“Pop—”
It sounded like an overripe berry being crushed.
Dark red fluid, thick and laced with chakra, seeped through Fugaku’s fingers and dripped down with the rain.
The Mangekyō Sharingan—hailed as the “strongest genjutsu,” feared by countless people when spoken of by Danzō—was reduced, right before everyone’s eyes, to a smear of filthy fragments.
Fugaku opened his hand.
The remains slipped into the muddy rainwater on the ground and vanished without a trace.
Silence.
Utter, suffocating silence.
Only the soft patter of rain remained.
The Mist shinobi, the Uchiha clansmen—everyone stared blankly at Fugaku.
Sensing their gaze, Fugaku turned his head slightly, one brow lifting with a faintly teasing expression.
“What?”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried clearly across the square.
“Feeling like I suddenly got a lot more impressive?”
“…Hahaha!”
Laughter broke out across the plaza—warm, genuine laughter tinged with admiration.
Because deep down, every one of them knew—
Put in his place, they couldn’t have done what he just did.
“Mei, why so quiet?”
Mei didn’t answer.
She simply looked at him.
Rain slid down his slightly damp black hair.
He looked tired—exhausted, even—but his eyes were as clear and open as a sky washed clean by rain.
For some reason, she didn’t want to speak.
Afraid that the moment she did, this fragile, perfect moment would shatter.
Just moments ago, she had been certain—there was no way she’d fall for someone in a single day.
Now?
No one hated the feeling of being controlled more than she did.
That mysterious Uchiha rogue had once used the Sharingan to manipulate the Fourth Mizukage, dragging the Hidden Mist into the abyss of the Bloody Mist era.
Entire clans vanished in silence.
A great village, one of the Five Kage, reduced to the point it couldn’t even gather all Seven Ninja Swordsmen.
And this man before her—
The moment he crushed that Mangekyō Sharingan, he hadn’t hesitated for even a heartbeat.
That single act…
Decided everything.
“Bastard!!!”
“You idiot!!!”
“You madman—!
You lunatic!!!”
A hoarse, broken roar suddenly shattered the quiet.
Danzō—who until now had remained composed, even dignified with a blade through his chest—finally snapped.
His remaining eye bulged bloodshot, fixed on Fugaku.
His face twisted grotesquely, every trace of calculation and restraint consumed by raw, unfiltered fury.
“That was Kotoamatsukami, Fugaku!!
Do you even understand what you’ve done?!
That was power that could change the world!!”
Fugaku turned to look at him.
The faint amusement on his face faded, leaving behind only cold, absolute calm.
The rain grew heavier.
Fat drops struck the stone ground, splashing into fine mist.
“That’s enough, Elder Danzō.”
“Your role here is finished.”
His wrist turned slowly, still gripping the Blade of the Underworld Mire.
In the next instant—
Black sludge burst out from within Danzō’s body, writhing like countless tendrils.
It spread rapidly, engulfing his torso, limbs, neck—
And finally, his face, frozen in rage, resentment, and despair.
“Rest.”
Silence returned.
Only the rain continued to fall.
Fugaku let out a long, slow breath.
His rigid posture loosened at last, exhaustion crashing over him like a wave.
His body swayed—
And he leaned against Mei.
“Have your people… spread the news of this… to Konoha…”
After saying that, he could no longer hold on—and slipped into unconsciousness.
In a small courtyard within the eastern coastal market of the Land of Whirlpools.
The room was quiet.
Only the occasional crack of firewood in the stove broke the silence, along with the faint, distant sound of waves outside the window.
The damp sea air had mostly been driven away by the warmth of the fire, leaving behind the dry, comforting scent of burning wood, mixed with a faint trace of medicinal herbs.
Fugaku lay on the tatami, slowly opening his eyes.
At first, his vision was blurred—but gradually, it sharpened.
It felt like he had just woken from a long, exhausting dream.
In that dream, he had become Fugaku—living through absurd yet vivid experiences: sharing intimate moments with Mikoto, fighting a world-shaking battle against Konoha, even getting engaged to Mei.
It was practically the perfect cliché wish-fulfillment story.
Then he turned his head.
Mikoto was kneeling beside him on a cushion, her body slightly tilted as she nodded off.
Her long hair was loosely tied, a few strands falling softly along her cheeks.
…Ah.
So it wasn’t a dream.
Heh.
That’s good.
Fugaku flexed his slightly stiff fingers, then slowly reached out and gently took her hand resting on her knee.
When he touched it, her fingers instinctively twitched, then relaxed again—as if even in sleep, she could recognize his touch.
He simply watched her quietly.
The fire crackled again.
Mikoto’s body trembled slightly.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes.
“You’re awake?
How do you feel?”
“I’m fine… just overexhausted.
Sleeping helped a lot.”
“How long was I out?”
“About a day.
You collapsed yesterday afternoon—it’s now the next day.”
She paused, then continued:
“The battlefield has been cleaned up.
All the ‘mud statues’ have been gathered in the central square, along with Danzō’s.
Mei assigned that Mist jōnin named Ao to guard them personally—his Byakugan can detect anything, so no one can tamper with them.
Also, the news here has already been sent to Konoha through special channels.
By now… it should be spreading.”
Fugaku nodded.
Before losing consciousness, he had only mentioned it briefly—but for someone like Mei, that was more than enough.
They were all experienced players, after all.
“What about Mist reinforcements?”
“The ninja clan alliance has arrived—around two hundred people.
The one leading them is the current head of the Hōzuki clan, a prodigy named Hōzuki Mangetsu.
But Mei asked me to tell you—Mist has to balance bloodline clans and non-bloodline factions.
They can’t send too many people.
This is already the limit.”
“That’s enough.”
Fugaku lifted the blanket, preparing to get up.
“This won’t escalate into a war.
Hiruzen Sarutobi isn’t the ‘Professor’ he was thirty years ago.
And now… one of Konoha’s top leaders is in our hands.
They won’t risk it.”
“Wait, you should rest a bit more—”
Fugaku paused, then looked at her helplessly.
“I need to pee.”
The bath behind the room wasn’t large, but it was clean.
A waist-high cypress tub sat in the center, filled with warm water.
Fugaku soaked inside, finally washing off the grime from days of constant travel and battle.
Behind him, Mikoto stood by the tub, gently scrubbing his back.
They were an old married couple—her movements were natural and practiced.
The room was quiet, filled only with the soft sound of water and the faint rustle of cloth against skin.
“…You’re not angry, are you?”
Fugaku suddenly asked, his voice slightly muffled in the steamy air.
Mikoto didn’t stop.
“About what?”
“That eye.
I gave it to Mei.”
Her hand paused briefly—then continued.
“Why would I be angry?
It’s not like I don’t have one.
And Mei is a good person.
You did it for the sake of the Uchiha.
If we want to establish ourselves in the Hidden Mist, one victory isn’t enough.
We need stronger bonds.”
She hesitated, then spoke more softly:
“And besides…”
“Hmm?”
“I… I really can’t ‘handle’ any more…”
Fugaku froze—then immediately understood.
A low chuckle escaped him, rippling the water.
Mikoto’s face flushed even deeper red.
She lightly slapped his back in embarrassment.
“What are you laughing at?!”
“Nothing…”
They fell quiet again.
After a moment, Fugaku spoke.
“You should treat me now.”
“Huh?
I’ll go get a medical ninja—”
“No.
You treat me.”
Mikoto blinked.
Then her face instantly turned crimson.
She smacked his back hard.
“Stop messing around!
This is someone else’s—ah!!”
From behind the bath door came her startled cry, a splash, and Fugaku’s muttering—
Something about “this is for my health” and “rehabilitation therapy.”
Soon enough, the bath was filled with… a rather lively atmosphere.
After finishing her duties—organizing spoils, arranging Mist reinforcements, and negotiating with the seventeen-year-old clan head Hōzuki Mangetsu—Mei finally found some free time.
She came to the courtyard where Fugaku and Mikoto were staying.
She slid open the door.
The room was empty, though the fire was still burning.
The bedding was slightly disheveled.
Just as she was about to ask—
She heard strange sounds coming from the bath.
Water splashing violently.
The faint creaking of the wooden tub.
“What are they doing?”
Innocent as she was, she didn’t think much of it.
She quietly stepped toward the bath.
The door wasn’t fully closed.
There was a narrow gap.
She leaned closer and peeked inside—
Outside the courtyard, Chōjūrō leaned against the wall, trying to nap.
His injuries had already been treated, but rest was still valuable.
Hearing hurried footsteps, he jolted awake—
Just in time to see his clan leader sprint out of the courtyard, face bright red.
“Leader?”
He quickly straightened.
“You finished talking with Fugaku so soon?”
“Ah—uh—I forgot to turn off the gas at home!
I need to go back!”
“…Huh?”
Chōjūrō scratched his head in confusion.
“But… isn’t your home in the Hidden Mist?
Since when does the Land of Whirlpools have gas?”
Still, seeing her already gone, he sighed and followed.
What else could he do?
He was her guard.
Mikoto had fallen asleep again, wrapped snugly in blankets on the tatami.
Fugaku, now dressed in loose dark-blue sleepwear with a haori draped over his shoulders, slid open the paper door and stepped into the courtyard.
The rain had stopped.
The sky was clear, freshly washed.
He sat beneath the eaves, leaning against a pillar, staring at the sky.
“The Master said… one should examine oneself three times a day.”
He murmured softly.
His first true clash with Konoha had ended in overwhelming success: annihilating a thousand elite shinobi, capturing Danzō, and even securing an engagement with the future Mizukage.
His name would soon spread across the entire shinobi world.
But—
Fugaku understood something clearly.
This… was likely his peak.
This body, combined with his evolved Mangekyō Sharingan, had already reached its limit.
His left eye, Yomotsu Shokufu, paired with the Blade of the Underworld Mire, was undeniably powerful—but also deeply restrictive.
It depended on the strength of the enemy’s techniques… and consumed immense chakra.
This battle had nearly drained him dry.
More importantly—
His abilities were now fully exposed.
That marketplace had been filled with civilians, merchants, spies… even hidden White Zetsu.
By now, every nation likely had reports detailing his powers, weaknesses, and conditions.
From this moment on—
No one would foolishly use large-scale combined ninjutsu against him again.
Which meant—
Recreating today’s level of power would be nearly impossible.
“Those who lack foresight will face immediate trouble…”
He watched the last trace of sunset fade into night, calculating silently.
The Sharingan’s path ended at the Mangekyō.
The Eternal Mangekyō required a sibling’s eyes—he didn’t have that.
The Rinnegan?
Not even worth considering.
So…
What now?
His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, while his other hand rested on the Blade of the Underworld Mire.
Deep in thought.
“…Um…”
A voice suddenly interrupted him.
Fugaku looked up.
Mei stood at the courtyard entrance, hands behind her back, idly nudging a pebble with her foot.
Her face still carried a faint blush, her gaze drifting, unable to meet his eyes.
“You’re awake…”
Fugaku smiled faintly.
He patted the wooden floor beside him.
“Come sit.”
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