"Release!"
In that instant, the chakra within Itachi's body violently altered its flow.
Like a battering ram, it slammed into his cerebral cortex and optic nerves.
This was the most basic principle taught at the Ninja Academy—and also the most direct, most effective way to break visual-based genjutsu.
Under normal circumstances, as long as the chakra disruption was intense enough, the illusion before his eyes would shatter like fragile glass.
And then…
He should have found himself standing once more before the familiar gates of the Uchiha clan estate.
Or perhaps back inside the perpetually shadowed ANBU headquarters of Konoha.
But nothing happened.
The sea wind still carried a thick, briny scent, rudely flooding his nostrils.
Mixed into it were the charred aroma of roasted meat and the sharp bite of rum.
The oil lamps on the deck continued to crackle softly as they burned.
And the massive man seated before him—Whitebeard—still held his sake bowl steadily, his gaze resting calmly on Itachi, filled with the indulgent curiosity of an elder observing a junior.
It failed.
For the first time, Itachi's breathing faltered.
This was impossible.
After awakening the Mangekyō Sharingan, there were only a handful of people in the entire ninja world capable of trapping him in a genjutsu without him noticing.
Other than the masked man who called himself Uchiha Madara—whom he had struck a deal with just minutes ago—there should have been no one else.
Had that man gone back on his word at the last moment?
Was this an attempt to erase him here?
Yet the thought was dismissed almost as soon as it formed.
That masked man's chakra was cold—decayed, carrying the stench of someone who had not seen the sun for years.
But the man before him was entirely different.
Whitebeard's vitality was blazing, violent, and completely unrestrained.
Like an active volcano on the brink of eruption, he radiated overwhelming heat, so intense it made breathing difficult.
This vast, terrifying life force was something no Yin Release chakra could ever imitate.
Itachi's fingers trembled.
Suddenly, he clenched his fist.
His nails pierced into his palm, breaking the skin as warm blood flowed freely.
The sharp pain surged through his nerves and straight into his brain.
It was real.
The pain was real.
Even the faint sense of weightlessness caused by the waves rocking the ship was flawless.
An absurd conclusion—yet the only one that made sense—crashed into Itachi's reason.
This wasn't genjutsu.
This was reality.
He had left Konoha.
He had left the night that was destined to be drenched in blood.
Most importantly—
He had left Sasuke.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly in that moment.
Uchiha Itachi—always calm, always rational, a man who could sever his own blood ties without hesitation—felt uncontrollable panic surge from the depths of his heart for the first time.
Time would not wait.
The deadline for the clan's annihilation was set for tomorrow night.
That was the final concession he had wrung from Konoha's higher-ups—at the cost of eternal infamy and the blood of the entire Uchiha clan.
It was a gamble of everything.
And the stake was Sasuke's life.
If he failed to appear at the Uchiha estate on time tomorrow night—
Then that old fox Danzo Shimura would tear up every agreement without hesitation.
The cold-blooded killers of Root would swarm the compound like locusts.
They would leave no survivors.
Not even the child who used to trail behind him, tugging at his sleeve and calling him "Big Brother."
Sasuke would die.
And he would die in despair and terror.
A violent surge of chakra—mixed with madness and killing intent—erupted inside Itachi.
He had to go back.
Now. Immediately.
Itachi snapped his head up, his crimson Sharingan spinning wildly as the three tomoe fused into a distorted windmill.
His gaze swept past Whitebeard and scanned his surroundings.
There was no land.
Only an endless, pitch-black ocean in every direction.
The night waves rolled ceaselessly, turning the massive pirate ship into a completely isolated floating island.
This vessel did not belong to the Land of Fire.
Nor did it belong to the Land of Water.
This was a world entirely divorced from the common sense of the ninja world.
"Hey, kid."
That lazy voice sounded again.
Marco scratched his pineapple-like hair and gestured at Itachi's bleeding palm.
"I don't know what kind of episode you're having, but cutting yourself in front of Pops isn't exactly a good habit."
Itachi ignored him.
His mind raced, desperately searching for a way back.
Space–Time Ninjutsu?
Reverse Summoning Technique?
His hands flew through seals as he tried to sense the crow clone he had left behind in Konoha.
Nothing.
It was as if the line had been severed completely—no response, no echo, no trace.
In this world, chakra simply did not resonate.
Despair washed over him like freezing seawater.
"Gurararara…"
Whitebeard's laughter interrupted his thoughts once more.
The giant leaned forward slightly, his massive shadow engulfing Itachi completely.
The pressure was far more terrifying than when facing the masked man.
Yet Whitebeard still did not attack.
He merely observed the intruder—bristling like a wounded beast—with open interest.
"So it's not just a case of being lost," Whitebeard said, his voice deep and resonant.
"Kid, what's your name?"
Itachi clenched his teeth.
Logic told him that staying silent before such an unfathomable figure in an unknown environment was the height of stupidity.
If a fight broke out, he would die.
And if he died, he would never return.
For Sasuke's sake, he had to live.
Enduring humiliation for the greater good was a lesson every ninja had to master.
Itachi took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the turmoil and killing intent in his heart.
He loosened his grip on his weapon and relaxed his rigid muscles slightly, lowering himself into a restrained, imperfect posture of submission.
"…Itachi."
His voice was hoarse—cold and rigid through the mask.
"Itachi?"
Whitebeard rolled the name around, as if searching his memory.
The surrounding pirates exchanged glances.
"Never heard of him."
"Some new pirate hunter?"
"Judging by the outfit, maybe a samurai from Wano Country… or a ninja?"
At the word ninja, Itachi's eyes flickered.
Whitebeard caught it instantly.
"Oh? A ninja?"
He grinned, revealing rows of white teeth.
"That's rare. I've sailed these seas for decades and hardly ever met a real one."
"Did you escape from Wano Country?"
Wano Country.
An unfamiliar name.
Itachi shook his head.
"No."
"I am Uchiha Itachi, a ninja of Konoha Village."
He spoke the name Konoha with weight—as if it were the only thing anchoring him to existence.
"Konoha?"
Whitebeard raised an eyebrow, clearly unfamiliar.
He turned to Marco.
Marco shrugged helplessly.
"Never heard of it. Probably some village on a remote island."
A remote island…
The greatest hidden village of the ninja world—dismissed as insignificant.
And the name Uchiha meant nothing to them.
Itachi's heart sank further.
Everything here was unknown.
"Wherever you're from," Whitebeard said, waving a hand to end the discussion, "you've boarded my ship. That makes it fate."
He lifted his sake bowl again, his eyes burning as they fixed on Itachi.
"Judging by the look of you, you've got nowhere else to go, right?"
Itachi remained silent.
In a world of endless sea, leaving this ship meant death.
"Then stay for now."
Whitebeard's tone was unquestionable, yet oddly casual.
As if he had simply picked up a stray animal.
"Oi, Thatch!"
"Yeah, Pops!"
Thatch—wearing a chef's outfit and holding a half-eaten chicken leg—popped out from the crowd.
"Get this kid something to eat and find him a place to sleep," Whitebeard said, glancing at Itachi's thin frame.
"He's skinny as a monkey. Don't let him die on my ship. That'd be embarrassing."
"Got it!"
Thatch grinned and strode over, slinging an arm toward Itachi's shoulder without a second thought.
"C'mon, kid! Let me show you the culinary genius of Thatch!"
Itachi's body tensed instantly. He stepped back half a pace, evading the touch.
Thatch froze briefly, then scratched his head and laughed.
"Haha, still shy, huh?"
"Alright, alright. I won't touch you. Just follow me."
He turned and started walking, muttering,
"Man… none of these guys are cute at all…"
Itachi stayed where he was.
He looked back at Whitebeard.
The giant had already resumed drinking with his commanders, as if taking in a dangerous stranger was no more than a trivial matter.
This disregard.
This arrogance.
Or perhaps—
Absolute confidence.
Itachi tightened his grip on his blade.
He couldn't see through this man.
Or this ship.
The atmosphere was strange—no rigid hierarchy, no oppressive rules. Just laughter and chaos.
Was this truly a den of ruthless pirates?
"Hey! You coming or not?"
Thatch called from ahead.
Itachi took a deep breath and locked every emotion into the deepest recesses of his heart.
Then he followed.
If he couldn't return yet…
He would endure.
And find a way back.
No matter the cost.
Because that night—that curse—was still waiting for him to bring it to an end.
Itachi cast one last glance at the vast sea.
The night was deep. Waves slammed against the hull with heavy, hollow thuds.
Like fate mocking him.
Behind him, Whitebeard set down his sake bowl, golden eyes narrowing slightly as he watched that slender figure disappear into the cabin.
"Pops," Marco murmured, leaning closer, "that kid's dangerous."
"His eyes are the eyes of someone who's killed a lot of people."
Whitebeard snorted, a meaningful smile curling at his lips.
"Gurararara…"
"So what?"
"Once you step onto this ship, even a demon becomes my family."
"The sea is vast, Marco."
Whitebeard's gaze lingered on the cabin door, a flicker of nearly imperceptible pity passing through his eyes.
"That kid's heart…"
"…is crying."