So sorry for the delay everyone! I got caught up in finals (still am, in fact) and wanted to make sure this chapter and the next would be ready before posting them. See, these chapters are INCREDIBLY important and will affect the future of the story. I'll say now the two middle scenes in this one are a bit rough and wonky because I had to rewrite them from scratch, and it just never felt right compared to how I remembered it. I'm still not as happy with them, but I've already spent long enough tweaking them. What really matters in this chapter is the final scene. So thankful I found it (and the next chapter, too!) on my Google Docs.
However, with that said, there's a chance I'll have to go on another brief hiatus after Chapter 42 is posted because I've had no time to write anything new. Chapter 42 marks a sort of mental "end point" in my head, and the next chapter after that starts a new arc. Everything up to now has had SOME basis in canon, but no more. Everything from here on out is 100% original, and the next arc in particular is a CRUCIAL one to the overall story so I'll need some time to work out the details. I feel bad to say I'll probably go on hiatus again so soon, but Chapter 42 is thankfully a good point for a hiatus.
With all that out of the way, please enjoy this chapter. As usual, please leave a comment/review with your thoughts. This chapter especially, I really look forward to seeing what you think of the cliffhanger at the end and if anyone predicted this.
Chapter 41
"They say ignorance is bliss. If that's the case, what does that make knowledge?"
Shibuki sighed as he sat on a bench outside the hospital entrance, sipping from a chilly cup of icy lemonade to combat the late summer heat. Konoha summers proved far hotter than the mild ones in Taki, and even in civilian clothes the heat felt suffocating. He hunched forward dismally, wiping the sweat gathered beneath his bangs, only to pause as he noted a shadow glide overhead.
He tilted his head back in time to glimpse a hawk disappear over the roof of the hospital, his brow furrowing. Though he'd only seen it for a few seconds, he recognized the white-tipped tail as a distinctive trait of a species native to Wind Country. A messenger hawk from Suna? He frowned as he mulled over the implications. Two days ago an envoy had been dispatched to Suna to gather the necessary individuals for diplomatic negotiations, but this would be too soon for a reply.
His lips curled back in a grimace, wincing in mild apprehension. Since the invasion, Rasa's fate remained unknown; at this point everyone assumed that he'd been killed by Orochimaru, they just didn't know when. Looks like confirmation might finally be here though.
"Shibuki-san?" He paused at a faintly familiar voice, and turned to see a brown-haired boy standing nearby. He shifted slightly on the bench, eying the boy speculatively. Something about him seemed familiar, and he apparently even knew Shibuki's name, so why didn't he—
Click.
"Masaru?" Shibuki blinked, staring at the boy in shock as he finally placed his face. "Your hair, it's—it's short." Masaru's unruly and tangled mane, which had been his most identifying feature, had been roughly shorn to end at his chin. Tufts of brown hair still poked out in every direction in a permanent mockery of a bad case of bedhead, but the difference in length rendered it almost unrecognizable. The Uchiha shifted slightly, his dark eyes averting to the side.
"Ah, yeah... It's a big change." Masaru smiled sheepishly, reaching for the back of his neck only to suddenly stiffen as his fingers brushed air. Wincing, he slowly lowered his hand and fisted it at his side. The motion brought Shibuki's attention to a paper bracelet on his wrist, and he leaned forward.
"Did you just get out of the hospital?" he asked, and Masaru looked at him in confusion and mild alarm before his eyes suddenly flitted to the bracelet on his wrist, understanding flashing in his eyes as he relaxed.
"Oh, uh, yeah. I got chakra exhaustion during the invasion. I was just discharged a few minutes ago." The corners of Shibuki's mouth lifted into a small smile.
"I see. Chakra exhaustion is pretty serious. Hokuto-san—the jounin sensei for the genin team who were in the exams—is still there for it right now. You should probably go home and rest."
"Yeah, I should," Masaru agreed quietly, but didn't move to leave.
"Is there something on your mind?" Shibuki asked after a moment, and the Uchiha averted his gaze once more, rocking on his feet uncomfortably.
"Um... It's about Fu." The abrupt mention of his village's jinchuuriki sent a jolt through Shibuki, suddenly on full alert. He set down the cup onto the bench next to him as he leaned forward, his dark eyes gleaming with newfound scrutiny.
"What about her?" he asked, carefully measuring his tone to avoid giving away his thoughts. Masaru flinched slightly, sucking in a small breath.
"W-well, I just had a lot of free time, and I got to thinking..."
Sakura swayed on the balls of her feet as she stood before the row of vending machines, hands folded behind her back as she hummed thoughtfully. She appeared to be entranced in their contents to the point that she totally failed to notice Sasuke standing mere feet behind her, rooted to the spot as he stared at his teammate's back.
Even now, he couldn't really say why he decided to search out Sakura instead of following his cousin. Logically, he should have accompanied Masaru back to the apartment to make sure he arrived safely. Instead, though, his feet carried him after the flash of pink he'd spied turn a corner, even though he had no guarantee it would be Sakura. It could have been someone's... hat, or something. Come to think of it, not many other people in Konoha had pink hair. Sasuke could think of a few, but none as bright as Sakura's.
Still, though. For whatever reason he had chosen to pursue her instead, so he might as well follow through. He cocked his head and asked, "Sakura?" The pink-haired kunoichi jumped with a startled yelp and whirled to face him, her eyes wide with surprise. Distantly, he wondered if he looked the same.
"Bad" would barely begin to describe the way Sakura looked. Her skin had an unusually pallid tint to it, her eyes lined with dark bruise-like markings that hinted at a heavy lack of sleep. Even her hair, usually kept as pristine as possible outside of missions or training, looked unkempt and messy. Sasuke instantly became more alert, a line of dread slithering down his spine.
"S-Sasuke-kun?" she stammered. "What are you—" The question died on her lips, understanding flickering in her eyes. "Oh! Is Masaru...?" She trailed off, letting the question hang in the air. Sasuke grunted softly as he shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to hide his mild discomfort at the subject.
"He's fine. He got discharged this morning."
"Oh, good," she sighed, genuine relief flashing across her features. "I was worried about him, but I never got a chance to visit after the invasion." Sasuke frowned, turning his gaze to settle on her more fully.
"What are you doing here?" he questioned lowly. His brows knitted together as his eyes skimmed her body, searching for any visible wounds. "Did you get hurt?"
"What? N-no, not at all!" She waved her hands in a placating manner, and Sasuke paused before leveling a deadpan stare at the bandages wound around her palms. Noticing his stare, she followed his gaze and then winced. "W-well, okay, I skinned my knuckles, back when I punched Temari. But that's all! Really!"
"Why are they bandaged? Can't you heal them with the mystical healing palm or something?" Sasuke did not know much about the exact mechanics of the Mystic Palm Technique beyond the basic summary Sakura had given back at his birthday lunch, but he thought that mending skin would be one of the simpler tasks. At the very least, it seemed easier than healing broken bones.
Apparently he assumed correctly, as Sakura assumed a somewhat sheepish look at the query, her eyes flitting to the side. "Well, I could, but... Having the bandages makes me feel, kinda... tough?" A brief silence followed as Sasuke processed her words, his eyebrow raising.
"It makes you feel tough," he repeated blandly. Sakura winced and ducked her head, her cheeks dusting with a not too different from her cherry blossom-colored hair. However, the small burst of color provided a stark contrast to the overall pale tint to the rest of her face, reminding him of his original intent. "If you're not here for an injury, then why are you here?"
Another wince and the faint blush faded, her eyes dimming, and a sudden chill washed over Sasuke as his stomach sank at the gloomy atmosphere which suddenly radiated from Sakura. Not good.
"...My dad got caught up in the invasion," she confided lowly, not meeting his gaze. "He's going to be fine, but... he got hurt pretty bad, and, well. Doctors had to amputate his leg."
Sasuke's stomach physically lurched at the news, an unexpectedly strong sense of horror washing over him despite having never met the man. His breath fled in a rush like he'd been punched in the gut and he felt his throat tighten, only able to stare at her in shock. "Sakura," he started, but stopped there, at a loss for words.
What could he even say to that? "I'm sorry your dad almost died?" The mere thought of asking that almost made him want to laugh. He knew better than anyone how meaningless such empty platitudes felt. But despite that, he honestly couldn't think of anything else to say. Comforting people had never been his strong suit; kami knows he struggled enough with Masaru.
As he struggled for something—anything—to say, Sakura suddenly raised her head to look at him, a cheery smile pasted on her face. "Don't worry, it's okay. He's a bit upset but he's already getting over it. He and mom are already back to bickering in his room over silly stuff, although he's kinda slurring everything because of the painkillers. It sounded pretty silly, so I decided to step out and get a snack."
She laughed but the sound rang false, far too flat and devoid of any mirth. Sasuke just stared at her in horror, unable to keep the apprehension and concern out of his usually stoic face. That laugh, that smile—it was all so wrong, so fake and forced.
While no where near as obnoxiously bright and cheery as Naruto, Sakura had never been particularly melancholic. Sakura tended to wear her heart on her sleeve, able to easily switch from enthusiastically gushing over his best traits one second to furiously yelling at Naruto the next. So to see her with such a fake cheery demeanor, plastering on a false smile with such a hollow laugh—
He didn't like it.
He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could make a sound they heard a loud crash in the distance. The pair startled and turned to look at the end of the hall, and Sasuke's eyes widened as he recognized a familiar voice shouting in dismay. "Is—is that Naruto?" Sakura asked, echoing his thoughts.
Sasuke didn't respond—maybe he couldn't, too overwhelmed by the sudden deluge of thoughts that abruptly assaulted his brain. Memories of their last encounter surged to the front of his mind, of watching the blond scream at the giant toad over the furious roars from Gaara. "He didn't ask to have the Ichibi sealed inside him, dammit! Just like I didn't ask the Fourth Hokage to seal the damn Kyuubi in me either!"
Jinchuuriki. That had been the word Kakashi used to describe people with a Tailed Beast sealed inside them. Despite how absurd the idea of Naruto being one sounded, so many things made sense. His ridiculously deep reserves, the malevolent aura he exuded back in Wave, the Third Hokage's obvious care for his well-being, how easily he accepted Kakashi's explanation about Gaara and didn't ask any questions despite not even knowing something as basic as how chakra worked—
Everything made sense, and Sasuke still had no idea what to make of this revelation. Honestly, he hadn't even really thought about it since the invasion ended; his mind had been occupied by more... pressing matters. The only time it crossed his mind had been when Kakashi had briefly stopped by that night to warn him not to tell anyone, but otherwise his attention had been focused elsewhere.
However, now that he knew Masaru would be fine, Sasuke couldn't really avoid the fact any longer. Especially since said teammate appeared to be in the hospital causing some sort of trouble at this very moment. The thought of facing Naruto while still actively processing all the implications of this information made his throat seize up in apprehension, his body going stock still as he stood rooted to the ground.
As his mind continued to reel in mild shock they heard another crash followed by a startled yell, and then he saw a red and pink blur surge past him. "UZUMAKI NARUTO, YOU BETTER NOT BE CAUSING TROUBLE!"
...Well at least it seemed one thing about his teammates wouldn't change.
Logically speaking, Masaru knew the village would suffer damage from the invasion. People had been throwing high-power jutsu left and right, they had no time to worry about collateral damage to surrounding buildings. He'd seen a few fires while running along the roofs, and he knew that some of the summons he'd seen in the distance would be far too large to neatly fit in the narrow streets.
Yet now that stood before a mountain of debris, without the adrenaline from an ongoing invasion clouding his mind, the reality of the situation fully settled in and left his chest feeling strangely heavy.
What had once been a two-story apartment building had been reduced to nothing but a pile of plaster and wood, its absence a gaping hole between the two buildings flanking it. While he didn't live there and had never gone inside, the building had become a familiar sight to Masaru over the years on his daily walks. To find it just suddenly... gone, filled him with a strange mixture of confusion and emptiness.
Of course, the neighboring buildings hadn't escaped unscathed either. Stray kunai and shuriken still protruded from high up one wooden wall, chunks of concrete missing in the center of crater-like cracks of another building. One even had telltale char marks around a broken window hinting at a powerful fire jutsu aimed at someone hiding inside. Yet for all the damage they sustained, they still stood.
The apartment building didn't.
"Where will he live now?" he asked quietly, staring at the rubble with hollow eyes before shaking his head. He'd already gotten held up long enough at the hospital after running into Shibuki, he should really get home now. Sighing softly, he tore his gaze from the debris and turned to leave, only to pause as something caught his eye. An unfamiliar boy sat on a low half-wall across from the debris, a sketchbook open on his lap as he painted.
Masaru found himself freezing, his eyes fixating on the paintbrush. The boy's hand glided across the page with an expert ease, dashing stroke upon stroke on the page with little hesitation. The rhythmic motions of the brush had an almost hypnotic effect on Masaru, lulling him into a trance-like state. He didn't even notice himself approaching the boy until he'd opened his mouth to ask, "What are you drawing?"
"The rubble." The boy didn't look his way, his gaze flitting upwards briefly towards the remains of the apartment building before returning to the page. "I do not get many chances to paint scenes like this, so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity before it gets cleared away."
Had he said that to anyone else, they likely would have found his blunt attitude towards the devastation wrought upon their village off-putting. Normal people did not look at rubble and think of artistic inspiration. As the son of an avid artist who passed on her love of the craft to her two children, Masaru just nodded in understanding.
"Yeah, that's true," he mused. "Do you have a particular idea for a painting in mind?"
"Not yet, but I believe this will be useful for whenever I decide to draw a scene requiring such scenery."
"That's a good idea." A brief silence fell, only the soft swish of the brush against the paper filling the silence. "Can... Can I watch?"
The boy paused, his dark eyes sliding over to Masaru for the first time since their conversation began. "If you wish," he replied after a moment, his gaze returning to the paper. Masaru quickly scrambled onto the wall to sit next to him, peering over his shoulder curiously.
The drawing looked relatively accurate to the real thing. The mess of jumbled lines and strokes merged together to form concrete chunks and splintered wood, using a simplistic style yet still managing to depict a majority of the minute visual details and almost perfectly to scale. With a few flicks of the wrist the boy added a few more strokes to one large stone chunk, creating tiny cracks almost identical to the real thing.
A warm sense of nostalgia settled over Masaru as he watched the other work in silence, his mind flickering back to the long days he'd spent sitting in his mother's studio watching her paint. Blank canvases would transform into detailed masterpieces under her hand, crafting intricate imagery over the course of anywhere from a few minutes to several days. This boy painted with the same sort of confidence she had, adding simple yet well-placed strokes with a simple flick of the wrist.
"I rarely have an audience," he commented, drawing Masaru from his reverie. "Is it really so interesting to watch me work?" Masaru blinked at him owlishly, taking a moment to process the question.
"Well, yeah," he responded, his head tilting to the side. "It's cool to see an expert work."
"I wouldn't call myself an expert. I still have much to learn about painting."
"That's true for everyone though. My mom used to say a real artist never stops learning." The other boy's paintbrush stilled as his eyes slid over to him, seeming to be deep in thought.
"Your mother... That would be Uchiha Ryoko, would it not?" Hearing her name caused Masaru to give a small start, eying the stranger critically.
"...How do you know that?" he asked warily, but the other boy seemed nonplussed by his suspicion.
"Your jacket has the Uchiha fan on it," he replied simply. "Only two people wear that crest now, and I've been told one of them is Uchiha Ryoko's son. I've seen her artwork around town, her style is quite aesthetically pleasing. I always thought it was a shame she never entered it professionally after her retirement, I would have liked to have an art book for my collection."
Masaru relaxed slightly as he listened to the stranger's reasoning, nodding along with a small smile. He'd seen some of his mother's paintings around town on occasion; she'd made a habit to gift them to local businesses she enjoyed. Even now he'd sometimes walk into a new store or cafe and recognize his mother's signature on a painting he'd never seen before.
"Yeah... She liked painting, but she said art critics were too stuffy and annoying to deal with it all the time. Something about them being 'pretentious pricks who can't tell a three-year-old's scribbles from abstract art'?" Ryoko had ranted about Konoha's art scene a lot.
The other boy hummed, his gaze returning to his drawing. "I have not dealt with professional art critics, so I don't know whether that's accurate or not. However, I do not particularly care for others' opinions anyway, so I suppose it would not matter."
"Well, for what it's worth, I think you're pretty good," Masaru offered. The other boy paused, glancing at him from the corner of his eye before turning his head to face him fully.
"Thank you," he replied, and the corners of his mouth lifted into... something. It looked like a smile, but the expression failed to reach his eyes, making it ring false. Something about it felt mildly off-putting, somehow surpassing any other fake smile Masaru had seen. Then again, he hardly had any room to judge him given his own social awkwardness.
"You're welcome," he replied with a feeble smile of his own. The odd smile vanished from the other boy's face, replaced by a thoughtful look.
"Ah. Pardon me, I just realized I did not introduce myself."
"You didn't?" Masaru blinked, surprised to realize that he was right. Wait... Did he just have a normal conversation with a total stranger? Reviewing the past five minutes, he quickly confirmed that yes, he did engage in actual, functional social interaction with someone—and not only that, he initiated it. Wow. He was on a roll today.
...Why did he suddenly see a montage of other failed attempts scrolling through his head?
Wincing slightly at a few of the memories, he shoved them away and smiled a bit more. "Well, you seem like you already know, but I'm Uchiha Masaru." The other boy hummed, carefully setting down his brush before turning to face him with another maybe-smile plastered onto his face.
"I am called Sai. It is a pleasure to meet you, Masaru-kun."
Deep beneath the village's surface, Itachi crept through a dark tunnel with only the dim glow of the row of dull lanterns lining the walls to light his way, clad in the stolen ANBU armor for what would hopefully be the final time.
A mere hour ago, he had finally delivered the research notes on the Edo Tensei which the Second Hokage had told him about in the Tsukuyomi. Receiving the task—which had been phrased as a mission—from the deceased Second Hokage had felt... surreal, to put it lightly. Certainly not something he ever expected. But then, the entire past three days had felt almost like a dream.
When he left Konoha that fateful night five years ago, Itachi had never expected a chance to serve his village in an even remotely open sense again. Yet during the invasion he'd not only accepted a mission from Senju Tobirama—one of his role models as a child—but he'd also been able to use his abilities to help defend his own Hokage. Yes, he'd been disguised in a stolen ANBU uniform the entire time, but even so the opportunity had felt strangely... freeing. Satisfying, and heart-achingly nostalgic.
Alas, that brief sense of contentment ended with the invasion, when his missing-nin status forced Itachi to hide in the shadows once more. Finding the notes had taken some time due to his limited ability to move, but now that he had completed the Second's request, he had no reason to remain in Konoha any longer. Leaving left him with mixed emotions, because for as much as the village evoked fond memories and sweet nostalgia, seeing the ruins of familiar memories ravaged by war also invoked a sense of bitter loss in more ways than one.
No, Itachi suspected he would feel much lighter once he'd made some distance from the village. Not much—he would never be able to return to those halcyon days of his childhood again—but better than the heaviness which weighed upon him now.
His musings ceased as he neared a corner, his steps halting as his eyes narrowed. Exhaling softly, after a moment he silently resumed walking and turned the corner. A certain jounin leaned against the wall just in front of a giant stone block marking the end of the tunnel, his hands casually stuffed into his pockets. "Hello, Hawk-san," he greeted with a nod. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
"Hatake Kakashi," Itachi murmured, regarding him warily. "I did not expect to see you here."
"Well, I did say I wanted to talk to you, didn't I?" the silver-haired jounin replied lightly, his lone visible eye crinkling in a smile. Itachi narrowed his eyes but remained silent, watching the other man's body language closely for any signs of hostility.
He had hoped to avoid encountering the Copy-nin before his departure. Kakashi had clearly clocked his disguise as fake during their brief encounter before the invasion, and it had left him heavily on edge over the past three days. Itachi still had no idea if Kakashi had figured out who he was, nor did he know why Kakashi decided against confronting him at the time, but all the same he'd hoped to finish his task without finding out.
In retrospect, he should have known better. Kakashi would never let someone suspicious slip away.
"You know, these tunnels have a very interesting history," Kakashi commented idly. "They were created by the Chikadou clan, years before the village's founding. The fact they existed at all was a nice coincidence for the founders, since it saved them quite a bit of work. The First Hokage naturally designated them for ANBU usage... but, you already know all that, hm?"
"Of course," Itachi replied smoothly. "However, it was the Second Hokage who designated the tunnels for ANBU usage, not the First."
"Ah, that's right!" Kakashi smacked his forehead, his eye creasing in one of his trademark eye-smiles. "Silly me, looks like I forgot." He chuckled softly, but both knew that to be a lie. Knowledge of the tunnels' histories was largely restricted to ANBU in part because some of them happened to extend beyond Konoha's boundaries, a fact more intelligent enemies may be able to pick up on if they heard their origins. Asking about them made for an easy way to root out imposters, or at least those who had never served in ANBU.
Did that mean Kakashi had not yet identified him? No, Itachi couldn't rule out that possibility just yet; Kakashi could be trying to fool him into a false sense of security, or alternatively, stalling for time while he awaited backup. Confronting a potentially fake ANBU alone in an isolated location, regardless of suspicions about their identity, would be unprecedentedly reckless of someone as experienced and paranoid as Kakashi.
Whatever the case, Itachi needed to find a way to end this encounter as soon as possible, and preferably without violence. If Kakashi passed out down here, the chances of someone finding him would be low since this tunnel—
He abruptly stiffened, his eyes widening in shock behind the mask. Seeing the sudden tension in his shoulders, Kakashi pushed away from the wall and turned on his heel to face him fully, his expression growing more serious. "I see you finally figured it out," he observed. "I expected you to notice sooner." Itachi just scowled, mentally cursing himself for being so careless.
No one knew about this tunnel outside of Team Ro.
While the first generation of ANBU had mapped most of the Chikadou clan's tunnels, this particular segment had been missed because it had been physically separate from the others and covered in sensory-blocking seals. A few members of Team Ro had stumbled upon it through pure chance, after a mishap at a newly established training ground above one portion caused the ground to collapse.
When they reported it to the Third Hokage, he had opted to keep the knowledge to himself and ordered the exit sealed. Only the members of Team Ro who'd been present for its discovery knew of the tunnel, with a few being briefed on it later. At the time of his defection, the list had consisted only of Kakashi, Tenzo, Hinotama, Shisui and Itachi himself—and of those five, Shisui had died and Shiranui Hinotama had retired from duty after losing her right hand. Which meant...
"So you knew it was me all along," he concluded aloud, and Kakashi nodded.
"I did." Pulling a storage scroll from his pocket, the silver-haired jounin lazily tossed it to the ground between them. Itachi reflexively jumped back as it burst into smoke, expecting a slew of weapons to fly at him or bombs to ignite, but instead a pile of dark-colored clothing appeared. Striding towards the mound, Kakashi plucked one of the shirts from the top and Itachi glimpsed an all-too familiar flash of red and white adorning the back.
"Seeing as you wouldn't need your old clothes anymore, I took the liberty of collecting some of them. Storage scrolls can preserve scents quite well if you know what you're doing, and I'd pull them out every few months so it would stay fresh in my memory. I made a habit of that with most defectors, actually, but usually we caught them pretty fast."
He let the shirt slip from his fingers and fall back onto the mound of clothing, turning his head to meet Itachi's gaze while lifting his hitai-ate. The bright red iris of his implanted Sharingan glowed softly in the dim light of the tunnel, casting an eerie red sheen on his features. "You can take off the mask now, Itachi. I think it will be better if we chat face to face."
Itachi sighed quietly as he reached to remove his mask, grimacing briefly while he could still hide his expression behind it. Battling in such tight quarters would hardly end well for either of them; he needed to end this as swiftly and smoothly as possible, preferably without any destructive techniques. Unfortunately, that left him with one option.
"You should have let it go," he murmured, closing his eyes as he carefully pulled the mask away from his face. "Then we wouldn't need to go through this."
When his eyes opened again they had morphed into the distinct pattern of his Mangekyo, the black pinwheels spinning violently as his gaze met Kakashi's. Instantly the world shifted around them as the jounin fell into the pull of the Tsukuyomi, the tunnel vanishing and replaced by a space of Itachi's own design.
Black clouds surged across a blood red sky at rapid speeds, black water rippling beneath Itachi's feet as he stood before Kakashi, a dark katana in his hand. Metal shackles bound the jounin's wrists and ankles to a wooden cross in a mock crucifixion, leaving him unable to do anything but glare warily at the Uchiha. Itachi wasted no time on pleasantries, thrusting the blade into Kakashi's abdomen and eliciting a sharp gasp of pain.
"This is the Tsukuyomi," he intoned flatly. "Inside this genjutsu realm, I control time, space and mass. It is the ultimate genjutsu, and only one with the same eyes as me has any chance of breaking free." Pulling out the blade slowly, he then jabbed it into another spot on Kakashi's torso before the jounin could recover, earning another pained yelp. "For the next seventy-two hours, I will stab you with this sword."
"Wh-why...?" Kakashi managed to sputter, and cried out as Itachi twisted the blade before yanking it free.
"You are the one who chose to confront me. Had you left me alone, we could have avoided this entirely."
"I doubt you really want to do this," Kakashi muttered. "Can't we just talk peacefully?"
"I am not interested in conversation," Itachi responded blandly, stabbing him yet again. Kakashi's body jerked and this time he yelled, his face contorting in agony as his eyes pinched shut and his fingers curled inwards.
"Y-you claim that," he managed, his voice shaking. "B-but, wh-what if I t-told you, I know the truth."
Itachi's grip tightened on the hilt ever so slightly at the sudden claim, though he made no move to withdraw it. His gaze slid towards his victim's face with an apathetic coldness, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The truth?" he echoed monotonously. "What 'truth' do you speak of?"
"The massacre," Kakashi spat out, peeking open his eyes to meet Itachi's. "I know everything, Itachi. About the coup, your spy status... and... the orders Danzou gave you."
