The intelligence had been wrong from the beginning.
Keisuke crouched in the canopy at the Fire Country's eastern border, his Hawk mask reflecting the pre-dawn gray, his two-tomoe Sharingan tracking movements that didn't match the briefing. The mission parameters had specified a small enemy force — eight to ten Stone shinobi establishing a forward position. Standard interception. Neutralize or capture.
But his eyes counted twenty. Maybe more moving through the forest with practiced stealth. And their formations were wrong — too disciplined, too coordinated for a standard reconnaissance team.
This is a trap, Keisuke realized, his hand moving to signal the team. But for who?
The ANBU force around him numbered fifteen, including Itachi and Shisui. Sufficient for the reported enemy numbers. Woefully inadequate if his count was accurate.
Before he could complete the warning signal, the world exploded into violence.
Kunai rained from impossible angles. Explosive tags detonated in sequence, turning the forest into a maze of fire and shrapnel. Enemy shinobi emerged from underground, from within trees, from positions that should have been impossible to hide in. The ambush was comprehensive, professional, and devastatingly effective.
Keisuke dropped from his perch, Sharingan spinning, reading the chaos for patterns. An Earth Release user erupted stone spikes where he'd been standing a heartbeat before. He twisted mid-air, hands blurring through seals, and a Great Fireball technique forced the enemy back long enough for him to land.
Around him, ANBU engaged in desperate combat. He caught glimpses through the chaos — Itachi moving like water through stone, his Weasel mask streaked with blood that wasn't his. Other operatives falling, overwhelmed by numbers and surprise.
And Shisui. Shisui flickered across the battlefield like lightning given form, his Crow mask appearing in three places simultaneously as he tried to cover the team's weaknesses, tried to turn the tide through sheer speed and skill.
But even Shisui couldn't be everywhere.
Keisuke's Sharingan caught it — a ROOT operative, distinguishable from the Stone shinobi by subtle differences in armor design and the way he moved with singular focus. The operative was positioning behind a wounded ANBU, a young woman whose mask had cracked, revealing terrified eyes beneath.
She's going to die, Keisuke's Sharingan calculated with crystalline certainty. Three seconds until the killing blow. I'm too far. Can't reach her in time.
Time seemed to fracture.
In that impossible moment, with death descending and distance too great, something inside Keisuke broke. Not physically. Not even mentally. Something deeper — the barrier between what he was and what he could become, between limitation and evolution, between two tomoe and three.
The world sharpened into impossible clarity.
His Sharingan burned, the tomoe spinning faster, multiplying, a third appearing in each eye as if summoned by desperate need. Every detail became hyper-visible — the trajectory of the descending blade, the exact angle needed for interception, the precise timing required.
Keisuke moved.
His Body Flicker wasn't as refined as Shisui's, but fueled by adrenaline and awakened power, it was enough. He appeared between the ROOT operative and his target, his tantō rising to intercept the killing blow. Steel met steel with a sound like a bell tolling.
The impact sent shockwaves up his arm, but his three-tomoe Sharingan had calculated the angle perfectly. The enemy's blade slid off his, momentum redirected. Keisuke's counter-strike was automatic, driven by muscle memory and visual precision — his kunai found the gap in the operative's armor, just below the ribs.
The man fell, but not before his blade found purchase in Keisuke's shoulder, driving deep enough to scrape bone.
Pain exploded white-hot and absolute. Keisuke staggered, his Sharingan flickering, and through the agony he saw the ANBU woman scramble to safety, saw her nod in desperate gratitude before rejoining the fight.
Worth it, he thought, even as blood soaked through his uniform. She's alive. Worth it.
But the battle wasn't over.
Through pain-blurred vision, Keisuke's enhanced Sharingan tracked the larger pattern of combat. And what he saw made his blood run colder than the wound in his shoulder.
The enemy forces were converging. Not on the ANBU team as a whole.
On Shisui specifically.
Six operatives moved with coordinated precision, corralling the Uchiha away from support, forcing him into an isolated pocket of combat. And they weren't Stone shinobi. Even through his pain, Keisuke could see the tells — ROOT armor beneath disguises, the way they moved with singular purpose rather than survival instinct.
They weren't trying to kill Shisui.
They were trying to capture him.
Or more specifically — his eyes.
Shisui seemed to realize it at the same moment. His Body Flicker became more defensive, less aggressive. He was trying to disengage, but they'd boxed him perfectly. No escape routes. No support within reach.
And then Keisuke felt it — the surge of chakra so intense it made the air itself feel heavy. Shisui's Mangekyo Sharingan activated, the four-pointed pinwheel visible even at distance, even through the Crow mask's eyeholes.
Kotoamatsukami.
The effect was immediate and disturbing. The ROOT operatives surrounding Shisui simply... stopped. Their weapons lowered. Their aggressive stances relaxed. They stood docile, compliant, their wills overwritten by an ability that made reality itself subjective.
Shisui staggered, the chakra cost evident in the way he caught himself against a tree. Using his Mangekyo at full capacity — not on a bird for demonstration, but on six trained operatives simultaneously — had pushed him to his limits.
But he'd survived.
That's when Keisuke saw him.
A figure stood in the shadows at the clearing's edge, partially obscured by smoke and trees. But the single visible eye caught what little light remained, and the way he watched Shisui — not with alarm at the technique's power, but with cold, calculating interest — made Keisuke's stomach turn.
Danzo Shimura.
The elder didn't engage. Didn't move. Simply observed, like a scientist watching a fascinating specimen, before melting back into the shadows as if he'd never been there at all.
The battle ended shortly after, the remaining enemies either fleeing or subdued. The ANBU regrouped, counted casualties — three dead, seven wounded. Catastrophic by any measure.
Keisuke's shoulder screamed with every movement, but he forced himself to Shisui's side. His friend had collapsed against a tree, breathing hard, his Mangekyo deactivated but the cost of its use evident in the blood trickling from his eyes.
"You saw him," Shisui said without preamble, his voice rough. Not a question.
"Danzo," Keisuke confirmed, pressing his hand to his shoulder wound. "He was watching you specifically."
"I know." Shisui's expression behind his Crow mask was impossible to read, but his tone carried weight. "He's been watching me for months."
The medical facility beneath the Hokage Tower smelled of antiseptic and blood, scents so familiar to shinobi that they barely registered. Keisuke lay on a treatment table while a medical-nin worked on his shoulder, her Mystical Palm Technique knitting torn muscle and sealing severed vessels.
"You're lucky," she said clinically. "Another inch and you'd have lost use of the arm. As it is, full recovery within a week. Uchiha constitution." She said it without resentment, simply stating fact.
Itachi sat in the corner, his Weasel mask removed, his face haggard in a way that had nothing to do with the mission's physical demands. He'd been there since Keisuke had been brought in, silent vigil, his presence both comfort and condemnation.
When the medical-nin finally left, declaring the treatment complete, Itachi moved to Keisuke's bedside.
"Your Sharingan evolved," he said quietly. "Three tomoe now."
Keisuke nodded, activating his enhanced vision. The world sharpened further than before, details upon details revealing themselves. "In the moment between seeing someone die and preventing it."
"That's how it always happens." Itachi's voice carried something that might have been sympathy or shared burden. "The Sharingan awakens through loss. Evolves through trauma. Each increase in power comes at the cost of something precious." He paused. "I wonder if that's by design or if it's just the cruelest form of irony."
"Shisui used his Mangekyo," Keisuke said, shifting to a sitting position despite his shoulder's protests. "Full capacity. I watched it happen. Watched ROOT operatives turn docile like puppets with cut strings."
Itachi's jaw tightened. "I know. I felt the chakra signature. Half the forest felt it." His hands clenched. "Danzo's been approaching him. Did you know that? For months. Offering positions in ROOT. Asking about his abilities. Questioning Kotoamatsukami's limitations, its applications, its potential for..." He stopped, searching for words. "For control."
The word hung between them like poison.
"They see him as a weapon," Itachi continued, his voice tight with controlled fury that was so unlike his usual measured tone. "Not a person. Not a shinobi with his own will and dreams. A tool to control the Uchiha. Or anyone else deemed threatening to village stability."
"What does Shisui say about it?"
"That he'll handle it. That his loyalty is clear. That Danzo's interest will fade when he realizes Shisui can't be manipulated." Itachi's expression suggested he didn't believe any of those reassurances. "But I saw Danzo's face after Shisui used Kotoamatsukami. He wasn't afraid. He was fascinated."
Keisuke felt cold despite the warm room. "They're going to try to take his eyes."
"I know."
The two words carried the weight of inevitability. Not suspicion. Not fear. Simple, terrible certainty.
They met at the Nakano Shrine after dark, when the compound had settled into sleep and the only witnesses were shadows and starlight. Keisuke's shoulder still ached despite medical treatment, the phantom pain a reminder of how close he'd come to something worse. His three-tomoe Sharingan activated as they descended into the shrine's hidden chamber, illuminating the darkness with crimson light.
Shisui was already there, sitting before the stone tablet that held Uchiha secrets. His Crow mask lay beside him, and in the torchlight, he looked younger than his sixteen years. Exhausted. Haunted.
"Welcome to the secret history," Shisui said as they approached, his attempt at levity falling flat. "Where the Uchiha record our greatest shame and call it legacy."
The stone tablet rose before them, covered in ancient script that shifted depending on the eyes that viewed it. With standard vision, it appeared blank. With basic Sharingan, certain passages revealed themselves. With Mangekyo...
Keisuke didn't want to know what Shisui could see that they couldn't.
"Read it," Shisui said, gesturing to the visible portions. "Read what it means to be Uchiha."
Itachi moved forward, his three-tomoe Sharingan active, and began reading aloud. The passages spoke of the clan's founding, of the Sage of Six Paths, of power inherited and price demanded. But it was the later sections that made his voice falter:
"The Uchiha are cursed by love," Itachi read. "Their affection runs deeper than any other clan, and thus their loss cuts deeper still. The Sharingan awakens when one experiences the pain of losing that love. Power born from grief. Strength purchased with suffering."
"Our eyes open when we lose what we love most," Shisui said softly, staring at the tablet. "And the more we love, the more powerful we become when that love is destroyed. What kind of curse binds strength to suffering? What kind of bloodline requires pain as payment for power?"
Keisuke activated his own Sharingan, the three tomoe spinning as he read the passages Itachi had spoken. The words seemed to burn themselves into his vision, indelible and damning.
"My father died," Keisuke said quietly. "That's when I awakened one tomoe. My Sharingan evolved to two when my mother fell ill and I thought I'd lose her too. And today..." He touched his bandaged shoulder. "Today I evolved to three watching someone nearly die. Each increase in power came from trauma. From loss. From pain."
"Mine awakened when I saw my teammate killed in front of me," Shisui admitted. "Evolved when I lost my best friend. And the Mangekyo..." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "The Mangekyo came when I watched my entire squad die in an ambush I'd led them into. Eleven people. Eleven friends. And my reward for that grief was power beyond measure."
Itachi said nothing, but his hands trembled slightly. Keisuke wondered what loss had awakened his Sharingan, what pain had evolved it to three tomoe. His friend had never spoken of it, and Keisuke had never asked.
"Danzo knows about Kotoamatsukami," Shisui said, his voice hardening. "He's known for a while. He's been circling, testing, trying to recruit me into ROOT where he'd have direct control. He wants my eyes. Not to destroy them — to use them. To control the Uchiha clan, to manipulate village leadership, to reshape reality according to his vision of order."
"Can you stop him?" Keisuke asked.
"Can anyone stop someone who controls reality?" Shisui's laugh was bitter. "He has ROOT at his command. Operatives loyal unto death. Resources the Hokage doesn't even know about. And he's patient. Eventually, he'll find an opening."
"Then we tell the Hokage," Itachi said. "Expose Danzo's intentions. Make it impossible for him to move against you."
"And start a political war within Konoha's leadership?" Shisui shook his head. "Danzo is an elder. A war hero. The Hokage's former teammate. Who do you think the village will believe? Him or me? An Uchiha claiming persecution?"
The question was rhetorical. They all knew the answer.
Keisuke stared at the stone tablet, at the passages about curse and power, love and loss. His three-tomoe Sharingan spun, recording every detail, and he thought about the price paid for every increase in power. The grief required. The pain demanded.
"What happens," he asked slowly, "when they decide that controlling us is easier than trusting us? When Danzo decides that taking your eyes is worth the risk? When the village leadership looks at the Uchiha and sees only threats that need to be managed or eliminated?"
Neither Shisui nor Itachi answered, because there was no good answer. Only terrible possibilities and the growing certainty that they were standing at a precipice, and the only question was who would fall first.
Shisui stood, moving to the chamber's center where a puddle of water had collected from condensation. In its surface, their reflections rippled — three Uchiha, eyes glowing crimson, looking down at themselves from above.
"Our eyes awaken through loss," Shisui said, staring at his reflection. "Our power grows through pain. What kind of curse binds strength to suffering?"
Itachi joined him, his own reflection merging with Shisui's in the water's surface. His three-tomoe Sharingan spun slowly, and when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of someone who'd already calculated the cost of every possible future.
"The oldest kind," he said. "The curse that makes us strong enough to survive losing everything. That transforms our deepest capacity for love into our greatest capacity for power. That ensures the Uchiha will always be dangerous because our hearts are too large and our grief too deep."
Keisuke stood, completing their triangle around the puddle. Three sets of Sharingan eyes looked back from the water's surface — crimson and spinning and cursed from the moment of their awakening.
"We have to protect each other," Keisuke said. "Danzo's targeting Shisui. The village is targeting the clan. Everything's converging toward something terrible, and we..." He trailed off, searching for words adequate to the moment. "We're the only ones who see it clearly."
"Pack," Shisui said softly, and the word carried echoes of easier times, of promises made beneath stars when they'd believed bridge-building was still possible. "We're pack. We protect each other. No matter what comes."
"No matter what comes," Itachi agreed.
"No matter what comes," Keisuke echoed.
But even as they spoke the words, even as their hands joined above the water in reflection of their earlier vow, Keisuke felt the weight of inevitability settling like armor. Too heavy to remove. Too necessary to refuse.
The Sharingan was a curse. The Uchiha were cursed. And somewhere in the darkness beyond the shrine's hidden chamber, Danzo Shimura planned and calculated, his single eye fixed on prizes that would cost more than anyone could afford to pay.
The torches flickered. The water rippled. And three reflections stared up from the puddle — bound by blood and choice, by curse and promise, by love deep enough to transform into either salvation or destruction.
The oldest curse.
The deepest love.
The inevitable tragedy written in crimson eyes that saw everything except the path to prevention.
Together, they stood in the darkness.
Together, they would face what came.
But Keisuke couldn't shake the feeling that "together" was a promise time was already preparing to break.