“How is this possible…?”
Danzō stared blankly at the man before him.
His Sharingan had clearly seen it.
The amount of chakra might not match his peak state—but it was far beyond what a mere clone could possess.
More importantly, the quality of that chakra… it carried a unique, scorching vitality that simply couldn’t be imitated.
Danzō slowly lowered his head.
What he saw was a section of a black, strangely shaped blade.
It wasn’t smooth metal—its surface writhed with thick, viscous, mud-like matter, slowly pulsating as if alive.
Wasn’t this that enormous weapon…?
Only now, it had shrunk several times over.
“When…?
I mean…”
“The moment I learned you were charging toward the eastern marketplace, I started setting things up.”
“But…”
“You’re wondering about the clone, aren’t you?”
Fugaku smiled faintly.
“Ordinarily, explaining your abilities to an enemy is foolish… but in this case, I rather need you to listen.”
“The weapon in my hand is called the Blade of the Underworld Mire.
Once summoned through the third stage of Susanoo, it can persist indefinitely—a weapon that can even be ‘summoned’ like a living entity.
And it has quite a few… interesting properties.”
“For example…”
“It can temporarily hide inside a person—or even inside a clone.
The ‘real body’ you thought you saw?
Just a clone carrying this blade.”
“And it can devour chakra.”
“Of course, I’m aware that your Reverse Four Symbols Sealing is a self-contained sealing technique, powered independently… and triggered instantly upon death.”
“So, the third property of this blade is this: once it pierces and infects a target, that target becomes ‘sealed.’ During that time, any technique—no matter how pre-arranged, even something like Izanagi—cannot be activated unless it has already fully taken effect.”
“…So you’ve been planning this for a long time.”
“You even know my trump card…”
Danzō’s gaze sharpened.
“Do you have people inside Root… or ANBU?”
“And more importantly… I orchestrated the Uchiha massacre.
I’ve even used Izanagi.
Yet you’re not killing me?”
From Fugaku’s words, Danzō quickly reached a conclusion: this man had no intention of killing him—at least, not yet.
And just as Fugaku said, his body was locked in place, as though frozen at the boundary between life and death.
Even in this moment, Danzō’s mind steadied.
As Konoha’s shadow, a veteran of two great wars, he had long since learned how to think clearly on the edge of death.
“Impressive, ‘Darkness of Konoha.’ Still gathering intelligence even now.
Some things I can tell you… others, I won’t.
As for killing you—why would I?”
“You don’t hate me?”
“To say I don’t would be a lie…”
Fugaku twisted his wrist slightly.
The black blade churned within Danzō’s chest.
Danzō let out a muffled groan, sweat beading on his brow—but his eyes never left Fugaku.
“You inherited Senju Tobirama’s policies—suppressing the Uchiha.
You used two great wars to harvest our eyes.
You and Hiruzen brainwashed Shisui and Itachi, intending to wipe out the entire Uchiha clan!”
“But, Danzō… children talk about vengeance.
Adults talk about interests.
As clan head, I must think about the future of hundreds behind me.
And for me—you alive are far more valuable than you dead.”
“So no… I won’t kill you.”
“Heh… planning to use me to bargain with Hiruzen?”
Danzō sneered.
Even with a blade through his chest, even at death’s door, he was still calculating.
“Not just you.”
Fugaku’s voice was soft, yet crystal clear.
“The ninjas outside… they’re still alive too.”
“…What?”
“The mud statues are just shells.
Their lives have merely been suspended.”
He paused before continuing:
“The fourth property of the Blade of the Underworld Mire—it can choose to devour only chakra… and leave life intact.”
Danzō fell silent for a full three seconds.
“Why?
If you can abandon hatred for your clan’s sake, then why didn’t you surrender back then?”
“If I had surrendered… would you even be asking that question now?”
“…What do you mean?”
“It means…”
Fugaku slowly pulled the blade free.
The black sludge on its surface writhed like a living thing, yet barely any blood followed.
“To seek peace through struggle ensures its survival.
To seek peace through compromise ensures its destruction.”
His voice echoed through the wind.
“Peace cannot be begged for.
Otherwise, today’s ‘peace’ simply exists because… I choose not to destroy you.”
“…Um… Fugaku, are you alright?”
A hesitant voice broke the tension.
Termumī Mei, who had been lingering nearby, finally gathered the courage to step forward.
It wasn’t shyness—it was awkwardness.
Her earlier outburst… had been nothing short of unhinged.
Did she really love Fugaku?
Not really.
They had only met a day ago.
Her anger had been more about venting years of frustration—about a life that felt cursed.
All she wanted was to get married.
Was that so wrong?
And yet, in the end… she had just been a piece in someone else’s plan.
So what did that make her?
A joke.
“Heh, I’m fine.”
Fugaku turned to her, his gaze softening.
“Just a bit tired.
I could use someone to lean on.”
Mei’s face flushed instantly.
“Y-you…!”
She stammered, words stumbling over each other—but her body was far more honest.
She stepped forward and supported Fugaku.
As a Kage-level shinobi, she immediately sensed it—
Fugaku’s body had already reached its absolute limit.
“No need to look around.
Mikoto isn’t here.”
Leaning against her soft figure, Fugaku spoke lightly as he watched Mei glance around like a guilty thief.
“Eh?
I—I wasn’t… I didn’t…”
“Pfft…”
Fugaku couldn’t help but laugh.
“I couldn’t lie to her.
If I did, she might go even crazier than you—and that would ruin my plan.
So I told her the truth.
But after years as a housewife, she’s forgotten most of her shinobi instincts.
Her acting isn’t good enough, so I had her hide.”
He paused, glancing at Danzō, then at the distant Konoha shinobi still frozen as “mud statues.”
“Pity I didn’t account for you.
Otherwise… my clan might’ve awakened a few more eyes.
If luck favored us, maybe even another Mangekyō or two…”
There was a hint of regret in his voice—but far more relief.
“…I’m sorry.”
“No.
Honestly, I’m happier this way.”
Fugaku spoke softly.
“After all… having a woman who loves me is far more important than another pair of Mangekyō, isn’t it?”
“Pfft—!”
Her entire face instantly turned into a steam engine.
Not a metaphor—literally.
Fine white steam began rising from her cheeks, ears, even her hair.
The surrounding air grew noticeably hotter.
That was her Boil Release.
“You two.”
A cold voice suddenly cut in.
Danzō’s face had gone darker than a soot-blackened pot—no, darker than that.
Even when a thousand shinobi had been wiped out earlier, his expression hadn’t been this ugly.
He glared at the pair openly flirting before him, fury practically spilling from his eyes.
“Acting all lovey-dovey in front of me… do you think I don’t exist?”
The words squeezed out between clenched teeth.
In nearly fifty years of life, through two great wars and countless battles… this was the first time he’d been stabbed through the chest and forced to watch his enemies flirt.
Utter humiliation.
Unforgivable.
Intolerable!
“How could that be?”
Fugaku turned back with a faint, teasing smile.
“You’re part of our little ‘play’ too.”
Danzō: “???”
Mei: “!!!”
Fugaku ripped off the bandages on Danzō’s right arm.
There were three Sharingan embedded there.
Two had already gone permanently dim.
Only one still spun slowly, alive.
“Pfft—!”
Fugaku’s fingers, coated with the last traces of his life-infused chakra, moved carefully.
Though his reserves were low, preserving this eye was still within his capability.
He paused, then turned to Mei, who was still faintly steaming.
“Mei.”
“Y-yes?”
She hadn’t fully recovered from the shock.
“Since we’re about to get married… let me give you a betrothal gift.”
“Ah—?!”
Mei instantly reverted into a full steam engine again.
A lifelong single woman, she had never faced anything like this—receiving a betrothal gift on a battlefield… she genuinely felt like she might faint.
But at that moment—
Another cold voice cut in, tinged with mockery.
“That right eye… is a Mangekyō Sharingan from the Uchiha clan.
It contains the strongest genjutsu in history…”
“Kotoamatsukami.”
Fugaku finished Danzō’s sentence.
“…So you knew.”
Danzō inhaled slowly.
The man before him was becoming increasingly unreadable.
Such classified information—how did he know?
Was it tied to his other eye?
“Since you know, why not give that to her as your engagement gift?”
Danzō sneered, a trace of smugness returning.
If they dared to flirt in front of him, they should be ready to be divided by him.
“I don’t care what he gives me—you old fossil!
That’s his spoils of war.
He can give it to whoever he wants.
Why would I care about something like that?!”
“Heh… women.”
Danzō sneered, looking at Mei like she was some naive country girl.
“Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough.
Listen carefully—Kotoamatsukami… can silently, permanently… alter a person’s will.
Now… do you still feel the same?”
Alter… one’s will?
The words struck like a silent thunderbolt.
Not just Mei—even the surrounding Mist and Uchiha shinobi fell into dead silence.
To ninja who lived on the edge of blades, who treated information and willpower as life itself… those few words were more terrifying than the massive chakra giant earlier.
That, at least, you could see.
You could fight—or flee.
But this?
You might not even realize you’d been controlled.
Danzō stared fixedly at Mei, waiting.
Even in defeat, he played his final move—sowing discord through human greed.
He expected to see desire.
Greed.
Hesitation.
Because if she wavered—even slightly—the fate of the Uchiha would already be sealed.
But…
What was that look?
Hatred?
She looked like she wanted to kill him.
After a long silence, Mei clenched her teeth and turned toward Fugaku, her gaze almost savage.
Fugaku simply smiled and shook his head.
No words were exchanged—but everything was understood.
Then he turned back to Danzō, his eyes settling on that remaining Sharingan.
Rain began to fall, soft and sudden—the fickle weather of an island.
“I underestimated you, ‘Darkness of Konoha.’ If it were anyone else here… you might’ve succeeded.
Unfortunately…”
His voice cut clearly through the rain.
“You ran into me.”
He continued, not just to Mei, but to everyone listening.
“Kotoamatsukami—the strongest genjutsu, capable of rewriting will.
It sounds tempting, doesn’t it?”
He paused, sweeping his gaze across the crowd before returning to Mei, his expression open and sincere.
“I truly intend to join the Hidden Mist.
To let the Uchiha take root there, to grow and thrive.”
“And… I truly intend to be with you.”
With those words, the oppressive tension left by Kotoamatsukami dissipated.
Mei’s face flushed bright red again, her grip on Fugaku tightening.
Around them, Mist shinobi let out low, amused chuckles.
Even some younger Uchiha turned away, shoulders trembling.
“But if that eye remains… others will wonder whether everything I’ve done relied on it.
Whether I used it or not won’t matter.
Once suspicion is planted, it grows.”
“Trust is hard to build—but easy to destroy.”
“All it takes… is a single baseless doubt.
Like a single sentence from the ‘Darkness of Konoha.'”
“That’s not what I want.”
Before the last word fully fell—
Crunch.
Fugaku ripped out Danzō’s right eye.
The blood-streaked Sharingan, still trailing nerves and veins, was raised high into the rain.
Water washed over it, streaking away the blood.
Then, before everyone’s eyes—
Fugaku clenched his fist.
And crushed it.
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