"Haa… haa… haa…"
As Akira stepped forward, the crowd of Konoha ninjas instinctively retreated, gasping, their bodies betraying them before their will could respond.
Only one person—
Shikamaru—
remained crouched, unmoving.
Locked in place by Akira's killing intent.
Akira walked straight toward him.
Suddenly—
a figure rushed forward and stood in his path.
Temari.
"Don't you dare lay a hand on Shikamaru!"
"CRACK!"
Her giant iron fan had barely opened—
before Akira shattered it with a single glance of Kamui-level ocular force.
Her hands trembled as she pulled out a kunai.
"D-don't come any closer…!"
"Or I'll fight you to the death!"
Akira didn't even acknowledge her.
He kept walking.
"D-Don't come closer!!"
She pointed the blade at him—
but her feet were already retreating.
Closer.
Closer.
Her breathing grew erratic.
Tears streamed uncontrollably.
Her legs trembled—
yet she forced herself to stand her ground.
"I… I'm not moving…!"
"If you want to hurt my husband—"
"Step over my corpse first!!"
"Tap."
Akira stopped.
Right in front of her.
He didn't attack.
Didn't speak.
Just looked at her—
with completely emotionless eyes.
That alone—
was enough.
Her mind shattered.
It's too much… too terrifying…
Shikamaru… I'm sorry…
She raised the kunai—
to stab her own throat.
"SWISH!"
The blade stopped midair.
Shadow tendrils rose from beneath her feet.
Three branches wrapped around her body—
One pierced the ring of the kunai and flung it away
Two coiled around her neck, cutting off consciousness
Temari collapsed.
"Sorry, Temari… I can't let you die."
"…Take care of Shikadai."
Shikamaru released the shadow technique.
He gently laid her aside—
then stood up.
Facing Akira.
"Uchiha Akira!"
"If you're going to kill me—do it!"
"Konoha shinobi don't fear death!"
"…That's more like it."
Akira's voice was calm.
A woman willing to die for her husband—
was worthy of respect.
Unless necessary—
Akira would not kill such a person.
And as for his Twin Flower copies—
not a single one belonged to a woman with a husband.
What he did just now—
was not to intimidate Temari.
It was to observe Shikamaru.
Conclusion:
His personality was intact.
Still loyal.
Still rational.
Still Shikamaru.
Which meant—
the problem lay elsewhere.
Akira's Sharingan focused on Shikamaru's forehead.
"No disruption in chakra pathways…"
"No signs of genjutsu interference…"
"So it's not active illusion control…"
Then—
Akira narrowed his eyes.
Through deep meditation, he had learned to perceive emotional signatures via chakra.
And Shikamaru's current emotion was unmistakable.
Hatred.
Pure.
Intense.
Personal.
Not political.
Not ideological.
This was the kind of hatred reserved for someone who—
Killed your father
Killed your child
Destroyed your life
But Akira had done none of those things.
Their only real interaction—
was a tense conversation three years ago.
That wasn't enough to produce this level of hatred.
So the answer became clear.
This isn't natural.
This is planted.
A targeted emotion.
Artificial.
But experienced as real.
Even someone like Shikamaru—
should have noticed the inconsistency.
Unless…
"…his self-awareness has been suppressed."
Akira's hand slowly clenched.
There was only one ability capable of this.
"…Kotoamatsukami."
Someone else—
in this world—
possessed it.
And worse—
they were hiding.
Watching.
And targeting him.
That strange behavior from Shikamaru during their past meeting…
Now it all made sense.
"…Interesting."
Akira placed his hand on Shikamaru's head.
He considered using the Human Path—
to read his memories.
Then stopped.
If even Shikamaru doesn't know…
there's nothing to extract.
"…This requires patience."
"CRACK—!"
Frost spread downward.
Shikamaru was sealed into time suspension.
"What is he doing to Lord Shikamaru!?"
"We can't just watch this happen!"
But before anyone could act—
two figures descended beside Akira.
Madara.
Obito.
One stood with arms crossed.
The other with one hand on his hip.
Their presence alone—
froze the battlefield.
No one moved.
Because this wasn't about courage anymore.
It was about meaningless death.
"SHH—!"
The frost faded.
Shikamaru vanished—
sealed away.
And then—
unnoticed by all—
On the broken stone where Naruto and Sasuke once stood—
a figure had been there.
Unknown.
Unseen.
A black robe.
Long hair.
A mask split black and white—
like yin and yang.
Behind the mask—
two eyes.
Dual Rinnegan. Six tomoe.
One black.
One white.
"…So the pawn is finally removed."
"But it has served its purpose."
"Compared to the real players…"
"…Nara Shikamaru was insignificant."
Below—
Akira, Madara, and Obito passed by—
without even glancing up.
Akira paused briefly—
picked up his broken mechanical watch—
rewound time—
and wore it again.
"…Time to go."
They disappeared into space.
The masked figure remained.
Watching.
"Uchiha Akira…"
"You're about to become the Ten-Tails' jinchūriki."
"…Good."
"Because right now…"
"…you're still far from ready."
He lowered his gaze—
removing the glove from his left hand.
In his palm—
a black mark.
Karma.
"…Before this vessel reaches its limit…"
"Grow stronger."
"As I desire."
"…Uchiha Akira."
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