In the smoking ruins, Inabi finally understands what Kazuki truly did—only to die with his eyes wide open, as Konoha's hunters close in.
Uchiha District.
Smoke choked the air.
The scent was sickly sweet—blood and ash tangled together—while the sharp reek of exploding tags drifted in thick waves from the distance.
Bodies lay everywhere.
Broken arms. Severed legs. Spilled organs.
The street had become a butcher's floor.
Uchiha Police Force dungeon.
Inabi slumped against the wall, barely breathing.
From the district outside came screams so sharp they felt like hands pulling at his soul.
Among them were voices he recognized—
his parents.
his brothers.
his clan.
"They… sound like they're calling me…"
His lips cracked as they moved. The blood on his face had dried into ugly streaks.
His mind was fogging over.
But he couldn't die yet.
Not before he heard confirmation that Uchiha Kazuki was dead.
Only then would he be willing to descend to hell.
His remaining three-tomoe Sharingan trembled as space in front of him rippled.
His expression turned blank with shock.
The distortion twisted clockwise.
A masked man stepped out.
Within the mask's single eyehole, a Mangekyō manifested—Kamui.
"Another… Mangekyō…!!"
Inabi's eyelid twitched.
His sanity was fraying, but the shock forced him back into focus.
The masked man swept his gaze across the rooftop.
The place was wreckage.
He stepped forward, stepping over Inabi as though he were already a corpse, then crouched to examine the Uchiha bodies scattered nearby.
He lifted one corpse.
Set it down.
Lifted another.
Set it down.
A sigh escaped him.
He circled the dungeon once, returning to where he started, his brows knitting tighter.
Nearly fifty core members of the Police Force.
Every single one—
missing their Sharingan.
Tap.
Tap.
Sticky footsteps echoed.
Itachi climbed the stairs and stepped onto the rooftop, crossing over the dead like he had long since stopped seeing them as human.
Blood coated him.
Each step left a crimson print.
Like someone who had crawled out of a mound of corpses—
and hadn't cooled down yet.
Inabi forced his head to the side.
The moment he saw Itachi, rage sharpened his face.
He clenched his fists, forcing himself upright by sheer spite, and rasped:
"The screaming in the clan district… was that Kazuki slaughtering civilians?"
"Uchiha Kazuki is a traitor!"
"Itachi—did you kill him?!"
Itachi didn't answer.
He didn't even look at him.
Silence stretched—
until the masked man broke it, his lone Mangekyō flaring red.
He looked down at Inabi and asked evenly:
"These Police Force members… were they all killed by that Uchiha Kazuki?"
"And the eyes—he took them too?"
"He killed the entire Police Force by himself?"
Inabi's face drained.
The memories flooded back.
Hopelessness hollowed him out as he gave a weak nod.
"Yes."
"He killed my men first."
"Then he left me alive to draw more reinforcements…"
"…and butchered them too."
"You're lying," Itachi said coolly, suspicion sharpening his voice for the first time.
"Kazuki was only an ordinary jōnin—one of the Police Force captains."
"He doesn't have that kind of strength."
"He couldn't have done this alone."
Itachi had partnered with the masked man.
That was why Itachi handled civilians—
while the masked man was supposed to eliminate the Police Force, the clan's core power.
Not because Itachi couldn't.
Because it took time.
But looking at the clean kills here—
the speed—
the efficiency—
Kazuki's slaughter may have been even faster than the masked man's original plan.
Inabi let out a bitter breath.
"But the truth is the truth."
"You can search for him yourself."
"I have no reason to lie to you."
Itachi's pupils tightened.
From Inabi's tone, his body language—
he wasn't lying.
The masked man let out a low chuckle, genuinely amused.
"No wonder."
"The Police Force is nothing but useless fossils who can't even scrape together a single three-tomoe pair between them."
"How disappointing."
Then his amusement sharpened into hunger.
"But… interesting."
"If Kazuki already gathered the Sharingan for me…"
"Then I won't be polite."
"Itachi."
"This one is yours."
"Take his three-tomoe for me."
"I'm going to chase the rats who escaped."
With that, the masked man used Kamui.
His body twisted with space—
and vanished.
"Take… my three-tomoe…"
Inabi murmured blankly.
He smelled killing intent.
His remaining Sharingan burned with hatred as he glared at Itachi.
Itachi sighed.
Expressionless.
He lifted his blade and walked toward Inabi.
"Itachi… what are you doing?!"
Inabi's eyes widened.
And as the blade drew closer, fragments of everything Kazuki had said—everything Itachi had done—snapped together in his mind like a trap closing.
Then Kazuki's last words echoed in his skull:
"Inabi—keep that remaining three-tomoe wide open and watch what happens next in the Uchiha district!!"
Inabi understood.
He understood everything.
And in the next second—
blood sprayed.
"I'm sorry."
"It was me."
Itachi's blade punched through Inabi's heart and erupted out his back, hot and final.
Inabi's face twisted.
His life flame snuffed out in an instant.
His remaining three-tomoe stayed wide—
full of resentment, fury, regret—
locked on the white-eyed traitor standing in front of him.
The one who wanted the Uchiha dead tonight…
was Uchiha Itachi.
At last, Inabi realized what Kazuki had done.
Kazuki murdered Uchiha shinobi in the dungeon wearing the mask of a captured traitor—
and what he gave the clan was not disgrace—
but release.
Because if those men had died under Itachi's blade—
the very man they had placed all their hopes in—
they would have died like Inabi:
with rage.
with betrayal.
with eyes that could not close.
Kazuki had arranged everything before he ever walked into a cell.
Time.
Place.
People.
He had written the patrol schedule long in advance.
The patrol teams were far from the core district.
Kazuki slaughtered the dungeon guards, drew Police Force reinforcements, killed them all, and took their Sharingan.
Then he lured the patrol teams into pursuit—
and dragged them out of Konoha before the massacre could swallow them.
No wonder he said:
As long as I live, the Uchiha will live with dignity.
He had already prepared the clan's remaining embers.
The plan was a machine—
precise,
merciless,
flawless.
Kazuki was stronger than him.
Stronger than that worthless clan head.
Stronger than those worthless elders.
Someday…
he would return with a new Uchiha.
And he would burn Konoha to the ground.
With that final thought, Inabi's expression softened into something complicated—
something that almost looked like acceptance.
He realized, too late, that his earlier hatred had been ignorance.
Maybe…
he really did deserve to die.
And then, in the last fading flicker of consciousness, he thought—
Kazuki was gentle.
As always.
He hadn't slaughtered civilians.
And his blade had been fast, clean, precise—
a mercy this traitor in front of him would never understand.
Inabi's mind went quiet.
His body went slack.
He died with his eyes still open.
Itachi stepped away.
The bodies on this rooftop didn't matter.
The urgent priority now was hunting the Uchiha squad that had defected.
Because if they escaped—
Konoha's higher-ups might not keep their promise to protect Sasuke.
…
…
Uchiha District edge.
Screams still lingered, but the smaller war was over.
Root and ANBU had clashed.
ANBU won—
but they lost half their forces.
Root lost eighty percent.
The surviving twenty percent lay on the ground clutching wounds, rolling in agony, wailing—no longer capable of fighting.
The ANBU captains, shaken and terrified, pulled their remaining men back from the area.
They never expected an enemy to possess a method like that.
The second group to arrive wasn't the Third Hokage.
It was a handful of ambitious jōnin—hungry for credit.
Woof! Woof! Woof!
Ninken barked restlessly, their voices carrying fear—fear of some lingering residue in the air.
Five silhouettes emerged.
"Haa… damn."
Asuma Sarutobi exhaled smoke, scanning the scene.
He flicked away a cigarette he had barely finished and stared at the forest strewn with bodies.
A chill ran up his spine.
And yet—
his blood stirred with a strange excitement.
Root and ANBU had suffered massive losses.
If he caught whoever caused this—
it would be an enormous merit.
His reputation would skyrocket.
In Konoha, Asuma believed that if he wanted to challenge certain decisions made by that old man—
Sarutobi Hiruzen—
He needed enough name and influence that no one could ignore him.
It was a political sense he had learned while guarding the Fire Daimyō.
And as that thought settled—
the young Asuma suddenly felt less afraid.
Because in a world like this…
the bigger the storm—
the bigger the reward.
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