On the waterways outside Kirigakure, a narrow boat drifted along the winding river, slowly making its way toward the mountains far from the noise of the world.
The boat rocked gently with the current.
Its bow cut through the thin mist, sending soft ripples across the water.
The one steering the boat wore a black cloak patterned with red clouds.
An orange spiral mask covered his face, revealing only a single right eye, calm and unfathomably deep.
Behind him stood a black-haired boy in an ANBU uniform, dark bloodstains still marking his clothes.
Uchiha Itachi.
This boy, who had just severed his own bloodline with his own hands and destroyed the clan that had raised him, showed no joy or grief on his face.
Even the Mangekyō Sharingan, those eyes that could strike terror into countless people, merely stared indifferently at the yellowed reeds passing along both banks.
As if the blood and fire he had left forever behind in Konoha had never happened at all.
The masked man at the front spoke, his voice passing through the mask with a steady weight that seemed to hide a deeper meaning.
“In the organization, everyone calls me Tobi.
I’m not exactly an official member.
At most, you could say I’m a useless trainee hanging around the Akatsuki.” He paused, slightly turning his head.
His exposed eye swept over the boy behind him.
“So watch your tone with me.” Itachi’s gaze shifted away from the reeds and settled on the back of the man calling himself Tobi.
His voice was flat as still water.
“Why hide your true identity?” The masked man’s rowing never paused.
He seemed to have expected the question and answered with complete composure.
“Because if people found out that Uchiha Madara was still alive, it would become troublesome.” “The leader of the Akatsuki, whom I’m taking you to meet next,” Tobi continued, “is one of the few people who knows my true identity.” “One of the few?” Itachi instantly caught the meaning behind those words.
His voice remained calm, but a faint trace of probing slipped into it.
“You mean… there are others in the organization who know who you really are?” Under the mask, Obito’s brow creased slightly.
This brat really is sharp… He did not mind Itachi’s probing.
In fact, almost deliberately, he tossed out the answer as if it were nothing.
“Yeah.
You know that person too.
“Strictly speaking, he should be from your hometown… no, I suppose now I should say he is one of the few remaining members of your clan.” His clan?!
Alarm bells rang in Itachi’s mind.
A member of the Uchiha?
Here in the Akatsuki, far from Konoha, besides this man pretending to be Madara, there was actually another surviving Uchiha?!
There had been someone he missed… “Yo!
Are we talking about me, Old Madara?” A mature yet lively voice suddenly sounded from just behind Itachi’s side, so close it felt as though the speaker were standing right over his shoulder.
“!!!” Itachi’s pupils contracted sharply.
When did he… His back tensed in an instant.
Chakra surged almost by instinct, and his right hand reached for the hilt of the blade behind him.
Ever since the death of his closest friend, Shisui, and ever since he awakened the Mangekyō Sharingan that allowed him to look down upon ordinary people from above, no one had ever approached him so silently.
No matter how advanced the concealment jutsu, it should not have escaped these eyes.
Yet now, this person had appeared out of thin air.
This man… is strong.
Itachi immediately turned sideways, taking an angle that allowed him to defend or counterattack at any moment.
The three-tomoe Sharingan had already surfaced on its own, his scarlet eyes sharp and guarded as they locked onto the source of the voice.
At some point, a figure had seated himself on a slanted wooden pole at the stern of the boat, casually swinging his legs.
He was a tall, well-built young man.
His black hair was tied loosely into a short ponytail behind his head, with a few messy strands falling over his forehead.
His handsome face carried a reckless, roguish charm.
He wore the same black cloak with red clouds as “Madara,” but on him, the cloak looked less like the uniform of a criminal organization and more like the casual outerwear of a wandering swordsman.
Loose and untidy, yet somehow stylish.
A reed he had snapped from who knew where hung from his mouth, bobbing as he swung his legs.
Two long blades were crossed over his back.
The wrapping around their hilts had been worn smooth and glossy, clearly from frequent use.
If not for where they were now, anyone seeing him like this might have mistaken him for some noble young wanderer traveling the world.
But Itachi knew better than anyone just how dangerous this man truly was.
“Relax, Itachi.” “Madara’s” voice came from the front, calm in the way one grew calm after seeing something too many times.
He did not even look back.
He simply continued facing ahead and spoke to the roguishly handsome man with indifference.
“Your ability to hide your presence has become even more refined, Kurō.
“Should I say that’s only expected of the former number one genius of the Uchiha?” “Eh… more or less.” The young man called Kurō grinned.
He leapt lightly down from the wooden pole and landed steadily on the boat deck without making even a splash on the water.
With the reed still in his mouth, his speech was a little muffled.
Yet the natural laziness and friendliness in his tone clashed completely with the murderous tension in the air.
“Kirigakure didn’t have much else worth learning, so when I got bored over there, I practiced a little.
“Oh, and by the way…” He lifted a finger and shook it with great seriousness, cutting off Obito just as he was about to continue.
“Let me correct you there, Old Madara.
I’m not the former number one genius of the Uchiha.” He took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and declared in an exaggerated tone worthy of a stage actor, “I’m the former former number one genius!” As soon as he finished speaking, he immediately put on a desolate, lonely expression.
He looked up at the sky and sighed deeply, like an abandoned old man left behind by the times.
“Ah… ever since Shisui and Itachi, those two real geniuses, burst onto the scene, no one cared about me anymore, the top-tier monster from the previous patch.
“People always say ninjas get better with age, like fine wine.
So why did that saying stop working when it came to me…” He turned his head mournfully, sweeping his eyes full of “the cruelty of the world” over Itachi, then Obito, before finally throwing his head back in grief.
“Forget it!
No matter how I think about it, this is clearly the ninja world’s fault!” Behind the mask, Obito’s mouth twitched hard.
He had long since grown used to this guy’s daily bouts of insanity.
Still… that last line, “this is the ninja world’s fault,” had somehow struck exactly where it mattered.
He stopped paying attention to the drama addict drowning in his own tragedy and turned to Itachi.
At this moment, Itachi still maintained an extremely guarded stance.
His three-tomoe Sharingan glowed brightly, his right hand rested on his sword hilt, and every muscle in his body was ready to move at any instant.
In his eyes, aside from vigilance, there were also several complicated emotions that could not be easily named.
Obito’s voice regained its earlier steadiness, carrying a faint note of reassurance.
“Calm down, Itachi.
“Kurō is also a member of the Akatsuki.
By seniority, he should be considered your elder.” He paused, his tone taking on a faint, almost mocking edge.
“Besides… as far as I know, back when he was still in the village, the two of you had a decent relationship, didn’t you?
“Since you are both members of the Akatsuki now, get along peacefully.
Just like… in Konoha.” The word “peacefully” was bitten off with particular meaning.
Before his voice had even faded, Uchiha Kurō had already darted in front of Itachi in a single step.
He moved so fast that Itachi nearly drew his blade on the spot.
Yet what greeted him was not an attack, but an almost excessively bright smile and a rapid-fire string of greetings.
“Oh!
If it isn’t little Uchiha Itachi!
Long time no see.
You’ve grown so much!” Kurō’s eyes curved into crescents as he looked Itachi up and down, his expression like that of someone proudly admiring a promising junior from his own family.
Then his gaze fell on the long blade behind Itachi, still dripping with blood, and his eyes lit up at once.
“Oh my!
Why is there so much blood on the tip of your sword?
Did you go butcher a boar?” He slapped his thigh dramatically, his voice filled with surprise.
“Well, well, aren’t you polite!
Festival season hasn’t even arrived and you’re already bringing gifts!
As expected, you’ve always been such a thoughtful child!” “No wonder back when I was still in the Uchiha, every auntie and nosy relative around me praised you whenever they saw you!
“When it came to being popular in the clan, you were truly unbeatable.
Fugaku and Mikoto-nee must be so proud of you!” As he spoke, he warmly reached out to take the bloodstained sword, still muttering, “Speaking of which, where’s the meat?
I don’t see the boar.
There’s plenty of blood on the blade, but where’s the meat?
Where is it?” Obito silently turned his head away, refusing to look at the scene any longer.
Even through the mask, one could feel the speechlessness radiating from him.
Itachi’s expression, however, was extremely complicated.
He quietly stared at the man before him, this man whose words and actions were bizarre, who seemed as though he had never truly grown up.
Uchiha Kurō.
Before Shisui and Itachi had revealed their talent, this man had once been the “number one genius” on whom the entire Uchiha clan had placed high hopes.
During the Third Great Ninja War, he and Hatake Kakashi, his peer, had once been known together as Konoha’s “Black and White Twin Blades.” He had also been Kurō, the senior both Shisui and Itachi had once sincerely admired.
And yet this former hero of Konoha, this pride of the Uchiha clan, this key figure who had once served as a bridge between the village and the clan… Two years after the Nine-Tails’ attack, amid the tense situation in which the village had begun growing increasingly wary of the Uchiha, he had silently defected.
His defection had been like a poisoned dagger driven deep into an already fragile bond of trust.
Because of him, the village had grown even more suspicious of the Uchiha.
Because of him, the Uchiha had grown even more resentful of the village’s distrust.
Uchiha Kurō, the man who had once carried so many hopes, had instead become one of the important forces that pushed the Uchiha clan toward rebellion, and ultimately toward destruction.
Thinking of this, a trace of uncontrollable disgust flashed through Itachi’s eyes.
But years of ninja discipline quickly forced that emotion down, returning his expression to surface-level calm.
He did not answer a single one of Kurō’s questions.
He did not respond to a single word.
He merely turned away coldly, building a wall with silence.
Kurō’s performance came to an abrupt stop.
He spread his hands dramatically and sighed in regret.
“How boring.
I thought after not seeing you for a few years, you might have developed a sense of humor.” “For example, if I asked you when you were going to marry that little girlfriend of yours named Izumi, you should answer: “It’s still too early!” “Then I would ask, won’t Fugaku and Mikoto-nee pressure you?” “And you should answer very seriously, if they dare pressure me, I dare wipe out the clan!
Hahahahaha!” He laughed so hard he nearly doubled over, holding the side of the boat while pointing breathlessly at Obito and Itachi.
“Huh?
Why aren’t either of you laughing?
Was it not funny?
That joke was hilarious!
Haha… ha…” (Some white-haired little girl in the Pure Land just sent a massive donation.) “…” The laughter slowly faded into the cold air.
Only the ripples continued.
Itachi’s brow furrowed slightly.
The three-tomoe Sharingan he had just restrained changed once again.
The black tomoe connected into a complex pattern, forming the Mangekyō Sharingan.
Those eyes, cold as frost, locked directly onto the man still wearing that careless grin.
“Kurō.” His voice was not loud, but it carried a clear warning.
Every word seemed frozen with chill.
“For the sake of our past relationship, I’ll let it go this once.
“If you insult them again… even if we are both members of the Akatsuki now, I will kill you.” “Gwaaah!” Kurō let out an absurdly exaggerated scream.
His whole body sprang backward like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
He flailed both hands wildly, his face full of “terror,” and shouted in a strange accent, “The murderer is here!
Please don’t kill me!” Then, in the next instant, his figure vanished without warning.
As if he had never existed.
Itachi’s gaze sharpened faintly.
That was… the Body Flicker Jutsu.
Fast.
So fast that even his Mangekyō Sharingan, which could see through almost everything, had only caught the faintest blurred afterimage.
That speed had even surpassed the Body Flicker Jutsu Shisui had been proudest of while he was alive.
Kurō… as expected, he is an enemy I must always be wary of.
“Hmph.” Obito’s voice came from the front, carrying a familiar contempt.
“That guy is still as careless as ever, acting like a child.
It’s embarrassing to watch.” He paused, his tone becoming somewhat more serious.
The single exposed eye turned toward Itachi, carrying a warning that allowed no argument.
“I’ll say this once.
Don’t think about making a move against him.
“He is very strong.” “…I know.” Itachi’s answer remained brief.
Of course he knew.
His purpose in joining the Akatsuki was to gather intelligence for Konoha, to monitor and limit the man calling himself “Uchiha Madara” as much as possible.
For that goal, he absolutely could not act on personal feelings and ruin the entire plan.
That was the basic discipline of a ninja.
Only… His gaze turned toward the direction where Kurō had disappeared.
What exactly was hidden beneath that man’s crazed performance just now?
Uchiha Kurō, why did you join the Akatsuki?
Carrying that unanswered question, Itachi silently followed Obito, continuing deeper toward the Akatsuki’s base.
The water rippled on.
The mist remained.
The man who had just left seemed like nothing more than an absurd interlude in this journey.
And yet, far away on the mountain peak, a figure stood silently.
Uchiha Kurō.
He stood on a protruding rock, looking down at the small boat gradually disappearing along the waterway below.
At this moment, there was no trace of the loud arrogance and reckless mischief he had shown earlier.
His roguish eyes were now deep as an abyss, reflecting the tiny black dot in the distance.
He let out a long breath, as though setting down a thousand-pound burden.
His tense shoulders relaxed slightly.
The carefree curve that had always hung at the corner of his mouth had vanished.
He watched the direction in which the boat disappeared and murmured softly, his voice so light it seemed it might be scattered by the wind.
“Looks like… I really did survive the night of the massacre.” His gaze was distant, as if it had pierced through time and space.
He seemed to see the Uchiha compound collapsing amid Konoha’s flames.
He seemed to see the lives that had been lost one by one.
And he seemed to see everything he had once given his all to change, only to fail in the end.
A mountain wind swept past, lifting the loose strands of hair over his forehead.
He unconsciously pulled the black cloak with red clouds tighter around himself.
Whether it was because the wind at the peak was too cold, or because of the unmeltable ice in his heart, even he did not know.
He stayed silent for a long time.
In the end, he only whispered again, “But from here on out…” He gave a faint, bitter smile, filled with exhaustion and helplessness.
“Things are probably going to be a real headache.” As his words fell, his figure also disappeared into the mist on the mountaintop.
As if he had never been there at all.
Only the sound of the wind remained.