KONOHA
Another day passed in the Hidden Leaf. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows, while the cool evening breeze whispered through the streets.
For decades, Konoha had held the title of the strongest hidden village. Many believed that with the death of the era's greatest shinobi, that title would slip away. Yet, time and again, they were proven wrong. The Leaf had emerged victorious in three great shinobi wars, facing threats far greater than those that had ever loomed over any other village.
But Konoha was known not only for its strength, its history was equally marked by tragedy. Disasters that seemed to happen nowhere else repeated themselves here with grim regularity. And just yesterday, that cycle began anew.
Uchiha Itachi, the eldest son of Clan Head Uchiha Fugaku, had slaughtered the entire Uchiha clan, sparing only his younger brother.
When word first spread, the shinobi world dismissed it as an impossible rumour. After all, Itachi was only thirteen years old. Even if he were already on par with a Kage, wiping out the Uchiha, one of the most powerful and historically resilient clans, should have been impossible. Yet the reports were soon confirmed. The unthinkable had happened.
The Uchiha clan was gone.
Konoha's strongest clan was gone.
And in every corner of the shinobi world, one question echoed: What in the hell is wrong with Konoha?
How could they allow this?
Why destroy the golden goose that laid the village's strongest warriors?
Few believed that Itachi acted alone or that he truly committed the massacre of his own will. Those familiar with the long and turbulent history between the Uchiha and the village saw through the façade instantly. Why had there been no intervention from the Leaf? No reinforcements?
While tensions between the clan and the village leadership had been no secret, no one imagined the rift would end in annihilation.
The massacre also revealed something far more dangerous: Konoha was weakening.
The White Fang was long dead. The Senju had all but vanished. One Sannin had betrayed the village and fled; the other two were absent with no signs of return. The Fourth Hokage had fallen. The Nine-Tails' jinchūriki was gone. And now, the Uchiha were nothing but ash and memory.
In many ways, Konoha's state mirrored the blood-soaked decline of Kirigakure, its most capable hands cut away one after another.
Sensing opportunity, rival villages began to quietly mass forces along their borders, ready to test the Leaf's defences.
As for the sole surviving Uchiha, no one cared. The boy was only seven, his Sharingan still unopened. Compared to his prodigious brother, his talent seemed unremarkable. He was deemed too insignificant to monitor, just another child of a fallen clan destined to fade into obscurity.
Of course, they didn't know, could not know, just how significant he truly was for Konoha's future. But the village elders did. That was why both Root operatives and ANBU agents kept silent watch from the shadows, their masked faces glimpsed just beyond the hospital window, as the boy lay unconscious on his bed.
His breathing was shallow, his face tense. Nightmarish visions clawed at his mind.
"My dear brother… hate me. Despise me. Live a life consumed by hatred."
"You are too weak to kill. Become strong, strong enough for me to take those eyes of yours."
Those cold words echoed endlessly in his head, intertwined with the blood-soaked image of the Uchiha compound. Pools of crimson glistened beneath the moonlight, corpses lying where they had fallen, his family, his clan, while the metallic scent of death choked the air. The pain wrenched an instinctive cry from his lips, even in his unconscious state.
But that wasn't all he saw.
There was something else.
Something far stranger.
The memories were his, and yet, they weren't. They confused him, layered over his grief like a second skin. Beyond the massacre, beyond Itachi's words, he saw visions of another kind, his life, his future, laid out not as reality, but as a story for entertainment.
He saw the truth. The real mastermind behind the massacre. The danger of this world, the enemies who would come for him, the wars that would consume nations. And beyond even that, worlds outside this one, shadows stretching far past the shinobi lands.
The sunlight lingered too long on his face. His eyes snapped open.
"It's fake! It's all a lie!" he shouted, voice hoarse.
The words had barely left Sasuke's mouth before the window slid open without a sound. A blur of black and steel swept into the room, ANBU. The figure in the cat mask landed silently beside his bed, every movement precise and controlled.
Before the nurse outside could even step through the doorway, the masked shinobi spoke in a low, even voice:
"Uchiha Sasuke. Your elder brother, Uchiha Itachi, has massacred the entire Uchiha clan. He is now an S-class missing-nin, labelled a traitor to the Leaf. The Hokage has instructed that you remain in the hospital until you are fully recovered, before returning to your home."
Without another word, the ANBU operative vanished in a flicker, leaving only the faint stir of the curtains in his wake, gone before Sasuke's eyes could even focus on him.
The door creaked open, and the nurse stepped inside. Her gaze fell on the boy sitting there, still and hollow-eyed, as if his very soul had been torn from his body. She muttered something under her breath, half an apology, half an expression of pity, before quickly crossing the room to check on him.
Sasuke didn't react. Not to her words. Not to her touch. He sat in silence, lost somewhere far beyond the white walls of the hospital.
Still, the nurse worked with quiet determination, checking his vitals, adjusting his blankets, making sure everything was in order. When she was certain he was stable, she left without a single complaint.
No one in the village knew the full truth of what had happened, but they all understood one thing. Uchiha Sasuke was the last of his clan, and under their care, nothing, absolutely nothing, must be allowed to happen to him.
"So it is true."
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