"My human spirit's strength lies in that
I can decide for myself what to believe and what not; who to be and who not."
© Frank Herbert
The Root member in the monkey mask intently watched the crow rising above the grove near the Uchiha district. He couldn't attack the bird here; he had to wait. The crow headed beyond Konoha's borders, and the shinobi in the cloak faithfully followed. Beyond the fortress wall, he leaped onto a tall tree and accurately hurled a kunai at the bird.
The wounded crow plummeted like a stone.
The household thought Itachi stayed home because after months of nonstop missions, he'd finally gotten a day off. They were wrong. Itachi no longer had a boss; he'd been promoted to Anbu team captain. Now he could choose how to act himself, and he decided to stay home.
Itachi had made it clear to Danzou he wouldn't help him, but the Root leader didn't accept the refusal. No one bothered Itachi, meaning the man embodying Anbu's darkness was confident he'd agree sooner or later.
Danzo saw Uchiha genocide as the only right solution. But accepting such a mission and wiping out the clan with his own hands—women, children... everyone—or else no one would believe the legend of the mad young prodigy. That was too much even for Itachi, shinobi to the bone.
How can I kill them... Yes, they're blind and foolish. But... Damn, even Izumi...
Danzo wasn't the one who planted the idea in Itachi that the Uchiha clan must be destroyed. He'd first heard from Sarada that his clan would fall in the future and was horrified.
When you're young and full of faith, eleven years old dreaming of becoming Hokage and bringing world peace, meeting someone for whom your future is already past is terrifying. Sarada didn't know what caused the Uchiha's disappearance. Neither did Itachi. For a long time, he thought it was a coup: Uchiha executed as traitors, with Sasuke somehow surviving by miracle. But month by month, as Itachi cursed the clan and those villagers who'd order and carry out the Uchiha execution in his lifetime, he realized it was much worse.
All fate lines converged on him. Danzou nurtured him tenderly with flowery speeches; he was pulled from regular Anbu missions and made captain over Root people. He handled the clan problem. Everything fell to him to decide. And the thought that the only way to preserve peace was to eliminate the Uchiha—he'd had it first himself. Danzou's vague hint was enough for him to realize they thought alike. In his imagination, clan destruction was just an idea, but Danzou's every word gave it weight, weaving a real strategy from horrific fantasy. All previous terrors, scattered and ghostly, came alive.
That evening, Itachi sent a crow to Shisui. He didn't know what to do: the clan was on the brink—Yashiro was replanning the coup, now as leader. Without Shisui, Itachi, and his father, many parts needed reworking, taking time, but sooner or later they'd set a new uprising date, and Konoha would respond.
I have no more ideas, Shisui. Come back, I beg you. You always found solutions, a third way from two alternatives, an ace up your sleeve no one suspected, not even me. Abort your mission, or... otherwise, after your border mission with Mist, there'll be nowhere to return.
Uchiha couldn't win. Itachi, soberly assessing Leaf and Military Police forces, concluded the uprising was doomed. With Shisui, maybe. He was the strongest jonin and could tip scales to the clan, but Danzou, knowing this, wisely sent him far away. And not only for that. The only ones who could stop Itachi, if he accepted Danzou's horrific mission, were Shisui and Fugaku. Itachi wasn't sure he could beat even one. And Shisui had Mangekyo power...
A multi-move combination. Danzou foresaw everything back then. Cherishing his dream, he cleared Itachi's path. Where once were dense obstacle forests, now lay fertile plowed fields: just accept the mission and do what's asked. Free Leaf from the cursed clan.
Yes, Root's leader was right. No other options. But Itachi felt there were none precisely because of Danzou. The bandaged man surely nipped all other conflict resolutions in the bud. If he'd used his power for Uchiha's good, civil war could've been averted peacefully, but Danzou wanted no such thing.
I'm too late... Gods, why wasn't I born ten years earlier? Why, when I finally understood who I was dealing with, was it too late to fix anything?
Izumi's favorite playground was quiet. Crickets chirped, moths swirled in lantern light. The summer evening had thickened with dense dusk, and kids had scattered home. Izumi sat beside Itachi on the bench, shivering finely from evening chill.
"Itachi-kun..."
She touched his hand. Feeling the touch, Itachi pulled from his thoughts and looked at his friend. Izumi's brown eyes held so many emotions... Hope, pain, fear, and something else—so warm, inviting.
Why did you become a shinobi, Izumi? Why did you and your mother return to the clan, why not stay in the village? You doomed yourselves... Even if I refused Danzou, Uchiha are doomed anyway.
Itachi couldn't tear his gaze from her, and the longer he looked into her eyes, the more a bleeding wound opened in his soul. He saw Izumi wanted to tell him something. But after that tea house incident, where she'd essentially confessed her feelings, they hadn't touched the topic. He hadn't rejected her love but hadn't accepted it either. There were always more important matters and problems than Izumi; Itachi lacked time and emotional strength to reciprocate or even sort his feelings. Shisui loved teasing him about Izumi, hinting at their romance. And really, without Shisui, Itachi might not have realized he subconsciously singled her out among other girls.
But even if I like her, so what? Even if I return her feelings, what then? We're only twelve. And we have no future, like all other Uchiha except maybe Sasuke... Isn't it better not to get attached?
Cool fingers touched his cheek, and Itachi flinched. No one had stroked him in ages. Last time was Mom years ago, when Sasuke was still a baby.
Itachi stared into Izumi's eyes, unable to look away. He fell into them like genjutsu. Fingertips slid to his ear, the tenderest touch of a cool palm... A shiver ran through his body.
"Gods, what am I giving up?" Itachi thought bitterly.
Let him be smart and mature beyond years, thinking like a Hokage at twelve, but still... Right now, he desperately wanted to ditch his talent and status to just feel what was his by right: a girl's love, who'd followed him step-for-bloody-step on the ninja path all these years.
He didn't know how people showed love when older, what lay beyond this tender hand touch sending goosebumps everywhere. It seemed like an ocean of previously inaccessible pleasure. The unknown always looks enticing.
Izumi sighed heavily, lowered her hand, and looked away. Itachi didn't stop her. He just sat staring at her sad face and eyed her slender lowered hand with newfound hunger. His cheek still remembered the soft palm. Itachi desperately wanted Izumi to do it again, but he couldn't voice it.
"Why are you walking with me?" he asked instead.
Izumi looked at him in surprise.
"What do you mean?" she clarified, a bit frightened, as if he meant to push her away and leave her alone on the playground.
"I'm a 'traitor.' If Uchiha see us together, they'll call you one too."
"I don't care," Izumi replied firmly.
He'd never before realized how much resolve this fragile girl had, how strong her spirit. The storm of feelings raging in Itachi's heart collapsed habitually into one word:
"Thanks."
"For what, Itachi-kun?"
Itachi shrugged. He didn't want to explain. Putting all his thoughts and feelings into words was impossible—they'd lose meaning.
"Just. Thanks."
He pressed palms into the rough bench wood and tilted his head back. Stars twinkled in the dark sky. Itachi felt he'd be utterly happy now if not for the wild pain in his soul.
What an amazing evening.
The village was so quiet and peaceful. It seemed Anbu guarded precisely this peace. Peace people usually don't notice and value only on war's eve.
Sarada lay in bed staring at the dark ceiling. In her year living in her father's family home, she often couldn't sleep, spending hours gazing around the room, and had grown used to the sight. The door panel quietly slid aside and closed again; bare footsteps approached the futon. Familiar beloved chakra.
Uncle.
She hadn't seen him for days, sometimes weeks. Itachi was always busy on Anbu missions, and the last months they'd rarely even talked. After Shisui vanished, they barely saw each other except glimpses in the corridor if lucky.
"You're not asleep," Uncle whispered.
He sat on the floor by her bed. Sarada propped on one elbow, put on her glasses, and stared at him curiously.
"Remembered you have a niece?" Sarada muttered reproachfully.
Itachi ran fingers through his messy hair and closed his eyes.
"What's wrong with you, Uncle?"
One hand still clutched his head, while the right poked Sarada's forehead unerringly. It always happened suddenly. She never noticed his hand move, then felt the flick. Itachi did it rougher than her parents. Smiling, she rubbed her forehead.
"How're your missions?"
"Catching animals. Helped move documents from Hokage's office and carry purchases for some rich merchant lady. And lots more... But you don't care. Why ask?"
"For politeness. You taught me that."
Was he joking?
Itachi's sense of humor was nearly impossible to grasp, but he clearly had one.
"You didn't come just like that," Sarada said sadly. "I already get you do nothing without reason."
Uncle nodded, and messy strands swayed.
"Tell me about the future."
"What?!"
He lowered his hand from his head, looked at her calmly, and asked:
"Did I say something wrong?"
"A year ago you said you didn't want to know and I shouldn't tell," Sarada protested, then suspiciously: "Hey, you really my uncle?"
Itachi sighed irritably and flicked her forehead again. Even if it was a henge spy, not Itachi, she'd spot it by the forehead poke. No one else's fingers matched Uncle's.
"Still doubting?"
"No," she smiled again, rubbing her forehead. "So what do you want to hear?"
"Just... Tell me about yourself. Your life."
Sarada lit up with excitement. She'd wanted to for ages, but Uncle forbade it, so she hadn't dared.
"I live in Konoha. With Mom... Lived... with Mom..."
All enthusiasm vanished instantly. How long ago that was. Another life, like a dream. Cemetery, Seventh, Mom... And adult father.
"I remember," Itachi said. "You said she died."
Sarada looked up and saw Uncle studying her intently. Rare. Usually Itachi's gaze was cloudy and cold, lost in his thoughts, missing what was under his nose. But now he wasn't deep in his head; he was here, with her. Listening.
"Papa was never home. He left the village when I was tiny, I didn't even remember him. We lived just me and Mom, and I first saw Papa recently..."
Sarada spilled it all breathlessly. Who became Hokage in their time; Boruto and her team; Shino-sensei and academy; trip to Hidden Mist Village; graduation exams and Rokudaime.
Itachi tired of sitting and lay on the floor but listened raptly. He scanned the ceiling, then turned to face Sarada, eyes locked. Tired, Sarada lay on the futon too, cheek on pillow, gazing at Uncle.
Uncle smiled occasionally. Sky outside lightened. Voice hoarse, tongue stumbling. Story faded on its own.
"Tired?" Itachi asked softly.
He wasn't sleepy at all. Lay as he had half the night, alert and attentive.
"A bit..."
Sarada gazed at his thoughtful handsome face with under-eye shadows, thin lips, slim neck; hands with fading training and mission bruises. And thought: how did she live without this man? How did she endure weeks apart, forgetting him? She needed him—so very much.
"Uncle."
"Mm?"
Itachi turned again.
"Why're you never around?"
"Missions."
"But aren't they more important? If you only knew how much I miss you..."
She'd never say that to a boy she liked. But Uchiha Itachi was different. Family. Closest being in this era, to whom she could entrust everything: thoughts, life. She spent more time with Shisui, less busy and oddly more interested in her life than Itachi, but deep down Shisui suspected her, leaving a residue after meetings. Uncle believed her.
He didn't reply. Lay studying her with eyes, as if seeing her first time.
"Your future life... It's amazing."
"I increasingly feel it never happened. That it was a dream, and I'm really some ordinary woman's daughter by an unknown Uchiha man."
Uncle didn't react. Vision blurred harder; Itachi's features swam.
"I just don't get," Sarada murmured half-asleep, eyes closing. "Even if Uchiha... were so bad... and Papa decided not to tell me about them... Why'd he never talk about you, Uncle?"
Sarada was falling asleep. She no longer spoke, just breathed peacefully into the pillow. Itachi gently removed her glasses and set them aside. Good she'd fallen asleep.
Itachi never cried in front of anyone. Only once—under icy rain, when Father took him to a battlefield. Even then, Father didn't see his tears; they blended with rain. Crying meant weakness. On his path, Itachi couldn't afford such luxury. A weak man wouldn't walk the path he'd set, yet now tears welled in his eyes.
"Why'd he never talk about you, Uncle?"
Itachi squeezed his eyes shut, and damn tears spilled down his temples, leaving cool, slightly sticky salt trails.
Did I really do it?
If he'd seriously wavered the last days, now he finally decided. He shouldn't know his future, but Danzou's mission was too grave a crime to accept blindly. Now Itachi saw the consequences. Shinobi alliance of all nations. Peace. The dream he'd carried through life. Not for him to realize, but an orphan jinchuriki, Uzumaki Naruto.
Who'd have thought.
Itachi smiled through his tears. He would disappear. Mentions of him would remain in secret archives, but not in the memory of future generations. Even his own niece wouldn't suspect that she once had an uncle, Uchiha Itachi. And no one would tell her what he was like, what he wanted, what he dreamed of. Because he himself had never told anyone and never would.
But none of that mattered. What mattered was that his dream of peace would come true. It didn't matter whose hands achieved it. No matter what his role was—he had to play it to avoid disrupting the course of events and harming the happy future from which this sweet girl, his own niece, had fallen.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan