[POV: Shiro]
The sun was setting, and the shadows grew longer with each passing moment. In a remote corner of Konoha Village, the Uchiha clan's homes stood under the fading light, like an isolated, separate entity.
Shiro's ragged breaths echoed in the quiet alley. His chest heaved so violently it was as if his lungs were incapable of drawing in the heavy night air. In his mind, he counted the seconds. There wasn't much time left until full darkness fell and the slaughter began.
He couldn't afford to hesitate. If he did, the clan's guards, or worse, Itachi, would find him. At any second, he knew Itachi or Obito could emerge from the shadows and slit his throat.
Shiro had one thing they didn't: a plan.
The alleys were eerily quiet, a deceptive calm. The scent of dinner and the sound of families laughing drifted from the homes. These sounds were meaningless to him; they were only a nuisance he had to get past.
He ran toward the end of the clan grounds, where the old warehouses stood. He moved through the alleys, occasionally slowing his pace and treading carefully, knowing that any small sound could draw attention. Fear made his steps heavier.
Shiro reached the warehouse wall. He climbed atop a few wooden crates and approached an old window. From there, he peered inside.
It was pitch-black. Only the faint light of the sunset filtered in through small skylights in the ceiling, illuminating columns of dust motes suspended in the air. He was a little tired, but he couldn't stop yet. At any moment, he could be discovered.
With a small rock, he broke the window's lock, slowly pushed it open, and slipped into the warehouse. The smell of dampness and dust filled his nose. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Large sacks of flour were piled on top of one another.
He went to the first sack, which lay in a corner. The fabric was old and worn. He took a sharp stone from his pocket and pressed it against the sack. With each scratch, the threads of the fabric gave way. A faint rustling sound echoed in the warehouse. Shiro held his breath. No sound came from outside.
"Did they hear that?" This doubt deepened his fear. The flour began to spill onto the ground.
After a few moments, he moved to the next sack, which was resting on a rotting wooden shelf. He carefully climbed onto the shelf and lifted the sack. This time, he had to apply more pressure to move it. Suddenly, the rustling sound of footsteps was heard again. His heart leaped.
He reassured himself, "No… that's not the sound of a shinobi. A ninja moves silently. It must be some kind of animal."
He quickly got back to work. He made a small hole in the sack, and the flour slowly drifted into the air. He swiftly backed away and listened again. He heard no sound other than the distant rustling of the wind and the faint whisper of the flour particles. He repeated this several times, until he felt that soon the flour would create a thick fog throughout the entire warehouse.
After a short breath, he bent the sack a little and used his fingertips to make the hole bigger. The flour particles poured out with greater force, hanging in the air like a thin smoke dancing in the dim light.
Shiro felt he heard footsteps again, this time coming from the front of the warehouse. He backed his foot away and pressed himself against the wall. He listened carefully. The sound of footsteps, slow and heavy, was coming from a distance. This time, it was definitely the sound of a person. He held his breath and hid behind a wooden box. The sound of the footsteps passed by the warehouse and faded away.
Once Shiro was sure that whoever it was had moved on, he jumped toward a rusty oil drum half-filled with old oil. He pulled a strip of cloth from his pocket and soaked it in the oil. Then, he unrolled the strip and tossed it toward the window he had entered from. He intended to use the cloth strip as a fuse.
His anxiety had multiplied. He climbed the wall and reached the window. For a moment, the cloth almost snagged on a nail sticking out of the wall and tore. Shiro took a deep breath. He slowly peeked out the window. It was completely dark. Once he was sure no one was around, he leaped outside and pulled the cloth out from between the window seams.
He climbed down from the crates, then reached for his lighter to ignite the tip of the cloth. His small hands were trembling. The small flame of the lighter started to burn and slowly caught on the cloth. The sound of the wind was like a storm to him. He was holding his breath.
He slowly walked backward behind the shelves, making sure his path was clear. He feared the cloth would tear before the fire reached it, or worse, that the sacks would spill prematurely and ruin the entire plan. He quickly began running, disappearing into the long shadows of the clan's walls.
In one of the alleys, he heard a rustling sound. Shiro held his breath and hid behind a garbage can. Suddenly, a stray cat emerged from beside the can and let out a soft meow. Shiro didn't allow himself to relax and continued on his way.
Suddenly, a loud scream echoed from a distance. It was followed by the clash of swords and horrifying shouts. Shiro stopped. The slaughter had begun.
He ran with all his might, no longer bothering with caution. His small, trembling legs occasionally stumbled on the stones. He feared that Itachi or Obito would appear in front of him at any moment.
BOOM!
The sound of the warehouse exploding shook everything. The sound wave hit his ears like a storm. For a moment, the noise echoed inside his skull and everything went blurry, causing him to lose his balance. His ears rang, and the world around him became a blurry, shimmering curtain.
He crawled on the ground, dragging his hand along the wall to stay upright, but his legs could not bear the weight of his body and trembled. His blood was filled with adrenaline. The explosion had caused everyone to rush out of their homes, and a large number of the clan members began running toward the sound. He knew this was all a result of his plan, which had made all the Uchiha members alert and rush toward the warehouse.
Ignoring them, he ran in the opposite direction of the warehouse.
Suddenly, he saw a body lying in a corner. The lifeless eyes were still open, their empty gaze fixed on an unknown place. A streak of blood dripped from the corner of the man's mouth onto the pavement, and with each drop, a faint drip… drip… echoed in the empty alley. Shiro lowered his head, but the image of the man's trembling hand, as if still trying to grab his broken sword, was seared into his mind for a long time.
He passed by with slow steps and held breath, trying not to let even his shadow make a sound. The smell of blood and dirt reached his nose. It was clear that Itachi had just passed through this way.
BOOM!
The sound of the second explosion arrived. He paused, listened, and when he was sure no one had noticed him, he moved again. In a moment, he saw a shadow on the wall. He looked around, saw a broken window, and quickly leaped into the house. He pressed his back against the wall beneath the window, covering his mouth with both hands to muffle his breathing. He felt someone pass overhead. After a few breaths that felt like hours, he cautiously got up and went outside.
The alleys were a little quieter, and the main noise was still coming from the direction of the warehouse. Traces of blood and a struggle were visible on the walls and the ground. Shiro's breathing grew fast and shallow. His heart pounded with excitement and fear. For a brief moment, he felt he had succeeded. The plan was working; the Uchiha were alerted, Itachi and Obito were distracted by the explosion, and he was able to get some distance from them.
A small house at the end of the alley came into view. Shiro, with firm but weary steps, entered Izumi's house. In that moment, even though his whole body trembled with fear, deep down, he felt a sense of victory.