protecting Konoha! The Military Police Force has maintained order within the village with utmost diligence!"
The sacrifices of Uchiha Clan's clansmen in the three Great Ninja Wars were too numerous to count, and even his grandfather, Uchiha Kagami, had died on the battlefield!
Shisui's voice was resolute, filled with undeniable pride and sorrow.
This was a belief etched into his very bloodline, the starting point of all his struggles.
Even Madara, in his time, had failed to take the entire Uchiha Clan with him!
"Good." Shura's voice seemed to carry a trace of faint, almost imperceptible approval, but it quickly turned colder and deeper.
"Then tell me, Shisui. If one day, a purge descends… not from external enemies, but from internal suspicion, fear, and the strife of power. When the executioner's blade is held against the neck of every Uchiha Clan's member, when the blood-stained moonlight of the night of the massacre envelops the Naka River... what will you do?"
The Night of Massacre!
These four words, heavy with the scent of blood, instantly choked Shisui's breath!
A sharp, phantom pain shot through his eyes, the image of Danzo smiling as he gouged them out flashed before him once more!
Then came the twisted, angry faces of the radical faction at the clan meeting, the increasingly silent and gaunt figure of Itachi shrouded in the shadows of the Anbu, the profound and unfathomable alienation hidden beneath the Third Hokage's gentle smile...
Countless fragments exploded and reassembled in his mind, finally transforming into a sea of crimson blood, drowning the faces of all the clansmen he knew!
'What would I do?'
Shisui's body trembled violently. His newly regenerated Sharingan spun wildly, trying to find a lifeline in the flood of despair.
'Seek help from the Third Hokage?'
The cold and indifferent figures of the Anbu in the Genjutsu poured ice water on his last shred of hope.
'Danzo had already taken my Mangekyo Sharingan. Did the Third Hokage… truly know nothing about it?'
'Would he really protect the Uchiha Clan?'
Kanon's words echoed like a curse.
'Resolving the conflict between the Uchiha Clan and Konoha is actually very simple. Why didn't the Third Hokage do it?'
Perhaps the answer was that someone among the village's upper-echelons simply didn't want it resolved, or even welcomed the conflict!
'Lead the entire clan in resistance?'
'That would be the spark igniting a civil war within Konoha, dragging countless innocents into a sea of blood!'
'And it would inevitably be crushed by all of Konoha's Ninja Clans and civilian shinobi, just like the rebellion of the Kaguya Clan!''
'Use all my strength to stop Itachi?'
'In the face of absolute power and meticulously planned schemes, how many clansmen could I protect with my strength alone?'
'What could I do?'
'What should I do?'
On one side was the clan that raised him, his blood-related family, and on the other was the village he had sworn loyalty to, the one he had protected with his life.
When these two were pushed to an absolute deadlock, where one must be destroyed to 'solve' the problem, where did his allegiance lie?
Where was his power?
What remained of his proud [Body Flicker] and [Kotoamatsukami] after losing his eyes?
Immense pain and confusion drowned him like a tidal wave.
He opened his mouth, but his throat felt blocked, unable to utter a sound.
He could only clench his fists tightly, nails digging deep into his palms, his body trembling slightly from the intense internal struggle.
The cold wood of the veranda seeped through his thin clothes, but it was nothing compared to the chill in his heart.
The moonlight fell on his heaving shoulders, casting a desperate and lonely silhouette.
The courtyard was filled only with the mournful sound of the wind chime on the eaves and his own breathing, suppressed to the extreme and unbearably heavy.
Something cold and icy landed silently on Shisui's tense, pain-wracked shoulder.
He flinched slightly and looked up blankly.
More of the coldness fell, fluttering down from the deep night sky.
Tiny, glistening ice crystals shimmered faintly in the moonlight, like shattered stars falling to the mortal world.
It was snowing.
The first snow of the Year 56 of Konoha Calendar had arrived without warning.
The cold snowflakes touched his burning skin, melting instantly, leaving behind a bone-chilling coldness, like a sigh of fate announcing the official beginning of a long and harsh winter.
Shura watched this scene quietly, his gaze beneath the mask profound and inscrutable.
He asked no more questions, offered no comfort, passed no judgment. He was merely a calm observer, watching the storm rage within Shisui's inner world.
That black figure, like ink blending into the night, gradually and silently dissipated amidst the dancing first snow, as if he had never been there at all.
Only Shisui remained, frozen on the cold veranda, a thin layer of snow accumulating on his shoulders, like a stone statue forgotten by the entire world.
In his newly regenerated pair of Sharingan, the three tomoes slowly spun behind the curtain of falling snow, reflecting the cold stars filling the sky, and also reflecting the bottomless confusion and the weight of the choice before him.
The snow piled up silently, gradually covering the clean gravel of the courtyard, as if trying to bury all traces of the past.