[19] That’s... the Mangekyō!

"I have to move faster!"

Shisui sprinted toward Yuhara's location, heart pounding with urgency and regret. He deeply regretted leaving Yuhara alone. Though he trusted Yuhara's strength—there was no doubt about that—the enemy this time was someone proficient in Hidden Mist jutsu.

And he knew all too well how dangerous that was for a Sharingan user.

Having spent years in the Anbu Black Ops, Shisui had fought plenty of Hidden Mist shinobi. Even the Anbu operative named Ao from Kirigakure had learned to steer clear of him. Still, that didn't mean these Mist ninja were easy opponents.

On the contrary, the Mist Village had some of the most disciplined and deadly ninja in the world—agents who weren't afraid to die. In fact, Shisui had heard that Mist Anbu often shadowed their own teams and would execute them if there was any risk of compromising information.

Cruel. Efficient. Deadly.

And this time, the opponent wasn't just any Mist shinobi, but one of the legendary Seven Ninja Swordsmen—Kurotsuchi Raiga, a defector with blood on his hands.

Shisui couldn't help but worry.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Explosions rocked the distance, and his worry deepened. The road ahead was blocked by waves of intense flames—he had no water-style techniques to extinguish them. That meant he'd have to take a detour, wasting even more precious time.

"Yuhara... please be alright!"

Gritting his teeth, he dashed off, circling wide to find another path. In just a few minutes, he burst into the center of the battlefield—only to stop in his tracks.

There, in the middle of the scorched plain, stood a figure. Arms stretched outward like wings, the body engulfed in lingering flames—clearly Raiga's charred corpse.

But what relieved Shisui was the sight of someone standing beside it, untouched.

It was Yuhara.

Seeing him alive and victorious, Shisui breathed a small sigh of relief.

"I really underestimated him..."

He moved closer, but then Yuhara turned around—and Shisui froze.

Because in Yuhara's eyes, spinning slowly, was a sinister, triangular pattern—red and black, unmistakably sharp.

"That's... the Mangekyō!"

For a moment, Shisui stood there dumbfounded. He recognized those patterns immediately.

It was the Mangekyō Sharingan.

He had thought he understood Yuhara. He had admired his strength, wisdom, and leadership. But now he realized… he had been underestimating him all along.

Because Shisui also possessed the Mangekyō.

He knew exactly what it meant to awaken it—what it cost. The pain. The weight. The burden.

For Yuhara to have awakened such a power…

He quickly steadied himself, pushing down the shock in his heart. He couldn't afford to show weakness—he himself had walked this path.

"But… when did he awaken it?"

Shisui's mind briefly wandered. He wondered how long Yuhara had hidden this from him. Then he shook his head. Everyone had secrets. Even his own Mangekyō was known to only a handful within the clan.

Still, this changed everything.

"Maybe... he's had it for a while. After all, trying to oppose the clan head and elders would be nearly impossible without such power. And with eyes like that, paired with his vision and leadership... he's the perfect clan head."

That was it.

Right here, right now, Shisui made up his mind.

Yuhara wasn't just a good choice—he was the best possible choice to lead the Uchiha. Someone with power, foresight, and understanding. Someone who saw the roots of the clan's problems, the village's problems, and the Shinobi world's problems.

Who else could lead the Uchiha better than him?

Who else could stand tall—even as a future Hokage?

"Shisui, you're back?"

Yuhara smiled as he noticed him, his Mangekyō fading back into his regular Sharingan.

"Don't worry, it's done. That guy's taken care of. Looks like our mission is complete."

"Ah… oh! Yes, right, mission complete."

Shisui blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. He was still staring at Yuhara, his expression a little too intense.

Yuhara raised an eyebrow. That stare was making him uncomfortable.

He could guess what it meant, though. Shisui had clearly seen his Mangekyō.

Not that he intended to hide it—there was no point. He wanted people to know.

If he was going to challenge Fugaku and the elders, he needed to show he had the strength to back it up. His Mangekyō was his proof—his declaration.

Words alone wouldn't convince the clan to follow him. They needed more than ideology. They needed confidence.

And nothing gave confidence like a Mangekyō Sharingan.

Sure, Shisui had one too. But relying on someone else wasn't enough. He needed power of his own.

And two Mangekyō users together? That was a deterrent no one could ignore.

"Alright, we can talk more later," Yuhara said, still in a good mood despite a lingering headache. "This place is a mess. No point sticking around."

"Right," Shisui nodded solemnly, pushing his thoughts aside. If Yuhara said it was time to go, then it was.

"You know, you don't have to sound so serious. You're my friend, not my subordinate."

Yuhara laughed, trying to ease the tension. Then his gaze drifted to the two scorched swords lying near Raiga's body.

"Once the fire dies down, we'll take those blades and head back."

"Raiga's swords?" Shisui followed his gaze. "They're good weapons. We could turn them in to the village—"

"I wasn't planning to turn them in," Yuhara interrupted. "I'm going to melt them down and forge a new one for myself."

Shisui opened his mouth but said nothing. He knew there was no point arguing.

Yuhara, meanwhile, was already imagining himself wielding his own custom-forged ninja blade.

After all, for his recent reward, he had chosen the skill: Dance of the Waterbird.

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