Inoichi Yamanaka stood before the towering wall of evidence, his eyes drifting over the myriad of photographs, documents, and cryptic seals that decorated its surface. Each fragment represented hours, days—sometimes even, years—of painstaking investigation. But despite the sheer volume of information, he felt as if he had grasped nothing substantial. It was an oppressive feeling, this unending sense of confusion. He had grown accustomed to the complexities of his work, even embraced them, but Sasuke Uchiha… the boy was different. He was an enigma, one that resisted definition the harder you tried to understand him.
Sasuke’s life, on the surface, appeared as ordinary as any other. A boy of noble lineage, touched by tragedy, yet persevering in his training and duties as a shinobi. But the more Inoichi peered into the details of his existence, the more the picture warped into something incomprehensible. He took a step back, his gaze sweeping over the vast collection of reports and maps. Six meters by six meters of paper and ink, and not a single piece of it made sense in relation to the boy at the centre.
The computers in the room whirred softly, tirelessly working to decode a cypher—a puzzle that had baffled even Konoha’s best for years. Sasuke had designed it as a child, no more than six years old, and yet the intricacies of the encryption were far beyond his age. There had been a fleeting moment when Inoichi assumed the boy had a passion for cryptography. But that notion had dissolved just as quickly. Sasuke had never pursued it further, despite his apparent natural talent. His single request to join the Intelligence Division had been dismissed by the council, and the boy had subsequently seemingly shrugged it off without a second thought.
Inoichi turned his attention to the psychological profile pinned on the wall. He disliked this part of the investigation. It was murky, filled with contradictions, like stepping into a quagmire. According to the data, Sasuke was charismatic, socially adept, a child with maturity far beyond his years. And yet, after the Uchiha massacre, expectations had been quite different. The village anticipated a withdrawn, scarred boy, one who might struggle to form connections, one who would need careful guidance.
But Sasuke had defied all expectations. His mourning period was brief—almost suspiciously so. And though he constantly honoured his clan’s memory with elaborate memorials and a strict adherence to Uchiha customs, it felt, to Inoichi, like the boy was acting out a role. A perfect son, a symbol of filial piety, as if to project an image the village could admire. It was unsettling. Inoichi's mind kept circling back to the notion that it was all too calculated, too controlled. And for a child, that was odd.
A sound interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced toward the door.
“Aoba?” Inoichi said, acknowledging the shinobi’s presence without fully turning away from the wall.
“Leader-san, we’ve tracked down Uchiha Sasuke’s missing funds,” The Jonin replied, his voice cautious, as though he already knew the news would not provide the clarity Inoichi so desperately sought.
“Finally,” Inoichi muttered. “I take it you’ve compiled a report for the council?”
“We’re working on it, sir, but I doubt it’ll help much,” Aoba hesitated before continuing, “Sasuke donated all of his inheritance—everything liquid—to an organization in the Land of Waves, shortly after his release from the hospital. It was used to help rebuild the country.”
Inoichi's stomach dropped. The act itself wasn’t strange; the boy had witnessed the suffering in the Land of Waves firsthand. But the sheer value of the assets, and the fact that Sasuke had given them away so freely, felt… wrong. It didn’t align with what they knew of the boy’s character, his ambitions, or the careful image he projected.
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Aoba continued, “The organization is run by a Jinrui Tanaka, younger brother to a man named Kaiza, who had been a local hero before his death. There are rumours surrounding Jinrui’s relationship with his brother’s widow, and he has some shinobi background, though we haven’t confirmed any direct allegiances. He’s been heavily involved in the Land of Waves' recovery efforts, even purchasing Gato’s remaining assets. He’s solicited aid from nearby nations as well, but his success has been inconsistent.”
Inoichi sighed deeply. “So, Sasuke donated everything, but it doesn’t inconvenience him financially. And the organization he chose, while unusual, has no immediate red flags… nothing concrete.”
“Exactly, sir.”
The room fell into a heavy silence as Inoichi absorbed the information. It was suspicious, yet there was no hard evidence to condemn the boy. Everything about Sasuke seemed to hover in that liminal space between guilt and innocence, between loyalty and betrayal.
“Begin an investigation into Jinrui,” Inoichi ordered, his voice tired but firm. “We’ll have to do it sooner or later. Let’s not waste time. And see to it the report is ready by the end of the day.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Aoba left the room, Inoichi found himself staring again at the dense wall of evidence. It felt like standing at the edge of a vast, unfathomable ocean, knowing that beneath its surface lay answers, but with no way to reach them.
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Water dripped from the stalactites in slow and measured cadence, each drop finding its way to the stone floor where it echoed through the cavern, a small sound against the weight of silence. Itachi stood amidst the flickering forms of his fellow Akatsuki, spectral and distorted like mirages wavering in the heat, their bodies fractured into colours that ran through the air like prisms broken into pieces. Pein’s voice came out warped, hollow in the vast chamber, distorted by the distance and the strange means of their gathering.
“It’s been seven years since we all gathered like this,” Pein said, the Rinnegan glowing faint behind the fractured light of his presence. “Orochimaru is still a problem. And we’ve lost another member. Itachi… you failed. Should we be worried about your brother?”
Itachi’s eyes were dark, his voice calm. “No.”
“He killed Kisame,” Konan said, her voice as flat and unfeeling as her expression.
“He is my brother,” Itachi said, a shadow in his voice that didn’t match the words. “It isn’t surprising that he’s talented.”
Silence again, the drip of water like the ticking of a clock, relentless and inescapable.
“It is me he wants dead,” Itachi continued. “He will not be a problem for a while. I made sure of that before Konoha could intervene.”
“Orochimaru wants the boy’s eyes,” Pein said, the quiet certainty of his words hanging heavy in the still air. “If he succeeds, he could complicate our plans.”
Itachi shook his head, barely a movement, barely there. “Orochimaru cannot subdue Sasuke. Not even now.”
“You seem awfully protective of your brother, Itachi,” Kakuzu said, offhanded, his voice like the scrape of old stone. “Something you’re not telling us?”
Itachi didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.
“Enough,” Pein said, his tone final, cutting through the tension like the drop of a blade. “We’ll deal with Orochimaru in time. If the boy proves a threat, we’ll kill him too. But we’ve got more to worry about than them. Three years. That’s all we have left to bring order to this world. The rest of you—make sure you accomplish what you’re tasked with. As for you, Itachi…” He paused. “Find a replacement for Kisame. And try not to get this one killed.”
The air hummed and vibrated as the spectral forms began to fade, leaving Itachi alone in the cavern with the dripping water, the echo of their presence fading like smoke into the shadows. He stood there a moment longer, the weight of the world pressing down in the silence, and then he turned, disappearing into the dark.