The night was quiet, but not calm.
A faint wind brushed through the trees on the outskirts of Konoha, carrying with it the acrid scent of charred wood. The battlefield from earlier still bore scars—pits in the earth where fire jutsu had scorched the soil black, smoke curling upward from dying embers. In the midst of this desolation stood Uchiha Yato, his cloak fluttering slightly in the breeze, his expression calm and unreadable.
The three men in black, battered and trembling, were gathered before him. They had expected an easy job, a quick assassination, and then a handsome reward. Instead, they had walked into the jaws of a beast whose eyes gleamed with a power none of them had ever witnessed before.
"Fire Style: Great Meteor."
Yato's voice was steady, almost casual, but the words alone sent a chill through the mercenaries. Above them, the clouds seemed to split apart. A searing ball of fire descended from the heavens, its surface blazing like molten rock, trailing sparks as it fell. The earth quaked as the meteor plummeted downward, its heat scorching the air long before it touched the ground.
"Damn it…!" one of the black-clad men gasped, his knees buckling at the sheer force of nature about to consume them.
But before the meteor struck, Yato raised his voice again.
"—Disperse."
At that single command, the great flaming mass shattered in midair. Thousands of fragments broke apart like fireworks, bursting into a torrential rain of fire. Sparks scattered across the battlefield, flames rekindling in every corner where water techniques had earlier extinguished them. The ground itself seemed to roar with heat, the flames licking higher as if dancing to Yato's will.
The mercenaries' leader, his once-arrogant face now pale with dread, faltered. Sweat ran down his temple as the fire reflected in his wide eyes. He dropped his weapon with a clatter and fell to his knees.
"Sir—we were wrong," he stammered, his voice cracking. "We didn't mean to offend you. We… we were deceived! They told us the Uchiha had mountains of treasure, that we'd only need to rob you. We had no idea—no idea we'd be facing you. Please, Great God, spare us! We'll tell you who hired us, anything you want. Just… just let us live."
The other two quickly echoed his pleas, desperation replacing the bravado they once carried.
Yato narrowed his eyes. The Mangekyō Sharingan shimmered faintly in the darkness, though he hadn't fully unveiled it yet. He studied their faces—shaking, sweating, clutching at the dirt as though it could shield them.
They're not Root, he thought coldly. Danzo wouldn't be that careless. At least not this time.
A quiet laugh escaped him. Shimura Danzo had his flaws—paranoia, cruelty, hypocrisy—but stupidity wasn't one of them. Sending Root operatives would have been an admission of guilt if they were discovered. No, these three were expendable mercenaries. Disposable pawns. Their deaths would mean nothing.
Still, Yato played along. He tilted his head, softening his tone.
"Forget it," he said, his voice almost gentle. "Looking at you now, I can see you've been struggling. Life must have been difficult."
The three men froze, their eyes snapping up to him. Hope—fragile, flickering hope—lit up in their expressions.
"He's… sparing us?" whispered one of them, his grip loosening slightly.
But beneath their lowered sleeves, each man clutched detonating tags tightly. Their plan was simple: wait until Yato came close, then drag him into death with them. If they couldn't kill him with blades, then with explosions. Even if they died, they would have the satisfaction of knowing they had left a mark.
Yato saw through it all. He could read the twitch of their muscles, the hidden malice behind their hopeful smiles. His Mangekyō Sharingan, even dormant, was a mirror into the heart.
"In this case," Yato continued, letting a small smile creep onto his lips, "I, Uchiha Yato, will be kind for once."
Their shoulders relaxed, relief flooding their faces. They even dared to smile faintly, as though life had just been returned to them.
And then Yato's eyes shifted.
The air itself seemed to tremble as his Mangekyō Sharingan bloomed—twin black tomoe swirling into the intricate pattern unique only to him. The aura of his chakra shifted, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on the mercenaries like an invisible mountain.
"…Let me take you away from this painful world."
Their smiles froze.
By the time realization dawned, it was already too late.
For all ninjas, one rule was absolute when facing an Uchiha: do not look into their eyes.
But in the heat of desperation, in the haze of false hope, they had done just that. Yato had lured them in with his words, loosened their vigilance, made them forget. Now they were trapped, their minds shackled by the crimson kaleidoscope of his Mangekyō Sharingan.
It wasn't mercy he offered them. It was an experiment.
When Yato first awakened his Mangekyō Sharingan, the system had whispered its secrets into his mind. The names of the techniques etched themselves into his memory like ancient runes.
The left eye: Wheel of Time.
The right eye: Time and Space.
The Wheel of Time allowed him to manipulate his own temporal flow. He could accelerate or decelerate his movements by a factor of two. To outsiders, it would appear as if he were impossibly fast—or impossibly resilient. For him, slowing time was like creating an endless buffer, a safety net against fatal blows. Speeding it up turned him into a blur, striking before the enemy could even blink.
The right eye, Time and Space, was far more terrifying. With it, he could alter the temporal flow of an area around him. The greater the area, the more his chakra and pupil power drained. Time itself became clay in his hands, but molding it came at a price.
Yato had asked the system if there was a loophole—a way to "save" his eye power like a file in a game, then restore it later. The system's response had been blunt: "No. Don't ask."
Still, he could purchase minor replenishments with emotional coins, each restoring a sliver of power. But the true goal lay further ahead. To unlock the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan, he needed a staggering three hundred thousand emotional coins.
For now, experiments were essential. And these three mercenaries—these disposable pawns—were perfect test subjects.
The first man writhed as Yato applied the ability of his right eye. His wounds, deep cuts from earlier clashes, ceased to bleed. Not healed, not restored—just frozen in a suspended state. The mercenary gasped in horror as his body refused to follow the natural order of life and death.
Yato tilted his head. "Interesting… but not enough."
He shifted the flow again. The man's blood suddenly surged, pumping faster than nature intended. His face drained of color as shock set in, his pulse racing beyond control.
"You see," Yato murmured, half to himself, "time cannot prevent death. It can only delay or hasten it."
Moments later, the first guinea pig collapsed, lifeless.
The second mercenary fared no better. Yato allowed him to attack, feigning openings. When the man lunged, kunai flashing, Yato activated the Wheel of Time. His body accelerated, moving twice as fast. To the mercenary, Yato blurred—appearing behind him before his strike had even reached its mark.
"What… what is happening?!" the man screamed, slashing at air.
Yato deliberately broke the genjutsu once, letting him believe he had a chance. Yet even freed from illusion, the man couldn't grasp the subtle shifts in time around him. The battlefield itself seemed unchanged, yet his body betrayed him, every movement lagging or rushing unpredictably.
That concealment was the true terror of Yato's power. Unless one had a frame of reference outside the manipulated space, they would never know they were trapped.
In the end, Yato forced him to linger on the edge of death for thirty agonizing seconds—suspended between life and nothingness—before allowing him to perish.
The last mercenary trembled as Yato's gaze turned upon him. His illusion-enhanced mind collapsed almost instantly, and Yato, satisfied with the data he had collected, ended his suffering swiftly.
The battlefield grew quiet once more. Smoke rose lazily into the night sky, the only evidence of the slaughter.
Yato exhaled slowly, his Mangekyō fading back into black.
"At last," he whispered, "the outline of my powers is clear."
He glanced at the corpses. His lips curled into a faint, mocking smile.
"This time, I must thank comrade Shimura Danzo for sending me such convenient test subjects. A thoughtful gesture, really. Next time, perhaps I'll return the favor… and charge him for it."
With that, he vanished into the night, leaving the carnage behind.
When the Anbu finally arrived, only charred earth and three lifeless bodies remained. They quickly reported the incident to the Hokage.
Sarutobi Hiruzen sighed heavily when the news reached him. He set aside his smoking pipe, rising from his chair with a weary expression. The comfort of his evening was gone; duty once again pulled him back into the suffocating weight of paperwork and strategy.
"This concerns the safety of Konoha," he muttered. "We cannot afford carelessness."
Unwittingly, the Third Hokage once again cleaned up Danzo's mess, as he always had.
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