Chapter 68 – The Dawn of Itachi
The morning sun rose bright and warm, spilling golden light across Konoha. Yet inside the Uchiha household, time seemed to freeze.
Mikoto's cries echoed from the inner room, midwives rushing in and out, their hushed voices carrying urgency. Outside the door, two figures waited—one tall and stern, the other young and fidgeting.
Fugaku sat stiffly on a low bench, arms crossed, his face calm as stone. But his tapping foot betrayed him. Every sharp cry from within made his fingers twitch, his jaw clench. For all his famed composure as Uchiha clan head, Fugaku Uchiha was just a man—an anxious husband on the edge.
Akira paced in small circles, hands wringing together. His golden Byakugan flickered unconsciously, straining to see through the walls before he forced himself to deactivate it.
"I… I can't just stand here," Akira muttered, glancing toward the door.
"You will stand here," Fugaku replied, his voice steady but quieter than usual. "We wait. That is our duty."
Akira shot him a side glance. "Easy for you to say! You're sitting there like some stone statue, but your leg hasn't stopped bouncing for the last ten minutes."
Fugaku froze, his foot immediately stilling. His eyes narrowed at Akira, but the boy only grinned nervously.
Silence stretched for a moment. Then another cry rang out—louder this time. Both Fugaku and Akira flinched. The boy's grin faltered.
"…She'll be okay, right?" Akira whispered, worry cracking his voice.
For once, Fugaku didn't scold him for doubting. His gaze softened ever so slightly, though his words remained firm.
"Mikoto is strong. Stronger than either of us. Believe in her."
Akira swallowed hard and nodded, but his hands still fidgeted. Minutes dragged on like hours. He tried to distract himself—imagining Itachi's tiny hands, his laugh, the way he would one day look up to him—but the thought of what he remembered from the "original story" returned, gnawing at his chest.
No. Stop. Today isn't about that. Today, he's just being born. A new beginning.
The cry inside the room suddenly shifted—higher, sharper, but this time, it wasn't Mikoto. It was small, fragile, yet strong. A newborn's cry.
Akira froze. Fugaku shot to his feet. For a heartbeat, the world went silent around them. Then, the midwife slid the door open, her tired face glowing with joy.
"Congratulations. It's a boy."
Fugaku exhaled deeply—like he'd been holding his breath for hours. A small, rare smile tugged at his lips.
Akira's heart skipped, his whole body buzzing with relief and joy.
They stepped inside together.
There lay Mikoto, exhausted but radiant, cradling a small bundle in her arms. Tiny eyes blinked open, curious and calm, the world reflected in them.
Akira's chest tightened. His voice came out in a whisper.
"…Itachi."
The baby's cry softened, almost as if recognizing his name.
Fugaku leaned down, placing a firm but gentle hand on Mikoto's shoulder. His stoic mask had cracked—pride and warmth flickered through.
Mikoto smiled tiredly, shifting the baby slightly so Akira could see him better.
"Come meet your brother," she said softly.
Akira stepped closer, his golden eyes shimmering as he gazed down at the fragile life in Mikoto's arms. His restless nerves were gone, replaced by something heavier—an overwhelming, protective love.
He reached out, gently brushing a finger against Itachi's tiny hand. The baby grasped it instinctively, and Akira felt tears sting his eyes.
From this moment on… I'll protect you. No matter what fate says. No matter what history remembers. You'll have a future full of light.
For the first time in years, Akira smiled with pure, unbroken happiness.
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