Uchiha Itachi stared in open disbelief, eyes narrowing with a mix of awe and alarm.
"Could it be…" he murmured, his voice tinged with tension, "the Mangekyō Sharingan? The evolution of the standard Sharingan, as recorded in the ancient clan scrolls?"
His breath hitched slightly. "This must be it. The true bloodline limit of the Uchiha Clan. Shisui… you really are the clan's top genius."
There was a flicker of something—relief, hope, maybe even desperation—in Itachi's eyes.
"With a technique like that… maybe we really can stop that man from spiraling out of control. Maybe we won't have to watch everything fall apart."
Shisui Uchiha stood silent, his face calm, but his heart weighed heavy. Being called a genius always left a bitter taste in his mouth. People thought the Mangekyō Sharingan was something you simply awakened through talent.
But it wasn't.
To unlock it meant enduring great loss—soul-shattering grief. That trauma still lingered within him, and he had no desire to revisit the cost he paid.
Still, he nodded solemnly. "Yes. This is the Mangekyō Sharingan. The true might of the Uchiha."
As he spoke, his eyes began to swirl. The three tomoe spun rapidly, fusing and reshaping—until they took the form of a pinwheel, four sharp corners rotating like the blades of a divine windmill.
Itachi watched, captivated, as Shisui's eyes locked onto his own. "My Mangekyō possesses two abilities," Shisui explained, his voice low but clear. "My left eye houses a genjutsu unlike any other—one that can silently and permanently alter a person's beliefs and intentions without them ever realizing it."
He paused for effect.
"I call it… Kotoamatsukami."
Even Itachi, calm and calculating as ever, flinched. "A genjutsu that rewrites thoughts without detection? Permanently?" he echoed, stunned.
Shisui nodded. "My right eye enhances standard illusions, but it lacks the permanence of Kotoamatsukami. It's powerful, but limited. That's why I reserve the left eye… for truly critical moments."
His gaze hardened.
"If Ryosuke ever loses control, if he turns on the village… then I will use Kotoamatsukami to make him loyal to Konoha—without bloodshed."
Itachi exhaled slowly, his previous tension momentarily melting into cautious relief. The overwhelming pressure Ryosuke exerted on the clan—especially on their father, Fugaku—had been suffocating. Ryosuke's influence had grown alarmingly fast, sweeping through the ranks of even the most radical Uchiha with dangerous charisma.
But now? With this technique in their arsenal?
Perhaps there was a way out.
"You really are something else, Shisui," Itachi said, allowing himself a thin smile. "You always find a better way."
He hesitated for a moment, then pressed forward. "Why not act now? Use it on him before he gains more control. My father listens to him. The radicals led by Yatsushiro are echoing his words. If we could shift his intentions now, silently, we might avoid everything spiraling into civil war."
Shisui shook his head gently. "No. It's not time yet."
Itachi's expression faltered.
"Kotoamatsukami has a twenty-year cooldown between uses," Shisui explained. "I only get one chance. If I waste it now and the real threat emerges later… we'll be defenseless. Besides, Ryosuke hasn't shown any clear signs of rebellion—just influence and ambition."
Itachi reluctantly accepted that. "I understand," he murmured, though he clearly didn't like it.
After a brief pause, Shisui spoke again. "Before returning to the clan compound, I stopped by the Hokage's office. The Third asked me to convince our clan to hand over the Two-Tails jinchūriki."
He looked squarely at Itachi. "Do you know why your father refused?"
Itachi sighed, eyes shadowed. "It wasn't my father," he admitted. "It was Ryosuke. He's already confined the Two-Tails in his private compound. Apparently, he has no intention of turning her over to the Hokage."
"That's… disturbing," Shisui said, his brows furrowing. "You think he's trying to control the jinchūriki?"
"That's my best guess," Itachi replied. "Why else would he isolate her?"
Shisui's thoughts raced. If what Itachi said was true, then Ryosuke now controlled a literal tailed beast—a living weapon of unimaginable power. No wonder Fugaku was enamored with him. Even the radicals had begun treating Ryosuke like a second coming of Madara Uchiha.
The implications were chilling.
"The Sharingan can't control a jinchūriki," Shisui muttered aloud. "Not unless it's a Mangekyō Sharingan. The base form isn't strong enough."
Itachi nodded. "So if Ryosuke only has three tomoe, he shouldn't be able to command the Two-Tails… not yet."
Shisui wasn't comforted. "Unless he's already awakened his Mangekyō and kept it hidden. Or is close to it."
He turned, gaze sharp. "Either way, I need to meet him. This can't be ignored. If he really plans to weaponize the jinchūriki, the village will see the entire Uchiha clan as a threat."
Itachi agreed, his jaw clenched. "I'll support you however I can."
After parting ways, Shisui didn't immediately approach Ryosuke. Instead, he made subtle inquiries around the compound, gathering information.
The responses disturbed him.
Ryosuke had changed—drastically. Once considered a neutral voice in clan politics, distant from extremists like Yatsushiro, he had now risen as their unspoken leader. Not through speeches or rebellion… but through raw, undeniable strength.
He was training in taijutsu—not just any taijutsu, but the forbidden Eight Gates Technique. The same deadly style used by Might Duy to take down four of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist in one suicidal assault.
Ryosuke had mastered it to a high level, according to multiple witnesses. Some even claimed his usage rivaled elite taijutsu specialists. Combined with his Sharingan, that made him absurdly dangerous. He was no longer just a prodigy.
He was a weapon.
Shisui found himself uneasy. Even with his Mangekyō Sharingan, even with Kotoamatsukami… he wasn't confident he could defeat Ryosuke in a straight-up battle. Not unless he caught him off guard.
And even then…
Kotoamatsukami wasn't omnipotent. The genjutsu had to slip in without resistance, without awareness. If Ryosuke had the mental fortitude or sensory instincts to resist—or if he somehow suspected Shisui's intent—the entire technique could fail.
Worse still, if Shisui miscalculated and wasted the jutsu, it would be twenty years before he could try again.
Twenty years of walking through a forest with a lit torch and a ticking bomb in someone else's hand.
He clenched his fists.
"I need to meet him," Shisui murmured, "before that bomb goes off."
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