Satoru stood rooted to the spot, his chest still heaving from the invisible weight of Itachi's genjutsu. His senses hadn't quite adjusted, as though the world around him was still tinted with the afterimage of that false reality.
It had been a small victory trying to use Itachi as his first genjutsu target, if it could be called that at all. Itachi dispelled it with the effortlessness of a man brushing lint from his sleeve.
That was expected; Itachi was Itachi.
But the fact that Satoru had managed to make him dispel it at all lingered in his chest like a spark refusing to die out. He should have been terrified, or humiliated, or both; yet threaded through all that was a strange pulse of pride.
And now, Shisui was here.
The thought alone nearly rattled Satoru.
One of the linchpins of the Uchiha clan's future. A boy whose death had set dominoes falling in directions that reached far beyond his clan, shaping the village, shaping the very trajectory of the shinobi world. Even in death, Shisui had influenced countless lives: he had pushed Itachi onto his grim path, had emboldened Danzō's twisted ambitions, and through that cascade had touched even Naruto and Sasuke.
And now here he was. Alive. Breathing. Standing before Satoru as though the weight of destiny wasn't already wrapped around his shoulders.
Satoru's mind whispered frantically, 'It's him. The one who should have become the youngest head of the Uchiha clan in history. The future wielder of Kotoamatsukami. The one who was stolen far too early.'
Shisui approached with an ease that was almost disarming. His steps were measured but casual, like water flowing downhill. The fading sunlight caught on the edges of his hair, throwing strands into bronze and shadow, and framed a face that was both youthful and mature.
His eyes, dark, sharp, endlessly perceptive, met Satoru's briefly. They didn't carry the cold distance that Itachi's gaze often did. Instead, there was warmth there, a kind of quiet humour that spoke of someone who had already chosen to live despite the weight pressing down on him.
His build was lean, a standard Konoha flak jacket hugged his frame, neat and functional, while his forehead protector gleamed at his brow with the pride of someone who wore it willingly. This wasn't a boy dabbling in shinobi life; this was already a shinobi in full.
When he stopped in front of them, he inclined his head slightly and smiled. "I don't think we've met before. I'm Shisui."
Before Satoru could reply, Shisui turned sharply and "flick!" delivered a crisp tap to the back of Itachi's head.
Itachi's stoic mask faltered. His mouth pressed into something that was dangerously close to a pout.
"Oi," Shisui said, his tone halfway between exasperation and amusement. "What did we talk about? You can't just go throwing genjutsu on your peers. Especially not on the first day of classes." He tilted his head toward Satoru and softened his voice.
"Sorry about him. He gets… carried away."
Satoru blinked. He almost laughed from sheer disbelief. 'The infamous Itachi Uchiha… is sulking?'
"It wasn't like that," Itachi muttered defensively, his voice pitched low, almost like a child trying to justify his actions. "He was spying on me. And when I realised he had a Sharingan, I wanted to… test him."
"Test him?" Shisui's eyebrow arched. "You mean bully him. Don't try to dress it up."
Itachi frowned faintly, "It wasn't bullying."
"Itachi," Shisui sighed, his expression that of a tired older brother indulging nonsense.
"One day you'll learn the difference between 'testing' and being a pain in the neck."
Satoru nearly forgot to breathe. 'This can't be real. From the anime, I thought Itachi was already fully matured by now; calm, untouchable, carrying the weight of his clan and the village with solemn dignity. But here he is, grumbling under Shisui's scolding like any other boy his age.'
The realisation twisted something inside him. It was good, comforting even, to see Itachi's childish side. It meant he wasn't yet entirely consumed by the weight of his future. Yet that comfort was poisoned by the knowledge of what was coming. The shinobi world would strip this side from him, grind him down into the weary, near hollow man Satoru remembered from canon. Perhaps it would do the same to Satoru himself.
Shisui's voice drew him back. "And you are?" His eyes turned to Satoru again, sharp but not unkind.
"I haven't seen you around the clan before."
Satoru's pulse jumped. His mind whirled. 'He's already in the ANBU, isn't he? If anyone could see through me, it would be him. He probably already knows I'm not Uchiha. Is he just trying to be polite? Or is he testing me, too?'
Satoru steadied his breathing, forcing calm into his voice. "My name's Satoru. I'm not from the Uchiha clan. I've been living in the orphanage ever since my parents died in the Great War."
The words hung in the air like stones dropped into still water.
At the mention of the Great War, both Shisui's and Itachi's faces shifted. The humour bled out of Shisui's eyes. His shoulders sloped subtly, as if some invisible weight had settled there. Even Itachi's gaze lowered, the shadows beneath his eyes darkened.
"…You're that Satoru," Shisui said at last, his voice subdued, the syllables careful.
Satoru's heartbeat spiked. 'So he knows. That means there must have been conversations in the clan about me. Maybe, I'm not invisible after all.'
Shisui let out a slow breath. His eyes softened with sympathy. "I also lost my mother in the war. My father was badly wounded, too. So, I understand."
For a moment, the three of them stood in silence, bound by the invisible scars of a conflict they had inherited more than chosen. The setting sun painted the training ground in molten hues of orange and crimson, shadows stretching long and thin across the dirt. Somewhere in the distance, the faint chirp of crickets began, signalling the day's slow descent into night.
Shisui eventually spoke again, voice quieter. "Do you have any relatives?"
Satoru forced himself to meet his gaze. "I can't even remember my parents clearly," he said, letting weariness seep into his tone. "So I don't know. All I've ever known is what they told me; that they were from two different clans."
It was a lie, carefully chosen. If Itachi or Shisui found a boy with a Sharingan in the Academy, Fugaku would hear about it. The silence from the clan since his eyes had been revealed was damning. He needed a reaction.
'Reaction-baiting,' he named it privately. He wanted to see what they'd do when the bait was dangled.
Itachi's eyes sharpened. "Then one of your parents must have been an Uchiha."
Satoru gave a half-shrug, feigning ignorance. "I don't know. Since my eyes changed, people have been telling me that."
Inside, his thoughts were cold and calculated.
'The Uchiha would seize any chance to use me as a pawn. With Minato's appointment, their tension with the village is already simmering. Walking into their compound right now would be like volunteering for chains. No, better to present myself as a blank slate. A clean canvas. Let them wonder. Later, I can use that uncertainty to raise my value with the Yamanaka clan. The Uchiha are a sinking ship. The massacre is only a few years away. But if I play this carefully, I can gain from both sides without drowning with them.'
Shisui studied him a moment longer before nodding faintly. "I see." His tone was unreadable, his gaze weighing but not condemning.
Finally, he sighed and lifted a hand in farewell. "Well, it was good meeting you, Satoru. And again, sorry about Itachi."
Itachi frowned faintly, as if ready to protest, but Shisui had already turned, and the younger boy followed him without further comment.
Satoru stood frozen, watching them walk away. His Sharingan prickled faintly at the edge of his vision, though he kept it suppressed. His heart pounded with urgency.
'I need to use this chance. If I let them leave now, I might never get another opening like this.'
Before their figures could blur into the lengthening shadows, he found his voice.
"Wait!"
They both turned, gazes meeting his.
Satoru swallowed, feeling the drumbeat of his pulse in his ears.
"…Can you train me?"
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