After a long silence, Uchiha Itachi forced his breathing to steady. His expression returned to its usual calm mask, but behind his dark eyes his thoughts churned violently. He had just witnessed through Obito's memories the horrifying power Uchiha Gen had released, and now he needed to analyze what it meant.
First, what exactly are the abilities of Uchiha Gen's Mangekyo Sharingan?
He thought back to the fragments he had seen.
"It's not a simple Mangekyo ability," Itachi said at last, his voice level but firm. "It goes beyond mere destruction. His technique… has conditions. It isn't only raw power—it's manipulation."
Obito tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eye behind the mask. "Manipulation?"
"Yes." Itachi's tone carried quiet certainty. "You saw it too. His Mangekyo isn't limited to augmenting his own strength. It is a form of 'Word Spirit'—a dōjutsu that realizes power through verbal command, through altering the will of others."
For the first time, Obito's guarded demeanor faltered. His attention sharpened. "You mean… his Sharingan can influence other Mangekyo wielders? Through words alone?"
Itachi gave the faintest nod. "Exactly. Word Spirit can implant directives in the hearts of others, forcing choices they would not otherwise make. Even more dangerous—it may even affect the powers of other Mangekyo Sharingan."
Obito stiffened. The thought immediately drew him to Shisui's eye, the one he had once obtained through deceit and bloodshed. Could it have been twisted without his knowledge?
Itachi's calm gaze lingered on him, as if he could see the doubts rising in Obito's heart.
"That night…" Itachi's voice grew quieter, though no less sharp, "you took out Gen's eyes in front of me. Do you remember? You almost released Word Spirit—even on me. Was that truly your own choice?"
Obito blinked, caught off guard. He let out a short, dismissive breath. "Of course. I only wanted to unsettle you… to play a joke."
But even as he spoke, unease crept into his chest.
Was it really my own will?
He probed his mind carefully, searching for traces of foreign chakra, but there were none. No genjutsu, no external manipulation. Yet Itachi's words gnawed at him. Why had he acted so carelessly that night?
Itachi, meanwhile, was growing increasingly wary. He could not shake the sense that the memories surrounding Shisui's death, his eyes, and Gen's Mangekyo were subtly wrong—like a puzzle missing pieces.
Before he could dwell further, Obito suddenly produced a small glass container from within his cloak. Inside, suspended in preservative liquid, floated a pair of dark, lifeless Sharingan.
"His eyes," Obito said, his tone unreadable. He shook the container lightly, as if to display a prize.
Itachi's composure finally cracked. His Mangekyo spun to life, and his gaze pierced the bottle as though he could unravel every secret hidden within.
"Why take them out now?" he asked coldly. "What are you planning to do with them?"
Obito faltered for the briefest instant. "I… I simply wished to examine them further."
Fool, Itachi thought darkly. Or is it that you too have been influenced by Word Spirit?
Aloud, he pressed further: "You call yourself Uchiha Madara. Tell me, in all the history of the clan, has there ever been such a Mangekyo ability?"
Obito fell silent.
Itachi changed tactics, his voice now low and pointed. "When you think of destroying these eyes… do you feel hesitation? Reluctance?"
The words struck like a blade. Obito's body froze. Against his will, he attempted to imagine crushing the glass container in his hand. Yet as the thought formed, an inexplicable wave of resistance welled up inside him. His chest tightened, his pulse quickened. An attachment—deep, irrational, undeniable—rose from the depths of his being.
It wasn't just curiosity. It was obsession.
And with it came memories.
Izumi's last words echoed like whispers from the grave: 'Obito… isn't your wish simply to create a world where Rin exists? A perfect world…'
Obito's eye widened. The vision of Rin's smile—so warm, so fleeting—flooded his mind. Could these eyes, like the Infinite Tsukuyomi, grant him that impossible dream?
A world of only Rin.
The thought took root, pulling at him with invisible chains.
Obito closed his eye tightly, breathing heavily. He tried to suppress the swell of yearning, but it clawed its way up regardless. His heart betrayed him. His will trembled.
Finally, he rasped through clenched teeth: "I am Uchiha Madara."
The words were meant to be absolute, but even as he spoke them, he knew. The strange emotion inside him had not vanished. It lingered, poisoning his certainty.
Itachi observed him silently, the faintest glimmer of realization dawning in his eyes.
These eyes… they were not only a weapon of destruction. They are also a trap—designed to ensnare even Mangekyo wielders.
If that were true, then the calamity of world destruction was not just rumor. It was reality.
He had to act.
I must inform Konoha. Immediately.
Decision made, Itachi turned sharply. "I will seek contact with the village."
Obito's single eye snapped open, narrowing. For a moment, rage and fear warred within him. But he could not allow Itachi to see. So he forced calm into his voice, drawing on the mantle of Uchiha Madara.
"Go."
The command was delivered with an air of authority, though inside his heart twisted with unease.
Itachi gave him no further glance. His cloak swept behind him as he left, leaving Obito alone with the eyes—eyes that pulsed silently with temptation.
---
Back in Konoha, the Hokage's Office was once again filled with tension.
The door burst open, and Danzo Shimura strode in. His steps were heavy, his presence oppressive. As always, he dispensed with formality, his voice sharp and disdainful as he faced Hiruzen Sarutobi and Hyuga Hiashi.
"Hmph. Are we truly wasting time entertaining this nonsense? The claim that a single Uchiha could wield world-destroying power is laughable."
His tone dripped with mockery.
Hiashi's eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent.
Hiruzen's gaze, however, hardened. "Danzo. Why are you so certain?"
Danzo crossed his arms, his one visible eye gleaming coldly. "Because my Root operatives have already scoured the remnants of the Uchiha. If such a Mangekyo existed, it would be in my possession by now. Since it is not, the story is nothing more than exaggeration and fearmongering."
The words hung in the air like poison.
Hiashi exhaled slowly, then gave a cold, humorless chuckle. "Hokage-sama, I have delivered my intelligence. Whether you dismiss it or act on it is no longer my concern. I will take my leave."
He stood, bowed formally to Hiruzen, and walked out. His expression was impassive, but within he seethed.
Danzo's blatant words—his admission that he would strip eyes from the dead—were crude and repulsive. To say such things in front of the Hyuga clan head was more than arrogance. It was disrespect.
And this man dares to speak of protecting the village? Hiashi thought bitterly as he left.
Inside the office, Hiruzen watched his retreating figure, then sighed heavily. His heart grew heavier with each passing day.
Now only he and Danzo remained.
"Danzo," Hiruzen said at last, rubbing his temples, "tell me truthfully—what is it you seek?"
Danzo's face was stern, unreadable, but in his lone eye flickered a spark of obsession. "The Uchiha orphan."
"There is nothing to discuss," Hiruzen replied flatly.
Danzo did not flinch. "I will raise him. I will mold him into a true weapon, one who embodies the Will of Fire."
Hiruzen's gaze sharpened. "This has nothing to do with you. Leave the boy out of your schemes."
"Then what of the Uchiha clan's assets?" Danzo pressed.
"The village will manage them," Hiruzen said firmly.
Danzo's lips twisted into a thin smile. "Hiruzen… you will regret this."
With that, he turned and left, his presence fading into the shadows of the corridor.
Hiruzen remained behind, massaging his aching temples. For decades he had carried the burden of the Hokage, but never had he felt the weight as crushing as now. Between the ashes of the Uchiha, the Hyuga's warnings, and Danzo's reckless hunger for power, the fragile unity of the Leaf felt as though it was crumbling in his hands.
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