Itachi's Final Goodbye

Itachi stepped into the quiet solitude of Shisui's house, taking off his sandals at the entrance. The space was still, untouched since its owner had vanished into the night. The scent of old paper and faint traces of herbal incense lingered in the air, reminding him of the times they spent here—long discussions, sparring matches, and moments where they dreamed of a better future.

"I'm home," he muttered under his breath, the words feeling foreign yet right.

He moved toward the small shrine in the corner of the room, where framed pictures of Shisui's grandmother and mother stood. And beside them, a smaller frame—the last known image of Shisui himself. Itachi knelt before it, striking a match and lighting the incense. The small ember flickered to life, curling wisps of smoke upward, a silent offering to the dead.

His hands clenched into fists as he gazed at the photo. Memories flooded back—Shisui's laughter, his unwavering optimism, his belief in Konoha despite all its flaws.

"I'm sorry," Itachi whispered, his voice shaking. "I didn't make it in time. I should have been there."

Tears welled in his eyes, unbidden. He let them fall.

"I'm sorry for getting you involved in Root… in Danzo. This is my fault." His shoulders trembled as he exhaled. "You always believed in peace, in compromise, in something better. But your vision was too pure for this world. People like the elders… they would only twist it, use it against you, mistake your kindness for weakness."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to continue.

"I can't follow your path, Shisui. I won't kill our family in the name of peace—peace that only serves the very people I despise." His voice hardened. "I'll save them, but I won't do it under Konoha's rule. After this week, I will no longer be a shinobi of this village."

He bowed his head. "You loved Konoha. I didn't. I only ever loved being your friend. And for that, I'm sorry."

His hands came together in prayer, a quiet moment of finality. Then, slowly, he rose and walked to the back of the house—Shisui's room.

It was simple. Minimalist, even. A few books, some spare sets of clothing, and a neat futon, undisturbed since the last time Shisui had slept in it.

Itachi moved with purpose, taking what mattered. Shisui's tanto—a blade that had once cut down enemies with precision and mercy. Scrolls filled with his techniques, his thoughts, his philosophies. Then, tucked away in a corner, he found it—Shisui's old journal, filled with the ramblings of an idealistic child.

And finally, the most precious thing of all—the crow contract.

Itachi let his fingers trail over the scroll, feeling the weight of it in his hands. This was the contract that had made him a legend in his past life. It would do so again.

But one last thing remained. On Shisui's bedside, a small, weathered picture frame. A five-year-old Shisui, smiling between his grandmother and mother. It was the happiest he had ever seen his friend. Itachi took it with the utmost care, pressing it to his chest for a moment before placing it inside his cloak.

Then, he walked outside.

Standing at the threshold of the house, he formed the seals. Tiger → Horse → Ram → Monkey → Boar → Horse → Tiger.

"Katon: Gōka Mekkyaku."

A wall of flame erupted, engulfing the home in a roaring inferno. The fire reflected in his eyes, his Sharingan spinning as the structure crackled and burned. He wanted to remember ever moment of this, to all the sparks until they faded away.

Uchiha tradition dictated that the most honored among them were cremated. 

Then when the house full turned to ash he looked at it for a moment into he walked away as he still had to make may house calls tonight.

Itachi left the burning remnants of Shisui's home behind, his expression unreadable as the flames consumed the last physical traces of his friend. But there was no time to linger—there was still much to do before dawn.

His next stop was the clinic.

The Uchiha Clinic stood on the outskirts of the district, a modest yet efficient facility run by the few medical-nin the clan had produced. The Uchiha were never known for their contributions to medical ninjutsu like the Senju or the Nara, but they had always been capable. Their Sharingan made them excellent diagnosticians, their understanding of chakra gave them an edge in precision-based healing, and their ancestral remedies had once been highly sought after in Konoha's early days.

But that had changed.

Decades ago, when the clan had tried to introduce their own medicines to the village, the Hokage's council had shut them down. They denied every proposal, every offer—until, months later, nearly identical medicines, rebranded under Nara sponsorship, were mysteriously approved. The Nara clan made millions, and the Uchiha were left with nothing.

The rejection hadn't just been a loss of profit—it had been an insult. A message.

And that was why so many of the weaker Uchiha lived in quiet poverty, forgotten by the village they were supposed to protect. That was why the coup had gained so much traction. The discontent wasn't just about the police force, or about surveillance, or even about Danzo's schemes. It was about survival.

On the surface, the Uchiha were seen as an elite, powerful clan—Konoha's pride, second only to the Senju in history. But that image was just that—an illusion. Beneath it, many of their people were struggling.

The structure of an Uchiha shinobi's career had been designed with honor in mind. Every young Uchiha who wanted to become a ninja had to enter the Academy just like any other Konoha child. They would train, graduate, and be placed in a standard three-man cell under a jonin sensei. But that was where the fairness ended.

For most clans, being promoted to chunin was a milestone that led to different opportunities—Anbu, specialized divisions, mentorship under renowned shinobi. But for the Uchiha, there was only one true path: the Military Police.

The Uchiha Police Force was a symbol of pride, a legacy of their ancestors. It was an honor to be chosen, and for those who made the cut, it provided stability—guaranteed pay, influence, and an easy promotion to jonin. The police force ensured that its members had steady work, connections within the village, and respect from their peers.

But not every Uchiha was selected.

The ones who didn't make the cut lost out on the most secure career path their clan had to offer. Without the police force, their futures became uncertain. The only way to earn an income was through missions—but that presented a new problem.

Most Konoha shinobi avoided working with the Uchiha.

There were too many rumors. That they were arrogant. That they were uncooperative. That they were obsessed with proving their superiority. Whether these things were true didn't matter—what mattered was that other shinobi believed them. And so, when missions were assigned, few outside the clan ever wanted an Uchiha on their team.

This left the rejected Uchiha with only a handful of options.

Some left the village entirely, becoming rogue shinobi or mercenaries just to survive. Others remained in Konoha but lived in quiet poverty, scraping by with whatever low-ranking missions they could find. And then there were the hunting parties—small groups of Uchiha who banded together to take on bounty hunting or extermination missions.

It was a humiliating reality.

The village refused to acknowledge them. The elders despised them. And despite being one of Konoha's founding clans, the Uchiha had been systematically isolated.

This was one of the many reasons the coup had gained so much traction.

It wasn't just about pride. It wasn't just about surveillance or paranoia.

It was about survival.

Itachi's grip tightened as he walked. The village had done this to them. The system had abandoned them. The people in power—Hiruzen, Danzo, the council—had slowly but deliberately pushed the Uchiha into a corner where rebellion felt like the only option.

And that was why he couldn't follow Shisui's path.

Shisui's dream of peace was pure, but purity had no place in a world run by men like Danzo.

Itachi stepped inside the clinic, his keen eyes scanning the dimly lit halls. A few Uchiha medics milled about, some tending to injured clansmen who just came back from missions, others preparing for the next day's operations. He made his way toward the patient rooms, stopping at the doorway where his parents rested.

A young female Uchiha nurse stood beside his mother's bed, carefully adjusting Mikoto's blanket. Itachi took a moment to observe her—she was diligent, focused, a rare sight in a clan where most members chose combat over caregiving.

He also saw his stinky little brother, using his mother as a pillow.

The moment she noticed him, she straightened up and offered a respectful salute. "Clan Head Itachi,"

His gaze flickered to the name tag pinned to her uniform—Yuki Uchiha.

She was young, no older than nineteen at best. Her black hair was styled into twin buns, a practical but stylish choice. Dressed entirely in black, she wore a cropped top with chainmail sleeves peeking beneath, paired with a skirt that allowed for easy movement. But the most striking feature about her wasn't her attire—it was her eyes.

Unlike the deep onyx of most Uchiha, hers were a captivating greenish-blue, a rarity among their kin.

He supposed he should call her a woman, but she was young. Likely close to his own age. And like most of their clan, she possessed an undeniable beauty.

Shaking off his observations, Itachi stepped closer. "How are my parents?"

Yuki bowed her head slightly. "Lord Fugaku and Lady Mikoto will make a full recovery by tomorrow," she informed him, her tone professional, precise.

Itachi allowed himself a small exhale of relief. His mother had suffered minor wounds, but his father had been in worse shape. Knowing they would recover lifted a small weight from his chest, but it did little to change what needed to be done.

His time in the village was running out.

And soon, he would have to make his move.

Itachi glanced at the nurse beside him, wondering if she knew the full weight of their clan's struggle. She was young, dedicated—someone who had chosen healing over fighting. Did she understand why the coup was happening? Did she see the injustice around them, or had she resigned herself to it like so many others?

Wait why do I care about what an Npc thinks, am I interested in her. Well she is cute. But wait I have little Izumi. humm I'll have to put a pin in that for a later thought.

"I need you to come with me," he said, voice firm but not unkind.

The nurse hesitated. "Now?"

"Yes."

She glanced at the patients. "But I—"

"They'll be fine," Itachi reassured. "This is important."

She looked conflicted, but after a moment, she nodded. "Alright."

Mikoto stirred awake, her body aching from the battle. The last thing she remembered was the cold sensation of falling into unconsciousness, her mind lingering on the image of Itachi standing over her and Fugaku.

Her heart pounded as the memory resurfaced—her own son, his blade drawn, his presence suffocating. His eyes had been cold, darker than she had ever seen them. He looked ready to kill them. No hesitation. No warmth.

And yet now…

She blinked, her vision clearing to see him standing at the foot of the bed, speaking calmly with a young nurse. His posture was relaxed, his voice even. It was as if none of it had ever happened.

Mikoto's breath hitched.

It was wrong.

The son who had looked ready to cut them down in front of their clan was now acting as though nothing had changed. The same boy who had filled her with terror now spoke as if he hadn't nearly killed his own parents.

As he turned to leave with the nurse, she couldn't hold back anymore.

"Itachi."

He stopped but didn't turn right away. When he did, his expression was unreadable, his tone far too casual. "What do you mean?"

Mikoto sat up, her hands gripping the blanket tightly. The anger and confusion that had been simmering beneath the surface erupted.

"What do I mean?" she repeated, her voice rising. "You were about to kill us! Right in front of everyone! You looked at us like we were nothing to you—like we weren't your parents! And now you stand here, acting like that never happened?"

Her voice cracked, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "Please… just talk to me, Itachi."

The room became uncomfortable as now Itachi had to answer for what he did.

Yuki hesitated, glancing between mother and son. "Should I leave?"

Itachi's eyes flickered with something unreadable before he shook his head. "Stay."

His voice had lost its edge. For the first time since he entered, his walls lowered just slightly. The cold calculation in his gaze softened, just enough for Mikoto to recognize the boy she had raised beneath the man he had become.

"A lot has happened," he admitted. His voice wasn't apologetic, but there was weight behind his words. After a pause, he nodded toward the door. "Come with me."

Mikoto swallowed her emotions and steadied herself, getting up to follow. Yuki trailed behind them, staying silent.

They walked in heavy silence, leaving the main district behind. Each step took them farther from the heart of the Uchiha compound, toward its outskirts. Eventually, they reached a secluded house nestled near a small creek. The gentle sound of running water filled the air.

Itachi stopped in front of the house and finally looked at her.

"We can talk here."