The Illusionist

1

Academy Days

The Ninja Academy is a mess.

Physically, it's perfect, especially for a ninja academy. The grounds are clean, the classrooms are swept daily, and the trees around it healthy and strong even as beaten as they are from the abuse of children climbing them and practicing weaponry. The blackboards are neat and the chalk well-stocked. On the surface, everything looks just fine.

Itachi knows, though, that it's not. His class is small, far too small for an entering class of a village Konoha's size, and the other classes aren't much better. They have only two instructors, both new to teaching, and they're both jumpy, damaged by the war but functional enough to be shoved at children. Most of the children have no idea what they're doing, giggling and running about, completely undisciplined, their behavior just as chaotic as their home lives. Most of them don't seem to really understand why they're at the academy, seeing it as another opportunity to pick fights and goof off.

Itachi is the only child in his year who can answer any of the pre-test questions given on the first day; he answers all of them, but that's almost a moot point. He doesn't take any pride in this, but the sensei in charge openly praises him, earning him glares and resentment. His peers sneer and plot, and, by the end of the day, Itachi finds himself ostracized and alone. He doesn't let the disappointment show on his face, but it's there, despite the fact he knew it would most likely end up this way.

His father's words from that morning trickle into his mind's ear, like some sort of worm, an infection waiting to take root:

You will never have friends, only allies.

Itachi bites down on the sadness, on the but what if, and pushes on. Wishes never did anyone any good; action was the way of the ninja world after all.


They advance him to the next class by the end of the week. His father is utterly thrilled, and his mother makes a feast and throws a party to celebrate. There's music and guests, all there to look at him and smile and make noise.

"You're going to be a shinobi for sure! A great one, at that!" one of his cousins he doesn't know very well exclaims, clapping him on the shoulder.

Itachi nods, and demures, and spends more energy than he ever has training trying his best to keep smiling. The music is blaring, and there's so much laughter, but none of it really means anything; none of it is really honest.

A shinobi lives a life of deception, of illusion, of lies. Accept this, and you will go far.

He avoids breakfast and lunch with family, spending it with studies and Sasuke instead, and eats the leftover dango from the feast after spending the early afternoon on this Saturday training. Sweets are the only things that taste like anything, really, the red bean paste gentle against his often upset stomach. He knows he spends an inordinate amount of time stressed, that, in the end, it will not be good for his health. Shinobi don't live very long, and great shinobi even less, so he can't say he wants to changes it, even if he knew how.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone eat as much dango as you are right now," Shisui comments, somewhere between fascination and a grimace.

"It tastes good," Itachi answers, unwrapping the last of the dango and taking a bite from the first of the three pieces on the stick.

"Well, I figured," Shisui rolls his eyes, swing knobby-kneed legs in the air; they're on the last viable branch for their combined weight at the top of a tree. "Auntie makes great food."

There's no flattery in Shisui's tone, just simple fact. It's not that Shisui is simple, far from it; he's a genius in his own right. It's more that Shisui doesn't feel the need for or hasn't developed a taste for pretty words. He'd call such turns of phrase girly, although never in front of actual girls, around whom Shisui tends to calm up and blush. It's two of the qualities that Itachi likes about Shisui: he's honest, and he's funny.

"Do you not like meat?"

Itachi blinks, swallows the last of the dango. "Hm?"

Shisui is looking at him, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. "I've never seen you eat it. Even when we're with the adults."

"It upsets my stomach."

That's not a lie. It really does make him feel queasy. His parents have accepted it as perhaps an allergy, but Itachi suspects it's really all in his head. His father will never allow him to see a doctor unless it's obviously a medicial necessity. Shisui probably knows this from the slow blink Itachi receives, but he doesn't press it.

"You should become a monk," his cousin teases instead, grinning lopsidedly; "They're normally vegetarian."

Itachi almost says he'd like that, to be a monk. Not just because of the diet, but because it sounded peaceful. Quiet. Intellectual. Safe. It would be so nice to just hang it all up, put away the kunai and the jutsu and just...

"I'm to be a shinobi. A great one, at that," Itachi answers, doesn't allow himself to sigh but allows himself a bitter smile. "I would be a terrible monk."

Such thoughts were selfish, and monks-good monks-cannot be selfish.


His weakness, he knows, is taijutsu.

It's not a weakness in the way most other children's weaknesses are. Itachi is anything but incompetant in taijutsu, and he's more than able to keep up with Shisui, who is already a genin, and he keeps his ground well with his mother, who, while out of practice, was once a jōnin.

It's a weakness because he's afraid of it. Itachi doesn't like touching people. He knows his touch is meant to hurt them. Maybe not now, but one day that'll be the entire purpose of his touch: to mark, to wound, to kill. Taijutsu, Itachi suspects, will always be his weak point because of this.

There is a certain beauty, though, even in taijutsu's inherent brutality. His father and Shisui and the Academy instructors don't have it, but his mother does. There's grace in her movements, and, when he's with her and when he trains alone, he tries to imitate it. The way when she punches her hand only hardens into a tight first at the last second, giving extra force to the movement. The way when she spins with a kick it's more like watching a fan, the skirt flourishing and following the movement, a distraction to the enemy rather than a physical hinderance. Itachi wants that beauty, at least to ease the dislike he has for taijutsu.

"Never underestimate an opponent because of their looks," his mother tells him after a purely taijutsu spar. "There is never room to make mistakes, not in a real battle."

"Because you die," Itachi answers.

His mother blinks, gives him a strange look that happens more and more these days, especially from adults. "Well, yes, that's the worst outcome."

He almost opens his mouth to say no, it's not. There's much worse. He's read about those kinds of things in the scrolls, and he's seen it, sometimes, in the eyes of other ninja. Living with death is the real curse, a memory, a haunting. Itachi doesn't believe in ghosts, although he does believe in spirits; there is always something leftover of a person, of a moment, even it's only a memory.

Mikoto shifts after the silence begins to stretch, and it takes Itachi a moment to realize that he's messed up. She's watching him now, not entirely motherly, more like how he's starting to be watched by the Academy instructors: clinically, calculatingly. He knows that it's a kind of game, that it's an intimidation tactic. When the other children notice stares like this, they become clumsy, hindered. Itachi knows they're waiting for him to slip up, to show he's something else besides what is expected of him.

They're all waiting to destroy his only defense. Being what they expect him to bed is the only way he can maintain some semblance of freedom. The moment they know what makes him tick is the moment that they can control him, the moment they can swoop in and break him down and put him back together how they want him to be. Itachi knows what they want; it's obvious: they want a perfect soldier; they want a perfect son. So, he'll play to that, play the role beautifully and perfectly, if only to keep a little bit of himself for himself.

(And he knows it won't last forever, that one day it'll all fall apart, but that's alright: shinobi don't live very long, after all.)


The first time he meets Hatake Kakashi is two paces into the shadows cast by the front gate of the Uchiha Compound.

He's been aware that Kakashi always shows up on Thursdays at this time, always stands there like he wants to go in but never does. Itachi is aware, also, of what happened with Obito, and he's noticed how sometimes Kakashi will just stand there, staring at the gate but not really seeing it, the same way Itachi's father watches birds sometimes: like there's something else beyond the physical there.

"Hatake-san."

A beat. Kakashi doesn't start, but it takes just enough time to indicate surprise before Kakashi is looking straight at him. Only one eye, although Itachi knows the hidden one probably sees him, too. Part of Itachi wonders what that must be like, to see two worlds at the same time. The other part, the part that's proper to show to the world, is wary.

"Do you have business with someone here?"

Slow blink of the visible eye, the only indication of discomfort. "A healing appointment in thirty-three minutes."

Itachi inclines his head just enough. He knows the clan is angry with Kakashi (and, maybe, more poisonously, with Obito), although he doesn't know all the details. Obito had gotten a quiet funeral, a small ceremonial mark, the entire affair swept as quickly under the tatami mats as possible. Still, they aren't about to deny the survival of a Sharingan, even if it is in the head of someone outside of the clan. They will never tell Kakashi the secrets, of course. Itachi expects Kakashi has guessed the boundaries.

"Itachi, back from Academy already?"

He turns his outward attention to the elderly lady passing by the entrance, coming from the direction of the market. Instinctively, he inclines his head in greeting, keeping his main focus on Kakashi, how he moves back into the shadows. Kakashi doesn't want anyone to now he's here; that much is obvious.

"Yes, Asuka-san."

The old woman chuckles, leaning on her cane as she gazes fondly at him. "Whatever are you waiting out there for? Your mother must be waiting for you with a nice snack."

"Thank you, Asuka-san," Itachi murmurs, inclining his head and smiling. "I was just thinking about that."

He hears her chuckle and begin her way past the entrance, mind already on other things. He takes a moment to glance back into the shadows, watching Kakashi watching him, before he looks forward again and moves inside.


"Cousin?"

Itachi makes a sound of acknowledgement.

"You're going to develop diabetes."

Itachi hums and takes another bite of the pudding, gazing out over the training field.

"Seriously," Shisui pushes, frowning mock-heavily. "Do you even eat the other stuff your mother packs you?"

He swallows before answering. "You eat it."

"And you steal my dessert!" Shisui exclaims, kicking his heel against the bench leg.

"You make good pudding."

"Too bad I never get to eat it," Shisui moans, watching Itachi forlornly devour the contents of the disposable cup.

Itachi twists the spoon in the opaque dessert, lifts the scoop to his mouth, places it on his tongue. Sweet and gentle: two things he isn't.

"Itachi."

He blinks, looking up and fully to Shisui, whose expression, like his voice, is suddenly drawn. A moment passes before Shisui continues.

"We're probably both going to graduate in the spring, aren't we?"

There's no jealous in Shisui's voice, which surprises Itachi despite himself. Most of the other children in the Academy are open in their jealousy of him, attempting to play crude, thoughtless tricks during the spars or in class. Itachi knows it's best to just ignore this sort of behavior, that it will be something he'll always have to deal with into the far future. Shisui, however, just sounds sad, almost regretful.

"Most likely."

"Do you think we'll be on the same genin team?"

Itachi shakes his head. "No. Two Uchiha are unnecessary for a genin team, especially once we awaken our sharingan."

Which, they both know, will probably be sooner rather than later. They'll most likely be the main clout on their teams and therefore exposed to more danger or at least expectations. Obito had been a special case; Kakashi had been the one to take the brunt of most fights. Now that he's actively paying attention, Itachi gets the impression from the way he hears people talk it's one of the many reasons the Uchiha adults dislike Kakashi.

Shisui twists a blade of grass in his fingers, knotting it absentmindedly, unusually pensive. "Do you want to be a shinobi, Itachi?"

He makes a mistake, his hand twitching on the sweating pudding cup. Shisui doesn't point it out, but Itachi knows his cousin notices. Shisui is probably the smartest of the children in the clan behind Itachi.

"It is my duty as heir," Itachi answers instead, knowing he can't straight out lie now.

The silence stretches out long between them. It's not tense, just heavy. The mid-day sun shifts behind a thin cloud cover and comes out again, but Itachi feels as if time itself has no meaning right now. He wonders if it ever did.

"Hey, Itachi?"

"Hm?"

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Itachi inclines his head, turning fully to Shisui again, hands still holding the pudding cup a bit too close to his chest.

"I wish..." Shisui whispers, drawing his knees up against his chest, a strangely childish position for them both. "I wish I could have been a chef..."

Itachi swallows, his hand holding the spoon spasming this time, the utensil falling into the grass around the bench. Tears prick at the edges of his eyes, half for Shisui, half for himself. Yes, he knows that feeling, that longing to be someone else, anyone else. To have different memories, to be normal and not a genius, to not be -

"But we're the pride of the Uchiha," Shisui finishes, pulling a smile onto his face, visibly taking comfort from just saying the words. "That'll get us through."

He swallows again, breathing in deep. Shisui is still smiling, not really looking at him, and Itachi is grateful. Shisui is his best friend; maybe, at the heart of it, his only friend. Itachi reaches down to pick up the spoon, forcing his features back into place, nodding by the time he sits back up and smiling just enough, just the right amount to create this lie.

"Yes," he says, gently, "that'll get us through."