The night air around the Uchiha clan's compound was unusually still.
The once lively streets, now shrouded in darkness, felt heavy—each corner blanketed by an oppressive, suffocating tension.
A shadow, swift as a whisper, darted through the alleys. It moved like a ghost, silent and unseen, before vanishing into the abyss of night.
The figure, cloaked in darkness, wore a mask etched with swirling patterns. His eyes, sharp and unfeeling, cut through the gloom.
Tonight marked the culmination of his meticulously laid plans—the annihilation of the Uchiha clan.
By prearranged division, he alone would purge the stronghold's interior, while another dealt with the clan members patrolling the outskirts.
He had already eliminated every name on his list... save for one.
"Just one more..."
His gaze fell upon a single, unremarkable name, buried among the dozens.
Uchiha Shio.
According to his intel, Shio was a minor figure within the clan—an unremarkable man, long relegated to clerical work within the police force due to a distant familial connection.
Unlike the famed Itachi, Shisui, or even his own brother, Shio had failed to even graduate from the elite ninja academy, choosing instead a quiet, unnoticed life of paperwork upon his return to the clan.
"A powerless clan member... one of the many without a path."
Slipping through the shadows, the masked figure soon found himself within the final office of the police department.
The room was meticulously kept, papers neatly stacked on every surface—records of clan history, confidential reports, and family archives, all precisely arranged.
In the corner, a lone figure sat quietly at his desk, eyes calm, reflecting the pale moonlight streaming through the window.
Shio's gaze, though lacking the fiery brilliance of the Sharingan, still held a deep, quiet clarity, as if he had already seen through the fate awaiting him.
The masked figure took a step forward, his voice low and measured.
"Shio... you're already here?"
Hearing his name, Shio slowly lifted his head, his expression as calm as a still pond, devoid of fear or surprise.
Yet he remained motionless...
"Hm? You still haven't revealed yourself?"
Shio's voice remained steady, carrying no trace of panic or dread.
"How unfortunate... I lost the ability to feel fear, anger, sorrow, or regret long ago. These emotions have long since become strangers to me."
"Still, I don't envy you. Though your eyes have opened, you chose this blood-stained path. I, too, lack the power to awaken mine, but that only means I can choose a different road..."
His words cut through the silence, his once tranquil gaze now locked directly onto the masked figure, the weight of his intent pressing down upon the room.
"Actually, I had hoped to have a long talk with you tonight..."
"About the true nature of this ninja world, about that man you don't know, about the true meaning behind the Uchiha's history..."
"I wonder... if what I have to say would shake your beliefs, or perhaps cause you to hesitate, even for a moment."
For the first time, the masked figure felt a slight tremor of uncertainty.
Though Shio's tone remained calm, there was a subtle yet unmistakable tension in the air, like the final breath before a storm.
The figure's eyes narrowed behind his mask. How had this seemingly ordinary man, a mere clerk with no known power, come to grasp such dangerous truths?
Silence stretched between them, the moon's pale glow casting long shadows across the room as their unspoken battle began.
At that moment, he saw within Zhenyuan's originally calm pupils a pair of deep and strange Mandala-patterned Sharingan eyes suddenly emerge.
With his heart pounding, the illusionary version of him, always expressionless and prepared to face any strange race, showed an unprecedented trace of surprise.
At this moment, Zhenyuan slightly tilted his head, and his tone remained completely unchanged.
"Actually, there is one thing—I deceived you, Tushi."
"I couldn't awaken the Sharingan through normal emotional stimulation, but another accident triggered it—a very regular method activated my Mandala-patterned Sharingan."
Zhenyuan's voice remained flat, slowly describing everything as if it had nothing to do with him. The lower and lower tone made Tushi feel a chill creeping in.
His eyes were soaked in dense shadows, deep and eerie like a bottomless abyss.
"This kind of eye power is neither common nor rare—it's very special. In fact, it's named after me: Zhenyuan."
As he spoke, ripples appeared again in his pupils. The pattern within the Mandala-patterned Sharingan slowly began to spin like a vortex, as if silently proclaiming a strange force that could not be resisted.
The air gradually rose, and the surroundings suddenly became piercingly cold. The darkness surged like tidewater across the floor. Cold and darkness intertwined, swiftly enveloping the entire room.
He took a step toward Tushi's region of the illusion, and Zhenyuan couldn't help but smile.
"But only a few people can really smile…"
His tone grew increasingly deep and haunting: "When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you..."
Zhenyuan stared at Tushi with his all-seeing eyes, his gaze like that of a Buddha silently observing an endless darkness, a darkness so deep it could devour the very soul, an abyss that showed no bottom and no end.
Zhenyuan's mandala-patterned Sharingan emitted a cold and ghostly light, and the breath of his illusion silently swept over every corner of the room.
The evil aura surged to its peak.