They could not even find his body.
The explosion had torn him apart, scattering what remained so completely that there was nothing left to recover. No funeral. No pyre. Just absence.
He had been trying to save the First Hokage's grandson.
He had given his life to do it.
An Uchiha died for a Senju.
That alone was enough to poison the village.
Everyone knew what Nawaki Senju was like. Reckless. Not brave reckless, not heroic reckless. Criminally reckless. The kind that treated danger as an inconvenience, not a consequence.
And this time, his recklessness had gotten the only normal Uchiha killed.
That was the story people told.
Some said it in hushed voices.
Others did not bother whispering.
There were even rumors that some Uchihas celebrated Akira's death. That they called it irony. Justice. Balance restored.
Nawaki woke up in the middle of the night every single day.
Sweat-soaked. Breath ragged. The sound of the explosion still echoing in his skull. The rumors followed him into daylight, into training grounds, into hallways that once felt safe.
Ever since he returned from that cursed mission, life had never been the same.
People no longer looked at him with hope.
They looked at him with calculation.
Even Tsunade-nee's eyes carried disappointment now, heavier than anger would have been. His sensei had vanished into seclusion, refusing to see anyone. His other teammate was missing.
Gone.
Akira's friends came to see him.
Not to comfort him.
Minato challenged him under the excuse of a spar and beat him down without restraint. Kushina humiliated him publicly, her words sharper than any kunai, and had not spoken to him since.
It was as if the entire village had quietly agreed on something unspoken.
Nawaki was the joke.
Some nights, he wished he had been the one to die instead.
Akira had saved his life. That fact alone crushed him more than any accusation ever could. One moment of impulsiveness. One careless step.
He had been supposed to die.
If not for Akira, he would be dead.
Did he regret it?
Yes. In every bone of his body.
Did he want to make amends?
Yes. Desperately.
But he did not know how. He tried to apologise to Akira's mother, who just smiled and said it happens..
Akira must have seen something in you.. take care of yourself.. Akira lives through you now..
The debt was too large. The silence too deep. The dead could not be repaid.
So he made himself a promise.
A simple one.
He would never be reckless again.
Not once.
Not ever.
Because someone else had already paid that price for him...
And May be, May be he might do enough to make amends for that.. Now, he would endure..
—————
Foundation Headquarters, Konoha
A single spear of sunlight descended from the ceiling and struck the heart of the cylindrical chamber. The hall stretched wide, nearly fifty meters across, its stone floor worn smooth by time and quiet conspiracies. Along the perimeter, the walls did not rise straight but curved upward at a deliberate thirty degree incline, like a colossal bowl fashioned to cradle echoes.
Five meters above the ground, a balcony traced the entire circumference, a silent ring suspended in shadow. Upon it sat Danzo, rigid as carved granite, his presence colder than the stone beneath him. Around him stood his agents, unmoving, their masks pale and watchful, forming a living parapet of loyalty and secrets.
In the arena below, Nono Yakushi stood alone beneath the descending column of light.
Codename Miko.
She knelt slowly, one knee touching the cool stone, then lowered fully into a crouch, forehead nearly brushing the floor. The gesture was flawless, reverent, empty of hesitation. A shrine maiden before an unseen altar.
From the balcony above, Danzo's voice drifted downward, dry as fallen leaves.
"So. The Uchiha is dead. Even his remains could not be found."
"Yes, Danzo-sama." Her tone was steady, stripped of color.
"Good."
The word echoed faintly against the curved walls.
"A dead Uchiha is a good Uchiha. This one was too intelligent for his own survival. For the prosperity of Konoha, it was necessary to bind his wings. Now that he is ash scattered to the wind, the village breathes easier."
Silence lingered like incense smoke.
"Miko. You are of the Foundation. The Root."
A faint shift of cloaks above. ANBU masks gleamed in the dimness.
"The Root exists to remove threats before they become storms. Akira Uchiha was a weed drawing strength from soil meant for the tree. Now the weed is burned. The tree stands stronger."
"Yes, Danzo-sama."
His gaze shifted, though she could not see it.
"Tell me of Senju Nawaki."
A pause, small but real.
"He has withdrawn, Danzo-sama. He rarely leaves his home. His spirit appears… fractured." She chose the word carefully. "However, I fear I cannot carry out the elimination mission."
"No need," Danzo replied. "He is of no strategic value now."
The sunlight shifted slightly across the floor, inching toward her shadow.
"Continue observation. Provide updates on his movements."
"Yes, Danzo-sama."
"Your mission to eliminate him is cancelled. For now."
The final two words fell like a closing gate.
"You will monitor his mental state. Gain proximity. Earn his trust."
A pause.
"Become his crutch...."
Nono's fingers tightened briefly against the stone before relaxing.
"As you command."
Above her, the balcony remained unmoving, a ring of silhouettes watching from the half-light. Below, in the center of the arena, the beam of sunlight held her in its circle like a brand.
_____________________
If you are reading this, Sensei, then you have likely deduced the truth.
Only my death would have erased my name from the Ryūchi Cave summoning scroll.
I am alive.
I was rescued by the Ghost of the Uchiha, the contemporary of the Buddha of the Senju.
He yet lives, though age has claimed much of his body. His will, however, remains unbroken.
He speaks of peace.
A world unified beneath a single, eternal illusion.
He has begun mass production of wooden constructs, clones cultivated from the Buddha's DNA. When the opportunity presents itself, I will arrange for one to reach you.
Sensei… there is a greater design unfolding. I am certain of it. And my accident was not a mere accident either, although I might not have been the target.
Do not attempt to contact me directly. I am monitored almost without pause.
Half of my body has been reconstructed using Senju wood-clone material. I have enclosed a severed finger for analysis. It should confirm the nature of the graft.
For now, let the world believe I am dead. Let even our allies remain unaware. Until I understand the Ghost's true objective and devise a countermeasure, I will maintain silence.
Stay safe, Sensei.
Stay sharp.
Regards,
Your favorite student.
The letter blackened at the edges, curled inward, and dissolved into soft gray ash between Orochimaru's fingers. Not a single ember fell to the floor.
Silence returned to the laboratory.
Akira's death had been a clean incision.
His survival was the twisting of the blade.
Orochimaru did not sigh. He did not tremble. But something had shifted within him. The fragility of life, that thin membrane between breath and oblivion, had brushed too close. He would not admit sentiment… yet the boy's supposed death had disturbed him more than expected.
A quiet chuckle slithered from his throat.
"Fu fu fu… You never cease to surprise me, Akira-kun."
The smile lingered, languid and serpentine.
Then it vanished.
His pupils narrowed, elongating into something less human. Killing intent flooded the room, cold and suffocating, pressing against the glass beakers and specimen jars until even the air felt venomous.
"Danzo…" he murmured.
"You could not resist overstepping."
His voice softened, which made it far worse.
"You forget… no matter how large a rat grows, no matter how deep it burrows… it remains prey to the snake."
A thin smile returned.
"And I do so enjoy the hunt. Not yet… I will savor it first."
The killing intent receded like a tide withdrawing from black sand.
Curiosity replaced it.
On the steel table lay the pale finger Akira had sent. Too white. Too pristine. It looked less severed and more… unnatural.
Orochimaru lifted it delicately.
He inhaled.
The scent was faintly earthy, devoid of Blood. Sap beneath skin. Life grafted unnaturally onto life.
His golden eyes gleamed.
He rose and glided toward the microscope. The laboratory hummed softly as he adjusted the lens. The finger rested beneath the glass, illuminated in sterile light.
Cells unfolded into view.
Orochimaru's lips parted, reverence flickering across his face like candlelight in a crypt.
"Fascinating…"
He leaned closer, eyes reflecting the cellular lattice like twin moons over a forest of living wood.
"Half his body reconstructed… and yet no rejection. No decay. No Violent reactions. With this ?"
His tongue traced the corner of his mouth thoughtfully.
Outside the laboratory, Konoha slept unaware.
Inside, a serpent had caught the scent of something that has piqued his interest...