CHAPTER 12

At the moment the voice echoed through the room, Inoue Shinda's body tensed, and in an instant, he became a black blur, lunging toward the closet with a short blade in hand.

"Pfft—"

The blade pierced straight into the wooden cabinet, yet the expected grunt of pain never came.

What's going on?

A flicker of doubt crossed Inoue Shinda's eyes. He was certain his target was inside the closet, yet there was no reaction. Perhaps the victim was simply skilled enough to suppress their pain? But no—something felt off. The sensation from the blade sinking in was wrong.

Before he could process it, the dimly lit room was suddenly bathed in warm light, and a calm, gentle voice sounded from behind him.

"A guest should be treated with courtesy. Would you care for a cup of tea before you embark on your journey?"

Inoue Shinda whipped around, muscles coiled for combat, only to see Uchiha Tunan seated at a small wooden table in the center of the room. He wore a crisp white shirt and thin, gold-rimmed glasses. His expression was composed, almost scholarly.

On the table, two cups of steaming tea sat side by side, their rich aroma drifting into the air.

A bead of sweat formed on Inoue Shinda's brow. His ears twitched at a faint dripping sound.

Glancing toward the kitchen sink, he noticed the faucet wasn't leaking.

With a sharp exhale, Inoue Shinda made a quick hand seal, his voice laced with venom.

"Hmph. You think you can fool me with such a low-level genjutsu? Try again in the afterlife."

Chakra surged through his body.

"Kai! (Release!)"

The illusion shattered.

Reality reasserted itself.

Now, he found himself standing in front of an open closet, his short blade pressing against Uchiha Tunan's throat. The boy's Sharingan—a fully matured three-tomoe—spun wildly, reflecting the dim light. His body trembled slightly, and sweat dripped from his forehead.

A cruel grin spread across Inoue Shinda's face.

"Tch. So even a so-called genius can fall for illusions. How pathetic."

Mocking laughter rumbled from his throat. His earlier irritation at being trapped in a genjutsu vanished, replaced by satisfaction. The brat had talent, but his illusions were still amateurish.

He tightened his grip.

"Die."

The short blade sliced forward, cutting clean through Tunan's throat. Blood sprayed into the air.

Without a second thought, Inoue Shinda yanked his weapon free and turned to leave.

Then—

The lights flickered.

That same voice spoke again.

"A guest should be treated with courtesy. Would you care for a cup of tea before you embark on your journey?"

Cold sweat trickled down Inoue Shinda's spine.

"Impossible... I already broke the illusion!"

He staggered back.

The dripping sound returned.

A sharp glance at the kitchen sink—still dry.

Damn brat. He withstood the genjutsu backlash and immediately recast the illusion?

That kind of mental fortitude… No, this isn't normal.

This time, Inoue Shinda didn't bother hesitating. He clenched his teeth and performed the release technique again.

"Kai!"

Darkness consumed his vision.

Then—light.

But now, it wasn't Uchiha Tunan who sat in the room.

It was a different Uchiha.

A grown man.

A Konoha Police Force captain.

Inoue Shinda recognized him instantly—one of the Uchiha clan's elite jōnin. His eyes, three-tomoe Sharingan swirling lazily, bore into him with amused condescension.

"Hmph. Not bad. You broke my illusion again."

The Uchiha jōnin smirked, arms crossed. His demeanor radiated superiority.

"You thought a genius like Uchiha Tunan would be unguarded? How naïve."

His Sharingan pulsed ominously.

"Now, tell me—who sent you?"

Cold sweat drenched Inoue Shinda's back. His right leg trembled involuntarily.

No. No, this can't be real.

Had he been caught in another illusion? Or… had he never broken free in the first place?

A wild, desperate hope flared within him. His gaze darted to the kitchen sink—water was dripping this time.

"Tick... tick... tick..."

It wasn't a genjutsu.

It's over.

Before he could react, several figures materialized around him.

Black cloaks.

Cat-faced masks.

The elite of Konoha's Anbu Black Ops.

A cold, emotionless voice cut through the tension.

"Inoue Shinda, spy of Kirigakure. Your comrade has already been eliminated after failing to assassinate Kakashi Hatake. Surrender now, or die where you stand."

Despair gripped Inoue Shinda's heart. His short blade slipped from his fingers, clattering against the wooden floor.

"It failed... just as I expected..."

His vision darkened.

Silence.

"Thud."

Then—pain.

Blinding, searing pain.

"Squelch—"

A kunai buried itself deep into his chest. Blood gushed out.

He collapsed, gasping, eyes wide with disbelief.

Through the blurring edges of his fading vision, he caught sight of a final image—

A pair of crimson-red Sharingan, gleaming in the darkness.

"Squelch. Squelch. Squelch."

Several more stabs followed.

Uchiha Tunan wiped his blade clean, his expression unreadable.

His genjutsu prowess wasn't merely skill—it was unparalleled.

Through inheritance and experience, his mental fortitude had grown to monstrous levels. The illusions he crafted were near-seamless, blending misdirection, psychological warfare, and masterful manipulation.

It wasn't that Inoue Shinda had merely fallen into an illusion.

Every time he thought he escaped—Tunan had already ensnared him in another one.

Even at the very end, the last thing Inoue Shinda saw was nothing more than a fabricated nightmare.

Tunan methodically retrieved the corpse, sealing it inside a scroll.

He cleaned the floor with precision, washing away every trace of blood. Even his clothes—freshly stained—were discarded into the washing machine.

After ensuring everything was spotless, he slipped into a new, crisp white shirt and adjusted his glasses.

No need to hide it.

He had merely eliminated an enemy of the village.

And for that, the Hokage would only praise him.

With the sealed body in hand, Uchiha Tunan calmly stepped into the night, heading for the Hokage Building.