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Hisato stood by the hearth, the flickering firelight casting dancing shadows on the walls, but tonight, it wasn't the flames that held his attention. Instead, it was a feeling long forgotten—hope. Haruto had surprised him, the kid's natural ability to multitask and process information faster than anyone he had ever trained before. Hisato had never seen anything like it. The boy didn't just handle the mental strain of genjutsu—he thrived in it.

For years, Hisato's genjutsu techniques had come with a crippling drawback. They required so much concentration that they left the user vulnerable. His sons had been no exception. They had been skilled, perhaps even prodigies, but when they cast his most advanced techniques, they were vulnerable, unable to keep up with the chaos of a battlefield and focus on the illusion. Hisato had relied on his ninja teams to watch his back while he worked, and his sons had done the same. But Haruto… Haruto was different. The kid had a natural talent for multitasking, something Hisato himself never had. Haruto wouldn't need a team to cover for him while he cast. He could do it all, seamlessly.

For the first time, Hisato felt like he had finally found an inheritor who wouldn't be limited by the same weaknesses that had plagued him and his family. Haruto could take his genjutsu to the next level, surpassing the need for others to cover his back. He wouldn't have to rely on a team to keep him alive. Hisato's techniques had always been powerful, but now, they would be unstoppable in the hands of someone who could wield them without limitation.

But as hope rekindled in his heart, so did the darker thoughts he had buried long ago. Hisato's sons had both fallen, unable to overcome the vulnerabilities inherent in the techniques he had taught them. His first son had died in battle, a loss that Hisato had accepted with the dignity of a shinobi. But the second… that had been different. An ANBU mission, they'd said. The details were classified, redacted beyond his reach. No one had ever given him a straight answer, and the bitterness of that mystery had gnawed at him ever since. Why had his son died? What had really happened?

Haruto had ignited something in him, something dangerous. For the first time in years, Hisato felt the drive to dig into the past, to uncover the truth behind his second son's death. The village had promised him answers, and yet they never came. The thought made his blood boil.

If his son's death had been unjust, if the village had been hiding something from him all this time, then there would be consequences. Hisato wasn't just going to sit in his crumbling estate and let the village think they could brush him aside. He had once been feared as The Wraith of Illusions, his genjutsu renowned for their devastating complexity. His techniques had opened the way for countless attacks, leaving entire squads of enemies helpless as his illusions twisted their perception of reality. He had been a legend in his own right.

If Konoha had wronged him, they would learn that the Wraith of Illusions was not dead. They would feel the full weight of his vengeance. He would tear apart whatever web of lies had been spun, and if he found that his son's death was part of a conspiracy, there would be hell to pay. He had nothing left to lose, and if the village thought he was too old and broken to fight back, they were sorely mistaken.

Hisato stared into the fire, the crackling flames reflected in his single, sharp eye. Haruto's progress had stirred something in him, something he hadn't felt in years. If the boy could carry on his legacy, then at least something good would come of all the pain. But before he passed his knowledge on, he would uncover the truth about his son's death.

And if the village had been at fault? Then they would face the wrath of The Wraith of Illusions once again.