Two figures—one tall, one short—walked leisurely down the path, as if afraid to disturb even the smallest ant underfoot.
They had just left the bounty exchange, and though they didn't speak, they moved with the unspoken coordination of people who had shared many missions.
Time was short—they needed to return quickly to prepare for the next assignment.
Neither of them was foolish enough to treat such tasks lightly.
Itachi, for his part, wasn't thinking about the mission at all. Instead, his mind wandered to the kind of intelligence he should send back to Konoha. After all, Sasuke was still in the village, a symbolic hostage of sorts. If nothing else, Itachi needed to maintain appearances.
"What's on your mind, Itachi?"
Juzo, walking ahead, turned around, rubbing his stomach. He had half a thought to suggest lunch, but noticed Itachi looking distant, his eyes unfocused.
Itachi snapped out of his daze and quickly offered a vague excuse.
"Nothing much... just thinking."
Juzo raised an eyebrow but didn't pry.
"What do you want to eat?"
"Uh... barbecue?"
Itachi's hasty reply caught up to the conversation's unexpected turn.
"Barbecue sounds great," Juzo said with a faint smile. "We just finished a mission—I've got a bottle of good wine. Let's celebrate a little."
Juzo might not have known exactly what Itachi was brooding over, but he had a good guess. Anyone who left their village carried a weight with them, and after a high-stakes mission, old memories always found a way back in. He remembered the feeling well—how it gnawed at him after his own defection.
The two soon caught and prepared a few small animals. Itachi gathered some herbs and treated the meat with practiced precision, massaging the seasoning in and applying fire chakra to cook them just right.
Juzo produced a bottle of sake and two small cups from his pack—it wasn't easy to carry, but today felt like the right time.
The aroma of roasted meat filled the air.
The animals, in a poetic sense of reciprocity, had sacrificed their flesh in gratitude for the shinobi's hard work.
Itachi wasn't fond of alcohol, but Juzo's cheer was contagious. He took a small sip, mostly out of politeness.
He'd never been good with alcohol—he didn't fear saying too much when drunk, only the dizziness and discomfort that came with it.
But to his surprise, the sake was mellow and smooth, which complemented the smoky meat perfectly.
"Not bad, right?" Juzo chuckled, refilling Itachi's cup as he saw him swallow and reach for a piece of meat.
"It's good," Itachi admitted, giving a rare smile.
Juzo's heart lightened. He didn't say it aloud, but in his own way, he was showing the young man that some burdens could be softened with food, drink, and a moment of peace.
Itachi took the second cup more slowly, sipping rather than swallowing.
Even with good sake, moderation was key.
Juzo didn't press him to drink more. He simply ate and drank at his own pace, one bite and one cup at a time. But Itachi could sense a quiet sorrow in the older man.
There was a heaviness to Juzo, something weighed down by memories and regrets.
The silence deepened. Only the crackling of the fire and the occasional gulp of wine broke the stillness.
Itachi ate quietly, not wanting to interrupt what felt like a wordless catharsis.
Was Juzo reflecting on the past?
Was he drowning memories in liquor?
Itachi thought to himself: 'Well, great… he helped me unwind and ended up drinking himself under.'
Sure enough, not long after, Juzo passed out against a nearby tree.
Itachi watched him for a moment and sighed, half-amused and half-exasperated.
He gently took the sake bottle from Juzo's hands, gave it a shake—there was still plenty left—and found the discarded cap on the ground. He wiped it clean and sealed the bottle, then set it beside his companion.
Juzo's light snoring broke the silence, pulling Itachi from his thoughts.
He smiled softly and murmured, "Like a child…"
Still, the peaceful moment had its charm.
He cleaned up the campfire, sweeping the embers into a shallow pit, covering them with soil, and stamping them down to prevent any lingering heat.
Finished with his tasks, Itachi found a sun-dappled tree nearby.
The sunlight today was gentle—warm but not harsh.
He leaned against the trunk and stretched out, letting the light soak into his skin. It wasn't just about warmth. He needed the sun to dry the sweat from his body, kill bacteria, and perhaps even ease the ache in his bones.
The light cast a soft golden hue over him. His robe shifted slightly as he moved, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone and the netted shirt beneath.
For once, he didn't look so somber—he looked like a boy again, catching a rare breath of peace.
Maybe it was the sake. Maybe it was just the sun.
But peace never lasted long.
Before Juzo even stirred, Itachi sat up abruptly.
Out of habit, he reached to loosen his cloak—then stopped.
He remembered Akatsuki's ominous curse: remove the cloak, and you die.
His hand froze mid-motion. His heart skipped slightly.
With a subtle flick, a puff of smoke formed beside him.
A shadow clone dropped silently to the ground and took up a watchful position beside the still-sleeping Juzo.
Itachi himself crouched, then launched skyward in one fluid motion, his explosive agility on full display.
After a few swift leaps, Itachi slipped his hand back into his sleeve.
Now standing atop a tree, he gazed down with a commanding presence—sharp eyes, poised stance, radiating a quiet dominance.
"Come out," he said calmly, his voice cutting through the silence as his eyes narrowed toward the source of the disturbance.
The three-tomoe Sharingan spun slowly, glowing crimson.
In that instant, Itachi's demeanor shifted. The confident air vanished, replaced by a haunting stillness. His expression dulled, his eyes turned cold and emotionless—like staring into an abyss.
"Uchiha Itachi!" a voice called from behind a tree as a figure stepped into the golden light.
He was around 1.7 meters tall, wearing a standard shinobi outfit with an unfamiliar forehead protector, a short sword slung across his back, and a pouch strapped to his thigh.
"What's your reason for sneaking around?" Itachi asked coolly, eyeing the stranger's rather average face bathed in sunlight.
"S-Class rogue ninja, Uchiha brat. What do you think?" the man sneered, uncomfortable under Itachi's unreadable gaze.
"Oh…" Itachi murmured without moving an inch.
But in the stranger's mind, something shifted.
The young figure on the branch suddenly began to grow—towering over the forest, the tree beneath him splintering as he morphed into a colossal giant, raising a foot to crush him with overwhelming force.
Terror flared in the man's eyes.
"A monster? No… genjutsu!"
Panicked, he hastily formed hand seals, disrupting his chakra flow to break the genjutsu.
"The legendary Sharingan—invincible in close combat? Is this all it is?" He scoffed, though his voice trembled.
As the illusion dissolved, everything returned to normal.
Itachi remained still, perched lightly on the same thin branch—serene and unmoved, like a figure carved from stillness.
Despite his mocking tone, the stranger felt a growing dread. The boy standing above him radiated a calm that felt unnatural—his eyes seemed to strip away pretense and peer directly into his soul.
The man hadn't once looked away from Itachi's eyes. As a young shinobi under twenty, he held his pride tightly. He knew the warnings: Don't meet a Sharingan user's gaze. But he'd dismissed them.
'Illusions? If you know they're coming, they're easy to resist,' he'd told himself.
But now, doubt seeped in.
"So… you're brave, huh?" Itachi said with a slight smile tugging at his lips.
Despite his youth, that subtle grin seemed to steal the light from the sun and bend the world to his rhythm.
The golden sunlight felt dimmer—no longer the centerpiece, just background for a presence far brighter.
"Tch… what a dangerously handsome brat…" the man cursed internally, shaking the thought away in disgust as goosebumps rose on his skin.
He sneered to cover the unease.
Without a word, he began weaving hand seals—fast and precise. His technique was solid.
Itachi watched impassively, hand slipping from his sleeve.
He slowly formed a gesture—to stop him from speaking too much, lest he wake up Juzo with this jutsu shouting.
Akasajin faltered, his rage boiling.
This bastard… He doesn't even see me as a threat…
"You've gone and pissed me off now…" The man growled lowly, though he didn't finish the sentence.
"Done with your seals?" Itachi asked, voice laced with quiet mockery, further unraveling his opponent's composure.
"Fire Style: Grand—!?" The enemy barked, chakra surging—
—but his voice caught.
The world around him had changed again.
The bright afternoon sun was gone, replaced by a crimson moon bleeding over the sky.
Itachi was no longer on the branch.
He was floating—his silhouette perfectly aligned with the blood-red moon, casting a shadow that devoured the landscape.
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