"A little more… just a little more!"
"This sound… it's so beautiful. So moving."
Outside the Uchiha compound, Shimura Danzō stood listening to the screams echoing through the night. He closed his eyes, wearing a blissful, almost drunk expression.
To him, it was the sweetest melody he'd ever heard.
"Lord Tobirama… you were far too merciful back then," he muttered, smiling coldly.
"The best way is to leave none alive. Wipe them all out.
From now on, when people mention the Uchiha, they won't speak of Konoha's greatest clan—
They'll call them the cursed family that met its end."
"Yes," he whispered, eyes gleaming with cruelty. "Only a dead Uchiha is a good Uchiha."
A twisted laugh escaped his lips, low and chilling enough to make the Root operatives nearby pretend they hadn't heard.
Inside the Uchiha compound, Itachi Uchiha moved through the bloodstained corridors, his expression taut with dread.
The smell of iron, the cries, the bodies collapsing one by one—
Every sight burned into him like fire.
He had completely immersed himself in the role of executioner,
But even now, he could no longer tell what was real and what wasn't.
He felt as if he were drowning in blood—its weight crushing his chest, stealing his breath.
But still, one final task remained.
His last target.
"My father… my greatest enemy in this operation."
Itachi pressed himself against the doorframe, peering through a narrow gap.
Then—
"This way."
Fugaku's calm voice came from the next room.
Itachi froze.
"There are no traps. Come in."
His footsteps were steady—soundless yet heavy, trained to perfection through years of discipline.
But his hands trembled.
His heart felt unbearably heavy.
He slowly slid the door open.
The sight inside made his pupils contract sharply.
In the center of the room, two figures knelt side by side, backs facing him, motionless.
"Father…"
Fugaku lowered his head, his expression hidden.
Beside him, Mikoto looked upward, her eyes distant and glassy, like a statue.
"I never wanted to raise my blade against my own son."
"Tell me, Itachi… have you really chosen their side?"
His father's voice was quiet—resigned, tinged with sorrow.
Itachi stood frozen behind them, the cold light of his blade reflecting off the walls. But the sword trembled in his grasp.
Moonlight spilled through the window, casting a soft glow over his parents' still forms.
Their expressions were calm, as if ready to accept fate.
Itachi's face, however, remained buried in shadow—
The light refused to touch him.
"Father… Mother… I—"
"We understand, Itachi."
Mikoto's gentle voice cut through his trembling.
"Itachi," Fugaku murmured, "promise me… take care of Sasuke."
"…I will."
Two steps forward.
Tears blurred his vision.
He gripped the sword tighter, but his arms shook violently.
The blade felt impossibly heavy—every inch of it pressing against his soul.
He wanted to drop it. To turn and walk away.
Damn this village. Damn this cursed world.
It hurts too much.
His whole body trembled. Tears streamed freely down his face.
"Don't be afraid," Fugaku said softly.
"This is the path you chose."
"Our pain… lasts only for a moment."
"No matter how different our beliefs may be… we're still proud of you."
"You've always been a kind child, Itachi."
Even at the end, Fugaku was every bit the father—comforting his son, easing his burden.
The warmth in his voice was something he had never shown before.
Itachi hunched over, biting his lip until it bled. Tears poured down like rain.
He raised his sword, closed his eyes—
—and struck.
"Uuuh… uuuuh…"
Back in Red Sun Town, Mikoto Uchiha sobbed uncontrollably.
Her tears fell freely, unstoppable.
Beside her, Fugaku pressed his lips tightly together, his body trembling as his mind spiraled in chaos.
The Uchiha clansmen around them stared blankly at the screen, horrified.
The hatred they once held for Itachi… had begun to fade.
"Shisui," Fugaku finally asked, his voice trembling but steadying, "was this… some kind of illusion?"
Every pair of eyes turned toward Shisui, desperate for an answer.
If what they'd seen was real, then who were they now?
If it was fake, what was the point of showing them this nightmare?
"No," Shisui replied quietly. "It's not an illusion. Everything happening on that screen is real—Itachi is there, right now, in the original clan compound. You're seeing it happen live."
"If you hadn't been transferred here… everything you see on that screen would have been your fate."
"The Itachi who slaughtered his family, who killed his parents, who became a wanted man hunted by Konoha—he would have been branded a traitor, forced to wander the world until death."
Shisui's voice was calm but heavy, every word striking deep.
"Then… who are those who died?" Fugaku asked, his voice cracking in disbelief.
"You can think of them as your reflections—or your clones," Shisui said.
"The top brass of Konoha, and Root's Danzō, demanded proof of Uchiha's extermination.
So… we gave them one."
Fugaku blinked, realization dawning in his eyes.
"You mean… all of that—those deaths—were illusions? This… is what Itachi meant when he said he'd show me a new path?"
His expression softened slightly, the suffocating weight in his chest easing at last.
Watching his son's torment and despair had nearly broken him. But now, a faint light of understanding shone in his eyes.
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