"Reinforcements—only one. Your father."
Artoria watched Itachi closely.
Just moments ago his heart had been a storm, thoughts lashing like wind and rain.
Now, all at once, he was as still as a bottomless lake, giving the coldest, most rational answer.
He wasn't wrong. With the tide turning in the Uchiha's favor, it would be impossible for three Chūnin and one Jōnin to spirit an Uchiha away without anyone noticing.
But what if the Iwa-nin reached him first—before the Uchiha did?
If they were willing to seize a living Uchiha as a prisoner to salvage their failure, why wouldn't they also take a helpless child like Itachi?
In those few seconds, Artoria mapped out the situation using the fragments of knowledge she'd gleaned from his memories.
"My father?"
Itachi, however, doubted the identity of the newcomer. He shook his head.
"No. If it were Father, he wouldn't 'announce' himself by throwing a kunai."
"He'd move ahead of their route, lay a trap, or slip close and strike from the shadows."
"The shinobi doctrine he taught me doesn't include telegraphing your presence."
He had heard the dull thud of a kunai hitting wood—a tactic Fugaku would never use.
If it were Fugaku, he'd be even more careful, even more concealed, and then… kill in a single blow.
"It is your father," Artoria replied with certainty—then paused. "But… something about him is off."
"Off?"
Curled within the hollow, Itachi asked without daring to look out.
He knew he'd been found. The enemy still didn't know his exact location, and the slightest glance could give him away—eyes gleam like lanterns in the dark.
"Yes. His eyes… they're different."
Artoria began to explain—but then she saw it: beside the black three tomoe in Uchiha Fugaku's Sharingan, a fan-like pattern bloomed, and a dim, shadowy aura surged around him—
Boom!
A thunderous impact slammed through Itachi's world.
Wind, dust, weeds, and gravel roared into the hollow like a crashing tide, hurling his small body backward into the inner wall.
A peal of sound like a sky-splitting drum shook his ears nearly deaf. It was as if a thousand bees were raging in his skull, buzzing without end.
"Your Majesty—what's happening?"
Itachi's body reacted on its own; he could no longer keep his breathing or pulse steady.
Panting, back aching, he braced himself against the hollow's wall and forced himself upright.
Another blast rolled through—wind and thunder, over and over—pounding into the hollow.
He was forced to draw on his chakra to shield himself.
Hiding was no longer an option.
"…Your father has become a giant," Artoria said at last, hesitating only a heartbeat. "I mean—his chakra is so vast it's turned tangible, like a giant's arm."
"You should come see for yourself. With that kind of power, he can protect you."
Chakra? A giant?
Itachi thought for only a few seconds, then followed her advice. He crawled to the mouth of the hollow and peered outside.
Dust boiled across the forest like a fog.
The world beyond looked as though a storm had torn through it.
Shattered trees littered the ground—some ripped up by the roots, others sheared clean in half.
From the first whistle of the kunai to the explosion, less than two minutes had passed—without a single exchange of words.
Even so, Itachi could barely grasp what had happened.
Then he saw his father amid the splinters and stone.
From Fugaku's right arm, black chakra poured like dense mist—sinew, bone, and flesh formed from chakra stretched outward, a colossal arm extending from his elbow.
In that shadowy hand, a man writhed—
An Iwa-nin Jōnin.
From the headband alone, Itachi could tell the man's rank.
"L–Let our captain go, Uchiha Fugaku, or the brat dies!"
Pressed against the trunk, Itachi angled a careful glance toward the voice.
Farther off, two Chūnin were trembling as they handled the unconscious Uchiha youth.
A kunai was pressed to the prisoner's throat—they meant to barter one life for another.
Wait… there should be one more.
Itachi realized what was missing and looked to Artoria.
She answered before he could ask. "Smashed."
Smashed?
Itachi frowned—then noticed a patch of earth under Fugaku's feet, stained a darker shade than the rest.
"When your father threw the kunai," Artoria said calmly, "the Iwa Jōnin moved—near-instantly—appearing at your father's flank."
"But in the next breath, he flew into that black giant hand like a moth into flame—and was caught."
"One of the Chūnin rushed to help, but before he got close, another giant hand appeared and swatted him—into paste."
She summarized what she had seen, then added quietly, "Itachi, your understanding of shinobi power is still very shallow. Your world's strength… is terrifying."
Her awe was genuine.
Itachi's gaze drifted back to Fugaku.
He had never seen his father like this.
Killing intent poured off him.
Behind that mask of ice, the blood-red Sharingan burned with hatred, savagery—madness.
In Itachi's memories, his father rarely showed emotion.
Even in battle, he was a weapon—cold, unerring, utterly impersonal.
"There's another kid—"
A voice sounded close—too close—by Itachi's ear.
Before he could react, all sound vanished.
"Itachi," came Fugaku's voice—flat, unyielding—"this trip is over."
Beside him, the black giant hand clenched.
"Take Uchiha Hui behind you. We're leaving."
Bone creaked. The Jōnin screamed.
Blood burst like soda shaken and cracked open.
Then he went slack—crushed and crumpled, a twisted can left on the ground.
Only then did Itachi dare to look back.
The two Chūnin who'd been far away were suddenly… right beside him.
But they didn't attack.
They stood there, vacant smiles on their faces, arms straight out—holding the still-unconscious Uchiha Hui aloft, as if offering him up.
What… just happened?
Itachi stared, bewildered.