Then came the night of the massacre.
Fugaku and Mikoto Uchiha were aware of the coup d'état planned by the clan against the village. They understood the gravity of the situation. When Itachi entered their home, they did not resist. Silence filled the room as they faced the inevitable, their eyes on their eldest son. Fugaku's voice trembled slightly as he spoke, "Itachi… do what you must. Remember, we love you."
Mikoto added softly, tears glinting in the lamplight, "Take care of your brother, Sasuke… and remember our love, always."
Itachi's hand shook faintly as he executed his task. His movements were precise, swift, and merciless, but a cold ache clutched at his heart with each action.
Meanwhile, outside their home in a quiet corner of the village, Miyako was training Renji under the dim moonlight. She moved with precise control, focusing on her chakra to guide Renji's posture and timing. He watched, alert, ready to assist, but conscious that his power was still limited.
The night's silence shattered as Itachi emerged from the shadows, his eyes cold and unwavering.
Miyako reacted immediately, stepping between Itachi and Renji. Her chakra flared defensively, shaping the ground and air around her.
Renji felt his pulse spike. Mother… she's so strong… but how can anyone fight that… that power?
He moved instinctively, launching small bursts of fire toward Itachi to support her, creating brief distractions and openings. His attacks were weak compared to Miyako's precision, but he tried to follow her lead, hoping to buy her even a fraction of a second.
I need to help her… if I could only be stronger… if I had trained more, not hidden my other jutsu… maybe I could actually fight, not just support…
Itachi advanced, analyzing Miyako with deadly precision. She countered with a fluid mixture of fire, earth, and taijutsu, moving with speed and focus that left Renji awestruck. He ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding stray attacks, all the while sending supporting fireballs to slow Itachi.
A precise strike from Itachi landed. Miyako cried out, her body collapsing under the blow. Renji froze, horror washing over him. His mother, the person who had trained and protected him, was lying on the ground, blood spreading beneath her.
No… no, this can't be… I should have done more… I should have…
Before Renji could react further, Itachi lunged at him. Pain seared through his chest as the blade pierced him. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision.
When Itachi stepped back and temporarily retreated, Renji struggled to move, dragging himself across the ground. Bloodied and trembling, he crawled toward his mother, hands scraping against the cold earth. He tried to call out, to touch her, to do anything to keep her safe—but his body would not obey fully.
If only I were stronger… if only I hadn't hidden my abilities… maybe I could have stopped this… maybe I could have saved her…
The trauma and grief ignited something deep inside him. His eyes snapped open, and a surge of energy coursed through his body. The Sharingan awakened—but not in the crimson hue of the Uchiha. A brilliant emerald light flared from his eyes. In an instant, the Mangekyō Sharingan came alive, thrumming with raw, unrestrained power.
Renji's hands trembled with the intensity of the chakra flowing through him. He tried, in his dazed state, to reach Miyako, but his body failed him. His movements were sluggish, his strength waning, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not close the distance. Helplessness and pain overwhelmed him.
Finally, his small frame went limp, the emerald light dimming as his life slipped away. Renji died inches from the mother who had raised and trained him, the Mangekyō still faintly glowing, sending tiny, chaotic ripples into the ground—a silent testament to the power that had only begun to awaken within him.
Itachi, having retreated after the first strike, did not notice the subtle surges hidden within the boy's final moments. To him, Renji was simply another casualty of the night, unseen and unheard in his awakening potential. Duty demanded continuation, and he turned away, leaving the courtyard and the fallen mother and son behind.
The village streets were silent, save for the faint echo of the tragedy that had unfolded. Shadows stretched across the walls, carrying with them the weight of grief, power, and untapped potential. In that quiet, the seeds of a destiny unlike any other had been sown—a child's final moments marking the beginning of a story that would ripple across the village for decades to come, hidden yet impossible to erase.