The battle came to an abrupt halt.
With a single gesture and a tone that brooked no refusal, Senju Tobirama silenced the storm between Kakashi and Itachi.
Rain hissed as it struck the scorched earth, steam rising from where Amaterasu's black flames had only just receded.
Tobirama's sharp gaze swept over the two. He could tell instantly—Itachi's body was faltering. His breathing shallow, his chakra frayed. By comparison, Kakashi still held composure. That difference was telling.
Yet Tobirama did not intervene merely out of fairness. There were still countless unanswered questions surrounding Uchiha Itachi—questions only the man himself could provide clarity on.
In the shadows, watchful eyes tightened their net. Sensory-nin from the Yamanaka and Hyūga clans, together with the Intelligence, Interrogation, and Sensory Divisions, had already locked onto Itachi with precision. Every word he uttered would be recorded, weighed, and tested for truth. Tobirama's own command had ensured it.
"Kakashi," Tobirama's voice rang, cold and decisive, "stand down."
Without protest, Kakashi inclined his head. His form dissolved into the mist, vanishing into the night.
The field quieted.
Only two remained—Tobirama and Itachi, facing each other beneath the fine curtain of rain.
Itachi's eyes widened slightly as he finally grasped the presence before him. His composure wavered, his heart lurching with shock.
"You are… Lord Second?" His voice was barely above a whisper, disbelief weighing on each word.
Tobirama raised his chin, his gaze sharp with cutting disdain.
"Uchiha brat," he said flatly, "should I thank you for slaughtering your entire clan?"
The words struck like a blade. Itachi's lips parted, but no sound came. For once, silence clung to him.
Tobirama's expression did not soften. His thoughts churned, recalling blood-soaked days of the Warring States, the faces of Uchiha Madara… and another—Uchiha Gen.
"Tell me, Itachi. From what position do you return to this village? Sasuke has already been taken."
At the mention of his brother, Itachi's composure cracked. His face twisted faintly, his lips trembling though no words emerged.
"Hmph." Tobirama snorted, contempt lacing his tone. "Your brother was abducted by someone who slipped past the village barriers. A man very likely to be the masked figure you met the night of the massacre."
Itachi's voice broke the silence. "The masked man… he claimed to be Uchiha Madara."
Tobirama's lips curved into something rare—a bitter laugh. "Madara? Hah." His amusement was cold and mirthless, as though he had heard the most absurd of jokes.
Itachi faltered, his silence betraying unease.
Tobirama's gaze narrowed further. "If you walk back into Konoha now, you'll only stoke panic and unrest. As for Sasuke… his abduction may even serve as a twisted form of protection."
The words hung heavy.
Itachi lowered his head, shadows in his eyes. "I… I thought by doing this, by sacrificing everything, I could ease the tension between the clan and the village."
Tobirama cut him off sharply. "Enough. I am not Hiruzen. Your justifications mean nothing to me."
The air thickened. The massacre had not quenched hatred—if anything, it had fanned the flames higher. For Tobirama, the Uchiha problem was not resolved; it had become a crisis demanding immediate calculation.
His voice dropped, weighty and deliberate:
"How much do you know about Uchiha Gen?"
The name alone froze Itachi. His eyes darkened, and after a pause, he spoke.
"In truth… very little. The one who had the closest contact with him was Shisui."
"Shisui?" Tobirama's sharp instinct seized the thread. "How often?"
"For a time… nearly every day. They spoke in private for hours. I once asked him why, but he never gave me a clear answer. Only that Uchiha Gen's thoughts were… dangerous, and required guidance. Looking back, that answer was far too vague—far too strange."
Tobirama's mind sharpened, each word engraved into memory.
"Did you ever uncover his Mangekyō ability?"
"As far as I know," Itachi said slowly, "it revolves around… 'dreams' and 'wishes.'"
"Dreams… wishes…" Tobirama murmured, quickly noting the words in his ledger.
Itachi continued. "On the night of the massacre, the masked man—'Madara'—answered a question Gen posed. That alone was enough to infect him with Gen's Mangekyō. Later, he tried the same with me. I refused to answer."
His tone hardened. "From their exchange, I gathered his ability functions like a contract. Once someone answers, their wish becomes bound to him. In return, their Mangekyō gains temporary strength. But when they die… every ounce of power, every technique, is surrendered to Uchiha Gen."
Tobirama's eyes narrowed to slits. Unease coiled in his chest. A contract that devours the dead…
"And worse," Itachi pressed, his voice heavy, "once he chooses to help fulfill that dream, he inherits not only their strength… but the dream itself. He twists it, reshapes it, until it serves his will."
Tobirama's thoughts snapped elsewhere. A shadow loomed in his mind.
Danzo.
The countless eyes grafted into his body. If this contract reached him…
His suspicion darkened.
Then Itachi spoke words that cut even deeper.
"According to the masked man… the celestial body that destroyed the Shinobi World—that was Shisui's dream. His wish for peace, twisted into annihilation."
Itachi's voice broke faintly. "Shisui wanted only peace for Konoha. But under Gen's influence, it became something else entirely—'absolute peace' through destruction."
Perhaps, without realizing, Shisui had fought Gen's corruption for years. Their powers clashing in silence—until his death.
Tobirama's eyes sharpened. "You hesitate. You know more."
Itachi hesitated only briefly, then exhaled slowly. His decision hardened.
"…I still possess Shisui's other eye. The one Danzo did not take."
The words hung in the rain like thunder.
For once, even Tobirama's face betrayed surprise. His eyes widened, his tone clipped and sharp.
"You… you still have Shisui's other Sharingan?"
In truth, Senju Tobirama had been calculating since the very moment he appeared.
What if Uchiha Itachi had already been infected by Gen's power?What if every word spoken here was nothing more than another layer of Gen's twisted dream, a carefully woven lie meant to manipulate Konoha?
And if that were the case… how should Itachi be dealt with?
Even as he listened, Tobirama's sharp mind spun with contingencies. Every statement Itachi offered could be misleading, every revelation a half-truth.
Fortunately, Tobirama had not walked into this meeting unprepared. Hidden in the darkness, Konoha's finest sensory ninja had been following every nuance of Itachi's words, chakra fluctuations, and expressions. So far, not one had detected deception.
Itachi himself seemed to sense their presence. The faint shadow of relief crossed his face, and for the first time, his words came without hesitation.
"I have always safeguarded Shisui's Sharingan," he confessed steadily. "If the root cause of the planet's descent truly lies in Shisui's dream, then there may still be a way. Using the Uchiha clan's forbidden art—Izanami—I may be able to redefine and correct the dream. Perhaps I could even change the planet's trajectory, or return the Shinobi World to its starting point."
His words fell like lightning, striking the hearts of all who listened.
Tobirama's expression did not shift, though his sharp eyes studied Itachi with renewed scrutiny. His voice came low, edged with skepticism.
"Izanami… a genjutsu that rewrites fate itself?"
Itachi nodded, his gaze lowering slightly. His tone was quiet, yet resolute. "That's right. Izanami was created to correct distorted destinies. To escape, the victim must accept their true fate and repent from their heart. Only if Uchiha Gen accepts the destruction of the Uchiha clan as reality can the technique resolve. Otherwise… he will remain bound within the loop I create."
The implication hung heavy in the air.
This was not merely a jutsu—it was a gamble against the very essence of Uchiha Gen's being.
Itachi continued, his voice tightening with conviction. "This is my duty. To attempt it, I must remain in Konoha, and entrust the full truth to the Hokage. Only then can Izanami be cast properly. If I succeed—if I force Gen to repent—the twisted dream may yet be corrected."
Tobirama's eyelids flickered, his skepticism surfacing as a cold gleam in his eyes. Repent? Accept the fate of the Uchiha?
Did Itachi truly believe such a creature would ever bow to fate? To Tobirama, it sounded less like a plan and more like a grim jest.
But before he could respond, Itachi spoke again. "There is another path. If I can draw near to him… I may use the Totsuka Blade. Its sealing power could end him."
The name of the legendary weapon carried weight. Even Tobirama's gaze narrowed slightly.
And yet, the Second Hokage's skepticism was absolute.
Around them, layers of intricate barrier seals were deployed, golden runes forming halos of containment that shimmered through the mist. Konoha's Sensory Division reinforced the formation, each shinobi erecting flawless barriers designed to bind Itachi's chakra within.
Itachi remained motionless, offering no resistance. His face was calm, his stance resolute. This was the sincerity he had chosen to show—the ultimate gesture of trust, standing quietly within the prison of Konoha's seals.
But Tobirama…
Tobirama appeared composed, almost detached. Yet behind that cold façade, his mind was already calculating the killing strike.
His logic was mercilessly clear: regardless of how honest Itachi appeared, regardless of the truth he spoke, Uchiha Itachi was too dangerous to live.
This so-called "plan" was riddled with risk. Izanami? A gamble against a monster who had already devoured dreams. Even if it succeeded, who could say what unexpected nightmare might take shape instead?
No. Tobirama would not wager the Shinobi World on the word of an damn Uchiha.
Thus, in secret, Konoha's Jonin had already received their orders.
At a single signal, they were to strike down Uchiha Itachi without hesitation.
Because in Tobirama's eyes, one fact outweighed all others—
Uchiha Itachi carried not one, but three Mangekyō Sharingan: his own, Sasuke's potential pair, and Shisui's hidden eye.
If united, that power could evolve into an Eternal Mangekyō—a corruption beyond imagining, a threat that could only make things even worse.
And if those eyes were destroyed here and now… Uchiha Gen's future options would shrink dramatically.
Yes. This was the true calculation. Not prejudice, not trust.
But containment through eradication.
His gaze cut coldly across the barriers as his thought crystallized.
Sorry… an Uchiha will always be an Uchiha brat.