Over the past six months, Uchiha Makoto had been giving Itachi plenty of "lessons."
As expected from the jump, fully brainwashing Itachi was harder than climbing to the moon. Way better ROI to just wait for a shot at snagging his eyeballs.
Makoto even tried spinning "the ultimate Will of Fire is deep brotherly bonds," but Itachi shut him down with "Village interests above all."
Still, not zero gains—he could now nudge Itachi into "small favors" without breaking a sweat.
Makoto had pretty much mapped Itachi's wiring: Tie "missions" and "village contributions" into a death knot with the Will of Fire, toss in the occasional "do more missions, Sasuke'll look up to you."
Boom—Itachi spun like a wind-up top on nuclear juice, a total workhorse.
As for the cash from those gigs? No need to ask anymore—Itachi auto-deposited on schedule, no reminders required.
Clocking in overtime every day, grinding for Makoto's wallet.
Itachi stood under the porch, watching his little brothers goof off in the snow, morning frost dusting his shoulders—he didn't even notice.
Sasuke was getting chased all over the yard by three of Makoto's shadow clones, tiny feet puffing through the snow, yelling:
"Once I awaken my Sharingan and learn jutsu, I'm gonna burn you all to tears!"
Makoto leaned against a red-lacquered pillar, cracking up, while the little white pup in his arms squirmed to join the chaos.
Seeing this melted most of the exhaustion from back-to-back missions—like the blizzard swept it away. Left just a warm glow in his chest, like a mini furnace.
"Big bro!" Sasuke spotted Itachi, leaped three feet from the snow, didn't bother brushing off, finger jabbing at Makoto.
"Sei's bullying me with shadow clones! Teach me that jutsu too!"
Makoto chin-nodded at Itachi; the pup tilted its head like a hello.
Snow kept falling, sunlight sneaking through clouds, gilding the trio in gold edges.
Their shadows overlapped in the yard, merging on the wall's massive Uchiha fan crest—blood-red lines gleaming in the snowlight, beautiful like a painting, but with a sting you couldn't name.
Itachi, fresh off an all-nighter, loosened his grip on the door handle.
Knuckles pale, strap on his ninja pouch frayed—he should've crashed inside, face-planted in bed, let fatigue swallow him.
But watching them laugh in the snow, he paused... then turned and headed back to the Hokage Building for more missions.
Gotta make their eyes shine brighter than the sun on the Hokage Rock when they say "big bro"!
Itachi's figure vanished into the storm, leaving uneven footprints.
The deepest one cracked thin ice on a puddle, frost rimming the edges—soon buried under fresh snow, like it never was.
Makoto watched him go, thoughtful.
......
Snow in front of the Hokage Building was ankle-deep, crunching like frozen beans underfoot.
Itachi's squad got wiped by Obito Uchiha, leaving him solo—so he tagged along with other teams.
At just eight or nine, Itachi was a beast—super reliable, so other squads loved having him.
Plus, kid age meant extra care from them; most that young hadn't even graduated the Academy.
"Itachi."
He was about to link up with a team when the familiar voice stopped him.
This voice had pulled him aside a ton these past months, all Will of Fire talks—Itachi never got tired of it.
Third Hokage Hiruzen Sarutobi stood atop the building, ice crystals on his hat brim, pipe smoke mixing with snow mist, curling over his wrinkled face.
He doffed the hat, revealing eyes soft as spring melt under sagging lids.
"Come up."
Itachi hustled the stairs, ramrod straight like a young pine bent but unbroken by snow, spine taut enough to ping.
Hiruzen tapped his pipe—sparks hissed out on the white ground, leaving a tiny black dot like an un-sprouted seed.
"Look at this snow! Impressive, huh?" He gestured at the blanketed village, pipe spinning in his palm.
Itachi nodded slight. Hiruzen went on: "No matter how heavy, come spring it'll melt."
After some roundabout, he dropped his classic:
"But Konoha's different—as long as the Will of Fire burns, it'll endure."
"Where leaves dance, fire burns," his voice deepened, cutting through the storm.
"This fire ain't for one person or clan—it's to light the path for those after. At seven, you've got Hokage-level thinking—stronger than me back then."
Hiruzen's tone saddened, hand on Itachi's shoulder—warmth seeping through thin ninja gear, thick with tobacco and old-man scent.
"Seen tons of geniuses: some arrogant with talent, some blinded by hate and lost, some chasing immortality..."
"Only you keep the village in your heart's warmest spot. That's the purest Will of Fire—Konoha's future needs kids like you who can carry the load."
"When you're older, this burden..." He trailed off with a smile, eye-crinkles blooming like an old chrysanthemum. "Don't let us down, Itachi!"
Itachi hung on every word, black eyes reflecting the old man like unshakable faith—breaths lighter. This was Konoha's "strongest" Hokage ever.
Hiruzen watched, nodding inwardly—these months of "ideology work" paid off. Just gotta double down, etch the Will of Fire deeper.
Make Itachi dedicate his life selflessly.
Tone lightening like casual chat: "Speaking of, haven't seen your little brother in ages."
"The one who graffiti'd the Hokage Rock half a year back—he staying out of trouble?"
Itachi's lashes fluttered like wind-tossed butterfly wings: "Stays home reading all day."
"Oh?" Hiruzen puzzled. "That kid doesn't strike me as the quiet book type. How's his talent?"