Kaito's Mangekyō Sharingan granted him unmatched abilities—each eye holding a power of its own, like divine instruments forged for war.
His right eye bore the name God's Presence, and it lived up to its title. The technique allowed him to perceive space not as others did, but as pure structure and distance—raw geometry he could command. In an instant, he could teleport anywhere within his line of sight or chakra awareness, as easily as breathing. There was no cooldown. Barely any chakra drain. No stress on his eyes. In battle, he wielded it with the casual cruelty of inevitability—an apex predator moving through a world of prey.
But it was his left eye that held something far more dangerous—something unnatural.
Mirror Space.
A twisted, detached dimension that obeyed none of the laws of the real world. It didn't shimmer or ripple like genjutsu, didn't crackle like space-time ninjutsu—it was still. Silent. Perfectly mirrored. In his past life, Kaito might've compared it to the illusions conjured by Doctor Strange, those kaleidoscopic realms of fractals and bending cities. But this? This went beyond mimicry.
Here, he was God.
Inside Mirror Space, he had absolute dominion. He could twist gravity into knots, stretch a hallway until it never ended, or make seconds crawl like molasses. He could fold terrain like paper, reverse motion, invert light—reality itself bent to his whim. But power had a cost. The more he altered, the more it devoured—chakra first, then ocular strength. Abuse it, and his vision would blur, then blacken.
Still, he didn't need to do much. Not when the dimension itself followed his rules.
Obito was already trapped.
And he didn't even know it.
That was the genius of it. Mirror Space had one immutable law: only Kaito could enter or exit it freely. Anyone else required impossible power—a Mangekyō pushed past its limits, an anchor in reality like the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan. Or… they'd have to destroy the dimension entirely.
Obito couldn't escape. Not without exhausting Kaito to the brink of collapse—or finding a flaw that didn't exist.
Back then, long before the first whisper of Uchiha betrayal—before the massacre loomed—Kaito had already moved. Silently, meticulously, he built a Mirror Space overlay that encompassed the entire clan compound. A bubble inside reality. Layered, sealed, undetectable.
From that moment on, anyone who stepped into the Uchiha district unknowingly stepped out of the real world.
Obito had been caught the moment he set foot inside.
Kaito had monitored him ever since. Every heartbeat. Every step. Every whisper.
To prevent detection, he'd crafted three layers within Mirror Space. The outermost was translucent, almost dreamlike, bending light and chakra signatures just enough to blur any anomaly. Even Hiruzen Sarutobi—once the Professor, now little more than a pawn—never suspected a thing.
Now, that carefully constructed stage bore its true purpose.
Kaito stood alone against five enemies—and smiled.
The air in Mirror Space trembled, thick with anticipation. Even the light here moved differently, casting shadows that felt slightly off, like echoes of themselves.
He spoke slowly, voice laced with calm malice."Let's play a game."
His Sharingan spun, deep red flaring to life, every tomoe rotating with deliberate grace.
"This space is divided into three sections. No one can interfere. If you beat me, I'll leave Konoha. I'll take my clan and vanish. But if I win…" His lips curved. "Your lives—and your subordinates'—belong to me."
The silence that followed felt heavy, as if the very dimension held its breath.
Danzo scoffed, his voice biting and metallic."Tch. Arrogant brat. You think you set the rules? You're not walking out of here alive."
His one visible eye glinted like a blade unsheathed.
Kaito shrugged casually, head tilting just enough to show disdain."In here, I move as I please. You think you can trap me?"
Danzo's eye narrowed, fingers twitching near his kunai pouch. But before he could lash out, Sarutobi stepped forward, voice stern and measured—but with a tightness that betrayed his unease.
"Enough," Hiruzen said. "He's buying time. We don't know what he's planning, but the longer this drags on, the worse it gets."
He inhaled sharply, the faintest crackle of chakra releasing from his palms.
"Attack—now!"
The five of them surged forward at once—trained, lethal, disciplined. Five directions. One goal.
The air shattered with the sound of motion—wind ripping, feet striking stone, metal singing.
Kaito spoke softly, voice almost too low to hear."The final movement before the curtain rises."
And then—
He vanished.
No flicker. No blur. One moment present, the next simply not.
In a blink, he reappeared beside Itachi—blade gleaming, slashing in a precise arc aimed at the artery between collarbone and neck.
But Itachi was already moving. His own Sharingan spun, catching the motion. With effortless grace, he deflected the strike, the clash of steel sending a shrill ring through the still air.
"Impressive as always, Itachi," Kaito said, tone light, genuinely admiring.Itachi didn't reply. His eyes narrowed, his body folding away in a perfect disengage, silent as a breath.
No wasted motion.
Then—"Fire Release: Fireball Jutsu!"
Fugaku's voice boomed like a cannon, followed instantly by the roar of flame. A massive sphere of fire churned toward Kaito, heat warping the air as it expanded.
Kaito didn't move.
Instead, he raised his blade and channelled chakra into the metal, its edge pulsing with power. With a single, clean stroke, he sliced through the heart of the fireball, severing it in two. The flames split, hissing and dispersing into glowing embers behind him.
Effortless.
Fugaku's eyes widened, but he didn't falter. He and Itachi re-engaged, weapons clashing, footwork blurring. Sparks flew, steel met steel, eyes locked in perfect reads and feints.
From the side, Danzo lunged.
Kunai drawn, his body moving with surprising speed for his age. Chakra swelled. Izanagi was still active—death meant nothing to him. He aimed for close quarters. His plan was clear: draw Kaito in, force a lethal blow, resurrect, and strike while the Sharingan cooled.
Kaito didn't fall for it.
He vanished again—God's Presence snapping him away mid-strike—and reappeared ten meters away, calm, untouched. His cloak fluttered from the sudden displacement.
Danzo skidded to a halt, teeth grinding. Their eyes locked—Kaito's Sharingan flashing once, barely perceptible.
Reading you.
And then—
He was gone.
Reappeared in front of Sarutobi.
The old Hokage's expression shifted instantly—from battle readiness to grim recognition.
This was Kaito's true target.
Because Sarutobi wasn't just the figurehead. He was the final piece. The one who allowed it all. Danzo's leash. The silent enabler.
The battle had only just begun.
And the stage?
Was his.