Seven more months had passed since those first tentative three months at the Academy, and both the students and the village had transformed in ways both obvious and subtle. Winter had given way to spring, then summer, and now autumn had returned full circle, painting the village in familiar golds and oranges that reminded everyone of new beginnings—though this time, the beginnings felt less innocent.Naruto had grown into his skills in ways that surprised even his harshest critics. At nearly seven years old now, he'd become one of the Academy's most consistent performers—not always the best in any single category, but reliably excellent across nearly everything. His chakra control, once his greatest weakness, had evolved from erratic to merely occasionally unpredictable. His taijutsu had the polish of someone who trained daily with a jōnin instructor. His test scores consistently placed him in the top three, usually locked in fierce competition with Sasuke for the number one spot.
But more than skills, Naruto had developed genuine friendships over these months. The initial awkwardness, the feeling of orbiting around established groups without quite belonging, had gradually faded. He'd become the loud heart of their class—the one who organized impromptu training sessions, who dragged reluctant students to try new techniques, who somehow made even the most mundane exercises feel like adventures worth sharing.
His friendship with Rock Lee had deepened into something almost brotherly. Lee, still struggling with chakra sensing despite ten months of desperate effort, had found in Naruto someone who never treated his limitations as failures. They trained together most mornings, Lee pushing his physical capabilities to inhuman levels while Naruto worked on refining his techniques. Their mutual determination created a feedback loop of improvement that benefited both.
Even his rivalry with Sasuke had evolved into something more complex. They still competed ferociously—Sasuke had won the last academic ranking by two points, prompting Naruto to spend an entire week obsessively studying to reclaim the top spot—but there was now an underlying respect. When Sasuke was having a bad day (which happened more frequently as the months progressed, for reasons he refused to discuss), Naruto would ease off the teasing. When Naruto struggled with a particularly complex technique, Sasuke would sometimes offer curt but helpful advice before walking away as if it hadn't happened.
Hinata had grown more comfortable speaking to Naruto, though she still blushed furiously whenever he addressed her directly. She'd started bringing extra portions in her lunch and quietly offering them to Naruto, who always accepted with enthusiastic gratitude without realizing the significance of the gesture. Sakura and Ino had gradually included him more in their conversations, his relentless friendliness finally wearing down their initial cliquishness. Even Shikamaru, who found most people troublesome, had grudgingly admitted that Naruto made training "slightly less boring than usual."
The class had become a cohesive unit, bound by shared experiences and the casual intimacy of people who spent every day together learning and growing.
But while the Academy students built their friendships and honed their skills in relative innocence, the village around them had been sliding toward disaster.
The night was unusually dark, the moon hidden behind thick clouds that promised rain but delivered only oppressive humidity. Shisui Uchiha stood atop the Hokage Monument, specifically on the Third Hokage's carved face, looking down at the village spread out below him like a collection of fireflies in the darkness. Each light represented a home, a family, lives that continued in blessed ignorance of how close everything was to falling apart.
Ten months. For ten months, he'd watched the situation deteriorate despite his best efforts. The surveillance had only intensified, making the Uchiha feel more like prisoners in their own compound. The clan meetings had grown more heated, more desperate, the calls for the coup no longer whispered suggestions but openly discussed strategies. Fugaku had transformed from a stern but reasonable leader into something harder, more uncompromising, driven by a mixture of pride and legitimate grievance that made diplomatic solutions increasingly impossible.
And Shisui had tried everything. He'd attended every clan meeting, argued until he was hoarse for patience and reconciliation. He'd met with village officials, attempting to bridge the gap between the Uchiha's concerns and the leadership's fears. He'd worked with Itachi to develop alternative approaches, peaceful solutions that might address both sides' legitimate needs.
Nothing had worked. If anything, his efforts had only delayed the inevitable while allowing tensions to build to explosive levels.
In his eye socket, he could feel the power pulsing—Kotoamatsukami, the ultimate genjutsu that could rewrite someone's very will without them ever knowing they'd been manipulated. The Mangekyo Sharingan technique that had manifested during a mission where he'd watched his teammate nearly die, the trauma unlocking power he'd never sought but now desperately needed.
The plan was elegant in its simplicity: use Kotoamatsukami on Fugaku Uchiha, the clan leader, to subtly shift his perspective toward reconciliation with the village leadership. Not crude mind control—Kotoamatsukami was too sophisticated for that. Instead, it would plant suggestions that would feel like Fugaku's own thoughts, gently steering him away from the coup while preserving his agency and dignity.
It was the last option. The desperate gamble. But after ten months of watching every other approach fail, Shisui had finally accepted that conventional diplomacy wouldn't save his clan or his village. Only this technique—this violation of free will that made his stomach churn even contemplating it—offered hope for preventing the catastrophe he could see approaching like a tsunami on the horizon.
He took a deep breath, preparing to move toward the Uchiha compound, when he sensed the presence behind him. Not immediately threatening, but definitely there, deliberate and purposeful in its observation.
"Shisui Uchiha." The voice was cold, measured, carrying an authority that expected obedience. "We need to talk."
Shisui turned slowly to find Danzo Shimura standing there, leaning on his cane, his bandaged face making him look like death partially incarnate. Behind him, barely visible in the darkness, were several Root operatives—Danzo's personal force that operated outside normal ANBU command structure.
"Danzo-sama," Shisui said carefully, his body already tensing for potential conflict. "This is unexpected."
"Is it? You've obtained a powerful technique. You've been planning something for months. Did you truly think we wouldn't notice?" Danzo moved closer, his visible eye fixed on Shisui with predatory intensity. "Kotoamatsukami. A genjutsu that can rewrite someone's will without their knowledge. A technique that could end this crisis bloodlessly. You were going to use it on Fugaku, weren't you?"
There was no point in denying it. Shisui had been too obvious in his preparations, too desperate in his recent movements. "To prevent a coup. To save both the clan and the village from destroying each other. It's the only option left that doesn't end in mass death."
"Noble intentions," Danzo said, but his tone suggested he found nobility to be a dangerous weakness. "But flawed execution. You plan to use this technique on one person, hoping that will solve everything. But what happens in ten years when it wears off? What happens when other clan members continue planning despite Fugaku's change of heart? What happens when the fundamental problems—the mistrust, the resentment, the incompatible visions of the village's future—remain unaddressed?"
"It buys time for real solutions—"
"There are no real solutions!" Danzo's voice cracked like a whip. "The Uchiha will never be trusted again, not after the Nine-Tails attack. And they will never forgive the surveillance, the suspicion, the marginalization. This doesn't end in reconciliation, Shisui. This ends in blood. The only question is whose blood, how much of it, and whether the village survives the aftermath."
Shisui's hand moved instinctively toward his weapons pouch. "So what are you suggesting? That we allow the coup to happen? That we stand by while the village tears itself apart in civil war?"
"I'm suggesting a permanent solution." Danzo's voice dropped to something almost conversational, which made it more terrifying. "Give me your eye. Give me Kotoamatsukami. I'll use it properly, strategically, to protect the village from all threats—not just the Uchiha, but any future crisis. Your technique is too valuable, too powerful, to be limited by your sentimentality and your naive hope for peaceful coexistence that history has proven impossible."
"You want to use it for Root operations. For your agenda. For control that goes far beyond preventing one coup." Shisui's Sharingan activated instinctively, the three tomoe spinning and then transforming into the distinctive pattern of his Mangekyo. "I won't allow that. I won't let you pervert this technique into a tool for totalitarian control disguised as village safety."
"You think you have a choice?" Danzo moved faster than someone his age should be capable of, and suddenly Root operatives were dropping from surrounding buildings, emerging from shadows, forming a circle around Shisui. "I'm giving you the opportunity to contribute to the village's safety willingly. To make your sacrifice mean something. Don't waste that opportunity through stubborn idealism."
The fight that followed was brutal, desperate, and ultimately futile. Shisui was incredibly skilled—his Body Flicker technique made him nearly impossible to pin down, his Sharingan gave him predictive advantages that allowed him to counter attacks before they landed, his combat experience vast from years of missions. But he was outnumbered by elite Root operatives who'd trained specifically for situations like this, coordinating with the kind of seamless teamwork that came from having their emotions suppressed and their tactics drilled to perfection. And Danzo himself was far more dangerous than his aged appearance suggested, his own stolen Sharingan and decades of combat experience making him a threat even when not directly engaging.
The battle raged across the monument, techniques illuminating the night in brief flashes of chakra. Shisui held them off for longer than should have been possible, his skill and determination allowing him to injure several Root operatives and nearly escape the encirclement multiple times.
But eventually, inevitably, exhaustion and numbers won out. The moment came when Shisui was momentarily pinned by a binding technique, his chakra depleted from maintaining high-level jutsu, his body bearing multiple injuries that hindered his movements. Danzo struck with the precision of someone who'd planned this exact scenario, his fingers driving toward Shisui's eye socket with surgical accuracy.
The pain was indescribable—not just physical, though that was agonizing enough, but the loss of something precious, something that had been part of him. His right eye, containing Kotoamatsukami, was torn free, and Shisui's scream echoed across the monuments.
"A necessary sacrifice," Danzo said clinically, already sealing the eye in a preservation container designed specifically for Sharingan transplantation. "Your technique will protect the village, just not the way you'd hoped. Root will ensure it's used properly, strategically, without the limitations of your conscience."
Shisui, bleeding and half-blind, managed to break free during the crucial moment when Danzo's attention was focused on his prize and the Root operatives believed him sufficiently incapacitated. The Body Flicker technique carried him away even in his wounded state, faster than the Root operatives could track, his desperation lending him speed that transcended his injuries. He disappeared into the night before they could capture him completely or take his second eye.
He ran blindly—literally now, with only one eye and that one swimming with tears of pain and betrayal—through the village, his mind reeling from agony and the crushing weight of failure. Danzo had taken his eye. The village's own leadership had attacked him for trying to save everyone. All his plans, all his hopes for peaceful resolution, all ten months of desperate diplomacy and bridge-building, had been torn away along with his flesh.
He found himself at the Naka River, the water running dark and cold beneath the covered bridge where he and Itachi had spent countless hours over the years discussing philosophy, strategy, and dreams for a better future. His reflection in the water showed a face he barely recognized—blood streaming from the empty socket, his remaining eye wide with shock and grief, his body trembling from blood loss and emotional devastation.
Behind him, he sensed a familiar presence. Itachi appeared like a ghost, his expression stricken with horror at Shisui's condition. Over the past ten months, Itachi had grown increasingly conflicted, torn between his ANBU duty to the village and his loyalty to the clan, between the orders he received and the reality he witnessed. The weight of impossible choices had etched lines into his young face that shouldn't have been there for years yet.
"Shisui! What happened? Your eye—who did this?"
"Danzo," Shisui managed through pain-clenched teeth, each word an effort through the agony. "He took it. For Root. For... control. Said my way wouldn't work. Said he'd use Kotoamatsukami properly." A bitter laugh that turned into a cough. "The coup... can't be stopped now. Not peacefully. Fugaku and the others will see this as proof of everything they've been saying about the village leadership. The final betrayal."
"We'll find another way," Itachi said desperately, already preparing medical techniques to stem the bleeding. "We'll expose what Danzo did, bring it before the Hokage, we'll—"
"No." Shisui grabbed Itachi's arm with surprising strength, his remaining eye blazing with urgent intensity. "It's too late. The mechanisms are already in motion on both sides. The clan is days away from launching the coup. The village is preparing countermeasures. Exposing Danzo now just accelerates everything, removes what little restraint still exists." He pulled something from his pocket—his left eye, carefully preserved through medical techniques he'd prepared in advance, knowing he might need to save at least one. "Take it. My other Mangekyo. Keep it safe. Use it if you must, but... but only to protect what truly matters. Not power, not pride. What matters."
"Shisui, no, don't talk like—"
"The Uchiha name has become... synonymous with suspicion and fear. But you, Itachi, you still bridge both worlds. Shinobi and clan. Village and family. You're trusted by both sides, even if neither side trusts the other." Shisui pressed the eye into Itachi's hand with trembling fingers. "I can't... can't be part of what's coming. Can't watch everything we tried to build burn. Can't be used as a weapon by either side, a martyr for causes I don't believe in."
Understanding dawned in Itachi's eyes, followed immediately by desperate denial. "Don't. There has to be another way. We've been working on this for ten months—we can find a solution together, like we always do. We just need more time—"
"There is no more time." Shisui smiled, and it was the saddest expression Itachi had ever seen on his best friend's face. "You're my best friend, Itachi. The brother I chose over blood. Promise me... promise you'll find a way to protect what matters. Even if the method is terrible. Even if the cost is unbearable. Even if history judges you harshly. Protect what matters."
"Shisui—"
But Shisui was already moving backward, toward the edge of the bridge. "Tell Sasuke... tell him that the strength of the Uchiha isn't in our power or our pride. It's in our capacity to protect what we love, even when—especially when—it costs us everything. That's what makes us strong. Not the Sharingan. Not our techniques. The willingness to sacrifice for those who matter."
"SHISUI!"
He fell backward into the dark water below, his body disappearing into the current before Itachi could reach him. The Naka River claimed him, and despite Itachi's desperate search through the night, despite Root operatives who'd tracked them and arrived too late to prevent the suicide but in time to witness it, Shisui Uchiha's body was never recovered from the river's depths.
Sasuke had noticed his brother's deterioration over the past ten months—how could he not? Itachi had always been intense, always serious, but lately there had been a quality to his distance that felt different. More final. More desperate. Like someone watching a disaster approach in slow motion, unable to stop it but forced to witness every terrible moment.
And Shisui... Shisui had been the light that balanced Itachi's darkness, the optimism that countered the clan's growing pessimism. Over the past months, Sasuke had watched Shisui work tirelessly, attending meeting after meeting, speaking with village officials, trying to find diplomatic solutions that satisfied everyone. Sasuke had admired that dedication, even if he hadn't fully understood what Shisui was trying to prevent.
He woke to the sound of commotion outside his window. It was late—well past midnight—but there were voices, movement, the distinctive chakra signatures of multiple shinobi moving with urgency through the compound. He climbed out of bed and peered through the window to see Itachi returning, soaking wet, his clothes torn and bloody, his expression absolutely devastated in a way that made Sasuke's heart freeze in his chest.
Something terrible had happened. Sasuke could feel it in the air, in the way the very atmosphere seemed to have changed, grown heavier with grief and rage.
He wanted to run to his brother, to ask what was wrong, to offer comfort or simply presence. But fear kept him frozen at the window, watching as their father emerged and spoke with Itachi in tones too low to hear but intense enough to make Fugaku's face twist with rage and grief that Sasuke had never seen there before.
The next morning, the news spread through the compound like wildfire: Shisui Uchiha was dead. Suicide, the official report said, though Sasuke heard whispered suspicions of foul play, of village involvement, of betrayal at the highest levels. The details were carefully kept from children, but the impact was impossible to hide.
When Sasuke arrived at the Academy that day, his mind was elsewhere. The lessons passed in a blur. During taijutsu practice, his movements were mechanical, lacking his usual precision. Even when Naruto tried to engage him in their customary competitive banter, Sasuke barely responded.
"Hey, Sasuke," Naruto said during a break between classes, his expression unusually serious. Over ten months, he'd gotten better at reading people, at recognizing when something was genuinely wrong beyond normal moodiness. "Something's wrong. You've been weird all day. Did something happen?"
"Someone died," Sasuke said flatly, the words escaping before he could stop them. "Someone important. That's all."
Naruto's eyes widened with immediate sympathy. "I'm sorry. Was it... was it someone in your family?"
"Clan." Sasuke's voice was hollow. "Not immediate family. But someone who mattered. Someone who was trying to..." He stopped, realizing he was saying too much, revealing things that children weren't supposed to know about. "It doesn't matter. He's gone."
"It does matter," Naruto insisted. "When people matter to us, their loss matters. My grandfather told me that. He said that grief is just love with nowhere to go, and that means the grief is proof that the person was important."
The simplicity of it, the genuine care in Naruto's voice, cracked something in Sasuke's carefully maintained composure. For just a moment, his eyes stung with tears he refused to shed in public. "Thank you," he said quietly, and meant it.
Rock Lee, who'd been listening nearby, approached with his characteristic earnest intensity. "Loss is terrible. But we honor those who are gone by continuing to work hard, by pursuing our dreams, by becoming the people they believed we could be. That's what my... what I've learned."
Lee's own story was complicated—his family situation unclear, his background something he rarely discussed. But his dedication to hard work, to overcoming limitations through sheer determination, came from somewhere deep and personal. Sasuke recognized the echo of pain in Lee's voice, a different kind of loss but loss nonetheless.
Other classmates gathered around, drawn by the unusual sight of Sasuke showing vulnerability. No one quite knew what to say, but their presence itself was a comfort. Hinata offered a quiet expression of sympathy. Choji shared some of his snacks without his usual commentary about eating together. Even Shikamaru roused himself enough to mutter something about how troublesome death was, which was possibly the most philosophical thing Sasuke had ever heard him say.
The moment passed, and Sasuke's walls rebuilt themselves, but he'd remember it—the way his classmates, these people he'd spent ten months with, had responded to his pain with genuine care despite his usual aloofness.