pretty srs content warning for this chapter - skip the 4th passage, if you're squeamish.
Chapter Twenty
Twilight
The thing about a conspiracy was that it didn't change anything - not really. Itachi still had to do her job - she had ANBU missions most days, and T&I other days. Her work didn't just stop because her mother rarely spoke to her anymore, or because her best friend had told her to leave him alone.
She wanted something to compensate, for all the tumultuous things she'd been through, in the last few days. She knew in her head that it would be better now that she was out to all of the people in her life, but that was easy to think and hard to feel.
It felt like she'd driven away half of her family - the other half might be supportive, but that didn't necessarily make up for it.
She stepped into the clothing shop, a higher-end shinobi place that sold durable clothes - not armor, because most people didn't wear that. Most shinobi wore their flak jackets, but Itachi had never been much of a uniforms girl. She'd worn it a few times, because of its obvious utility, but mostly she skipped it.
She was still thin and androgynous, so she needed some distinctly feminine clothes that would proclaim her femininity for everyone to see. The haori and hakama were comfortable and stylish, but too ambiguous. She'd chosen them distinctly because they were masculine, but allowed for that androgyny that a shirt and shorts wouldn't've.
But now, she planned to exaggerate with a feminine hairstyle and a feminine dress, so people would look at her and think, girl. She expected that her clan would believe Akira's accusation - and by extension, Fugaku's story - but most other people hadn't had that, so hopefully the story would percolate out into the village in general.
Hopefully, she'd never have to explain that she was a girl again.
So she browsed - she didn't want anything brightly colored, but that was annoying, because culturally, young girls wore bright colors. But Itachi had hair so black it was blue, and eyes so brown they were black, and skin so pale that she could see almost every single one of her veins.
Yellow wasn't really her color.
She gravitated towards the women's section, and found a range of clothing - most of it thin and light and bright, and not suited to her. There were weirdly-shaped tops, and jackets, and vests, and even silky-looking haori, like the one she owned.
She found herself fingering a yukata, that almost look like it didn't belong - it was black, a little big for her, but with a pattern of twisting flowers in gold. Itachi loved it. If she wore it a little loose, and something to cover her legs - that would be perfect.
She picked it up, tossing it over her shoulder. She went further down the racks, and grabbed a unisex-looking black hooded sweatshirt, thick and puffy, for the winter months.
There, that was enough for now. She grabbed a set of thin black leggings, ones that curled around her feet, like a dancer's. She considered the black ninja socks long enough to go halfway up her thigh, and added those, too. What the heck. Why not treat herself? They weren't common among kunoichi, but they existed. She could mix and match.
That was almost the last of her savings, but that was acceptable. She could always make more - ANBU paid pretty well.
That, and she had to return to that weapon shop today - her fans were done.
Itachi stepped into, of all places, the library. She hadn't ever been here before, so she was hoping to find what she needed. It was alright, she reassured herself. She could find it - publicly available information was what the library was for.
There was no point in worrying beyond that.
She browsed her way to the medical section, thumbing through thick books. Itachi had never studied medicine formally, which was maybe a mistake. It just seemed, to her, like a lot of work for little reward. She liked fighting - hurting people even more so. She didn't get the rush from helping people that someone like that would get.
She settled on what looked like a textbook, and skipped over to the adrenal gland. She browsed, sifting through the data - it was mostly useless to her, but she learned enough to realize that her jutsu was useless.
Adrenal glands technically produced pre-sex hormones, mainly. They produced lots of other things, but she was mostly interested in the androgens. They were sex hormones, but the important hormones - estrogen and testosterone - were produced in the specific sex organs. Those things that she didn't have.
So, ten minutes in the library would have told her the same thing that six months of experiments with a jutsu had: that what she was doing wouldn't work. She couldn't simply stimulate the body to produce more of something that it wasn't producing at all.
Well, she needed a better approach. She didn't expect medication for her specific need to exist, but it might be worth looking into whether she could appropriate some existing medication to suit her needs. Surely people had a need for pure estrogen somehow, right?
When the call came, Itachi was mid-leap, a step behind Kakashi. Cat and Rabbit were on a parallel track over rooftops, within sight. A pulse of chakra, thick and hazy, pulsed through her arm.
Kakashi paused for a second, before he gasped, "The tower!" He shunshined away, in the next second, and Itachi was only a moment behind. They arrived in front, flanked by Cat and Rabbit, and a very desperate-looking chuunin.
"Report," Kakashi demanded, tone clipped.
"The Scroll of Seals!" the chuunin gasped. "An ANBU team took it - but, they weren't - they tripped off the alarms. And they didn't pass the desk, or produce authorization!"
Kakashi nodded, once, and said, "Cat, escort him to T&I, to produce his account, and get them to send a replacement for the night. Rabbit, man the desk. Weasel and I will pursue. Once you're done, follow the crow."
Itachi didn't hesitate - she called a crow, asked it its name - Kuro - and instructed it to accompany Cat.
Kakashi had summoned up one of his ninken, a small pug. They dashed into the tower, into the archives.
"Pakkun, track their scents," Kakashi ordered. It dropped, immediately, and led the way out of the tower, turning almost directly around. Itachi followed the small pug, their feet eating up the trails through the village, to the edge of a training field.
A body lay in front of them, laying in the mud, limbs splayed, mask cracked.
Pakkun stopped. "There was a fight here, Boss."
"Friendly?" Kakashi asked.
Pakkun sniffed him, and Itachi examined the corpse - it looked genuine. "Think so," Pakkun grunted. "Come on," he ran, and they followed.
They were coming up on the outer walls when the sounds of a scuffle were audible.
Pakkun yelled, "Contact," and split off, turning around. Itachi didn't stop - she turned her sharingan on, flashing through hand signs. A glance around the clearing they were coming up on - and she could pick out the false ANBU easily. They didn't have a chakra signature, in their shoulder tattoos.
A moment later, she was clasping her hands together, and spreading them out, fans extended.
She stepped into a shunshin - not to the unfamiliar ANBU with the Scroll of sealing around his shoulder, but past him, fans splayed out, chakra pouring out of them. He went to intercept her, but she sailed right past him.
She landed, and turned - just as the clearing was filled with the chirping of birds. Another one of the false ANBU was staggering, Kakashi's fist through his chest.
The third, and final enemy called, "Run!"
But the man with the scroll didn't run - he just crumpled, spewing blood. Itachi had missed, but the chakra from her fans hadn't. The third man moved, immediately for the scroll, swinging a sword, and Itachi went to intercept before he could grab it.
She was halfway to a parry when she realized that these were the wrong fans - she had to twist her gauntlet around to take his sword, and couldn't stop him from grabbing the scroll.
Itachi took a different plan of attack - she sealed one of her fans, the arm not blocking, and made a single hand sign.
"Fugengami," She murmured, and he glanced up - and was snared, into a genjutsu. The half second it caught, she punched him in the stomach, sending him flying straight across the clearing to land at Kakashi's feet.
He kicked the man in the head, knocking him out, and fished out the scroll, holding it up. It was covered in dirt and mud.
"Maa, Weasel-chan," he said, lightly. "The Hokage wants this back, I'm sure."
"Sorry, Captain," she said, bowing. "I should have been able to stop him from picking it up. I got new fans today, so I'm still getting used to them."
"Ah. I saw. Very cool."
"...Thanks."
"But that means you will have to carry your prisoner and the scroll back. Good luck!" He poofed out of existence. Itachi sighed.
The door opened, and a kid walked in. Hiroki stared.
"Your name, please?" the kid asked.
Hiroki threw his head back, and laughed. "Konoha that low on shinobi?" he mused. "You need a kid to guard your village, a kid to interrogate me."
He thought it was a girl - the kid was young-looking enough that it could go either way, but the elaborate bun and high voice tipped him towards girl.
Her expression didn't change. "You are accused of impersonating a Konoha shinobi and attempting to steal Konoha secrets, as well as the murder of a Konoha shinobi, in the line of duty. Comply, or we will treat you as hostile. What is your name?"
"I don't have to tell you anything, Konoha dog."
Dark eyes flashed red, and the tomoe in them spun. Hiroki paled. He remembered those eyes.
"One last chance, shinobi-san. Your name, please."
"Fuck you," he said.
She tilted her head, like a bird, and then there was a bird on the desk. A crow. It stared at him, and cocked its head.
He leaned away, but the cuffs around his hands stopped him from leaning too far.
"As you have been uncooperative, I have been authorized to procure your cooperation," the kid said, still unnervingly calm.
"Fuck you!" he repeated.
The crow stepped closer, staring at him. The next moment, it darted forward, faster than he could react, and pecked at his fingers.
It was painful, but he was used to pain. He drew back, straining against the manacles, hiding his wounded hand underneath the other one. He didn't even cry out. The wound throbbed, and blood welled up between the fingers of his other hand.
The crow pecked again, and again. Hiroki laughed.
"You can't fool me, girl. This isn't real. It's just a genjutsu. I can a little temporary pain, easy."
"Oh?" she asked. "Let's test that theory, shall we?" The bird took off, flapping over to her shoulder. She stepped forward and delivered a kunai to the table, right within his reach, and then stepped back.
He lunged for her - of course he did, he wasn't going to let Konoha give him a weapon and not try to use it - but she was out his reach.
She wasn't smiling, or even really smirking, but there was something about her expression that was strangely smug. He held the kunai, warily, and made a small nick on his finger - one of the few that the bird hadn't touched - they still ached, but the pain had diluted since the pecks.
Nothing happened. The kid was still there, the sharingan was still there, the bird was still there, and he had just cut himself for no reason.
He laughed again, this time at himself. "Ah. You'd never let me have a real kunai."
"The mind is capable of a great many things," she explained. "Some people - if they cannot handle the stress of being tortured, will retreat into themselves, and their minds will convince them that nothing they can see is real."
Hiroki violently stabbed the kunai into the pad of his left hand, desperately seeking out the pain, trying to ground himself against these illusions. He dug it in, focusing on that tight, sharp feeling - the kunai's tip felt enormous, cutting into the palm of his hand.
Again, nothing happened.
"As you can see, you are not under a genjutsu. This is a genjutsu." Those eyes swirled, and then his hands were empty - still ruined by the kunai and the bird, and the kid was holding the kunai, tauntingly, blood dripping off the end.
He pressed hard into his hand again, but that wasn't going to make it stop. He knew, even as he did it. His hands still ached, and the wound in his palm still felt like he was holding liquid fire.
"Shinobi-san, I must remind you that this is happening because you refuse to cooperate," the kid said, voice still infuriatingly even. "We'll start simple, with your name."
"My name is go fuck yourself," he rasped. Not an inch, he reminded himself.
This time, her lips did turn slightly up at the corners.
"I was hoping you'd say that," she admitted. Her eyes flashed, and the crow flew forward, again, landing on the table.
Hiroki made a grab for it, but the beak got in the way. He could see a bit of white bone, through the muscle of his hand. He swallowed that thought down.
"This isn't going to make me talk," he taunted.
"I understand," the girl said. "I apologize if your experience has been underwhelming so far. I am still new at this, and I will endeavor to take your feedback into account."
She stepped forward, and grabbed one of his hands, wrenching it flat onto the metal table. With his chakra bound, she was horrifyingly strong. She stabbed with the kunai, into the back of his hand, crudely pinning it to the table.
He let out a gasp, mostly from shock. She ignored him, grabbing his other hand and another kunai. She stabbed that hand too, and then paused, as if to examine her handiwork. She pulled out what looked like a black matte paper fan, unfolding it with bloody hands.
He laughed, again. It took more of an effort, this time.
"That's not gonna scare me, kunoichi. Did you walk into the wrong room? I'm sure the Seduction Corps training must be around here somewhere…"
He leered at her - he tried to waggle his fingers too, maybe make a grabbing motion, but they weren't responding. He didn't let how much that frightened him show on his face, however.
He had to give it to her, however. Whoever had trained her to become a tool was good. Kid didn't even blink.
She stepped forward, coming uncomfortably close. Hiroki tried to attack her, but his hands still weren't working.
The crow hopped forward, and started picking away at his arm. It held nothing back, pecking deeply, and ripping small pieces of his arm. It dove down again. A long, noodle-like piece of ligament dangled from the beak. He glanced away - the pain was nothing to seeing that.
"For this next part, it is best if you remain as still as possible, shinobi-san. These cuts must be very precise."
He thought that was rich, considering that the crow was doing its level best to devour his arm, but it would have looked too much like pleading for mercy, for his tastes. He wasn't going to give in - he was loyal. A good shinobi. Good shinobi didn't spill their guts to the first two-bit child psychopath that tortured them.
She grabbed his face with one hand, iron-hard fingers gripping his chin, sharingan whirling. The way she turned his head to face the mirror, too, had to be intentional. Hiroki was even more sure of that when she took the paper fan and place it at his temple.
"Try and hold still," she murmured. "But feel free to scream, if you like."
She did something, and then he could feel the impossibly sharp, impossibly firm edge digging into his head. He could see, there - the bright blue glow of the chakra coming off the fan, drawing a thin red line into his head.
He screamed.
Then he thrashed, but she held him firm - he managed to nudge the cutting edge, a bit, and managed to leave a nasty, jagged-looking divot in his forehead. That was twice as painful as her simply cutting it, so he left it alone, holding his head still.
That didn't mean he shut his mouth, though.
"I'll kill you, you fucking lunatic psycho bitch! And your parents, and your children. Fuck you!"
"Charming," the girl murmured, the sound piercing through his yelling. "But unlikely." She didn't even meet his eyes, too intent on her work cutting into his brain.
After what felt like a small eternity, she finished, a neat, careful line of red circling his head.
She took it off. His brain was a horrible color - not pink, not brown, and not gray, but instead, some horrible, puke-colored mix of all three. It was ugly, too, all wrinkles and squishy bits, like a pile of crooked, spoiled, ground meat.
"I found found that true horror comes from not just pain, but from seeing for oneself that the human body is simply a bag of fleshy meat. I am eager to demonstrate," she said. For the first time, her voice contained a hint of emotion. "Do you know what prosopagnosia is?"
He stared. Nothing had quite prepared him for this.
"It's alright if you don't," the girl soothed, hand covering her mouth, like she was telling him a secret. "I'm sure loads of people don't know. It's a condition where the brain lacks the ability to recognize faces."
"That doesn't sound like a real thing," he admitted.
"Oh, it is." She reached out, and dug one thin finger into his brain. "I just gave it to you. Can't you tell?"
He stared. There were two people in the mirror, he didn't recognise. They had to be him and the girl, but they looked unfamiliar.
He screamed.
"I'd reassure you that this is simply a genjutsu, but I think we've already proven that it's not."
"Tanaka Hiroki!" he yelled.
"What?" she asked, drawing back.
"My name! It's Tanaka Hiroki! I'm a shinobi from the Land of Keys!"
"That's fascinating, Tanaka-san," the kid said, hand still lightly caressing his brain. "What's your point?"
He screamed again. "Stop! Stop, please!"
She ignored him, fingers digging into another point. He couldn't tell what she'd done, then, and that was somehow worse.
She murmured something else, and then the crow was perching on the rim of his cut-open skull. It cocked its head, and started pecking.
He screamed some more. It didn't help.
Ibiki folded his hands, in front of him, and glared at the kid over his desk. Uchiha Itachi didn't even blink, although there was something in her expression that reminded him of the way Mister Beans looked when he left dead animals on Ibiki's pillow. Smugly satisfied, a predator exercising its dominance.
"I'm not sure if I can properly evaluate your methods if I can't actually see them, Itachi-san."
"My apologies, Morino-san," the kid said, bowing her head. "I figured it was better if he was… intact, for the Yamanaka to peruse."
"You failed, if that was your intention," he informed her. "Yamanaka Inoichi reported that the subject was brain-damaged, to the point where the information he gained was easy to acquire but less coherent than usual."
Itachi cocked her head at him. "I had not anticipated causing brain damage. I have not used genjutsu in this way before."
"What kind of genjutsu does that to someone?" he asked, leaning back in his seat. "I confess that I haven't the talent for the art."
"I gave him brain damage, in the genjutsu, by poking him in the exposed brain. The genjutsu was specifically designed to for the subject to believe it was real. Perhaps - it was too real," she admitted, frowning. "I will adjust my approach."
That was the problem with prodigies, sometimes. They took everything as criticism - though he thought that might have been the amount of pressure that the kid was under, rather than an aspect of her personality. Maybe it was both.
He wasn't unused to interacting with Konoha's prodigies, and Uchiha Itachi was clearly cut from that same cloth. He could see it, in the way she interacted with him - carefully polite, clever, but stiff, and so closed-off that someone less skilled at interpreting body language cues might think her emotionless.
He found that, in ninja like her. The village system had a way of accurately evaluating shinobi skills, but neglecting social ones. She was clearly uncomfortable in many casual, social interactions, and used stoicism and politeness to cover for that. It was, he mused, probably the most clear social direction that she'd received - most other people learned the rest naturally, but, like a prodigy, Itachi didn't seem to have.
Politeness, too, was a well-chosen shield for her - it allowed her to maintain a distance from her words, and actions, and therefore, from judgement. In fact, the only time she'd been emotionally honest with him was when she corrected the way he referred to her, and it was also the only time she'd been visibly uncomfortable.
He'd adjust for that, then. "I'm sure we'll find a use for that kind of genjutsu," he said, graciously. "And as a new recruit, you are, after all, here to improve. Would you walk me through your methodology, in the genjutsu?"
"Of course, Morino-san," she agreed.
Yes, he thought, as he listened to her talk about her methods, demonstrating not just a desire to hurt people, but a flair for the horror that came from seeing one's insides.
He could work with this.
Itachi started, a fan in her hands, springing up. She threw a sheet off of her in her haste; her hand rose up to swipe at the intruder in her bedroom -
A sword came up to deflect her swing. Itachi recognized that sword - and the owner's sharingan.
"What are you doing in my room, Shisui?" she asked, tone level. It took more effort than she wanted to admit, to maintain her voice. She dropped the fan, folding it back up and tucking it into the fold of her sleep pants.
"Ah," Shisui murmured. "I'm - I've been an asshole, Itachi."
"Oh?" she asked, glancing back up. She didn't want to let him off easy. "Is that so?" Neither of them had deactivated their sharingan.
"Ah," he said. "I'm sorry."
"That's nice," Itachi replied.
"I suppose I deserve that," he admitted. "I was just mad that you didn't tell me first. But I guess we aren't quite as close as that."
"I wanted to tell you first," Itachi said. "I would have told you first, if I hadn't outright blurted it to my father, while you were on a mission. It was - it was not the way I wanted to tell everyone."
"Ah." Shisui nodded. "Now I feel like a dick."
"You were trying to be cruel," Itachi pointed out. "What made you change your mind?"
"I went on another mission," Shisui said. "And - well, my teammate…"
"Are you going to be alright?" Itachi asked.
"I will, I just - that's not all."
"No?" She backed off, a little, returning to the futon - the thin shirt wasn't quite enough to keep her warm.
"Ah, Itachi," he said, stepping forward. "Are you cold?"
She ignored the traitorous shivering, wrapping a blanket around herself, stowing her fan under her pillow. "No."
"Don't lie," he chided. "But I, uh." He twitched, halfway toward her. "My teammate died, and my father doesn't recognize me anymore. It's his memory."
"Oh," Itachi said. "Oh. I'm so sorry."
"It's been a long time coming. He's been getting worse. But it wasn't fair of me to blame you for that."
"Maybe not. But you're right - you're my best friend, and you found out last," Itachi said, huddling for warmth, staring up at him - sharingan off, now that she knew he'd come to apologize. "Do you want to sit?"
He moved, stiffly, perching on the end of the futon. "It's no excuse, but - it was that, and it wasn't. My teammate…"
"I thought I could keep it to myself, for a bit longer," Itachi said. "But it wasn't just one thing that made me blurt it out. It was a lot of things. My father had just finished telling me about the clan meeting, and I guessed that it would end like that. I think that was the final straw."
Shisui ducked his head. "I think you're right, about the coup." Itachi nodded, and he continued, "I think we have forgotten what is important, as a clan."
That set off some major alarm bells, Itachi didn't let any of her worry show on her face. "I think it is foolish. Cutting off the nose to spite the face. The coup is a losing strategy. Regardless of success, the other Five Great Nations will descend, like vultures upon a carcass. We'll rule nothing but a wasteland."
"That's good," Shisui said. "It almost seems… less important now now, but I have the Mangekyo."
"The Mangekyo?" Itachi repeated, rather dumbly. "The Mangekyo is many things, but it is never cheap."
"...Yeah. You're right. It's just - I dunno, it just stopped and made me think. My teammate, Shojuro… he took a jutsu that was meant for me."
Itachi tried to console him, but he cut her off. "-And it was my fault. If I hadn't been mad, been angry about all that other crap, my head would have been in the game. It was my fault. I should have been better. I would have been better if I wasn't angry at you."
Instead, she crawled forward, wrapping thin arms around his side. He leaned in, to accomodate, wrapping an arm around her back. The touch was brief, before he pulled back, and Itachi didn't want to push him.
"I just - I'd rather have him back than have the eyes. It's my fault. All my fault."
"Shisui," Itachi said, very seriously. "That's the point of the Mangekyo sharingan. You wouldn't get it if you would rather have had the eyes."
"Heh," Shisui muttered. "I suppose that's true."
"It's never a good thing. I'm sorry for your loss."
"I'm sorry for being a self-involved dick."
"I think that anyone, under the circumstances, would understandably have a lot on their mind," Itachi demurred. "Please don't worry about it."
He nodded, almost eagerly, and reached forward, and poked her gently on the forehead. "Get some sleep, Itachi. When I see you next, we can start talking about how to stop our stupid family from doing something foolish. Until then, goodnight."