The Naka River grove was a cage of shadows, the moonlight barely piercing the dense canopy, casting jagged pools of light on the blood-streaked grass. Akira stood frozen, his two-tomoe Sharingan locked on Sasuke Uchiha's wide, terrified eyes, the younger boy's small hands trembling around a kunai. Sasuke's voice, a fragile whisper, "Akira? What… what are you doing? I saw you… with that man, the blood…", cut through the silence like a blade. Behind him, a crow perched on a branch, its black eyes glinting with an unnatural intelligence, its sharp cry echoing like a death knell. Akira's heart pounded, a frantic pulse that threatened to drown out his thoughts. Nine weeks remained until the Uchiha Massacre, and now Sasuke, innocent, trusting Sasuke, had seen him for what he was: a killer, blood on his hands, no mercy in his heart.
The visions of the *Naruto* series burned in Akira's mind, a relentless reminder of the future he was fighting to rewrite. He saw the compound in flames, his parents' lifeless bodies, Sasuke's screams as Itachi's blade fell. He'd killed a Root operative and a masked figure with a Sharingan, their blood a testament to his resolve, his cruelty a necessity to protect his family. But Sasuke's presence was a crack in his plans, a fracture he hadn't anticipated. The crow's cry screamed of Itachi, watching, waiting, his Mangekyō a specter that haunted every move Akira made. Had Sasuke told him? Was Itachi here, in the shadows, ready to end him? Akira's grip tightened on his blood-slick kunai, his wound from the masked figure throbbing, a dull ache that grounded him in the moment.
"Sasuke," Akira said, his voice low, steady, masking the panic clawing at his chest. He stepped forward, his Sharingan flickering, his posture open but his mind racing. "You shouldn't be here. It's not safe."
Sasuke's eyes darted to the blood on Akira's kunai, his small frame trembling but his kunai raised, a child's defiance against a nightmare. "You killed him," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I saw you. He was screaming, and you… you didn't stop. Why, Akira?"
Akira's stomach twisted, the weight of Sasuke's fear a blade in his gut. He'd sworn to protect Sasuke, to spare him the pain the visions foretold, but now he was the source of that fear. He couldn't let Sasuke expose him, not to Itachi, not to the clan. Enemies deserved no mercy, but Sasuke wasn't an enemy. He was family, a boy who looked up to him, and that made this moment all the more dangerous. Akira wove a faint *Illusory Whisper*, threading a subtle suggestion into Sasuke's mind: *You're confused, it was a dream.* It was a desperate move, a violation of the trust between them, but survival demanded it.
"Sasuke, listen," Akira said, crouching to his level, his voice soft but urgent. "You're tired. You didn't see what you think you saw. I was training, that's all. The blood… it's mine. I got hurt practicing." He gestured to the wound at his side, the blood seeping through his tunic, a half-truth to anchor the lie.
Sasuke's eyes flickered, the *Illusory Whisper* taking hold, but his fear didn't fade. "It didn't look like training," he said, his voice trembling. "I saw him fall, Akira. I saw you… twist the knife." His kunai shook, but he didn't lower it, his small frame rigid with a mix of fear and defiance.
Akira's heart sank, the genjutsu faltering against Sasuke's will. He was too young, too innocent, but his Uchiha blood made him stubborn, his mind resistant. Akira stood, his Sharingan flaring, his voice hardening. "Go home, Sasuke. This isn't your place. Tell no one what you think you saw, or you'll put us all in danger." The words were a threat, laced with a cold edge he hadn't meant to use, but necessity drove him. If Sasuke spoke, Itachi would know, and Akira's plans would crumble.
Sasuke's eyes widened, tears welling, but he nodded, his kunai lowering. He turned and ran, his small figure vanishing into the trees, the crow taking flight behind him, its cry a sharp warning. Akira stood, his breath ragged, his wound throbbing. He'd dodged Sasuke's accusations, but at what cost? The boy's trust was shattered, and Itachi's crows were a reminder that his secrets were never truly safe.
---
The Uchiha compound was a gray blur as Akira returned, the morning rain a steady drizzle that stung his wound and soaked his clothes. He slipped through the streets, his *Veil of Shadows* flickering to mask his presence, his Sharingan scanning for Itachi's spies. The clan was a cauldron of tension, Kenta's accusations now a storm, the elders' meetings shrouded in paranoia. Akira's manipulations were working, but they were a poison, seeping into his own soul. The blood of the operative and the masked figure clung to him, a weight he couldn't wash away. He'd killed without remorse, their screams a necessity, but Sasuke's terrified eyes were a wound that cut deeper than any blade.
At home, breakfast was a silent ordeal, Hana's concern a palpable force as she noticed the blood on his tunic. "Akira, you're hurt again," she said, her voice sharp with worry, her hands reaching for him. "What's happening? You're not yourself."
He pulled away, forcing a smile that felt like a lie. "Just a scratch, Kaa-san. Training's been rough." The words were hollow, the truth a burden he couldn't share. He wanted to tell her about the visions, the masked figure, Sasuke's fear, but it would break her. He could only protect her with silence, with the cruel necessity of his plans.
Taro's gaze was sharp, his voice gruff. "You're reckless, Akira. The clan's falling apart, and you're out getting yourself hurt. Kenta's stirring up trouble, accusing the elders of betrayal. The whole compound's talking about it. You know anything?"
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Akira's heart skipped, but he kept his expression neutral. "No, Tou-san. Just rumors." He took a sip of tea, his mind racing. Kenta's confrontation with the elders was a spark that could ignite the clan's collapse, but it was moving too fast. He needed to redirect their paranoia, to point it at Danzō's Root, but Sasuke's discovery and the masked figure's attack had shifted the board. The figure's Sharingan, Madara's, Obito's, or something else, haunted him, a threat the visions hadn't fully prepared him for.
After breakfast, he slipped out, his destination the training grounds. He needed to see Kenta, to keep him on edge, to ensure the clan's focus remained inward. The grounds were crowded, Uchiha sparring under the rain, their Sharingan flashing like embers. Kenta was there, his face pale, his movements frantic, his Sharingan blazing with agitation. Akira approached, his expression one of concern, his voice low.
"Kenta, you're pushing too hard," he said, keeping his tone gentle. "People are talking, saying you're out of control. What's going on?"
Kenta's eyes snapped to him, his voice a hiss. "Out of control? I'm the only one seeing the truth! The elders are working with Danzō, I know it. I told them, and they threatened me, Akira. They're hiding something big." His words were loud, drawing glances from nearby Uchiha, their whispers a soft buzz in the rain.
Akira leaned closer, his voice a whisper. "I believe you. I saw another stranger last night, near the shrine, Root again. They're everywhere, Kenta. The elders aren't protecting us." He wove the *Illusory Whisper*, threading a suggestion: *Confront Fugaku directly.* It was a reckless push, urging Kenta to escalate his accusations, to fracture the clan further.
Kenta's eyes widened, his hands shaking. "Fugaku? He's in on it? I'll make him answer!" He stormed off, his anger a wildfire Akira had stoked. Akira watched him go, his heart heavy but his resolve firm. Kenta was a tool, a means to delay the coup, to buy time. If his anger tore the clan apart, so be it. Survival demanded sacrifice.
---
That afternoon, Akira returned to the Naka River, the grove his refuge and his crucible. The wound at his side throbbed, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage, but he ignored it, spreading the stolen scrolls. The *Genjutsu: Mind's Fracture* stared back at him, its cruelty a mirror to his own. He'd used it on the operative, shattering his mind before ending his life, and he'd do it again. Enemies like Root, like the masked figure, deserved no mercy. He'd learned that lesson in blood, and he wouldn't forget it.
He practiced the *Veil of Shadows*, his chakra flowing smoother, his presence fading for nearly five minutes before it collapsed. Progress, but not enough. He turned to the *Mind's Fracture*, its hand signs a labyrinth, its chakra demands a mountain. He wove them slowly, his Sharingan guiding his movements, but the jutsu failed, his chakra sputtering. He cursed, his voice a low growl, and tried again, ignoring the pain, the blood, the exhaustion.
The visions had shown him the Mangekyō's power, its ability to bend reality, to crush enemies, but also its cost. He needed it, needed its strength to face Itachi, to defeat the figure with the Sharingan. He wove the hand signs for another self-inflicted genjutsu, bracing for the pain. The world dissolved, the grove replaced by the Uchiha compound in flames. His parents lay dead, their blood pooling. Shisui's body was broken, Sasuke's screams echoing. And the masked figure stood over him, its Sharingan blazing, its voice a rasp: "You can't change fate."
Akira screamed, his Sharingan spinning, his heart tearing under the illusion's weight. He forced himself to endure, to feel the despair, the betrayal. His vision blurred, tears streaming, his chakra surging. The tomoe spun faster, but the Mangekyō didn't come. He broke the genjutsu, collapsing onto the wet grass, his breath ragged, his body shaking. "Not enough," he whispered, his voice raw, blood dripping from his side.
A sound, a soft rustle, made him freeze, his Sharingan flaring. He stood, kunai drawn, scanning the darkness. Another enemy? Or Itachi, come to finish what he'd started? He wove the *Veil of Shadows*, his presence fading, and crept toward the sound. His heart pounded, his mind racing. He couldn't afford another mistake, not after Sasuke, not after the figure.
Then he saw it, a figure in the trees, cloaked, moving with a shinobi's grace. Not Itachi, not the masked figure, but someone new, someone small. A girl, no older than Sasuke, her eyes wide with fear, her hands clutching a scroll. She was no Uchiha, her chakra unfamiliar, but the scroll bore the Uchiha crest, its seal broken. Another spy, another thief. Akira's blood boiled, his Sharingan blazing. Enemies deserved no mercy, and this girl, young or not, was a threat.
He struck, his *Veil of Shadows* holding as he closed the distance, his kunai aimed for her throat. She screamed, dropping the scroll, her hands flailing. But before the blade could connect, a shadow moved, faster than light, and a hand caught his wrist, twisting it with brutal force. Akira gasped, his kunai falling, his Sharingan locking on a new figure, Itachi, his Mangekyō glowing, his face a mask of cold fury.
"You've crossed a line, Akira," Itachi said, his voice a deadly whisper, his grip like iron. "Killing spies is one thing. A child? Explain yourself, or this ends now."
Akira's world stopped, his breath caught, the girl's terrified sobs echoing behind him. Itachi's Mangekyō spun, a promise of judgment, and Akira realized he was out of lies, out of time.