Rooftop of the Hokage Building.
A howling blizzard shoved icy fingers down their collars, whining like someone sobbing in their ear.
When Hiruzen asked about Makoto's talent, Itachi's pupils shrank to pinpricks, knuckles going bone-white.
Hiruzen's smile dimmed a notch, something complicated flickering in his eyes—gone as fast as frost on a window.
Itachi's face twisted. He didn't want to lie to the Third Hokage… but Makoto's gift was freakish.
Even Fugaku whispered in private: "Makoto's the only variable that can rewrite the Uchiha's fate."
"Some lights burn too bright—they attract every rat in the sewer." Makoto's old words echoed in Itachi's head. He'd been teasing Sasuke at the time.
Itachi wasn't doubting the Third—he was terrified Danzo would find out. The worry wrapped around his heart like vines, squeezing the air out.
He remembered half a year ago: Makoto would sooner suspect the whole world than himself.
He'd awakened the Sharingan at two and a half from pure agony.
That Hokage Rock stunt? He'd been ready to trade his life just to force Konoha's darkness into the open…
"He…" Itachi opened his mouth. Snowflakes melted cold on his lips. "Makoto's just a normal kid. Bit of a prankster, that's all—matures fast."
The lie hit the ground like a stone. Itachi's throat bobbed, face etched with pain. He'd lied… to the man he respected most.
Makoto trash-talked the Third all the time, but Itachi never bought it.
To him, Hiruzen was the beacon guiding every leaf in the village—the one he looked up to.
Hiruzen's gaze lingered on Itachi's face, weighing raw jade. He sighed softly inside.
The kid was perfect—except for that brother obsession. Couldn't burn 100% for the Will of Fire.
Guess we crank up the Will of Fire classes.
Snowflakes whipped in, flapping their robes like kunai slicing air.
Itachi stood at the village's highest point, staring into the whiteout. Snow fell harder—heaven and earth blurred into one endless blank. Couldn't tell where the edge was, or where the cliff dropped.
The clan-village rift was a tightrope. One slip—bottomless abyss.
Itachi skipped missions, skipped home, and headed straight for Shisui's place.
The Third's sudden question about Makoto's talent? It was a splinter under his skin—couldn't sit still.
...
Shisui sat on the engawa, watching the snow.
Kunai spun lightning-fast between his fingers, silver blade flashing snow-glare into dazzles. His knuckles tapped a rhythm that synced perfectly with the eaves' drip-drip.
He spotted Itachi from afar—button nose twitched, eyes lit like twin stars. "Itachi! Freezing your butt off—why aren't you home playing with the bros?"
"Or… broke again and craving tri-color dango?"
Itachi's ears went red instantly. Every ryo from recent missions—plus his entire savings—had gone to his money-grubbing little brother. Left him flat broke.
Even a dango craving meant hitting up Shisui for a loan.
But Itachi loved it. No clue what Makoto did with the cash, but every time he handed it over? Makoto praised him.
Makoto never praised anyone. Each compliment kept Itachi buzzing for days.
He was buzzing a little now—but worry drowned it fast. He stepped closer, snow spraying from his shoes.
"Shisui—nobody outside the clan hears about Makoto's talent. Especially not Danzo."
Straight to the point, voice laced with rare panic.
Shisui blinked, scratched his head like a confused puppy. Kunai clanged to the floor, rolling half a foot.
"Isn't high talent a good thing?" He kept scratching. "Tell the Third and Danzo—they'll fast-track him!"
He leaned in, dead serious. "Kid's a prodigy. Report it, he could jump straight to ANBU or Root for elite training—"
"NO!" Itachi's voice cracked sharp, then dropped to a frantic whisper. Knuckles white, breathing ragged.
"He's too young—and Root… Danzo…"
Shisui still looked clueless. Itachi suddenly remembered Makoto's roast:
"Guy's got no malice—just missing a few brain wires. Head full of fairy tales."
Great friend, great enemy—terrible teammate.
The whole clan knew Makoto and Danzo were beefing.
And Shisui wanted to ship the kid to Danzo's Root? Not scared of eighteen kunai in the back "suicide"?
"Just… don't tell anyone." Itachi's voice begged. He even bowed slightly, bangs hiding his eyes. "Please. This is my request."
Shisui froze. Itachi wasn't joking. Didn't get it, but nodded anyway. Picked up the kunai, spun it again.
Silver arcs blurred. "Fine. Your call."
He kept spinning, muttering: "But seriously—if Makoto hit ANBU or Root now? He'd lap us in no time."
"Future Hokage material, easy."
Itachi didn't answer. Just stared out the window at the snow.
Flakes fell thick, like they wanted to bury Konoha whole. Even Hokage Rock blurred into nothing.
Maybe Makoto was right—the village's darkness ran deeper than he thought.
The lantern under the eaves swayed, warm yellow light dancing on the snow like living flame.
Itachi clenched his fists—nails dug into palms, blood unnoticed.
No matter what, he'd protect Makoto and Sasuke. Guard this fragile, warm light in the dark.
Shisui watched Itachi's tense profile, smiled, pocketed the kunai, and clapped his shoulder.
"Come on—I'm buying hot tri-color dango. Fresh off the grill!"
Itachi looked up. Shisui's eyes glowed like embers in snow—pure, blazing.
...
Night. Uchiha clan leader's estate.
Lanterns swung in the breeze, casting warm halos down the hall. Fat snowflakes twirled into the courtyard, piling thin white on the stone—crunch underfoot.
Makoto leaned on the carved railing. His little white fox buried its face in his pure-white haori, fluffy tail tip brushing his wrist—snowflakes melting cold on his skin.
Icicles crashed from the eaves into snowdrifts with muffled thuds, startling night birds into frantic flaps—snow spray dusting his shoulder.
He gazed far off at Hokage Rock. This winter's anything but quiet. Trouble's brewing…
"Cloud Village 'peace treaty'? Bull—scouting our weaknesses. Plus some 'strong outsider' not even from the ninja world dropping in."
Time to stretch my legs. Chaos is the best ladder to climb.
Makoto's lips curved, deep black eyes reflecting the blizzard—excitement for the unknown, hunger to shatter the stalemate.
He turned toward the study. Haori hem swept the pillar, snuffing the candle's shadow on the wall.
Door creaked open. Fugaku hunched over police scrolls, candlelight carving deep lines on his face.
"Clan head—been cooped up half a year. I'm heading out."
Fugaku had tried keeping him locked down.
But stopping a kid with S-rank space-time ninjutsu—Flying Thunder God? Impossible.
Makoto had snuck out plenty, plastering Konoha with teleport seals. This was just a courtesy call.
Fugaku's say? Didn't matter. Makoto just wanted to chat, maybe roast him a bit.
Fugaku's brows knotted instantly. Brush slammed the scroll—ink bled into a black blob.
He'd just started thinking the kid was settling down, growing up.
Too soon to celebrate.