Three weeks after Shisui's death, Konoha held a memorial service that felt more like a formality than a farewell.
The memorial stone stood in the village's cemetery, Shisui's name freshly carved beneath dozens of others who'd fallen in service. The gathering was small — his distant relatives, a handful of ANBU operatives who'd worked with him, and Itachi and Keisuke, both dressed in formal black that felt too heavy for the autumn warmth.
The official report listed it as suicide. Mental instability brought on by mission stress. A tragic loss, but not unexpected given the psychological toll of ANBU service. The narrative was clean, convenient, and utterly false.
Keisuke stood rigid beside Itachi, his Mangekyo Sharingan hidden beneath normal vision, watching the ceremony with a detachment that felt like armor. The Third Hokage spoke words about sacrifice and service, about Shisui's dedication to the village, about how his memory would inspire future generations.
They murdered him, Keisuke thought, his hands clenched behind his back. And now they stand here pretending to mourn.
His enhanced perception caught the ANBU operatives positioned in the treeline — three of them, masks in place, too far to be paying respects. They were monitoring. Recording who attended, who spoke to whom, cataloguing the Uchiha presence for reports that would be filed and analyzed.
They weren't mourning Shisui.
They were making sure his death hadn't destabilized their intelligence network.
Beside him, Itachi remained perfectly still, his expression neutral in a way that spoke of iron control rather than calm. Since that night at the Nakano River, Itachi had withdrawn into himself, speaking only when necessary, spending every waking hour either on missions or locked in ANBU headquarters.
The few times Keisuke had seen him, Itachi had looked increasingly hollowed out, as if grief was eating him from the inside.
The ceremony ended with the traditional moment of silence. Keisuke bowed his head but didn't close his eyes. Couldn't. Because every time he did, he saw Shisui falling, saw the river swallowing him, saw Itachi's face as he clutched his friend's stolen eye.
When the crowd dispersed, when the Hokage and the ANBU and the distant relatives had all departed, only Keisuke and Itachi remained.
The silence between them was suffocating.
"We need to talk," Keisuke said finally.
"Not here." Itachi's voice was rough from disuse. "Training Ground Seven. One hour."
He left without waiting for a response, flickering away in a Body Flicker that lacked his usual precision. Exhaustion or grief or both.
Training Ground Seven felt haunted.
This was where they'd trained with Shisui. Where they'd made promises about pack and protection. Where Shisui had demonstrated Kotoamatsukami and sparked their first philosophical divide about the ethics of control.
Now it was just empty space and memories that cut like glass.
Keisuke arrived first, his back against the tree where Shisui used to sit. When Itachi appeared ten minutes later, the change was stark — his friend looked like he'd aged years in weeks, dark circles beneath his eyes, his movements careful in a way that suggested physical and emotional exhaustion.
"You wanted to talk," Itachi said, not quite meeting Keisuke's eyes.
"About what happens now. About Danzo. About—" Keisuke's voice hardened. "About why we're standing here pretending Shisui killed himself when we both know he was murdered."
"We don't know that." Itachi's response was automatic, defensive.
"Don't." Keisuke's Mangekyo activated, the four curved blades spinning slowly. "Don't insult me by pretending. Danzo took his eye. Forced him to choose between capture and death. That's murder, Itachi. Just because it wore a mask of necessity doesn't change what it was."
"And what would you have me do?" Itachi's own Mangekyo flared to life, the tri-blade pinwheel reflecting pain. "Accuse an elder? Start a political war within the village leadership? We have no proof. No witnesses. Just Shisui's final words and our grief."
"We have his eye!" Keisuke gestured sharply. "The one Danzo stole. The one you're carrying. That's proof."
"That's a target." Itachi's control cracked, voice rising. "The moment I reveal I have Shisui's Mangekyo, Danzo will come for it. For me. And then what? Another dead Uchiha? Another 'suicide'? How does that honor Shisui's sacrifice?"
"His sacrifice?" Keisuke stepped forward, anger replacing grief. "He didn't sacrifice himself, Itachi. He was murdered and forced to make it look noble. There's a difference."
"The outcome is the same!" Itachi shouted, and it was the first time Keisuke had ever heard him truly lose composure. "He's dead. Gone. And all we can do is make sure his death meant something. That we use what he gave us to prevent worse tragedies."
"By protecting the village that killed him?"
The question landed like a physical blow. Itachi flinched, his Mangekyo spinning faster.
"By preventing civil war," Itachi said, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "By stopping the coup before it tears Konoha apart. Shisui died believing we could save both the clan and the village. He trusted us to find that path."
"What if there is no path?" Keisuke's hands clenched. "What if the village and the clan are fundamentally incompatible? The leadership sees us as threats. They murder us in the dark. They steal our eyes. They monitor our compound like we're prisoners. And you want me to believe we can coexist with that?"
"I want you to see the bigger picture." Itachi's tone shifted, becoming almost pleading. "A coup will destroy everything. The Uchiha will take the Hokage's office, yes. But then what? Other villages will see Konoha in turmoil and invade. The clan will be targeted. Thousands will die — Uchiha, civilians, children like Sasuke who don't understand politics or power. Is that justice? Is that what we're fighting for?"
"I'm fighting for family," Keisuke said. "For the people who share my blood. Who understand what it means to be cursed with these eyes. The village is abstract. The clan is real."
"The village is filled with real people!" Itachi's voice rose again. "Families. Children. Civilians who just want to live in peace. They didn't kill Shisui. Danzo did. One man's crime doesn't condemn thousands."
"But those thousands will stand by while we're destroyed." Keisuke's voice was cold now, distant. "They'll watch the Uchiha be eliminated and call it necessary. They'll justify it. Just like they justified isolating us. Just like they justified stealing Shisui's eyes. The village isn't innocent, Itachi. It's complicit."
The argument spiraled, voices rising in the empty training ground, each trying to make the other see their perspective. But they were speaking different languages now, operating from incompatible premises.
Itachi saw duty to the many. Keisuke saw loyalty to the few.
Itachi calculated in terms of nations and history. Keisuke calculated in terms of family and justice.
Itachi believed in redemption through sacrifice. Keisuke believed in protection through strength.
Finally, exhausted and hoarse, they fell silent. The sun had set during their argument, painting the training ground in shades of twilight that made everything seem unreal.
"I can't stand with you on this," Keisuke said quietly. "If you're going to protect the village that murdered Shisui, that isolated our clan, that sees us as problems to be managed... I can't be part of that."
"And I can't stand with you if you're going to support a coup that will kill thousands." Itachi's voice was equally quiet, equally final. "We're on opposite sides now."
"I know."
They stood there, two brothers in all but blood, divided by the same tragedy that had bound them together. The Mangekyo in their eyes spun slowly, power born from the same loss leading them to opposite conclusions.
"I don't want to fight you," Itachi said.
"Neither do I." Keisuke turned away, unable to look at his friend anymore. "But when the time comes, when the sides are drawn and choices have to be made... I'll protect the Uchiha. Even from you if necessary."
He left before Itachi could respond, flickering away into the darkness, leaving his friend alone in the training ground where three had once been.
The Uchiha compound felt different now. Not the sanctuary of Keisuke's childhood, but a fortress under siege. The atmosphere had shifted from frustrated complaint to grim determination, and the clan meetings grew more frequent, more strategic.
Keisuke attended them all now. Not as an observer, but as a participant.
Fugaku stood at the head of the latest gathering, laying out plans with the precision of a military strategist. Attack routes. Key positions. The timing for maximum advantage. He spoke of taking the Hokage Tower, of securing strategic locations throughout the village, of forcing the Council to negotiate from a position of weakness rather than strength.
"The Police Force gives us legitimate authority," Fugaku explained, his voice calm despite the topic. "We use that authority to position forces throughout the village under the guise of security measures. Then, when the moment is right, we move decisively. Take the Hokage into custody. Occupy the Council chambers. Present them with reality — they can negotiate a new power structure, or they can watch Konoha tear itself apart."
"And ANBU?" asked Yashiro. "They'll respond. Violently."
"We have ANBU of our own." Fugaku's gaze found Keisuke, and something heavy passed between them. "Not as many as we'd like. But enough. And we have the Sharingan. In close quarters, in urban combat, that advantage is considerable."
Tekka stood, his expression fierce. "We've spent too long being diplomatic. Being patient. They respond to strength, not reason. We show them the Uchiha are strong, and they'll have to accept us as equals."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the assembly. Keisuke found himself nodding along, not because he believed force was the answer, but because he couldn't find an alternative that didn't involve more Uchiha dying in the dark at Danzo's command.
After the meeting, Fugaku pulled Keisuke aside. "Walk with me."
They moved through the compound in silence, past homes where families ate dinner behind lit windows, past training grounds where children practiced their first fireballs, past the memorial stones that bore too many names.
"Itachi is lost to us," Fugaku said finally. "He's chosen the village over the clan. I've known for some time."
Keisuke said nothing, but his silence was confirmation enough.
"I'm not angry with him." Fugaku's voice carried something that might have been sadness. "He sees the world differently. Thinks in terms of systems and structures rather than blood and loyalty. In another life, that perspective might make him a great Hokage." He paused. "In this life, it makes him an enemy."
"He's not—" Keisuke began.
"He will be," Fugaku interrupted gently. "When we move, he'll stand against us. Against me. Against the clan. Because that's who he is. And when that moment comes, someone will have to stop him."
The implication hung heavy between them.
"I'm asking if you can do that," Fugaku continued. "If you can face your friend when the time comes. Because if you can't, if you'll hesitate, then I need to know now."
Keisuke thought of Itachi. Of shared missions and quiet conversations. Of promises made beneath stars. Of being pack.
Then he thought of Shisui. Of his body disappearing beneath the river. Of Danzo's cold eye examining his stolen prize. Of how the village had murdered one of their brightest and called it sacrifice.
"I can," Keisuke heard himself say. "When the time comes, I'll do what's necessary."
Fugaku's hand settled on his shoulder, heavy with approval and something that might have been regret. "Good. We'll need you when the moment arrives."
Keisuke found his mother in their home's garden, tending to herbs that grew in careful rows. She'd aged dramatically in recent weeks, the lines around her eyes deeper, her hair showing more gray than black now. The weight of Shisui's death had settled on her shoulders like physical burden, as if she'd been expecting this tragedy for years and was exhausted by its arrival.
"Sit with me," she said without looking up from her work.
Keisuke settled on the garden's stone bench, watching her hands move with practiced efficiency. They sat in comfortable silence for a long time, the evening air carrying the scent of medicinal plants and coming rain.
"Your father," she said eventually, still focused on her herbs, "believed in Konoha with absolute faith. He thought that if the Uchiha proved their loyalty through service, through sacrifice, the village would protect us in return. That if we bled enough for them, they'd finally see us as family."
Keisuke waited, sensing there was more.
"He died on a mission near the border. Ambushed by enemy forces. Intelligence had indicated he'd have ANBU support — a full squad positioned to provide backup if things went wrong." Her hands stilled. "They never came. The ANBU squad that should have been there was mysteriously delayed. Reassigned at the last moment. By the time they arrived, your father and his team were already dead."
Cold realization settled in Keisuke's stomach. "You think they let him die."
"I think," his mother said carefully, "that your father became inconvenient. He was skilled, respected, and increasingly vocal about Uchiha treatment. He was asking uncomfortable questions. Making demands for equality. And then suddenly there was a mission with faulty intelligence and delayed backup." She finally looked up, meeting his eyes. "Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe I'm a bitter widow seeing conspiracy where there's only tragedy. But your father died waiting for a village that didn't come."
She stood, brushing dirt from her hands, and moved to sit beside him on the bench.
"Don't make the same mistake," she said quietly. "Don't die waiting for them to value you. Don't sacrifice yourself for people who see you as a threat before they see you as human."
"Itachi thinks—" Keisuke began.
"Itachi thinks like a Hokage, not like an Uchiha." His mother's voice wasn't unkind, just sad. "He sees the village as something worth dying for. Maybe he's right. Maybe on his scale of calculation, individual lives are acceptable losses for collective peace." She took his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. "But you're my son. My only child. And I'm asking you — not as a shinobi, but as your mother — to choose life. Choose family. Choose the people who will fight for you rather than the system that will sacrifice you."
Tears blurred Keisuke's vision. "Shisui wanted us to save everyone."
"Shisui is dead." The words were brutal in their gentleness. "And the village that killed him wants you to die for them too. How many more Uchiha have to fall before we say enough? Before we fight back instead of accepting our role as martyrs?"
She stood, pressing a kiss to his forehead like she had when he was small.
"I can't tell you what to do. You're a man now, with your own choices to make. But remember — the village took your father. It took Shisui. How much more will you let it take before you admit that loyalty is a one-way street?"
She left him alone in the garden as night fell completely, surrounded by plants that healed wounds but couldn't prevent them.
The memorial stone bearing Shisui's name stood in the compound's private cemetery, separate from the village's main memorial. Here, the Uchiha mourned their own, away from eyes that judged even their grief.
Keisuke stood before Shisui's stone as midnight approached, one hand pressed against the cold granite. The kanji were fresh, cut deep, permanent.
Shisui Uchiha. Beloved friend. Forever young.
The words felt inadequate. How could you sum up someone who'd been light and hope and the promise of change in simple carved characters?
"I'm sorry," Keisuke whispered to the stone. "You asked us to save everyone, and I can't. I'm not strong enough to carry that dream. Not wise enough to find the path between."
His Mangekyo Sharingan activated, tears streaming down his face as the four curved blades spun slowly.
"Itachi's trying. He's still believing. Still thinking he can honor your sacrifice by protecting the village that killed you. But I..." He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "I can't do that. I can't pretend that your death was necessary or noble or anything other than murder. And I won't let them do it to anyone else."
The tears fell faster now, hot against his skin.
"The clan is planning a coup. Fugaku's drawing up strategies. And I'm going to help them. Not because I think violence is the answer, but because I don't know what else to do. The village sees us as threats. Treats us as prisoners. Murders us when we become inconvenient. And you wanted us to protect that?"
He pressed his forehead against the stone, his voice breaking.
"I'll protect the Uchiha. The children and elders and everyone who just wants to live without being watched and feared and eliminated. I'll stand with the clan, even if it means standing against everything you believed in. Even if it means..." He couldn't finish the thought. Couldn't say out loud what it might mean to stand against Itachi.
"Forgive me, Shisui," he whispered. "But I won't let them destroy us without a fight. I won't be another martyr for a peace built on our graves. Your dream of bridges and understanding died with you in that river. All that's left is choosing which side to stand on when the bridge collapses."
His Mangekyo spun faster, the power in his eyes responding to grief and determination and the crushing weight of impossible choices.
"I choose the clan," he said, the words feeling like both liberation and damnation. "I choose family. I choose the people who will fight for me instead of the system that will sacrifice me. You died believing the village could be saved. I'm choosing to believe the Uchiha are worth saving more."
The wind picked up, rustling through trees, carrying the scent of coming rain. Somewhere in the distance, a night bird called out to the darkness.
Keisuke straightened, his hand sliding off the memorial stone, leaving behind the warmth of living flesh on cold granite.
"I loved you like a brother," he said, final words to someone who couldn't hear them. "And I'll carry that love forward by protecting what you couldn't. By making sure no more Uchiha die waiting for a village that will never come."
He turned away from the memorial stone, from the past, from the dreams that had died with Shisui in the river.
Ahead lay only the path he'd chosen — clan over village, family over duty, protection over peace.
Itachi had chosen differently. Had chosen to honor Shisui by protecting the village, by preventing war at any cost.
And Keisuke had chosen to honor Shisui by protecting the Uchiha, by refusing to let them be eliminated without resistance.
Two paths. Two choices. Two brothers who loved the same person learning opposite lessons from his death.
The rain began to fall, soft and persistent, and Keisuke walked back toward his home through the downpour. His Mangekyo remained active, the four curved blades spinning in eyes that had seen too much loss and would soon see more.
Pack, Shisui had said. Always.
But pack required shared direction.
And Keisuke and Itachi were walking opposite paths now, diverging with every step, heading toward a confrontation that had become inevitable the moment Shisui's body had disappeared beneath the Nakano River's current.
The rain fell harder.
The memorial stone stood silent witness.
And the choice was made.
The Uchiha would not go quietly into extinction.
They would fight.
And Keisuke Uchiha would stand with them, even if it meant standing against everything he'd once believed, everyone he'd once loved, every promise he'd made when the world still seemed capable of redemption.
The diverging paths were set.
The collision was inevitable.
And all that remained was waiting for the moment when hope and desperation would finally meet in violence, and the last bridge between Keisuke and Itachi would burn.