Chương 47: Ephemeral

Past the border city, they came to a great bridge. Five or six meters wide, close to a hundred meters long, standing more than ten meters above a rushing river. The far bank was green and clear—a different world from this side.

"Once we cross, we'll be in the Land of Rivers," Tsume told Shin. Standing at the foot of the bridge, Shin felt it—the faint, crawling sensation of being watched. He scanned the area. Behind them lay dense forest, the kind that could swallow a dozen concealed shinobi and never show a trace. There are watchers here too, he thought. Not just the checkpoint. The entire caravan crossed without incident. On the other side, there were no inspections, no guards—nothing like the Land of Fire's security.

The Land of Rivers was a small nation wedged between the Land of Fire and the Land of Wind. It had endured the worst of every war fought between its neighbors, and only after the two great nations made peace had it found room to breathe. The scenery was beautiful—different from Fire Country, but no less so. Rivers and mountains everywhere, winding through a lush landscape that lived up to the nation's name. They pressed on without stopping until they reached a sizable town not far from the border.

It was large for a frontier settlement, and other merchant caravans had already bedded down here. Street stalls lined every road. The place hummed with commerce.

"Tsume-sama, let's rest here for the night." Tomotoshi addressed her with the same careful deference he always used.

"We've reached the Land of Rivers now. Please allow us to properly show our appreciation for your escort. This may be a remote town, but you'll find no shortage of local specialties."

"Of course, if you'd prefer, you're welcome to continue with us deeper into the country." Shin tuned out the pleasantries. His eyes were on the town—the flow of strangers, the foreign goods, the whole different texture of a place built for travelers rather than residents. It wasn't like Konoha at all. They found an inn: large, clean, unpretentious. The caravan's horses and cargo were led to the rear courtyard and storehouses, with hands assigned to watch over them. Shin and Tsume each got their own room.

His was spacious, with a back door that opened onto a communal hot spring—segregated, naturally. He unpacked, changed, and soaked for a while. Back in the room, the exhaustion hit all at once. A full day of walking on top of no sleep the night before. Someone came to call him for dinner, but he was already out. He slept without dreaming. Night. The Uchiha compound.

"Nii-san?!" Itachi had barely stepped through the front door when Sasuke came running.

"How come you're so late?" The delight on his face gave way to a pout almost instantly.

"I was hoping we could train together today."

"Sasuke..." Itachi's gaze was lowered, his voice soft and worn.

"The mission ran long. I'm tired. Let's talk tomorrow." He moved past his brother without waiting for an answer.

"Then will you train with me tomorrow?" Itachi stopped. His back was still turned. Tomorrow...

"School's been so boring." Sasuke scratched the back of his head, a little sheepish.

"Shin hasn't been showing up, so even the taijutsu classes are no fun." A beat.

"I want to beat him when he gets back."

"Shin?" Itachi glanced over his shoulder. The name carried a particular weight—because of Shisui, he'd been paying attention.

"Yeah. Apparently he left the village to go traveling or something. Who knows when he'll be back." Sasuke's lip curled.

"I see..."

"Dad taught him the Great Fireball Jutsu and he learned it on his first try. I've got to train way harder, or I'm never going to catch up—" Sasuke was off and running, the words tumbling out one after another.

"Sasuke."

"Hm?" He blinked.

"You and Shin... you're close, aren't you."

"W-we're not—" Sasuke's voice went small.

"It's, you know. Normal."

"Having a friend is a fortunate thing." Itachi's voice was quiet.

"Cherish that." He stood and left the room.

"Wait—Nii-san! What about training tomorrow?!" A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. No answer came. The living room wasn't empty. Fugaku sat in his usual place, legs folded beneath him, eyes on the doorway. He'd been waiting.

"Itachi."

"... Father." Itachi lowered his head and knelt.

"Where have you been?"

"... The Naka Shrine." Something shifted behind Fugaku's eyes—surprise, perhaps—quickly smoothed away.

"Before that?" Silence stretched between them. Before that... the Hokage's office.

"ANBU have appeared around the compound," Fugaku continued, as though Itachi's silence were answer enough.

"In considerable numbers."

"..."

"The Uchiha Military Police patrols—both inside the village and along the outer perimeter—have been pulled. By the Hokage's direct order." Fugaku's gaze had not moved from Itachi's bowed head. Not once.

"All of this happened before the compound was sealed." Itachi's eyes flickered, but his head stayed down. ANBU. The Hokage's personal force. So the Third didn't intend to trust him after all.

"Is the Hokage finally making his move against us?" A cold smile cut across Fugaku's face.

"Or are you still playing the role of double agent?"

"Itachi?" Silence.

"... You said you went to the Naka Shrine." Fugaku shifted tack.

"..."

"What did you see there?"

"... Father." Itachi raised his head. His eyes met Fugaku's—flat, carrying neither grief nor anger.

"The Uchiha's path has no future." A beat of dead air. Fugaku let out a low, cold laugh and closed his eyes.

"Then let me show you the Uchiha's future." His eyes snapped open. Crimson. Three tomoe spun in each iris, then morphed—stretching into interlocking black lines that wove into a complex, shifting design. The Mangekyō Sharingan. Itachi had no time to look away." Wakahirume!" ……

"Itachi."

"Itachi?"" Itachi!" He surfaced slowly, dragged upward by a voice he knew as well as his own pulse. He opened his eyes. His room. His ceiling. His mother kneeling beside him, one hand on his shoulder. Sunlight through the window. Morning. Genjutsu... He looked down at his hands. Opened and closed his fingers. Frowned. He activated his Sharingan—chakra flow read normal, visual field clear, no anomalies. Not ordinary genjutsu. Tsukuyomi-level, at least. The last thing he'd seen was his father's Mangekyō.

He tried to open his own. Nothing. His eyes held at three tomoe and refused to go further. The Mangekyō Sharingan wasn't a technique—it was a physical faculty, as native to the body as a heartbeat. If he couldn't access it here, it meant he was completely severed from the real world. His actual body was beyond his reach. How do I get out?

"Itachi!" Mikoto rapped him on the head, her patience spent.

"What are you spacing out for? It's past midmorning—you're not even dressed!"

"..."

"Sasuke and Shin are probably pulling their hair out by now." Something turned inside his chest. Not the words themselves—but her voice. The exasperation in it, the warmth beneath it. Too real.

"Today's their graduation and team assignment, and you're their jonin sensei. Could you at least pretend to care?" Graduation. Team assignment. Jonin sensei? She herded him out the front door. He looked down at himself. The green flak jacket of a Konoha jonin sat across his shoulders. Not his ANBU uniform. He stepped outside, and the world was wrong. The Uchiha compound was gone.

In its place, buildings bearing the uchiwa fan crest stood scattered among ordinary houses, woven into the fabric of Konoha's central streets as naturally as shops beside residences. No wall. No perimeter. No isolation. He remembered being a child. The move. The entire clan relocated to the village's far edge, walled off like something the rest of Konoha preferred not to see.

"Itachi-sama! Good morning!"

"Young Master Itachi—heading out?"

"Itachi-sama, have some fruit! On the house!" Villagers called out to him as he passed—warm, familiar, easy. Some pressed food into his hands. He found himself nodding, returning greetings, accepting a persimmon from an elderly woman, even knowing none of this was real. He walked the bustling streets without thinking about where he was going, until the Academy gates rose before him. He looked up. Four stone faces on the Hokage Monument stared out over the village. To the right of the Fourth— His father.

Cut into the mountainside in granite permanence. Fifth Hokage. Itachi's brow creased. Standard genjutsu constructed itself from the victim's subconscious—desires or fears made manifest. But his father as Hokage was neither something he longed for nor something he dreaded. This isn't my world. This is Father's. The Uchiha's future... Is this what you wanted me to see? He thought of the streets behind him. The villagers' warmth.

The Uchiha living among everyone else, the fan crest no longer a mark of separation but simply another emblem in the neighborhood. Was this an illusion—or was it the thing his father ached for?

"Itachi-sensei!" A chunin in a flak jacket was waving from the schoolyard. Iruka Umino—Sasuke's homeroom teacher.

"There you are!" Iruka jogged over.

"Sasuke and the others have been waiting forever. Everyone else has been assigned already—your Team One is the only group left." Itachi let himself be led to the classroom. Iruka stopped at the door.

"All right, they're all yours. I'll leave you to it." A quick nod, and he was gone. Itachi stood in the hallway. He could hear voices inside—muffled, impatient, young. He hesitated for a breath, then slid the door open.

"Nii-san!"

"Itachi-nii!"

"Good morning, Sensei." Three faces. Sasuke was already bounding across the room. Beside him stood Shin Takami, grinning. The third—a girl dressed in Uchiha clothing Itachi didn't recognize—stayed near the back, hands folded, watching him with quiet reserve.

"It really is you!" Sasuke grabbed Itachi's arm, beaming so wide it wrinkled the bridge of his nose.

"Dad told me last night that you'd be our jonin sensei, but I didn't believe it!"

"Uncle Fugaku is the Hokage." Shin laughed.

"If he says it, it's true. Having you with us is the best thing that could've happened to this team." The Uchiha girl said nothing. She offered a small, measured bow. Itachi looked at the three of them. I wish this were real. But genjutsu was genjutsu. Regardless of whether it was a true illusion or simply a constructed vision his father wanted him to see—none of this had happened. False was false. If he let himself sink into it, what would he have left when he opened his eyes in the real world?

"Nii-san?" Sasuke tugged his sleeve, frowning.

"You're doing it again."

"..."

"Let's go celebrate! We should all eat together!"

"Yeah, Itachi-nii—let's go."

"... All right." Itachi's voice was low, distracted. He had no interest in the contents of this world. His mind was already working on how to get back. They filed out of the classroom. In the corridor, Sasuke fell in step beside Shin.

"Hey—didn't your dad mention last night that Nii-san would be our sensei?"

"Nope. He didn't say a word." Itachi stopped walking. His eyes fixed on Shin.

"What's wrong, Nii-san?" Sasuke noticed first. Shin turned too, puzzled.

"You said..." Itachi spoke slowly.

"Shin's father?"

"Yeah? Uncle Tsukasa." Sasuke stared at him.

"He comes over to our house all the time. You okay?" Itachi said nothing for a long moment. If this truly depicted the future— Why would it contain a dead man?