Chapter 13: The Aftermath and a New Gaze
After the psychic trauma of the Tsukuyomi, Uchiha Sasuke stumbled from the house, his mind a fractured landscape of his brother's cruelty and his parents' still forms. He fled into the street, a small, broken figure in a graveyard of his own clan.
He hadn't run far when a figure materialized before him, blocking his path. Uchiha Itachi stood, impassive, his gaze a chilling void.
"To kill a sniveling weakling like you holds no meaning," Itachi's voice was flat, devoid of any brotherly warmth. "Foolish little brother. If you wish to kill me, then curse me. Hate me. And live an unsightly life, clinging to survival. Run, and run, and escape. Just keep running. Then, one day, when you possess the same eyes as I… find me."
Kamikawa Hiraoka, watching from the shadows, murmured, "Now. It happens now."
As if summoned by his words, a wave of pure, unadulterated hatred—the only emotion strong enough to pierce the numbing horror—surged through Sasuke. His head snapped up, and his dark eyes swirled, the pupils bleeding into a bloody crimson. A single, sharp tomoe spun into existence within each.
The One-Tomoe Sharingan. Born from trauma.
Seeing the awakening in his brother's eyes, a flicker of something—satisfaction? sorrow?—crossed Itachi's face so quickly it was almost imperceptible. With a final, contemptuous glance, he leaped onto a nearby pole. He paused for a moment, his profile silhouetted against the cold moon, a silent promise of a future confrontation. Then, he was gone, vanishing into the night as if he were a part of the darkness itself.
Hiraoka let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The main act was over. The Uchiha clan was gone, and the Avenger was born. As he prepared to leave, a new group of figures emerged at the edge of the compound. Leading them was a man leaning on a cane, his head wrapped in bandages.
Shimura Danzo, Hiraoka thought, a cold knot forming in his stomach. The vulture arrives to pick the bones. He knew the purpose of this visit was not to mourn, but to harvest. The Sharingan eyes of the fallen were priceless trophies for the leader of the Foundation.
Deciding he had seen enough, Hiraoka melted back into the shadows, his own heart heavy with the price of the power he had just acquired.
Back in the safety of his room, Hiraoka stood before his mirror. He took a steadying breath and focused. A familiar heat bloomed behind his eyes, and when he looked again, his reflection had transformed.
His pupils were now a brilliant, bloody scarlet. Within them, three comma-shaped tomoe spun slowly around the center, a perfect and powerful triad. The Three-Tomoe Sharingan.
A thrill, fierce and possessive, shot through him. "Incredible," he whispered to his reflection. The world through these eyes was sharper, more defined, every minute detail in the room crystal clear. He was now a bearer of the legendary visual prowess of the Uchiha. This was more than a tool; it was a shield, a key to untold potential.
With another thought, the crimson faded, and his eyes returned to their normal, unassuming state. The power was now a secret, a trump card hidden away.
The news of the Uchiha massacre spread through Konoha like a wildfire, then across the entire shinobi world. It was a shockwave of disbelief and grim speculation. The mighty Uchiha, wiped out in a single night by one of their own. The sole survivor, a young boy, became a living monument to the tragedy.
A month later, at the Ninja Academy, the atmosphere was still somber. Kamikawa Hiraoka glanced at the empty seat that had once been Uchiha Sasuke's.
"He's still recovering, I suppose," Hiraoka murmured. "The mind takes longer to heal than the body."
"Class, settle down," Iruka's voice cut through the whispers, his own tone heavy. "Let's focus on the lesson."
The classroom door slid open. Everyone turned. Uchiha Sasuke stood there. He was the same, yet utterly transformed. The aloof pride was gone, replaced by a glacial coldness that seemed to radiate from him. His eyes, when they scanned the room, were empty pools of obsidian, devoid of any light. The Uchiha fan on his back was no longer a symbol of pride, but a brand of solitary suffering.
He walked to his seat without a word, his movements economical and detached.
"Iruka-sensei," he said, his voice flat and devoid of its former youthful edge. "Begin the lesson."
Iruka looked at the boy, his heart aching with a teacher's pity, but he only nodded. "Very well. Let's begin."
Time flowed onward, carrying them toward their graduation. In the months that followed, Hiraoka trained relentlessly, his new Sharingan granting him insights that accelerated his growth at a phenomenal rate. He felt, with a quiet certainty, that he was already operating at a chunin's level.
One evening, the mood in his room was thick with a different kind of tension. Yamanaka Ino and Hyuga Hinata sat on the edge of his bed, their postures stiff with nervous anticipation.
"Hiraoka-kun," Ino began, her voice a little too high, "it's getting rather late. My father will be worried if I'm not home soon." She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, a telltale sign of her anxiety.
Hinata remained silent, her cheeks flushed, her eyes fixed on her own clasped hands.
Hiraoka offered them a disarming, reassuring smile. "There's no need to worry. I've already spoken with both your families. They know you're here with me and are perfectly fine with it."
It was a brazen lie, of course. He would never have dared to ask Yamanaka Inoichi or Hiashi Hyuga for such a thing. But he delivered it with such effortless confidence that it was hard to doubt.
"R-really?" Ino asked, her suspicion warring with her desire to believe him.
"Of course," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You have my word."
Ino seemed to relax slightly, the tension leaving her shoulders. "Okay then."
A triumphant smile touched Hiraoka's lips as he looked at the two girls who had placed their trust in him. The path ahead was unfolding exactly as he had planned.
Ino or Hinata? For me Hinata
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