The next day.

She woke to the smell of antiseptic and blood. The hospital, she knew it before her eyes even opened. The smell was unmistakable, like the memory of something gone wrong. She stretched and felt the joints in her arms pop, small, distant thuds. The medic beside her was saying something, but it was all muffled, like he was underwater or she was. She slapped the side of her head till her ears popped and the sound came back. The sharpness of the world flooded in like it had been waiting.

"Inuzuka-san, can you hear me?"

She flinched, the voice too close, too concerned. "You don’t have to shout," she croaked, her voice raw. "I’m fine."

The medic let out a breath, relief spreading across his face like the day breaking."How are you feeling?"

"Sore. What happened?"

"You’ve been unconscious."

She frowned at him, pulling at the bandages on her hand. "How long?"

"About a day."

She nodded, said nothing, felt the weight of it settle into her bones. She was used to it, the quiet time after. The medics kept her there, talking to her like she was fragile, like she might slip again and not come back this time. But she didn’t care about them. She knew what was coming next, and in some ways, it was worse. More annoying

The intelligence division sent their goons. They came in with faces blank as fresh snow.

"What illusions did Uchiha Itachi use on you?" asked the first one, Yamanaka by the look of him, his voice flat, as if bored by the question.

Yuna stared at him, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably. "Subtle," she said finally. "The Genjutsu was refined. If not for his lack of experience in blending scents, I wouldn’t have known I was trapped."

The Yamanaka blinked, just once. "Then why didn’t you break free?"

"I tried." Her voice was low, steady. "In the beginning, it was easy. I was on guard, ready. But later, when I let it drop… it felt different. He felt different. Stronger. I broke it, thought I broke it. Over and over. Disconcerting, knowing I was in a Genjutsu, thinking I’d broken free, only to realize I hadn’t."

She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "To be honest, I’m still not sure any of this is real."

The operative blinked. "You’re not sure?"

Yuna shrugged, her fingers tracing the edges of her bandages. "The smells are right now, but how do I know he hasn’t fixed that? How do I know you’re not part of it too?"

The silence that followed was thick, the air full of things unsaid. The two men exchanged glances, something passing between them that didn’t need words. They stood slowly, and the Yamanaka nodded to her. "Thank you, Inuzuka-san. Get some rest. There’ll be an inquiry soon. It would be wise to rest and be fully lucid."

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She watched them leave, her eyes tracing their movements, looking for cracks, for the flaws. She wasn’t sure she’d find them, but she kept looking anyway.

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The inquiry was held the next day, in a meeting hall in the Hokage building. The room was washed in gold light, the late afternoon sun heavy and low. She stood in front of them all, the weight of their eyes on her like stones in her pockets.

Lord Third sat at the head, his face old and worn, lines etched deep into his skin. Next to him, Danzo Shimura sat like a shadow, all stillness and dark. Koharu and Homura flanked them, their faces like the stone walls of a prison, unyielding, unreadable.

Fugaku Uchiha’s presence was a weight all its own, his stern gaze locking onto Yuna, assessing, judging. He didn’t look away from her, not once. She couldn’t hold his eyes for long. She looked to her own clan leader, Tsume, sitting beside him, her face a mask of impatience, bristling with irritation.

The Hokage cleared his throat, and the room went still. "We are here to address the incident involving Jonin Yuna Inuzuka and Genin Itachi Uchiha."

Fugaku’s voice broke in, cold and clipped. "Hokage-sama, before we go further, I would like to hear from the Jonin herself."

Hiruzen nodded, and Yuna stood, her discomfort evident as the council’s eyes bore into her. "…I apologize for the incident. This was my fault. Had I properly evaluated my charge’s abilities, this might have been avoided."

Fugaku’s gaze hardened. "Your mistake nearly cost us the heir to the Uchiha clan. How are we to trust you with his training now?"

A knot of discomfort twisted in Yuna’s gut, but she said nothing. It was Tsume who spoke, her voice cutting through the room. "Yuna is a capable Jonin! Yes, she made a mistake, but who here hasn’t? She’s shown remorse. That should count for something."

Homura leaned forward. "Remorse is one thing,” he said, “but the consequences of this error could have been severe. We must ensure such a mistake isn’t repeated."

Fugaku’s gaze lingered on Yuna, long enough for her to feel it burn into her skin, but finally, he turned away. "Itachi has given his assessment. It was an accident. But the Uchiha demand that the honour of the clan be preserved."

Hiruzen raised a hand "Yuna Inuzuka will face a penalty: six months’ docked pay and a fine of half a million ryō to be paid to the Uchiha as compensation. She will retain her rank, but her ability to train her team will be subject to review for the next six months. Bi-weekly evaluations will determine her progress. This is a fair compromise."

The room was silent for a moment before the council murmured their agreement. Yuna felt the weight lift. Her reputation would survive, if only by a hair breath.

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A week later.

Itachi stood at the edge of Training Area Seventy-Two, still as the trees around him, eyes narrowed. He’d sent the newest one—agent one hundred and seven—into the field minutes ago, watching it slip into the undergrowth, supplies strapped tight to its back. He waited, listening, the faint whisper of its presence lingering on the edges of his perception. Then, as always, it vanished, swallowed by the distance.

He turned on his heel, leaving the scene behind, though the weight of it followed him. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything about this, not frustration, not anger. These were his clones, after all, pieces of himself sent out to fight and die. But something had shifted, a tension rising with every iteration, every new attempt. He told himself it didn’t matter, but each time he failed to kill that obstinate clone—agent one hundred and three—it felt much more than a loss.

He hated that feeling.

He had stolen from Yuna, experience. He had honed himself in her subconscious, sharpened his skill. He had no doubt his ability to track down stealthy opponents had improved. But the stakes now were different. He had to win. No longer could he lose to an old shadow. A replica, an earlier one, that should have grown duller, less elusive. His pride wouldn’t allow it.

Itachi hated to admit it, but there it was—a creeping distaste that settled in his bones. Not for the clones, not even for the losses. No, it was for the thing they represented. The reminder that, in the end, you could be outmatched by even an inferior version of yourself.

And he didn’t like losing, even to that. Especially to that.