"A puppet…"
A hoarse, low murmur—like the grinding of aged wood—echoed from within Sasori's hidden body, sealed inside Hiruko.
"The bodies I control are cold, lifeless puppets."
Sasori's voice carried a chilling, almost philosophical detachnt.
"But you, Itachi Uchiha… the thing you controlled was a living person's entire life."
"From the sprouting of hatred… to the pursuit of power… to the final act of 'revenge'…"
"How utterly… cruel."
That word—cruel—was not condemning slaughter.
It was admiration for sothing far colder.
For manipulating the fate of one's own flesh and blood like a marionette—
For calculating even their emotions and will.
A deeper, more terrifying form of cruelty.
Itachi's Fracture
Boom.
Sasori's words detonated in Itachi's mind like thunder.
A puppet?
Was Sasuke… a puppet?
That word—never once considered—stabbed into the ntal fortress Itachi had built around himself, the belief labeled "for Sasuke's own good."
No.
That's not it.
I was just… paving the road for him.
Choosing the safest path.
The path that would let him gain power.
How could I ever see him as a puppet?
He's my little brother.
The person I love most.
Itachi argued fiercely within himself.
Yet for the first ti, the mask of absolute calm on his face showed the faintest crack—so subtle it was almost imperceptible.
The ideals of sacrifice and greater good he had clung to now cast an unsettling shadow under Sasori's single word.
Orochimaru's Rage
Elsewhere, Orochimaru's fury was nearly tangible.
"Hehehe… Itachi Uchiha. And Sasuke Uchiha. You two brothers… are really sothing special!"
His golden slit pupils contracted to dangerous pinpoints. His long tongue slid unconsciously over sharp teeth, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.
During this Sky Screen revelation, his dignity had been ground into the dirt—in front of the entire shinobi world—by the Uchiha brothers.
First, he was defeated and partially devoured by Sasuke.
Then, he was ripped out of Sasuke's body by Itachi and sealed away again—like discarded trash.
What enraged him most was this—
Looking at the entire future revealed by the Sky Screen…
He, Orochimaru, one of the Legendary Sannin, a genius pursuing immortality—
Had beco nothing more than a repeatedly humiliated tool.
A stepping stone.
A sacrifice.
So that was it?
I, Orochimaru, exist solely as a prop in your brothers' lodrama?
That humiliation was unbearable.
"Sharingan… Uchiha…" Orochimaru stared at Itachi, the greed in his eyes fully transforming into killing intent—cold, absolute, destructive.
"I'll make you understand… the price of toying with ."
After the Battle
Inside the Ninja Academy, Sasuke stared unblinkingly at the image of Itachi's fallen body.
His entire fra shook—whether from rage, confusion, or sothing far deeper, even he couldn't tell.
This wasn't the revenge he wanted.
This wasn't what it was supposed to feel like.
On the Sky Screen, the rain continued to pour, rcilessly washing over the scarred battlefield.
Sasuke stood there, dazed.
His chakra was exhausted. His body scread in protest. His mind reeled from the impact of it all.
His hollow gaze fixed on the motionless figure lying in the mud—
Itachi Uchiha.
His enemy was dead.
The man he had hated with every fiber of his being—the one he had betrayed everything to kill—now lay silently before him.
And yet…
Why?
Why wasn't there even a trace of satisfaction?
No relief.
No triumph.
Instead, it felt as if sothing had been ripped out of his chest—leaving only exhaustion, emptiness, and a suffocating hollowness that made it hard to breathe.
Rain slid down his dark hair, mixing with blood and gri—and perhaps with sothing colder, sothing he didn't yet recognize—blurring his vision.
Sasuke opened his mouth.
No sound ca out.
At last, the limits of his body—and the total collapse of his spirit—overtook him.
His vision went black.
He fell backward, stiff and ungraceful, crashing into the cold mud.
Unconscious.
Two brothers—
One dead.
One broken.
Lying silently beneath the relentless rain.
The endless downpour sounded like the heavens themselves were playing a wordless, mournful requiem for these brothers bound by fate.
The Mask Appears
Just as everyone believed the scene had ended—
The image changed.
Space twisted.
Reality warped.
A figure appeared without a sound, like a ghost stepping out of nothingness.
He wore an orange spiral mask, revealing only a single crimson Sharingan.
A black cloak fluttered around him, his presence ominous and unreadable.
Inside a tower in the Land of Rain, Nagato's Rinnegan contracted sharply.
"It's that man… the one who calls himself Madara Uchiha."
The masked man glanced at Itachi's corpse, then at the unconscious Sasuke.
A low, aningless chuckle escaped him.
Bending down, he casually lifted both—Itachi's body in one hand, Sasuke in the other.
Then, as if erased by an unseen hand, all three figures vanished into a swirling distortion of space.
Awakening
The scene shifted.
Sasuke slowly regained consciousness.
He found himself in an unfamiliar, dim underground chamber.
His wounds had been crudely treated, but pain still flared with every movent.
He shot upright, instantly alert, scanning his surroundings—
And imdiately spotted the masked man leaning against the wall.
"Who are you?" Sasuke demanded, forcing himself into a defensive stance. His Sharingan activated instantly, locking onto the figure.
Despite his condition, his gaze was sharp—wolf-like, filled with hostility.
The masked man seed amused.
He ignored Sasuke's aggression entirely, letting out a light, mocking laugh as he approached.
The single exposed Sharingan glead with interest and scrutiny.
"Sasuke Uchiha," the masked man said slowly, his voice deliberately guiding,
"Don't you find it… strange?"
Sasuke frowned. "Strange? What are you talking about? Who are you? What do you want?"
The masked man stopped just a few steps away.
His voice suddenly turned cold—dripping with irony, like a snake tasting the air.
"Itachi…"
"That so-called prodigy of the Uchiha. A man with the Mangekyō Sharingan. Power beyond asure."
"And yet…"
"He was killed so easily."
"So simply."
"…By you."
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