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Chapter Text

Part 4: The end

The global situation worsens. There are rumors of Yu wanting to demilitarize and it floods the nations with waves of Hot Water nukenin ready to hire out as contractors for a quick buck. The new agents are perfect proxies for kage to use if they don’t want the paper trails leading back to their respective villages. Nukenin will always be the most convenient resource in the shinobi world, the most vulnerable sect of shinobi, an easily exploitable population with none of the false moral qualms kage had to pretend to be fettered by. Easy to hire. Easier still to disappear. There’s no loose ends with nukenin.

Kiri’s a black hole and it makes Kushina nervous for reasons Mikoto doesn’t know how to ease. It’s almost easier to focus on all the rumors coming out of Suna. Assassinating Kazekages is tradition in Wind, but the hat changing hands is a steep enough upset to waste a few hours speculating about, if only as a distraction from the real problems.

Suna is too poor to wage another war. The real issue is Kumo and Iwa, and this time, the two nations will be fighting together against an unallied Fire.

Konoha won the Second War, but maybe that was only because none of their enemies were working together. Mikoto couldn’t imagine war on two fronts, each bolstered by reinforcements from their ally while they work together to pull Konoha in half. Iwa may not have any jinchuuriki in the ring, but Kumo has two, and one was known to appear in the field, notorious for his unique but devastating Disruption Style.

Kushina peers over their files, at all the information Megumi could smuggle out of the Secure Archives concerning the Raikage’s adopted son, Killer B. “I like him.”

Lai says, nonplussed, “You like all the jinchuuriki.”

“I like the Iwa jinchuuriki,” Mikoto offers, to Kushina’s defense.

Lai sighs, throws a pen at her. “You just like deserters.”

“They’re not an issue if they’re not there.”

Kushina taps the maps spread over the table in front of them. The room hums with her security seals. “We need to make sure we end up on the same front, not separated by Taki.”

Mikoto says, reluctantly, “Megumi sensei’s working on it. She can get Lai there, at least, and I doubt they’ll let me stray far behind.”

Its treason they’re talking, a longform suicide, and when a knock sounds at the door, they scramble to get the incriminating evidence of it into scrolls.

“Relax,” Kushina says, checking through the drawn blinds. “It’s Minato.”

The wards let him enter without bursting into flame. The blond sets down boxes of take out and Lai lowers two kunai from his ready stance. Kushina falls onto the ramen with a vengeance but Minato’s blue eyes are serious, his expression grim.

“The Daimyo’s declared war. Its official.”

Kushina drops her chopsticks. “What? When?”

They rush to the windows. The air over the Hidden Leaf is full of messenger hawks.

“Just now. The marketplace is in shambles. There’s talk of rationing.”

Lai kicks at a chair, scrubs a hand through his sandy hair. “I’ve got to report in.”

“Me too,” Mikoto says, gnawing at her lip from the stress of it. Her timeline relied on the Third War staying unofficial through the first few skirmishes, the Daimyos dragging their feet about it, unwilling to commit their militaries so soon after the Second War. She’s underestimated Fire’s Daimyo’s understanding of warfare and tactics. What did the shogun understand about his military, his soldiers? It’s too soon. Supply lines weren’t even in place.

Kushina pulls at her hair. “What does this mean? For us?”

Lai says, “I’m going to disappear. I might not be able to check in once deployments start.”

Kushina brightens, “Maybe I’ll get a detail?”

No one has the heart to bridle her optimism. Minato says, “maybe. Megumi san’s pulling strings.”

Even with her scheming kicked into rapid overdrive, Mikoto recognizes this moment. It wasn’t supposed to happen this soon. They should have had more time.

Lai stands, stretches, face stoic and shoulders set. Kushina stalls, holding out ramen everyone knows he won’t have time to eat. Even Minato looks distressed, pulling the curtains taunt. Lai and Mikoto share a look, the understanding that for different yet ultimately the same reason, they may not see each other again.

Her nindo rises up in her. She will not fail him, fail Kushina.

Kushina throws herself at him, fisting his shirt in her hands, dragging him down to her level. “You too,” she demands and Mikoto obediently joins the group hug, huddling in with them. Kushina’s arms are tight, defiant, and she squashes Mikoto and Lai together like she can hold them here with just her indomitable will.

The mask is already in place on Lai, his eyes faraway, to whatever battlefield ANBU occupy. Mikoto’s got a feeling its Konoha.

Mikoto pulls them together, determined, slightly desperate, all her deadlines crumbling in the face of the Daimyo’s decision. She’s abruptly unsure if she can do this, if she can let him go. But before she can make the decision to hold on, Lai shrugs them off, shedding scrolls from various pockets as he does.

“Destroy these,” he says. “We won’t have time to return them.”

Minato piles up the files, the maps, the spreadsheets with their little colored flags. All the obsolete dates. Months of careful planning, into the fire. Lai checks the hallway through a crack in the door. Kushina tugs helplessly on his collar. “Promise me,” she demands. “You’ll be safe.”

His lip quirks into a grin. They’re too old for battlefield declarations, for the sentiment of promises you can’t guarantee. But Team 9 has long replaced protocol with conviction, as if caring about each other was enough. “Of course,” he says, brave in that casual way Mikoto’s always envied. “Its Iwa and Kumo who should be worried. They’ve went and pissed off Megumi sensei.”

“Dangerous mistake,” Mikoto finishes. Kushina huffs a little laugh, wrinkling his shirt under her hands until Minato gives her a scroll to hold instead.

“Yeah, she’s the worst,” Lai jokes. Mikoto can’t keep up the banter, the tension too high. She can’t figure out how months of scheming are rendered null. She’s rewiring, finagling, trying to see a way to salvage this, to keep them together. Nothing looks promising. For all her bluffs to Megumi, desertion wasn’t an option, for any of them. It was orphan’s privilege, that plan. She’d never convince Lai to leave his family. Not even for the team.

It’s an old hurt. Not one she can do anything about.

When she hugs him one last time and whispers, “forgive me,” she’s not even sure what she’s asking him for, except that it feels important.

He ruffles her hair and she feels like she’s five again, watching her mother leave for a mission she won’t come back from. She’s done losing family. She won’t allow it. The determination is a fierceness in her she doesn’t think anybody can stop.

Promise he taps on her back and Mikoto’s not sure of anything aside from the feel of it, so like Megumi when she’s being disingenuous.

“See ya,” Lai salutes and slips out the door, off to report to ANBU Headquarters and receive his wartime designation. Off to Megumi. There’s so much about everything that Mikoto can’t control.

The take out’s getting cold. Mikoto can’t look at it. “I should be going too.”

Kushina wails and half tackles her. She’s getting taller and her hit packs a punch. Mikoto folds, patting her hair. Maybe she’s got her own mask, because she doesn’t even feel like crying. It’s too unreal.

Minato says, “I’ve got her here. We’ll be ready.”

Mikoto will be grudgingly thankful to whatever forces brought the blond into their little group, even if it was Danzo. Mikoto loves anything that makes her so happy.

“Wait for the signal,” Mikoto says then vanishes into a shunshin. She takes to the rooftops. The skyline of Konoha is packed with shinobi leaping around in blurs. The route from Kushina’s apartment back to the Uchiha Compound is a long string of deployments. Her fellow Leaf nin are serious, already in the mindset of war. Organization is already evident in the groupings, in the high traffic rooftops towards the Tower, the Jounin Barracks, the Secure Archives. Hawks flood the sky overhead.

She skips right to the compound. Fugaku should be on duty at the Leaf Police Department still and now there’s no telling when he’ll get free. But he knows his responsibilities well. He’ll find her after, when the picture’s clearer.

For now, Mikoto needs to know what she’s working with.

The Head House is bustling in a way she hasn’t seen it, ever. Even her Baa chan is there, and she’s been retired since the Second War. Mikoto sidles up to her to be closer to the action and what she sees makes her heart sink.

With most of the officers on duty, the meeting rooms are filled with the Clan Elders. It’s a visible majority of agitation, of gladhanding excitement. It’s not war the old battlemongers are considering. It’s opportunity.

Mikoto studies the wrinkles, the color high in their cheeks. The preparations are clever covers but the Uchiha are a double edged sword. They’ll make sure they benefit from this, whatever the outcome.

Mikoto watches and stays silent and clings to the hope that it’s a generational gap, that the active Leaf Police won’t stand for this. Their clan are the enforces of the law. What the elders are speaking is so blatantly against law and order that Uchiha Kagami would be ashamed. But she says nothing. If anything, she schools her expression into interest. She needs to be fascinated by this possibility. She needs Shiwa to see her interest and think it’s another opportunity for him to use.

Shiwa is quiet all through the elder’s cajoling. It’s the path he’s always envisioned for them, but it wouldn’t do to be too eager. He’s got his stubborn pride and Mikoto watches him play the bulwark and thinks that maybe she hates him. He’s the epitome of all her worst traits, her suspicion, her ambition, and she hates how tempting it all sounds, how reasonable even, when she sees the clan’s subjugation laid out in no uncertain terms. It’s an oppression she was born into, but the elders remember a time when they were on top. It’s not a bad image for her to consider. She needs power to protect her team, and a coup would grant her that power.

But at the end of the day, it’s just an image. Illusory as her genjutsu. Substantial as a dream. She’s got to live in the world they have, not the world they want for themselves.

The meeting lasts hours and as time goes by, more and more of the clan gather. It’s an unofficial clan meeting, but the strongest shinobi are missing. The Leaf Police, the Heir, most of the working jounin and most of the active chuunin are absent. They’re the soldiers who would bear the brunt of the fighting, and their course is being decided for them.

It gets circular. It always does. Nobody can decide on a single way of rebelling. A few urge caution. Wars are messy. Nuanced. Power takes time to accrue. Killing admin is useless when the positions are easily filled by morning. The chain of command is clear. Succession is decided. It’s her teammates scruples coming into play. Mikoto knows it’s not the people in the positions that are the problem, it’s the existence of the positions themselves. When their military leader is decided through a contest of absolute, uncontested power, it doesn’t mean he’s the best person for the job. It’s simply because no one can stop him.

While Mikoto is a radical, most of the elders are cowards, used to retirement, to the easy life the Hidden Village has given them. Even ageing, Sarutobi Hiruzen is a formattable foe. He is a splendid shinobi, can use all five chakra natures, has a powerful summoning contract. Even the loudest proponent of violent overthrow is reluctant to challenge the Hokage outright.

It devolves into bickering. No one can agree because they’re not talking about the right targets. No one actually blames Hiruzen for the downfall of the Uchiha Clan. His crime is one of attrition, of negligence. Shimura Danzo is their true enemy, and before him, Senju Tobirama, but even now, no one can bring themselves to name him aloud. Danzo is a boogeyman, an oni. Even Megumi has never spoken his name aloud, and Mikoto hadn’t thought there was anyone her sensei was afraid of. Megumi muzzled Sannin. Who is Danzo, to earn her silence?

Is it an avoidance register out of respect, or are they all just terrified? Mikoto is generally terrified, but to her, Danzo is a bigoted councilman who inherited his prejudice from his own sensei. She knows there has to be more to it, specific details, particular examples of his crimes against her clan, but Mikoto accepts that she may never know the full extent of how he earned his fear. Mikoto doesn’t need to know the corrupt governmental specifics. There’s reason enough to satisfy her in Megumi’s every stand down.

As convenient as Mitokado and Homura are as targets, nothing much is said about the other two councilmembers. They’re teammates with Danzo, with Hiruzen. People close ranks during war. Nepotism wins out. They’ll all back each other politically.

The meeting ends with something meant to be wise and profound, but that actually commits to nothing, not even an ideal, and the elders get to catch their early bedtimes. Its farcical, really, that the might of the Uchiha Clan is in a stranglehold beholden to a few old gasbag geezers. That’s who Danzo will target, if he gets his way. But it will be Mikoto’s generation that suffers for it.

Once the meeting rooms start to clear out, Mikoto is summoned personally by the Clan Head. It’s her moment to shine. Megumi’s words are thick in her mouth. “Of course, Uchiha sama. The Kyuubi will be ours.”

He strokes his thinning goatee, hums. He’s old enough to be her grandfather. He’s old, but his will is strong. If it came down to it, could she control him? Could Mikoto convince him to want a peace she herself wasn’t sure of?

Fugaku comes through her window later that night with bags under his eyes. “How bad is it?”

Mikoto sets her shuriken aside. “None of the officers were there to talk him down. They’re scared of publicity, but they’ve no qualms about using the war as a cover to gain power.”

He puts his head in his hands. “My officers will follow me, and the cadets, but the older officers have the experience to cause trouble, if they think it’s worthwhile. They’ll risk war for a fucking promotion, for less tax, a smaller tithe.”

“Is there news of deployments yet?”

“Not for the officers. It’s likely the majority of the police force will stay in the village, for internal protection.”

It’s what the elders are counting on. He says, quieter, “Did you speak with him?”

“He’ll use the Kyuubi.”

The panic sits between them. Kushina on the front lines as a jinchuuriki instead of a chuunin. Kushina as a weapon in Konoha. Fugaku asks, “Can she resist?”

He’s seen her training progress. Kushina’s good, but she’s not that good. Between the Demon Fox and Mikoto’s eyes, the sharingan wins every time. She shakes her head, just a glint of red in the moonlight from the window.

“What does this mean for us?”

Mikoto says, “Lai’s gone.”

Fugaku sighs. She can see him raise a hand to pinch at the bridge of is nose, like he’s got a headache. “Okay,” he says. “This doesn’t change much. We can make this work.”

It changes everything, but Mikoto appreciates it nonetheless. She needs to hear that there’s a chance. She’ll fall apart if Fugaku says it can’t be done. She needs him to buy time with the Uchiha, to hold off the orders as long as he can. He’s Clan Heir, and he’s got significant pull with the Police. If she’s not conceivably able to control every smallest facet of this Hail Mary, at least she’s got people like Fugaku at her back.

The war going official speeds everything up. Troops mobilize. The civilians go into lockdown. Rationing is implemented. There’s a curfew. Orders fly out the Missions Desk, the Office of the Hokage. Kushina is a special designation, and Mikoto by association, and Fugaku’s not with the regular forces either. It’s no surprise that Minato is the first to be deployed.

The runner comes when they’re at Kushina’s. The scroll is official, sealed wax from the paperwork ninja. Minato is regular chuunin forces; he’s part of no sanctioned team, no recognized corps. He doesn’t even have a sponsor.

Divide and conquer, Mikoto thinks, watching him open the scroll. They’re removing Kushina’s support system, weakening her, isolating her. Priming her for what they want to happen.

His eyes flick over the kanji. “It’s not that bad,” he says. “It’s the Kumo front.”

“When?”

“Two days.”

Kushina cries. Mikoto says, final, “You’re exempt from your portion of the plan. Focus on Kumo.”

Minato frowns and Kushina cries harder, up until she pops up almost glowing with righteous anger. “You pummel them, Minato. You’re not facing them; they’re facing you.”

“Damn right,” Mikoto says. “They’ll have to catch you first, and nobody can catch you.”

“And when I get there,” Kushina grinds a fist into her hand, “I’ll make them wish they’d never crossed me, believe it!”

Its suitably bloodthirsty and Kushina has legitimate grudges with the Hidden Cloud, what with all the kidnapping attempts. Mikoto smiles, says, “I almost feel bad for those Lightning nin.”

The threats and boasts grow more and more outlandish, but it keeps the spirit high. They’re still focused on the external conflict. Mikoto’s been lying to them both for months. This is just a war to them, and shinobi are built for war. It’s the expected path. Fugaku doesn’t know the half of it either. She’ll do what needs to be done.

Minato leaves with a whole contingent of chuunin, off to keep Kumo bottled up in the stopper of Shimo. If they can keep the Hidden Cloud on their peninsula, they can’t reinforce Iwa behind their scouting lines. It’s not a bad plan. But it does speak to how they’re treating this war. Winter is coming on fast. Frost will be near unsurpassable in another few months. They think they can win it quick, hit first, hit fast, and hit hard, send Kumo back to the mountains and leave Iwa stranded in the Stone.

They see him off. Deployment’s on a rotation, ever four months. Its clearer and clearer how confident Konoha is, high off the win of the Second War. Hiruzen will want to end it soon, and to do that, he’ll need his jinchuuriki.

It’s all hugs before he goes. Minato is even a little eager himself; he’s a prodigy, but an untried one, with no name for himself aside from Jiraiya’s residual. 14, and heading to the front lines. And happy about it, full up on the Will of Fire.

Maybe she’s just a pessimist, but aren’t all these chuunin heading to the front younger than 20? In the Academy, they teach that the Hidden Village system was to stop child soldiers. She’s not seeing evidence of that now.

Time goes by. There’s no word from Lai. Or Minato. The casualties start rolling in from both sides. It takes a few days for the injured to return. Whatever else changes about the state of warfare from the Second to the Third, the injuries stay the same. Iwa is content with blasting limbs off people. Kumo is set in their ways of electrocution, or beheading.

Mikoto trains with Yumemaru, in his chair with the crutches propped against his lap. She says, “I want to test my implanted memories.”

He studies her. She wonders what he’s considering, what, if anything, he’s put together about her. He chews idly on a thumbnail. “Should be plenty of POWs in for you to practice on. I’ll ask T&I for a few. Wanna test them against a Yamanaka?”

“No.”

He grunts, grinds the butt of a cane into the dirt. “Should, girl. It’ll be good practice.”

She says, carefully, “There’s no Yamanaka in Iwa or Kumo. Its deceiving an enemy Konoha doesn’t have.”

Yumemaru laughs and laughs at her, and it’s a mean, ugly sound. “You forget yourself, girl. Don’t tell me your only enemies are outside the walls.”

She says, tersely, “Then I don’t want record of it, Yumemaru sensei.”

Now he just grins. “Who said anything about it being on the official record? I got friends, kid. Bored retirees don’t like paper trails either. Too much fuss about these days.”

She doesn’t trust it, but he was Megumi’s pick to be her genjutsu master. And she very dearly needed to test herself against a Yamanaka. If she wasn’t good enough to fool a mind walker, she wasn’t good enough, period. She needs to be the best. Her mission relies on it.

She trains with Yumemaru, and each day she and Kushina check the updated registry for casualties. Kushina’s a fuuinjutsu master, has finished her apprenticeship, and she spends her days dodging the Barrier Corps while putting her own brand of security seals around Konoha. Minato’s name blessedly never comes up. There’s no way to know about Lai. KIA ANBU just disappear.

They spend time with Lai’s family in their free time but there’s no comfort they can give an anxious civilian mother when she comes asking, no true ease they can give the brothers, the little sister. Kushina can replenish the wards around the family home, Mikoto can distract the youngest with knife tricks, but it’s all just distraction, even for her. No one wants to acknowledge the gap that is Lai gone, the loud silence when they can’t assure them he’s safe.

They’re shinobi; they lie. But civilians know it. They expect it. When they swear he’s fine, even the toothless grandmother doesn’t believe them.

There’s no moon that night. Mikoto wakes to a tapping at her window. An unfamiliar shinobi is trying to break in, but the Konoha code is familiar, the sinuous way they move is familiar, the way the wards let her in is familiar still. Mikoto flicks on her sharingan to see through the genjutsu, sees through to black bodysuit under silver ceramic plate armor.

Megumi slips inside after picking the window lock. Mikoto says, “It’s been months.” She hates how young it makes her sound.

Megumi locks the window behind her. “You need to up your guard around the East wall.”

“I’ll let Fugaku know.”

Megumi stands there in her full ANBU uniform, mask stowed away in a scroll, and Mikoto must grab her bed sheets in her hands to keep from jumping up and hugging her. It’s such a relief to see her. Hers is a presence she shouldn’t trust; she knows better; Megumi taught her better; but she can’t help herself. Even wearing ANBU armor, Megumi is her sensei. She needs to believe that.

The silence grows awkward. Neither of them are good at expressing themselves. Or telling the truth. Mikoto eventually asks, “How is he?”

“He’s fine.”

“Is he in village?”

Megumi just tilts her head and Mikoto is over missing her and back to being pissed. “Have you been in village? What about the council?”

Megumi says, “The fronts are deadlocked. We can hold them almost indefinitely, but it’s not a way to win.”

Mikoto bites her lip. “They’ll send in Kushina, then. How soon?”

“Before winter.”

Hiruzen won’t accept a stalemate. He wants to win, and he wants to win now. From a military standpoint, it makes perfect sense. A bijuu is a weapon of mass destruction, and Kumo has two. Ending the war early will save untold loss of life, but letting the Kyuubi out risked someone Mikoto couldn’t risk.

“I need more time,” Mikoto says. “I’ve been practicing with Yumemaru sensei, but—”

“I can’t promise that,” Megumi says.

“Then make me a distraction. A big one. Kill the fucking Daimyo. I don’t care.”

“Mikoto,” Megumi says, “You need to come to terms with abandoning this mission.”

“I can salvage this,” she promises, desperate, frantic, but Megumi’s shaking her head.

“We no longer have the timeline in our favor. The council’s made their decision.”

Despair sinks through her. “Then kill Shimura Danzo.”

Megumi twitches. Does it sound like she’s in pain, or is that just Mikoto’s wishful thinking? “I can’t.”

There’s shuriken under her pillow, in easy reach. “Are you going to kill me, then?”

“No.”

“Then tell me what to do.”

Megumi crosses the room, sits on the bed next to her. She smells like stale sweat, acrid, and it hits her then that Megumi’s running on soldier pills. She’s never seen her sensei performing under peak perfection, but Megumi’s tired now. Thin with the weight of keeping Danzo from testing the Kyuubi against all of Kumo, from seeing which side Mikoto will pick in the aftermath to use as fuel for the pyre he will light for her clan, either way.

Almost against her will, she latches onto her sensei. She’s been scared for so long, and even with all the confusion Megumi has always made her feel safe.

Megumi strokes her hair. “The decision’s been made.”

Mikoto forces herself to think it through, to find out where Megumi’s leading her. “Then I need a distraction.”

Megumi just hums. Mikoto thinks hard. What did Danzo hate more than Kumo, hate more than an Uzu born orphan girl?

She says, “Oh.”

The silence settles around them. She thinks everything through rapidly, the contingencies she’d need. She says, “Would we win the war, eventually?”

“We are fairly matched, with our forces split. It might draw on indefinitely, but as things are, it’s unlikely we would lose outright.”

“But people would keep dying.”

“People are always dying.”

But before it hasn’t been Mikoto’s fault. By denying Danzo the Kyuubi she’s going to lengthen the war by literal years. Maybe Mikoto and Lai have come to terms with dying for Kushina, but the average Leaf nin hasn’t. What right did she have to dictate their lives like this? She’s no better than her own elders.

She hangs her head in shame, because she knows she’ll do it. It’s not even a question.

But she gives Megumi her plausible deniability. “I need a favor.”

Danzo is easy to manipulate because his hate makes him predictable. Mikoto’s loyalty does the same. Megumi just hugs her, weary and worn out. “You’ll have it. You’ll have it.”

The stars turn overhead, slow as the tomoe in her eyes. Megumi vanishes back out the window. It’s a long night planning her own demise.

The next day she goes to Kushina. “I saw sensei.”

Kushina says, “Talk.”

Mikoto gives her the requisite lies. Kushina doesn’t need to know the plan’s changed, that they’re out of time. There’s an infuriating streak of patriotism in her; Kushina’ll probably be on board with using the Kyuubi to stomp Kumo, especially if it takes literal years off the war effort.

She needs Kushina distracted as well, so she sets her first contingency into motion. It’s not just Danzo she’s got to fool, it’s the Hokage, and while Mikoto is suspect on the grounds of being Uchiha, Hiruzen is a Sarutobi, a collector. He’s greedy for interesting people, unique bloodlines, rare abilities. He won’t willingly let such a fine gem as Kushina go, unless he’s sure she can control the bijuu inside her.

And Kushina can. The problem is, Mikoto can too.

Then she goes to Fugaku. “We’re moving the timeline up. Before winter sets in.”

Then she goes to Yumemaru. “I’ll be needing those practice dummies sooner than I thought.”

The next day, they go deep into T&I to meet the condemned prisoner, surrounded by a full escort of T&I lackeys. It’s a position no shinobi wants to be in, deep underground, on the interrogation floor even, but Mikoto dutifully pushes the wheelchair and Yumemaru scowls. “This won’t do.”

Her target is chained to the wall, hobbled, blindfolded and gagged, with suppression seals over his major tenketsu. The POW uniform renders him a nonobtrusive grey. He could be from any nation, in for any crime. Mikoto probably has more in common with him than with the T&I interns at her back. But she’s going to ruin him, and then she’s going to do it some more.

Yumemaru wheels himself through the door and tugs off the blindfold, to the protests of the Leaf nin. “She’s Uchiha,” he says. “She needs his eyes.”

The man blinks at his revealed surroundings in fear before his eyes find her, sees first the fan on her gear, then her eyes. His are blue, an unusual color in Konoha, lighter than Minato’s. She doesn’t need to know what he did to be caught by Konoha shinobi; she definitely doesn’t need to know if he deserves what his life has become. Details don’t matter. What matters is the way he goes slumpy and pliant under her eyes, the slow spin of them almost lazy. She knows nothing at all about this man, no details with which to build an illusion off of. But this is not typical genjutsu work.

She works with what she has, quickly, before the doubt can build, her disgust at what she’s about to do. A memory of a blindfold coming off. A grumpy man not old enough to truly deserve his grumpynesss. A pair of interns from the Interrogation Division. The man saying…something? He can’t remember.

The memory blurs, indistinct. Too obvious that something's missing. She can see his confusion on his face, bleeding in under the terror.

But Mikoto’s always been better at suggestive illusions. The mind makes up for any gaps naturally. Shinobi can’t stand empty space, will come up with their own excuses for altered perceptions. It’s a confirmation bias she’s exploited before and recently, she’s perfected it with Minato. She pulls back, lets the man come up with his own reasonings. A new explanation slots neatly into place. There’s not something missing. There was never a girl there at all.

“Ask him,” she says, focusing her chakra, feeling completely in control of the technique. It’s almost too easy, or maybe this POW is weak from his captivity. Maybe he’s already given up and is happy for any illusion that takes him away from his cell. Too small a sample size to be sure.

But Yumemaru prods him with his crutch, barks, “How many people do you see?”

The man blinks, dazed but recovering. He’s aware. Lucid. Looking right at her. “Two escorts and you, shinobi san.” Automatic, like a field report.

Yumemaru snorts. “Again. Try harder.”

She works them both to the bone. By the evening, she can convince the POW of almost anything, as long as she grounds it properly. Its delicate work. Time intensive. There are numerous failures; she pushes too hard, gets too absurd in her requests, can feel the second the man revolts against her suggestions. But her chakra is all in his system and she’s taking him hostage. Even under her thumb, he’s greedy for the dream, for the false promise that this is okay, that it’s all going to be alright. There is no T&I. No execution. He’s with his comrades. It’s a good day.

Its Kushina’s weakness. He wants it too badly. It makes him pliable but not a good test of skill.

Lai would know to throw it off. He’d never trust what’s too good to be true.

She grits her teeth, tests her limits. She’s drained from the use of the sharingan, but she’s got enough for this.

Her eyes wheel dangerously, chakra hot in the air around her. The man stiffens. Screams. His chakra system is burnt out, suppressed by the seals on him, what little control he has replaced by her own influence. And it’s easy to follow his pathways through his supraorbital, the tenketsu of his eyes, and drill it into his brain. It’s not physical damage. The sharingan is a mental trauma. Undetectable by iroyonin.

He’s gibbering and crying. All scrambled up inside. Prisoners sometimes lose it, break under the pressure, the anticipation, the torture. It happens all the time. No one will question his insanity.

Mikoto needs to cover her tracks. She can implant believable memories successfully. But this is an official session, sanctioned by T&I. This man is doomed to Yamanaka interrogation, and then execution. They’ll pry her secrets from his head and they’ll go right to Danzo. He’ll answer their every question.

“I think he’s had enough,” one of the interns says, checking his pulse. She’s no expert at physiology, but the psychological should leave no effect, no straw for them to grasp at, even under inspection. Can she implant memories or not? They wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Take him away,” Yumemaru waves them off, scowling.

Mikoto focuses on the ground. She’s just ruined a man. She’s killed before but this feels vastly different, more intrusive than a kunai, more invasive than an illusion. She’s driven a man to madness and she’s done it intentionally. She’s not even sorry.

The two interns lead them away, up and into the light. Outside, Yumemaru spits into the dirt. “Dangerous game you’re playing. They won’t take kindly to it.”

Didn’t she know. “I think I’m ready for your Yamanaka friend, Yumemaru sensei.”

Three days later, they meet in Training Ground Three. There’s an older kunoichi with Yumemaru, her pale blonde hair scraped back into a severe high pony. They’re scowling at each other and Mikoto can see the familiarity.

“This her?” The woman looks her up and down. “You didn’t say she was Uchiha.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

It always mattered. “Bastard,” the Yamanaka mutters. “You’re supposed to be done meddling.”

“Meddling? This is training.”

“No one comes to me if it’s just training. Where’s the target?”

It’s just the three of them. Yumemaru says, “The honor’s mine.”

Mikoto’s practiced on Yumemaru before, numerous times, and his will is strong. He won’t bend easy.

The Yamanaka grins. “Why didn’t you say so earlier. I’d have given you a discount.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d like that, you old hag.”

Teammates, Mikoto thinks. She can think of a few team designations that would call for a Yamanaka and a genjutsu specialist with a concentration in subversion and sabotage. When she adds ANBU to the mix, it’s a frightening picture.

Yumemaru fixes her with his gaze, says, “I’m going to sell state secrets to Suna. Convince me not to.”

Mikoto considers him, uses what she knows about him. She activates her sharingan, eases him into the illusion. His resistance is strong. He’s immediately stone walling her. But she knows him, or at least, she knows the image of him he’s presented. Ex ANBU. Retired. Injured reserve. Full honors. Megumi’s acquaintance. Money’s not his pressure point. Or love. She plays around with power, but that’s not the right angle either. He’s too stubborn, too prideful. He’s actively resisting her.

Mikoto knows what would make her a traitor. It’s not a huge leap of imagination to twist it to fit him. Injured and unwillingly retired. Bitter about the nation that let it happen then threw him away when he’s not of use. Revenge is simple. Easy to understand. Easier still for a mind to spin yarns about, filling in the delicious blanks with images of rage, of hate. And once she’s got the motivation down, she can see what she needs to suggest for him to change his mind.

Revenge falls apart. It won’t bring his leg back. His stubbornness, his pride, it funnels right back into his teammates, into Megumi, to the kunoichi. He won’t let them down. He won’t turn on the Leaf so easily. Convincing him is convincing herself, and her team is her anchor. She doesn’t care about Konoha, but she’d never do anything to jeopardize her team, and now, under her influence, neither will Yumemaru. The feeling must already be there somewhere; this is an exercise, he’s not disloyal. Its suggestive, simple, but she can change his mind. Memories of his team. Images of what will happen to them if he defects. Tie together the action with the consequence. Remove the suggestion of her meddling at all, like she had with the POW. He won’t even remember her being there.

She steps back. The Yamanaka studies him. “Heard you were interested in profiteering. Wind sound promising?”

Yumemaru is on the defensive. “What the blazes are you goin’ on about?”

“Oh, come on. I know you’re thinking it. We could split the profit 50/50.”

Yumemaru stares. “You’re talking crazy, old lady.”

“You gonna turn in a buddy?”

This is far enough. Mikoto’s convinced. She drops the genjutsu hiding her from view and Yumemaru’s eyes dart to her then drop to her chin. He’s suspicious. Internally checking that nothing’s out of place.

Mikoto asks, “Can you tell them apart, sensei?”

“If you’ve scrambled my noggin, I’ll feed you to dogs. Hikari, take a look.”

The Yamanaka claw hands his skull, her free hand folded into a half tora. Her eyes close as she goes digging around in his mind, trying to see what Mikoto had done, if she can even tell the difference between Yumemaru’s will and Mikoto’s influence.

It takes five minutes, then ten. Finally, Hikari releases him, looking contemplative. “I can feel the seams, but its indistinct.”

She can’t tell specifics, but she can sense that Mikoto has done something. It’s not good enough.

They try again. This time, she tries to convince him that she’s a traitor. She’s curious to see his reaction, if he thought she was a danger to the Hidden Leaf.

He comes out of it nonchalant. Gruff in his usual way. Casual. He’s either going to sic ANBU on her later or pretend he doesn’t know.

Hikari takes a look. Laughs. “Nope,” she says but doesn’t explain. “Try again.”

She convinces him he’s on fire. That his leg’s healed. That Hikari was going to kill him. The Yamanaka used the word seams, and it helps her fine tune her the transitions, trying to smooth over her margins. It needs to feel like him. Its only believable if he believes it.

It doesn’t work every time. Yumemaru is pig headed and if she miscalculates a single point, it falls apart around them. He’s ready for her, actively fighting. When she starts to win him over, he’s got a gut reaction, a shinobi instinct, a defense honed over years of working with a Yamanaka. He’s the perfect practice dummy, but she’s not successful every time. Small things are easy. But she can’t convince him that the sky’s not blue if it is. There’s got to be a little part of him that wants it. A little part of her that wants it.

But it works sometimes. Twice, Hikari can’t figure out what it was she did, and Mikoto has to prompt him. Then he scowls, but maybe he’s a little pleased.

They keep at it until she’s too tired to go on. Then Yumemaru gives her a drill down and she drags herself to Kushina’s to plop down on her futon and they watch movies with happy endings and pretend that they’re both okay with being the only two there. There’s been no word from Lai. Or Minato. Mail from the front will be vetted before release for security reasons but even with the expected time delay, there still hasn’t been word. Mikoto considers its possible that their mail is being stopped to better isolate Kushina, make her vulnerable. She says the Kyuubi thrives on negative emotion. It makes the fox strong. It makes every sense to her that Danzo’d want a stronger demon.

She watches Kushina watch sit coms. Mikoto’s laughter is performative, but the Uzumaki’s always been genuine. She’s thinking about distraction, about what it would take to make the Admin forget about the upcoming winter. She’s thinking about what Kushina’d let her get away with.

She tells Fugaku, “I can fool the Yamanaka. If you get me a shot, I can take him.”

He stares at her. Runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Mikoto, he’s my uncle.”

And she was grateful for it, because she thinks she’d never get him on board if it was his father. But she’s spent the day learning manipulating at the knee of ANBU and she knows what words to say to bring him around. She’s Uchiha too. Family is the be all end all argument. She says, “I know. But it’s for all the Uchiha, not just the elders.”

With the right pressure point, everyone breaks. The Clan Head was leverage, but one she should feel guilty about utilizing so mercilessly. She doesn’t feel guilt, but the shame is bone deep. It’s not enough to sway her.

He says, “Let me try first, Mikoto.”

She understands why he’s conflicted, knows exactly what she needs to say to convince him now but she’s hesitant. There’s a core of steel in Fugaku. There’s only so much she can expect from him, before he stops bending. She won’t push him too far now. He’s too valuable an ally.

She hedges, “there’s a timeline, Fugaku. We can’t afford to wait.”

He gets the hint. “Days. Let me speak to him. He’s not unreasonable. He won’t alienate the police force.”

Mikoto’s not convinced, but she assents. She can’t show Fugaku how necessary the drastic steps are, but maybe a conversation with Shiwa will. If anything, she can count on him to be reactionary.

The next day, she goes to a prearranged site snug against the wall in the warehouse district. She trips up to the roofs, flat topped and inviting. There’s a good view, a strategic one. Over by the wall is a water cistern, the shade of which marks a good place for canvasing. She flicks her sharingan over it but there’s no genjutsu. The agents must be using that same Camouflage Jutsu Megumi knows.

She’s careful now. There was danger here, hidden in the Leaf. She can almost feel the operative’s eyes on her. Assuredly not Megumi or Lai, or this would never work. But she needs a distraction for Danzo to chew on while Fugaku fails to turn their Clan Head. Something to make him hesitate. He wants her to control the Kyuubi, then take the fall for a rampage, but that only works if he thought she was even keeled. Patsies only work when nobody suspects them. Mikoto’s been very intentionally not suspicious, inadvertently painting a target on herself in the process. This won’t stay his hand, but it’d make him reconsider. He can use an unstable Uchiha as surely as he can a stupid one, but she’s betting his prejudice blinds him. He’ll never suspect she’d dare bait herself as a stalling tactic.

Megumi had hinted at the location. Mikoto has to hope that whichever ANBU was on guard here was handpicked by her sensei to both rat her out and let her go. If they decide to engage, she’ll have to overpower them. Reframe the incursion in their mind. Paint herself the villain. See if the Admin want a tool they can’t use.

She takes a deep breath. She’s isolated. There’s not a soul around except for her singular audience. The rooftop is deserted. A good place to go if you want both space and not to be disturbed.

Her sharingan activates. There’s no hand signs to give her away, but she knows where to feel for. The outpost under the water tower is only empty to her eyes. But she’s always been more than her eyes.

She gets out a kunai. Does a few katas while the illusion settles. She keeps it subtle. No one will be able to tell when she’s done, what she’s done. It’s all innocent enough, until it isn’t. She stops the practice. Reels them in. Considers cold faced the shiny hitai ate, the fan. It’s just a suggestion, but even so little is treason in the right eyes. And hopefully her sensei has placed the right eyes on her.

The distraction is real. She wings her kunai at some imagined noise, some nonexistent threat. Its only her eyes that are an illusion, her sharingan spinning with something other than tomoe while she does it. The mangekyo sharingan is a suggestion of rampant power, of feral possibility. The Admin would be terrified, but covetous. They’d think twice about relying on an Uchiha who’s so far gone. One ruled by the loss they forget about when thinking of her eyes. She can’t be bargained with. She can’t be controlled.

In her mind, she’s like Kushina in this moment, unapologetic about the space she takes up. Uncompromising. Dangerous. Powerful. Somehow, it’s both the Admin’s best and worst dreams about her, wanting her for the same reason they feared her.

She does nothing more. The implication is enough. She straightens. Dials her illusory eyes down to a normal sharingan. She pockets her kunai. She goes home. The hidden ANBU agent lets her.

Megumi appears by her bed in the small hours of the night. It takes a few seconds of studying the set of her shoulders, the downturn of her mouth, for Mikoto to realize she’s furious.

Mikoto cannot defend herself. “Did it work?”

Megumi releases a slow breath through her nose. “You are trying to get yourself killed. The mangekyo sharingan, that’s not a rumor that just goes away.”

Mikoto doesn’t think she’s risked herself any more than Lai has, than what Megumi taught her. If she’s gambling with longform suicide, it’s because she learned from the best. “I am not. I provided an incentive against it, even.”

“You taunted the Admin with a bluff you can’t back up. It’s easy enough to verify.”

Mikoto frowns. “The mangekyo is a boogyman. They don’t know enough about it to prove anything.”

Megumi pinches the bridge of her long nose. “They don’t need to, Mikoto. Even the suggestion is disastrous enough. You shouldn’t have done this.”

Mikoto knows that, but she has no better plans. She’s not willing to risk anyone else, or even implicate the clan as a whole. This was her personal crusade. She says, “What are they doing about it?”

“Did you ever consider that they don’t need an Uchiha? They just need your eyes. And you’re flaunting a myth I can’t protect you from. Mikoto, I’m….compromised. My bias won’t shield you.”

Bitterness cuts through her. Of course the Admin would commit the taboo, when it suits them. Villainize kekkei genkai thieves, burn Kumo in fucking effigy for trying, but the second they can directly profit from bloodline theft, its fair play.

Mikoto’s not sure what Megumi’s even admitting. She’s known for a year that their connection invalidates her input to the higherups. But Megumi is pissed. Mikoto knew she would be. But Danzo would always believe the worst of her. And that pissed her off, but she was pragmatic enough to use it. Megumi’s just upset she wasn’t involved, was in no position to control the fall out.

“Will it buy me time?”

“Uncertain. It’ll make him think twice about your suitability in this mission, and that means he’ll either have you removed or work the mangekyo into the plan.”

“Probability statistics?”

“Base line two days, at least. Uchiha Madara had the mangekyo when he controlled the Kyuubi the first time. He’ll dig through the archives, see what it changes before he decides.”

Mikoto backs that up to one day. They couldn’t possibly have that much illegal clan info to search through.

She says, “I succeeded in passing a Yamanaka screening.”

Megumi tilts her head at her. Mikoto is oddly nostalgic for such an infuriating gesture. But even nonverbal, she recognizes the stand down. There are things she cannot say. Things that would be dangerous to say out loud, that would make Megumi dangerous.

But hopefully her sensei will know all she needs to from that. Even now, Fugaku was failing to lead their Clan Head to reason. This has always been her plan. There was a war going on, but this was Mikoto’s fight. This is what she had to do to win because she could not live with the consequences of losing. Fire could lose a war. Mikoto could not lose her team.

There’s nothing to say. Megumi stands in the moonlight like a ghost. There and then gone. Mikoto hugs her knees. Doesn’t reset her wards to keep Megumi out if Danzo sends her back in a mask. Everything is either coming together or falling apart and she can’t tell the difference between the two anymore. Hasn’t she always been at war? Isn’t this how she got her eyes? Konoha demanded so much of her, gave so little in return.

Megumi goes, and Mikoto hates that she doesn’t say goodbye. She hates that she feels like she needs this from her. There is nothing worse, more humiliating, more dehumanizing, to Mikoto than her own desires. She can’t stand to be seen as less than self-sufficient. She suspects her greatest weakness is simply herself.

Mikoto’s not leaving the compound. Kushina comes to her. She says, “Go on lockdown protocol for the next few days.”

Kushina flops heavy onto her futon, her eyes wide. “Did sensei visit you, too?” Then, more accusing, “What did you do?”

Mikoto lies, “nothing irreversible. I threw a dog a bone. They might develop a taste.”

Fugaku knocks on her front door. Kushina’s eyes go impossibly wider at the sight of him, at the way Mikoto is sharply shaking her head at him to keep silent. She says, “This will only work if you don’t know.”

Fugaku frowns at the lie, but he should understand the urge to protect Kushina from Mikoto’s treason. He looks tired. More than that, he’s exhausted. She can tell from his face that he’s failed, made no headway with Shiwa, has left them no choice.

Kushina huffs, says, sly as a fox, “Megumi sensei says you’re lying to me.”

Mikoto rubs her eyes. “Do you trust it’s for the right reasons?”

Kushina bites her lip and she looks her age, all of 14. “The thing is, I’m not lying to you, about anything.”

The fairness play makes her sound younger, righteous as it was. “Its…. clearance. Need to know.”

“Are you lying to her?”

“No.”

Even Fugaku’s not convinced. She can’t afford to have them ganging up on her, questioning her decisions. She says, “I will tell you everything. When it’s all over, I’ll tell you. I swear.”

She’s not sure she means it, but she wants to, even if it highlights her complicacy. Kushina is her sister, and above all, it’s her life Mikoto’s risking. She doesn’t want to rely on her ignorance any more than she wants to rely on Megumi’s expertise.

Kushina says, seriously, her hair red in the light, red as her eyes, “I hope so, Mikoto. We’ll make sensei buy us barbeque, and Lai will eat himself sick on yakitori.”

It’s a beautiful picture, this security she cannot imagine. But she says, “knowing him, he’s two feet taller as well. A war’s worth of S ranks won’t be enough to afford all we’ll eat.”

Kushina looks at Fugaku questioningly. He offers, “invite the blond along and drain her accounts dry.”

It’s a frail, anxious peace. Fugaku joins her on the futon. Mikoto makes tea. They’ve been split in half and they’re pretending it’s not like that. Fugaku and Mikoto are used to the division, and Kushina came up bullied for her hair, for Uzu. They all know the brutal tragedy. It escapes none of them that the most beloved of their members were the ones taken first.

Kushina sets up the guest room for a sleepover. Mikoto corners Fugaku in the kitchen, her voice barely a whisper. “How did her react?”

The older chuunin frowns. “Negatively. I can’t sway him. He’s not open to compromise.”

Neither was Mikoto. “Can you get him alone for me?”

Fugaku stares at her. Swallows. He’s taller than her and it’s a whole show.

It’s quiet a long while, just the water running in the sink. He says, bitterly, “I suppose that’s what it’s come to.”

She’s unsure how to reassure him. Her plan is identical to the kind of violence their enemies utilized. The lines have always been blurred for her, but Fugaku was raised as a leader. He’ll shoulder this responsibility while Mikoto walks closer and closer to the darkness. She needs him to be a better Clan Head than his uncle, but he’ll have to find it himself. Mikoto’s too closely aligned with the worst of the Uchiha.

He looks at her. “What are you going to do if it won’t work?”

“It will.”

His sharingan roves over her face, capturing micro expressions, all the doubt she can’t voice. He says, “Tell me you won’t kill him.”

She can’t answer. Shame colors her and his face twists in anger. “He’s Uchiha. Your Clan Head.”

But he’s not her family. Not like her team is. “Will you kill me for it?”

He pulls at his hair in frustration. He’s not whispering anymore. “Damn it, Mikoto. You ask me to be an accomplice. My own uncle.”

She shoots back, “Tell me another way, Fugaku. Show me another way, and I’ll do it. Give me better options.”

Its more than a little desperate and she hadn’t meant it as a confession but it brings him up short, all that anger fizzling out. He says, deadly quiet, a little of that ineffable sadness of Megumi, of Lai, “I don’t understand you. But I don’t envy your position.”

She closes her eyes. “I won’t implicate you. I swear. Arrest me if you must.”

From the living room, Kushina yells, “The movie’s starting!”

His sharingan spins slow in his head. “I won’t. Not yet, at least. Don’t…don’t make me, Mikoto. Get this right.”

It’s an echo of Megumi, of Lai. Do better.

She nods, swallows the fear. She’s addressing all of them when she says, “I will.”

Kushina stays long after Fugaku goes. She snuggles into her on the futon, her hair tickling everywhere. “Sensei didn’t really say that.”

She sounds small. Mikoto just hugs her and hugs her. They don’t say anything for a long while.

She stays in the compound. Even with the clan guards war thinned, it’s the best protection she has. She wonders if she’s got a detail on her now, and if they’re guards or watchers. She’s playing chicken with the Admin over her own eyes and still it feels like a regular day. She hates how fucking routine it’s all starting to feel.

Nobody comes back. Nobody stops her. Lai stays gone. Minato stays silent. It’s a weight that’s becoming distressingly familiar.

It takes Fugaku two days to arrange it. She doesn’t want to approach him on his home turf, though it would make him easier to reach. But if it goes badly, she can’t leave him in his home, pointing to an inside job. He’ll be more wary, more cautious, maybe even suspicious of her, but if she needs to stage a crime scene, she needs the terrain on her side.

The sky flocks with crows. There’s cats sunbathing in her yard. She’s contemplating the logistics of regicide but she knows it will be simple. He would never suspect her for the same reasons Danzo would always suspect her. His hate makes him predictable.

The summons comes in the evening. Its cooler, crisp, a cold snap that heralds the beginning of the winter campaign Konoha never imagined fighting. She thanks the runner, memorizes the neat handwriting and then burns the missive. Her eyes narrow. She’s kicked the hornets’ nest now. She packs her gear, in case she needs to run. She doesn’t say goodbye to Kushina, to Fugaku.

She slips into the shadows to meet him. The moon is hidden by clouds but she’s never feared the dark. Uchiha means fire, means light and warmth. She carries the embers inside her through the early chill, her hair pulled back behind her hitai ate. She’s wearing her shinobi blues and her chuunin vest. At first look, she might be mistaken for any Leaf nin until you make out her hair, her eyes gleaming red in the night almost like they glow.

He’s waiting in a clan training ground, the sand underfoot pocked by gluey clumps of glass, burned black. She takes a second to verify that he’s alone. When she’s sure as she can be, she flickers in next to him, her body language subservient. Demure.

He doesn’t startle at her sudden appearance; even retired, he’s still a shinobi. But his frown deepens. There’s sweat in his hairline. He’s worried, unsettled even. His eyes on her aren’t as sure as they should be, as she’s groomed him to be.

“Mikoto, what is the meaning of this? Why does the council believe you have the mangekyo sharingan?”

She’s manipulated him into thinking he chose the venue, that she’s been surprise summoned, would have no defense ready to refute him. She says, instead, “Uchiha sama, I led them to believe it of me.”

“Why?”

“A test."

"Of what?"

"My abilities."

He stares, his eyes still dark. He’s not afraid just yet. But if she’s succumbing to madness, she’s taking them all with her. She’ll burn this village down on her way out. No other Uchiha, no children of hers, will live under the sword.

“Mikoto, listen to me. Whatever this is about, the clan will—”

“The clan is half the problem.”

Then it’s a stare down, his eyes bleeding red. His sharingan is fully mature, and he’s got decades of experience on her. He was alive to see Uchiha Madara in his prime, to see what happens to Uchiha who become too powerful, too isolated. Too sick of fighting wars so that even in peacetime they invent enemies in themselves. The tragedy of that fear is a poison she’s lived with every day.

His eyes narrow dangerously. “Are you here to kill me, Mikoto chan?”

“I am here to change your mind, Uchiha sama. I have trained the jinchuuriki against genjutsu. The bijuu’s control is out of my hands. If you rebel, you will not have the Kyuubi on your side.”

His mouth gapes open. “You sided with Konoha?”

Konoha could burn. “I picked Kushina, Shiwa sama.” She told herself she wasn’t angry, but it comes out angry regardless. “You never once expected me not to love her. You wanted me to use that love against her. You’re so full up on hate it’s blinded you.”

He sneers and the hate in him’s an ugly thing. “You say you picked the jinchuuriki, but its Konoha who wins in that decision. Konoha who thrives while the Uchiha suffer.”

Mikoto knows that hate, knows it intimately. She was born into it, raised in it. Mikoto knows casual hurt, the thousand thousand thoughtless cruelties, in a glance, in a closing door, a quickening of pace, from everyone around her, all the time, as present in her life as the fan on her back and there’s never any consequences. She understands wanting revenge for that pain, but she cannot allow it here. The price is too high.

“The clan pushes for a war it would never win. You’d see us destroyed.”

His lips curls, the wrinkles on his face like old scars. “You’re in cahoots with Fugaku. He came to me, pleading peace. Pleading compromise. But you can’t bargain with the Admin. They recognize no coinage but power and they issue the coins themselves.”

Mikoto agrees. “You can’t bargain with me either. You will change your mind and call off the coup, or I’ll change it for you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Mikoto looks at him, says, “Uchiha sama, you’re already in my genjutsu.”

The illusion expands around them, like a large animal breathing. His eyes widen; he’d thought his sharingan would protect him from hers. But she’s ANBU trained, like Kushina, like Lai. He’d been in her dream since the first word was exchanged.

He struggles but the illusion holds. He grips his hand around a kunai, “Kai!”

The genjutsu won’t dispel. He’s tricky, slashes at his hand like the pain will bring him out of it. But Mikoto’s been planning this for months. She’s done every case study and compiled every profile on him. She knows his every pressure point, his every steadfast ideology that damned them. She’s in his chakra system, hijacking as she goes, taking over his pathways, his tenketsu.

Even through his disbelief, his terror, there’s determination and it hurts her heart to see it. She won’t convince him. He’s too deep in the hate, in the curse of their bloodline, the hatred she never believed in, because to her, hatred felt right, felt justified, was the only appropriate reaction to their subjugation. But the sharingan blinds him. All the legends say it’s their eyes that corrupt them, but Mikoto never believed that either. It’s the damn village, the shinobi world itself, that corrupts her clansmen. It corrupts everyone, from every child it forces on the frontlines to every toothless old survivor of war after war after war, each new violence identical to their enemies. Madara was right to try to destroy what he’d begun. Fugaku and Minato sought to occupy those power structures, replace one Admin with another, but that has always been a system of oppression. It’d just swap the targets, a cursed ladder. The Uchiha on top. Everyone else on the bottom. Built off the suffering of people like Lai, like Kushina. Throwaways. Nobodies. Tools. Weapons. Good only for throwing away their lives in a system they had no control over, no say in whatsoever.

She fabricates the evidence she needs to turn him. It’s not even creative on her part, just a look at what would happen. Danzo ending her clan. Killing everybody. Men. Women. Children. Civilians and noncombatants. It’s what he wanted, wasn’t it, and she stuffs him full of it, lets him choke.

He flounders, fights, but she just pushes harder. Feels for the seams, the transitions, the images hooked in his grey matter. He’s afraid if he ends it, he’ll still be in the dream. In thrall to his own violence. In their mind’s eye is the uchiwa unfurling from the Tower while blood ran red as their eyes in the streets.

It doesn’t stop anything. He wants it too bad.

He’s willing to sacrifice it all for a world where he’s not scum in his own home.

It ends everything. Mikoto struggles now, struggles to hold the genjutsu, but its weaker and weaker under his iron conviction. She can’t convince him, because she cannot convince herself that there’s not a part of him that’s right. She wants that safety, that selfish peace, just as desperately.

The illusion shatters around them. She failed.

Shiwa snarls in rage, lunges at her with a kunai. She parries with her Daisho blades, scrambling for an alternative, for any plan B that didn’t lead to this. How can killing him be the answer? He’s supposed to lead the war faction into wanting peace. If he dies, they’ll just elect another warmonger. There will always be an Uchiha ready for it, ready to risk it all for the promise of a life free from subservience.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. She was supposed to convince him. She promised Fugaku she would. She tries to catch him in another genjutsu, thinking to try again, but he won’t meet her eyes and she can feel his chakra heating up for a katon. Even aged, her Clan Head is a jounin. She won’t last long, especially against another sharingan user.

She panics. He’ll kill her. Kushina goes to the front, to end a war she didn’t start for a village that wanted her collared. Through the panic, one though insists.

Not Kushina.

She calls on Minato’s speed, on Fugaku’s tactics, on Lai’s strength, on Kushina’s force. There is something in her that just won’t stop.

She fights like a lion, like a dragon. She’s fire and she's rage and she’s hurt and she’s steel bright as Kushina’s hair, as her eyes, as Lai’s grin. But she won’t win. Killing him is losing, is adhering to the expectation Danzo wants from her. Everything she’s done, every attempt to make better mistakes, leads to Danzo winning. He’s tied her hands.

If she’s going to hell, she’s dragging Shiwa down with her.

Shuriken screech off of sharp steel, chakra smoke dissipates, tomoe wheel madly in eyes the color of blood. There’s ash in her hair. Sand in her mouth. But Shiwa is old, with creaky limbs, with zero stamina. She might not be able to surprise him, but she can outlast him, eyes spinning dangerously in her head, leading her around kunai, through taijutsu sequences. Neither are powerhouses up close, but she stays on him, not allowing them any distance, any breathing room. He doesn’t need to kill her to win; he just needs to retreat, call for reinforcements, turn her over to the Leaf Police, have her executed as a traitor before dawn.

She won’t let that happen. They grapple. They kick. She’ll fucking bite him if she gets close enough to allow it. She’s faster, more flexible. He’s flaring his chakra but they’re on a training ground. No one will respond to fighting shinobi on a training ground. They could be sparring, aside from the blood.

It happens because he’s not wearing gear. A blow she’s taken to her flak jacket reciprocates against him, her arm a low, smooth glide over his stomach. Under his obi, he’s not even wearing mesh. No body armor. His thin skin slits like a fish, red as gills. His eyes bug out of his head at the shock, at the sight of the Uchiha fan going all red.

She’s panting, even as he stumbles back. He’s a goner, with a wound like that. They both know it. She’s killed him, even as he stands.

He keels backwards and she presses forward, her Daisho blades wet in the night. One to his throat. One to his ribs. A quick kill. A clean one. A mercy, at this point. It’s almost a reflex, the slide of her blades.

He goes down. His eyes are open, staring, still spinning. The pool of red creeps in inches.

Her breathing is quick and light. She killed her Clan Head. Shiwa is dead. His blood is on her hands.

What has she done? She’s killed herself, killed her clan, killed Kushina. Danzo won, and he’d used her to do it.

She’s kneeling in the cooling blood of a man who was not her enemy, covered in the evidence of her failure, her heart as fast and inefficient as her breath. The despair freezes her. She’s in a feedback loop of her mistakes, unable to see her way out.

She’s panicking enough she misses the moment the ANBU appears. Her eyes are dizzingly fast, giving her too much detail, too much white noise to sort through, too much of everything, but the movement draws her attention almost against her will. The sight of the black and white mask is a dull blow to her jackrabbiting ribcage. It’s too much to process, that ANBU will kill her now.

The masked agent studies her, the stripes down the forehead distinctive even in the low light. There’s the hilt of a tipless tanto peeking over the tattooed shoulder. When they reach for it, Mikoto flinches.

But it’s not the tanto they reach for. It’s the Badger mask. Even with everything tinged sharingan red, it’s a face Mikoto would know anywhere.

They look at each other over the corpse of the Uchiha Clan Head. It’s impossible to read her face.

“Megumi sensei,” Mikoto whispers, numb.

“Turn them off,” she says, the Badger mask placed carefully on the ground.

Mikoto doesn’t know what she means, what she’s doing here, when it’s too late. She blinks in confusion, and Megumi repeats it, more sternly, harsher, and Mikoto struggles to deactivate it. She’s too stressed, too firmly stuck between fight and flight, but she’s been conditioned to obey Megumi. When she demands again, Mikoto fawns.

The world loses its filter. Only the blood is red.

Mikoto’s shaking. “I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t, the plan—”

Megumi’s shaking her head. “It’s not your plan, Mikoto.”

She can’t comprehend it. “W-what?”

“It’s not your job to protect this team.”

Mikoto just stares, even as Megumi slowly goes through a dozen hand seals, whipping up what feels like an A rank doton jutsu that shatters the training ground around them, obscuring much of the battlefield. She doesn’t understand, even as Megumi goes around destroying evidence, staging the scene in a way Mikoto struggles to understand, because it’s so different from what she’d planned. This is not what her contingencies looked like.

She doesn’t understand, even as the picture comes together. It only hits her when Megumi stomps the Badger mask under her heel, the seal reinforced ceramic shattering to broken pieces. It doesn’t feel real, even when Megumi surveys the damage with that blank face Mikoto knows is a stand down.

She doesn’t understand, until Megumi unsheathes the tanto. Danzo’s plan. Hiruzen’s plan.

She can’t fight Megumi. “Sensei, please.”

Megumi’s face twists. Mikoto doesn’t know what it means. “I--" something she can't say, that she chokes on. It's too quick to stop.

"I'm sorry,” Megumi says, like its all she can say, like it wasn't another incomprehensible truth. “Let this be your second chance. Please.”

She doesn’t understand, until the tanto flashes in the embers from the dying katons.

She flinches, but it’s not aimed at her.

The tanto lodges swift and sure, with all the expertise of an ANBU assassin. Megumi grunts, hunching over, even as she twists the blade inside her. Blood bubbles in a fountain from her mouth.

Megumi falls.

Horror washes through her. She lunges to catch her before she hits the ground, her teacher’s long limbs limp and awkward. The tanto is loose in the wound from the irreparable damage of the blow. Megumi’s eyes find her, but they’re gone far away and empty. Megumi’s blood coats her hands as she tries in vain to staunch the flow.

She’s crying bloody tears, sobbing as she holds Megumi’s body. Blood sheets down her face, hot and dark from her eyes. She can’t breathe through the pain, doubled up and blind in the dark. It’s another thing she can’t make sense of, because this shouldn’t be happening.

Flames surge to life around her, devouring everything they touch. She can burn it all down, burn it to nothing. For a horrible, freeing second, she thinks she will; let them spread, let them have Konoha; they can have the council, her complicated clan full of complicated hurts. Every second the mad desire rises in her. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

Another ANBU barrels onto the scene, too frantic to be stealthy. They skid to a halt in the blood and Mikoto looks at them mechanically, thoughtlessly as an automaton, and they reel back at the sight of the mangekyo sharingan, hands in the air.

He’s taller than he should be, the mangekyo bleaching the color from his sandy hair. “Lai,” Mikoto chokes out, her hands hooked around Megumi.

He takes in the scene, swearing a blue streak, hitting his knees beside them, hands trying to minustrate to Megumi like her eyes didn’t tell the whole truth of it. Mikoto doesn’t understand, but that much is irrefutable. The nightmare is happening. Megumi is dead.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” he’s whispering, ragged and hoarse with tears. “Mikoto, you’ve got to get out of here. The others’ll be here soon.”

She just clutches Megumi tighter. The grief is too much. Lai says, wavering, “Go! I’ll take care of this. No-no one will know.”

Lai pries her hands off. Shoves her when she doesn’t move. Her legs are unsteady as a colt, and she staggers upright. “Lai—”

“Quick!”

She spares them one last look, the sight searing into her. When she turns, she can feel the heat off of fresh katons; Lai covering her tracks.

She staggers home and Fugaku’s waiting for her. The second she falls against the door, he’s on her and his face freezes, the blood draining out of him at the sight of her bloody gear, her active mangekyo.

She has to get this right. She takes a hitching breath. “One of Danzo’s ANBU killed Shiwa sama. I—” She swallows a sob, “I retaliated.”

He stares at her in horror. Outside, the clan alarms start wailing in ear splitting klaxon. The compound’s been breached.

“Go,” she breathes.

Fugaku lurches one way, then the other, towards her, then the door. “Don’t go anywhere,” he commands. Then, quieter, more lost, “You’ll need to give a statement.”

No, she wouldn’t. Because this would be covered up. And they’ll believe it because the Uchiha will always believe Danzo did it, and so will Hiruzen. Even if they both could never do anything about it, it’ll keep them from looking at her closer. They’ll always be willing to believe Danzo overstepped his position, would weaken the Uchiha so intentionally, so publicly, so provocatively.

And Danzo won’t suspect her, not in any capacity he can prove, even with the truth of her eyes, because for all he knows, she’s had the mangekyo. Had it, and had nothing to do with Megumi, with Shiwa. Lai would make sure the crime scene told the right lies, asked the wrong questions. Everything Megumi taught them.

He vanishes out the door and she strips, stumbling to the shower to get all the blood off of her. Let’s the water run down her face, drip off her chin. She’s crying again. She cries a long time.

Nobody bothers her through the rest of the night. The clan goes into lockdown. With every hour that passes, the surer she is of the coverup. Fugaku doesn’t return. Nor do any avenging ANBU, to take her head to Danzo.

She waits, the dark of the room like shadows in her. She’s not sure what she’s waiting for. Megumi won’t appear. The numbness is in her. She is unable to compartmentalize. Her eyes won’t let her pretend.

Everything begins to turn in her mind. Every conversation, every misdirection. How much had she misunderstood? Megumi had been watching her, had been prepared.

Dozens of memories slot into place. Megumi’s caginess. Her care. The endless consideration she showed, even while lying through her teeth. Hadn’t she been infuriatingly, contradictorily, consistently honest?

Isn’t this what she wanted?

Everything changes. Nothing changes. Mikoto’s alone.

In the morning, the Uchiha close ranks. Fugaku will inherit his uncle’s title. She watches him stand on a raised dias before a crowd of mourning, furious, confused clansmen and say, his head held high, “this was a warning. We cannot provoke the Leaf Village.”

He doesn’t look at her when he says it, but the shame is all she knows.

It cuts the rebellion off at the knees, but there’s still grumbling, still discontent under their new young leader. It might take years, but the Uchiha have hot blood and short memories. Every time they are put down, it’ll only remind them that they deserve better, had the chance to steal their better life with the same violence that Danzo used. It might take years for that resentment to bubble up again into another coup, but the discontent is still there. The injustice is everyday. Mikoto’s changed nothing.

What had she expected to change? Mikoto is 16, not yet a jounin, full of so much fear. Megumi understood from the beginning that she wasn’t a revolutionary. Still, she hadn’t belittled her desire for change. She’d done her best to steer her fear, guide her rage, take the doubt from her past, the one thing from her loss she’d never been able to craft into something useful, and show her how to live with it, even without any agency to ensure it didn’t happen again.

She’s killed a Clan Head. Installed a more palatable, more peaceable, Uchiha. It is not what she wanted, but it is far from insignificant. Even in failure, there’s value in trying. With everything Megumi couldn’t say, she’d been insistent in teaching them that.

Kushina almost breaks down her door after a few days of radio silence. Fugaku must have caved and let her in. Mikoto has been avoiding everyone, turning that sadness, that new understanding, inward, letting it swirl together in a wicked potion, in her eyes, in her heart.

Kushina kicks the door down. The wards let her. Her arms are full of Ichiraku; her answer to any bad thing that happens. She sees Mikoto’s wary expression and her face falls, all her movement stilling. “They’re saying its natural causes.”

It takes her a second to place the words in context. The cover up. Mikoto can’t bring herself to care about the death of the man she killed. It’s the woman she’d watched die she can’t get out of her head.

Looking at Kushina’s uncharacteristic caution, her face just starting to close, Mikoto realizes that no one’s told her. KIA ANBU just vanish. There’s no record of her in the archives already. Megumi will just disappear.

Mikoto just stares at her. There are no words.

Kushina is uncomfortable. She taps security seals onto the tatami under her bare feet. “Mikoto? What is it?”

She says, carefully, haltingly, “Kushina, I’ve got to show you something.”

Even now, there’s no suspicion in her at all. Mikoto takes a shuddering breath and her three tomoe sharingan twist into her mangekyo pattern.

The ramen hits the floor.

Kushina sways. Tumbles onto the futon in a heap of hair. “Who?”

She can’t say it, can’t admit to it, but her eyes mean it very clearly. She killed Megumi. She loved Megumi. There is no need to reconcile those two truths. They are absolute.

Kushina sobs and sobs. Mikoto’s locked in the room with her, trapped with their shared loss. “I’m sorry,” Mikoto whispers, “I’m so so sorry. She…”

But its only now, watching Kushina cry, that Mikoto understands what Megumi meant in sacrificing herself, by taking the fall to protect her. She’s been planning her next steps for days, thinking up elaborate revenge, needing some channel for this helpless rage, this grief, to go.

But Megumi hadn’t meant that, had she? She’d said this was a second chance. Her earlier words in the forest come back to her. How harsh she’d thought they were, how true. What was Mikoto to do? Mikoto, with no agency, with zero ability to enact an iota of change. A 16-year-old chuunin waging war against a councilman who never saw her as an opponent, never once engaged with her one on one? Alone, and lying to her teammates, refusing their help? Megumi’d had the right of it. Mikoto was nothing to Danzo. Could do nothing to Danzo.

It had been true then, and it was truer now. She hates it, hates it, and him, bitterly, but Megumi hadn’t protected her so she could throw her life away against the councilman. Its only now that she thinks Megumi might never have meant that.

Even as alone as she’d felt, Megumi had always been there. Protecting her. Taking the fall. Giving her this second chance. Not to rebel. Not to change things. Not to quell the fire within her. Her stand downs were never about discouraging her from wanting change.

Megumi’d only ever wanted them to live.

All her lessons. All her training. She might have been Danzo’s spy, as helpless against him as Mikoto was, but still she’d protected them. She’d chosen her team too.

“She…she saved me.”

“Does—does Lai know?”

Mikoto only nods miserably, devastated that he’d been in on at least part of it. Trying to control what he could. For them. For Team 9.

Kushina sobs and Mikoto cries again, the two of them clutching each other.

Mikoto redevotes herself to her nindo. It’s never been about sacrificing one of themselves for the other, not Lai for Mikoto, not Mikoto for Kushina. It's Team 9. Megumi looking out for them all. It was never Mikoto’s responsibility to take that on herself. Megumi kept Team 9 alive. She always had.

In the following days, the full picture becomes clearer. Mikoto is not investigated for Shiwa’s death. Fugaku is left with the precarious position of heading a clan in mourning, trying to let them feel their grief without falling into revenge. She hasn’t made it easy on him, but Fugaku’s been groomed his entire life for this duty. He can hold the front.

The week passes and Kushina’s deployment never comes. With the mangekyo sharingan, the Admin think twice about her suitability as a patsy. Simultaneously, she’s under the protection of the new Uchiha Clan Head and now too powerful in her own right to antagonize. Sarutobi Hiruzen must think Danzo assassinated a political adversary in-village and his displeasure at the publicity must cool him off from letting the councilman run rampant. The Sandaime won’t risk the Kyuubi without a backup plan for containment. It frees Kushina from his control.

It’s the win she’s always wanted. Fugaku in charge of the Uchiha. Kushina in no danger from Danzo and his cruelties. She’s even got Hiruzen and the Council fighting amongst themselves, leaving the Uchiha alone to do it. Its more than she should have ever accomplished.

Without the Kyuubi, the war drags on and will likely drag on for years as the casualties pile up. She knows they’ll both eventually do their own rotations to the front, but as chuunin instead of mutual assured destruction. They’ll meet up with Minato, who’s making a name for himself terrorizing the Kumo front. He’ll be Hokage one day, and the Uchiha will be safe from the Leaf, and under her and Fugaku, the Leaf will be safe from the Uchiha. For as long as they can manage. But she’s feeling hopeful about the direction the clan will take under Fugaku, the direction the Leaf will take under Minato.

Lai doesn’t reappear. Between the three of them is a wound and they remind each other of it. Her mangekyo is all the proof he needs to know it wasn’t what she wanted; Sage knows the only one on the team more stubborn than Kushina was Megumi. She sees now how she was handled throughout all of it, Megumi carefully maneuvering in the background, playing the long game. Lai was her right-hand man. Of course he was in on it from the beginning. Her only goal their survival. Lai’s job to let it happen the way it had to happen.

They don’t blame her. It helps, but only a little. She’s trying to learn how to make it enough. To make being alive in a world that wants her dead enough.

Megumi knew that simply surviving, in Konoha, in the shinobi world, was the most radical success. This life is her gift to her team.

Megumi’s the hero. She won’t be remembered as one. The injustice pales in the face of her sacrifice, the way she just disappears; no name on the memorial stone, no memorial at all, just three teens left to keep her will alive. Just memories at this point.

But Mikoto deals in memories. She knows how powerful they are. She was taught the words to say. Her trying matters. Maybe she didn’t change the world. But Megumi changed her.

It’s the inspiration she needs to find the perfect stone. Kushina helps, and for days they tramp over Training Ground 9, looking for the right rock. A rock that doesn’t advertise itself. One sturdy but unassuming, the kind of shinobi that never gets a Bingo Book entry, that never gets a legacy, that does their job from the shadows and does it well.

Kushina is determined that it’s a pretty rock as well, not pit marked with shuriken scars, although Mikoto thinks Megumi would appreciate such utility.

They find the perfect stone. It’s an unobtrusive brown, at home among the forest or a riverside. It’s the size of a loaf of bread, the edges worn smooth. They can only carry it due to Kushina’s monster strength.

They haul it out of Training Ground 9, soon to be reassigned to the next iteration of the gennin team, and back to the Uchiha Clan Lands. There, in the quiet forest of her clan, Kushina paints Megumi’s name in black chakra ink, pretty as calligraphy, even before the kanji shimmer and sink into the stone. No clan name. No epitaph. But they knew the parts of her that mattered, that were genuine. Her skillful stewardship. Her endless love for them.

Fugaku finds them, standing silent vigil over the impromptu marker. Mikoto’s mangekyo is spinning slow and easy in her head, the layered genjutsu more complete than ever. No one will stumble onto this place and disturb the stone. She makes sure of that.

He waits with them and his is a different loss, but no less heavy than theirs. When Minato returns from the front, they’ll have to bring him here, show him the stone, let him pay his last respects to the sensei who took him under her wing when even a Sannin couldn’t be bothered.

Someone approaches, loud enough to be courteous. The masked ANBU agent never says a word, but he comes up on them slowly. For once, Mikoto doesn’t care which one of them he’s been assigned to. He’s wearing the Badger mask. Even Fugaku’s spinning eyes see right through him.

Mikoto puts her arms over the lot of them, drags them in close. Her precious people. Megumi’s life would never be worth her eyes, but maybe it was worth this.

She tweaks the dream. It’s not reality. It’s not forever, even, is no guarantee she can stay above the darkness of the shinobi world long term. But it is beautiful. The stone is safe. Her clan is safe. Konoha will eventually win this war, Kyuubi or no Kyuubi. The tattoo on Lai’s shoulder might not be as big a division as it had been in the past. It was Uchiha land, after all, where Megumi’s memorial would lie.

Above all else, her team is alive. It’s the most important thing. Its improbable. Its every accomplishment. Its everything she ever wanted.

They’re alive, and they’re together. Overhead, the setting sun is a single flaming eye the color of Kushina’s hair, of Lai’s tattoo.

Of Megumi’s sacrifice.