39: Black and White
A grand hall, vast and dimly lit.
Dozens of men in black kimono stood in clusters of three and four, their gazes all drawn to the center of the room—to a small boy in a deep blue yukata, led by the hand of a middle-aged man. They pointed. They whispered.
"Is that him?"
"The only survivor."
"An entire clan, slaughtered in a single night."
"Poor child."
"Then how is he still alive?"
"Has the Daimyō been informed?"
The boy at the center of all this attention might as well have been deaf. He stood perfectly still, his face blank, his eyes flat and lifeless as standing water. Not a flicker of emotion.
A young man in a white kimono entered through the main doors—handsome, composed, walking with purpose. He crossed directly to the middle-aged man holding the boy's hand.
"Lord Kiyokawa." The man in white bowed.
"Captain Fujino." Kiyokawa gave a short nod.
Fujino's gaze shifted to the boy. It lingered there for a moment before returning to Kiyokawa.
"This is Lord Osamu's child?"
"It is."
"Lord Kiyokawa, the matter of the Ise family grieves me deeply. If there is anything I can do to assist you, please—do not hesitate to ask."
"That's kind of you, Captain Fujino."
Fujino nodded once more to Kiyokawa, then slowly crouched down until he was at eye level with the boy.
"Your name is Shin, isn't it?" He smiled gently. "Do you remember me? My name is Munekoshi Fujino. I used to hold you when you were very small."
The boy stared at him. Not a ripple in those dead eyes.
Fujino rose with a quiet sigh. Kiyokawa shook his head.
"The trauma was too great. His mind may not be able to bear it."
"What do you intend to do?"
"I've already petitioned the Daimyō. There should be a thorough investigation."
"And the boy?"
"He'll stay with me." Kiyokawa's voice was heavy.
"Lord Osamu would surely be grateful to you—his closest friend."
"But the Daimyō may not agree. And the Ise family held power for a long time. They made enemies beyond counting. Protecting this child won't be easy."
"...Then we give the Daimyō a reason to let him live."
Fujino paused, then dropped his voice. "One more thing, Lord Kiyokawa. If the Daimyō conducts the investigation himself, it'll pull in too many threads. The truth will drown in politics, and nothing will come of it."
Kiyokawa frowned, considering.
"Lord Kiyokawa," Fujino continued. "I'll be conducting my own investigation in private. Anything I uncover, you'll be the first to know."
"Then... I'm in your debt, Fujino."
"Lord Osamu's kindness to me is something I can never repay. This is the least I can do."
"The Daimyō has arrived."
……
The Kiyokawa Dōjō was no prestigious sword academy, and Kiyokawa Ittō-ryū was a minor school at best. Its standing in the city rested entirely on one thing: its master, Jūrō Kiyokawa, and his deep ties to the Ise family.
Propped up by the Ise family's formidable influence, the little dōjō had enjoyed a status rivaling the great sword schools of the capital.
"Master—you've returned."
Jūrō Kiyokawa came in through the side entrance with Shin beside him, and was met by an elderly servant—the household steward.
The old man glanced down at the boy with quiet confusion.
"Prepare a meal. And a set of children's clothes. Take him to the bath." Kiyokawa's instructions were clipped and matter-of-fact.
The steward bowed and led Shin away.
Kiyokawa walked through the courtyard with Shin in tow and found a young man waiting on the engawa.
"Master." The young man hurried over and bowed.
"Half the students didn't show up today."
"Is that so." Kiyokawa's gaze darkened. "Word travels fast."
"Make preparations—quietly. We need to leave Kyoto within the next few days."
"Master, what's happened?"
"The Ise... have been wiped out."
……
"From today, you are no longer an Ise."
A small room. Shin stood freshly bathed, dressed in plain clothes, his long black hair still damp against his back.
Jūrō Kiyokawa stood facing him.
"Your name is Shin Tachikawa. Do you understand?"
Shin raised his head and fixed Kiyokawa with a blank stare. His eyes were dead.
"Father." A small voice came from the doorway. Kiyokawa turned to find a little girl in a white floral kimono standing there.
"Yuko." He nodded, waving her in.
She stepped inside, noticed the boy, and froze. Curiosity and shyness warred on her face. She ducked behind her father.
"This is Shin Tachikawa. You two will be living together from now on. I expect you to get along."
Yuko peered around Kiyokawa, her wide, bright eyes fixed on Shin. She mustered her courage and stepped out, extending one small hand toward him.
"H-hello. I'm Yuko Kiyokawa."
"Lord Osamu! You and the young master must leave immediately—we'll hold them off with our lives!"
"My wife—where is she?!"
"The mistress is in the front hall, but that area... has already fallen to the enemy."
"Damn it all! Take Shin and get out of here—now!"
...
"Kid. Don't remember me, do you?"
"Hah! Well, remember it clearly this time—my name is Munekoshi Fujino, and I'm the man who's going to change this country!"
"That swordsmanship of yours isn't half bad. What do you say—want to come work for me?"
...
"Hah? Kiyokawa Ittō-ryū? Never heard of it."
"Let me make something clear—every swordsman here is a master of a recognized school. Nobody has time for your third-rate demonstration."
"What stance is that? Iaidō?"
…
"Fascinating. Truly fascinating. I've never seen chakra used this way before."
"Shin, your talent is wasted in a place like Konoha."
"I have a boy here named Jūgo. I think you'd find him... very interesting."
…
"Shin, help Mom with the dishes."
"Shin, your dad's very busy, okay? Try to understand."
"Shin, take this over to Uncle Fugaku's house for me."
……
Tick... tick...
The clock's second hand was impossibly loud in the stillness.
Shin lay on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
A dream.
Strange dreams again—images layered over one another, some familiar, some not. Faces he recognized bleeding into faces he'd never seen.
Same as last time I was sick.
He turned his head slightly toward the window. The sky was barely beginning to lighten, a thin fog still clinging to everything.
Another day.
He sat up and started getting dressed.
After washing his face, he came to the desk in his room. Two blades rested there—a bamboo sword and a black-sheathed katana.
His gaze lingered. He reached for the katana, felt its weight settle into his palm, and carried it out to the engawa.
He drew in a long breath of the cool morning air, then knelt in seiza on the wooden floor. The katana at his side. Eyes slowly closing.
"I'm heading out!"
Kiba stood in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Akamaru was tucked under his arm, equally drowsy.
"Your lunch." Hana emerged from inside holding two bentō boxes. She walked up and handed them to him.
"Make sure you and Shin eat properly. No buying junk from the street stalls."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." He took the boxes with a wave of his hand and turned toward the door.
"Be careful out there."
Hana shook her head with a small, helpless smile.
Outside, Kiba stretched, looked left and right to get his bearings, and set off toward Shin's place.
"Sasuke. Your lunch."
Mikoto stepped out and handed a bentō box to Sasuke, who was already on the engawa putting on his sandals.
"Is your jaw really alright?" She eyed the two white medical patches on either side of his face.
Sasuke shook his head—fine—and finished lacing his sandals. He picked up the bentō and stood.
"Mom, did Nii-san leave early again?"
"He did. Who knows where he goes." Mikoto sighed.
"I see."
"Well—I'm heading out."
"Be careful."
At Naruto's apartment, he stood in front of the mirror, fully dressed, turning left and right to inspect himself. He picked up the goggles from the table and set them on his head, adjusting them until they sat exactly right.
"Heh heh." A grin spread across his face for no particular reason.
He reached for the instant ramen on the table—then stopped, hand hovering in midair.
Shin's definitely gonna say something...
"No ramen today."
He muttered it to himself, walked out the door, and called into the empty apartment:
"I'm heading out!"
"..."
The Academy.
"Huh? Shino's absent?" Kiba and Shin both looked at Iruka in surprise. Kiba's voice came out louder than intended.
"Is he sick?" Kiba couldn't help asking.
Shin was worried too. They hadn't run into Shino on the way in this morning—he'd assumed Shino had arrived early.
"I'm not sure of the details," Iruka said, thinking it over. "His mother came to the school to request the leave."
Kiba and Shin exchanged a glance. The same unease was written in both their eyes.
"Alright, class is starting." Iruka's voice brought the room back to order, and Kiba reluctantly returned to his seat.
He didn't hear a word of the lesson. The moment class let out, he grabbed Shin's arm and made for the door.
"Hold on." Shin stopped him, half-exasperated. "His mother came in to report it. He'll be fine. It's probably just a cold or a fever—nothing serious. We'll go see him at lunch."
That was enough to kill Kiba's escape plan.
Naruto came over too, saying something about hoping Shino was okay.
"The Uchiha coup can no longer be prevented."
Atop the Hokage Monument, the Third Hokage stood shoulder to shoulder with an ANBU operative. The ANBU wore a cat-faced mask, long black hair tied back.
The Third stood with his hands clasped behind him, his gaze sweeping the whole of Konoha spread below. For a long time he was silent. Then, with visible reluctance, he closed his eyes.
"The village has prepared countermeasures, but I sincerely wish none of this were happening. The damage to Konoha will be immense. And afterward—how will the Uchiha live with themselves?"
"If the village's response falters and it descends into civil war, the other nations will smell opportunity. Another war. And then we truly become the ones who destroyed everything."
His voice was slow, weighed down.
"Peace did not come cheaply. It was built on the blood of countless comrades. We cannot allow anyone to shatter it."
"..."
The ANBU at his side did not move. Did not speak.
"I've always understood Fugaku's true aim—his ideal, really." The Third paused. "After the Fourth took office, Fugaku seemed to rein himself in. I believed he'd let it go. But after the Fourth's death, he became exactly what he'd been before. Fugaku... has never truly acknowledged me as Hokage." A bitter smile touched the old man's lips.
"You've done everything you could," the ANBU said.
"You don't know the full history between your father's generation and mine." The Third shook his head.
"Fugaku has always known about your role as a double agent."
The ANBU went still.
"Your position—we and Fugaku are both fully aware of it. The fact that he's been so bold as to funnel his entire strategy to us through you... I don't know what card he's holding that makes him this confident."
"..."
"Itachi. If you can, I'd like you to tell me."
"..."
Itachi said nothing. Whether he didn't know what the Third meant, or simply wouldn't say, was impossible to tell.
"Choosing between the village and your clan is agonizing. But if you've already made your decision, I ask that you stop hesitating." The Third's tone hardened. He turned to face Itachi directly. He was shorter than the young man before him, but his presence was immense.
"..."
"Even if you chose the Uchiha—I would understand completely, Itachi."
"Standing with your family is not wrong. But Fugaku's methods are wrong. A Konoha built on that foundation has no future."
"The village will not abandon any of its people..."
"What about Shisui?" Itachi's voice cut in.
The Third went silent.
"Shisui just died for nothing?" Itachi's voice was low, barely audible.
"..."
"...Regarding Shisui, I'm sorry." The words came slowly, after a long pause.
"You don't need to apologize. It wasn't your fault." Itachi's reply was immediate—and flat.
"What would you have the village do for Shisui?"
Behind the mask, Itachi's expression was invisible. His gaze locked onto the Third.
"A funeral, perhaps," the Third offered carefully. "For Shisui Uchiha. He was a hero of Konoha. He deserves to be honored."
"No. Shisui doesn't need that." Itachi shook his head.
"..."
After leaving the Hokage Monument, Itachi walked slowly. The path toward the Uchiha compound was remote, the streets empty.
He wasn't wearing his mask. His pace was unhurried, his mind adrift.
The Uchiha. Father. Mother. Sasuke. Shisui. The Third. Danzō. Their faces cycled through his thoughts in an endless loop.
Shisui had wanted the Uchiha and the village to coexist in peace. But things had gone too far. What peace was left to be had?
The Third was right—the coup could no longer be stopped. Negotiation alone would never sway Fugaku. Even if the village conceded more ground, offered more concessions—in Fugaku's eyes, all of Konoha would soon be his to command.
And then there was the card the Third had mentioned. Itachi suspected it was what Shisui had once spoken of: the Mangekyō Sharingan. He still didn't know the specifics of his father's eyes. And nobody knew that Itachi himself had awakened the Mangekyō—a card he might play against his own father.
The thought stopped him cold. He stood in the middle of the empty road, staring down at his own hands.
I...
Why do I keep thinking about how to fight my father?
The realization shook him. He hadn't noticed how far his thinking had drifted.
The village. The clan...
What have I even been thinking these past few days?
He closed his eyes, something close to pain crossing his face.
Shisui... tell me what I'm supposed to do.
"..."
"What's got you so troubled?"
The voice came from nowhere—right beside his ear. Every hair on Itachi's body stood on end. His eyes snapped open as he dropped instinctively into a defensive stance, scanning his surroundings.
Nothing. Not a soul in sight.
He stilled his breathing. His black irises bled into the crimson of the Sharingan. And there—buried beneath the ground not far away—a single chakra signature.
"Oh dear, spotted already." The voice again. Light, breezy, with an exaggerated note of disappointment.
"That's because of you." A second voice—deep, grating, utterly different in temperament.
"Don't be like that! He looked so troubled, I just wanted to know what it feels like. What is it about worry that makes people worry? I've never experienced it. I want to try—"
"Shut up."
Itachi's eyes narrowed as the two voices bickered. Then, from the ground a short distance away, a figure began to rise.
Figure was generous. The thing was bizarre. It wore a long black cloak patterned with red clouds, and its head—the only part exposed—was split down the middle, one half white, one half black, as if two separate beings had been fused together. On either side of its head, two massive structures jutted out like the lobes of a Venus flytrap.
"Hello there, Itachi Uchiha." The white half spoke first, its tone airy and casual.
"Can you tell me what worry feels like?"
"Shut up." The black half snarled.
Itachi's guard was absolute. The Sharingan spun rapidly, reading the figure before him. One chakra signature. Two personalities could share superficial traits, but chakra always differed between individuals. Which meant this was... a single being?
"Who are you?" Itachi's voice was cold.
"Who am I? Who am I? Who am I, really? I'd love to know too." The white half rambled, sounding almost delirious.
"I said shut up!" The black half's patience snapped.
"Itachi Uchiha." The black half turned to him, its voice dropping low and deliberate. "Someone wants to meet you."
Itachi's heart sank. His eyes narrowed further. Whatever this thing was, it hadn't come with good intentions.
"And if I refuse?" His hand slid casually toward the pouch at the small of his back. His index finger found a kunai and hooked around it—ready for a sudden strike.
"This person may be able to help you."
"With the matter of the Uchiha clan."