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The sun rose over Konoha with a crimson hue, as though the heavens themselves bled for the Uchiha. The village buzzed with confusion, grief, and fear. Rumors raced faster than shinobi: The Uchiha are gone. Itachi betrayed them. Sasuke survived.
ANBU patrolled every street. ROOT operatives slithered through the shadows, searching for traces, for survivors, for anything unexplained. The Third Hokage's office was swamped with reports and arguments—yet no one noticed a single orphan genin walking quietly toward the mission desk to sign for another D-rank assignment.
Kirito blended perfectly. His face calm, his steps casual. Inside, however, he carried the weight of a secret vault.
---
That night, he returned to his hidden lab.
His clones had already organized the loot into neat stacks. The dim glow of lanterns reflected off countless sealing scrolls and jars of preserved eyes. The air smelled of ink, metal, and faint chemicals—a sanctum of forbidden knowledge.
On the central table lay the inventory:
1 Mangekyō Sharingan – still pulsing faintly, Fugaku's legacy.
10 Three-tomoe Sharingan – prime eyes of the clan's most skilled warriors.
5 Two-tomoe Sharingan, 13 One-tomoe Sharingan – younger shinobi, potential wasted in blood.
9 Preserved Bodies – including Fugaku and Mikoto, sealed perfectly for research.
Countless Scrolls – elemental techniques, genjutsu manuals, medical notes, and the rarest of all… advanced fuinjutsu scrolls.
As well as izanagi and Izanami techniques
370 million ryō – clan funds, heirlooms, and reserves, enough to rival some noble houses.
Kirito let his gaze linger on the Mangekyō Sharingan. Even sealed within its jar, its power seemed to radiate through the room, whispering promises of might and madness.
"Not yet," he murmured to himself. "Power without preparation is death."
---
Days passed.
In the lab, his clones dissected bodies, mapping chakra pathways, analyzing nervous systems, testing reactions of Sharingan eyes under controlled chakra exposure. Others studied scrolls, carefully copying or memorizing advanced jutsu before resealing them.
Kirito himself focused on the fuinjutsu texts. At last, here was the answer he had sought—the key to hiding his chakra core from Byakugan users, to sealing away power until the right time, to protecting himself from detection. The art was complex, layered with deadly risks, but his mind was sharp and patient. He would master it.
Outside, the village wept. Sasuke was officially labeled the sole survivor, placed under special watch. Whispers followed him everywhere, sympathy laced with suspicion. Danzo's men slithered closer to the boy, but Hiruzen kept them at bay—for now.
Kirito observed all this silently. He made no move toward Sasuke, though his clones continued to watch from a distance, ensuring no detail was lost. He could not afford exposure, not yet.
---
One evening, as he dismissed his clones, he sat back in his lab chair, staring at the spoils of the massacre.
This is my beginning, he thought. They will think the Uchiha are gone. But from their ashes, I will forge something greater. Not as their kin, not as their avenger—but as their shadow.
For the first time in months, a small smile touched his lips.
The world believed the Uchiha were dead.
But in the depths of the Forest of Death, their legacy lived on—twisted, dissected, absorbed into the plans of one boy who refused to bow to fate.
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