Chapter 15 Shadows of the Uchiha

The air was thick with the cacophony of countless crows, their black wings blotting out the sky as they swarmed their prey. The large man—Itachi's target—howled in frustration, swinging wildly at the feathered storm engulfing him. But there was no escape. The crows were relentless, their beaks and claws tearing at his flesh, their numbers so dense that not even a sliver of daylight pierced through.

Perfect.

High above in the gnarled branches of an ancient oak, Itachi watched, his Sharingan flickering crimson as he analyzed every movement. His Shadow Clone technique had ensnared the enemy flawlessly. Below, Tenma lay sprawled on the forest floor, his face pale with shock. Yuki and Shinko stood poised, waiting for the signal.

"Now!" Itachi commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The crows erupted into the sky in a deafening rush, vanishing into the trees like a receding tide. The moment they dispersed, Yuki and Shinko lunged.

"Here we go, Shinko!"

"All right!"

Their kunai flashed. A strangled cry tore from the enemy's throat—then silence.

Itachi exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air as he dropped soundlessly from the branches. The mission was over.

"Nice call there, Itachi," Yuki said, clapping him on the shoulder. Tenma scowled as he pushed himself up, brushing dirt from his clothes. Shinko ignored them both, crouching beside the fallen spy to examine the body.

The mission had been straightforward: eliminate an Iwagakure operative posing as a vegetable peddler. Normally, ANBU would handle such a threat, but the village was stretched thin—ever since the botched kidnapping of Hyūga Hinata.

The memory of that incident still hung over Konoha like a storm cloud. The Kumo head ninja's betrayal, the tense negotiations, the near-war averted only by deception and sacrifice. With ANBU deployed and tensions high, the village couldn't afford loose ends.

So they sent him.

At seven years old, Itachi was already a prodigy—his skills surpassing even some chunin. And yet, despite his competence, Tenma had nearly ruined everything.

"Not costumin' himself none," Shinko muttered, poking at the corpse. "Just a regular spy."

"Good," Yuki said, rolling his shoulders.

Shinko stood abruptly, hands on her hips as she rounded on Tenma. "You got somethin' to say to Itachi?"

Tenma scoffed, looking away. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"You'd be dead if not for him!" Shinko snapped. "Least you could do is—"

"Enough." Itachi stepped between them, his voice quiet but firm.

Shinko huffed. "You baby him too much. He needs to learn."

"It's fine." Itachi offered her a faint smile.

Tenma's jaw clenched. "I didn't need your help."

A flicker of movement—Itachi's hand snapped up, catching Tenma's fist before it could connect.

"I hate that," Tenma hissed. "The way you act like you're above it all."

Itachi exhaled. "Will an apology help?"

"That's exactly what I mean!" Tenma wrenched free, launching a kick. Itachi swayed back effortlessly, letting the momentum send Tenma spinning to the ground.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

"...Thanks," Tenma muttered, his back still turned.

Itachi said nothing.

That evening, the Uchiha compound was heavy with tension.

"Itachi," his father urged, gesturing to the closed sliding door.

Beyond it, the air thrummed with suppressed energy—anger, frustration, desperation. The weight of it pressed against Itachi's skin like a physical force.

He stepped inside.

The meeting hall was packed, shadows shifting in the dim candlelight. Fugaku took his place at the front, while Itachi settled at the back, his presence drawing curious glances.

"We'll now begin," Yashiro announced. "Lord Fugaku's son will be joining us from now on."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Fugaku bowed slightly. "He is young, but he must learn our ways."

The discussion erupted immediately—arguments about Konoha's discrimination, demands for action, voices clashing like steel.

And then—

A familiar gaze.

Itachi turned.

Shisui.

His best friend offered a small, tired smile—one that spoke volumes.

I know, Itachi thought, returning the look. I feel it too.

The clan's resentment was a living thing, coiled tight around their hearts.

And Itachi?

He was drowning in it.