LAND OF EARTH
Itachi stood before a sink as he stared at his haggard reflection in the mirror across from him. Coating his finger in a layer of chakra, he plucked the spent Sharingan in his left eye socket. The expended Dōjutsu fell into his palm with a wet squelch and he stared at it for a long moment, disappointed. It was supposed to be a gift for his beloved child.
Now it was ruined.
With a sigh, Itachi deposited it in a jar before sealing it away, unsure now what to do with it. He picked up the second scroll sitting on the edge of the sink before him and unsealed it. In a puff of white smoke, a crow appeared perched on his outstretched arm; the bird had in its left eye a relatively fresh Sharingan that glowed ominously. Extracting the precious Kekkei Genkai from the creature, Itachi inserted it in his now empty left eye socket. For a few seconds, his vision swam, unfocused, as his chakra suffused itself into the organ before his body could fully acclimate to the unfamiliar replacement.
Content with the result, Itachi stepped out of the bathroom and dumped the storage scrolls on the Kotatsu table with the rest of his hoard at his feet. Easing himself into a comfortable sitting position, he picked, at random, another scroll from the pile, unfurling it as he quickly scanned through. The scroll, like a large majority of the rest in his newfound collection, was a pretty mundane thing. The paper was cheap and the penmanship was nothing to write home about. However, that was to be expected given he had purchased a large majority of them from the low-rank missing-nin and mercenaries stalking the seedier parts of the towns he had raced through in a bid to avoid suspicion from the Akatsuki.
Itachi’s eyes scanned the scroll for a moment before he tossed it back on the pile with a sigh and picked another. Sure, there were a few discrepancies here and there between individual scrolls, but the overall message remained the same.
Konoha’s leadership had orchestrated the systematic massacre of one of their founding clans.
Such information would have, on a normal day, been classified beyond the reach of everyone one best the most skilled of Jonins. Now, it was being sold in the slums for as low as a few dozen Ryōs a copy. An amount even a civilian child could comfortably afford. It was insidious, the method via which the perpetrators of this attack executed their plan. No doubt, his beloved child, sharp as he is, would have been quick to stumble upon the news.
The boy never truly cared for the Leaf, that much Itachi knew. Since the day the council had truly acknowledged his existence, Sasuke had made his stance regarding them clear; distrust and contempt. From his speech, it was easy to see how lowly thought of Danzo and his cronies and even the Hokage. Rumours of treason would only fan his hate. The boy yet still possesses the Mangekyō—very rare eyes. He holds a miracle inside—an ability to awaken and re-awaken the Uchiha’s most coveted Dōjutsu. The world has not seen them in so long; it was easy to see why another would seek to mould that disregard and contempt he bears into genuine hatred of the Leaf.
Itachi could almost imagine the series of events that led to Danzo daring to disregard their prior agreement and place a bounty on his child’s head. He could still remember, with painful vividness, the ferocity with which the boy sought after his life the last time they met.
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Had he gone after the Danzo, or worse, the Hokage’s life in such a manner?…
Itachi sighed, tossing the scroll he held back on the table. Thankfully, there was a bounty. That was at least proof that the child was still at large and probably alive. Oh, his poor child. Where had everything gone wrong? His meticulous planning should have filled the wee boy with hate. It should have made him stronger than his gibbering, swing-riding peers; and set him on the right path! And it did! But, now, all his hard work has been corrupted, twisted into a vile facsimile of his true intentions.
Sasuke was strong and full of hate. Stronger and more hateful than ever. The boy had always been a quiet little babe. He never cried for milk: he would only part his lips a little when he got thirsty, and Itachi would call upon Mikoto to feed him. Sasuke the Ponderous, their clansmen had dubbed him. Hours a day he would spend in blissful silence, watching with a maturity that eclipsed his age as the world went through its cycles. Beautiful. Peaceful. Docile.
Alas, such gentle beauties rarely lived long in this cruel world.
Itachi had stolen the child’s innocence to temper him. Talented as he was, the boy blossomed. Quickly. Violently. A hint too well. Proud as he was of his sibling’s progress, Itachi quickly found himself suffering from success. The boy grew fast. Too fast. Disobedient. Rebellious. Murderous. He could barely control him as it was; now burning with righteous anger, Itachi wasn’t too sure of his chances of reining the boy in without crippling him once more.
Still, it was not merely the familial ties that bound Itachi to concern for his child’s well-being, but his deeper connection to the village, to the legacy of the Uchiha clan. It festered like an unhealed wound. Hence, why, this mistake had to be corrected post-haste.
The child is of my blood, and so, I shall not allow him to forsake the principles and duties we have inherited. Try as he might to throw caution to the wind, tempting fate with each impetuous step he takes, I shall try harder still and bring him back to the noble path.
His little one, with his rash ambition and an insatiable thirst for vengeance, would become a harbinger of turmoil, a harbinger of discord. Itachi could see it. Inevitable. He feared that in the child’s relentless pursuit of vengeance, he risked not only his own life but the fragile equilibrium of the village, disregarding the very essence of their existence... of the Uchiha's existence – the protection of Konoha, the preservation of the peace their ancestors swore to uphold.
No! I shall not allow it!
Itachi snatched a scroll from the pile, eyes growing bloodshot as plots weaved in his head. He unsealed the mystic script to reveal two bandaged forms. Samehada and its master’s dutifully preserved corpse.
The living sword squirmed as it sensed Itachi’s intent.
“...I might need your help, old friend,” the Uchiha whispered as he patted Kisame’s forearm. “My brother grows wayward; it is my duty as his guardian to set him straight."
Sasuke . . . darling child . . . brother . . .
Please forgive me.