Sasuke didn't remember how he made it back to his room. Memories of the night at "Inferno" blended in his head like paint in the rain: bright flashes of violence, crimson splatters of blood on walls, deafening music, and the silence between heartbeats. Now, in the pre-dawn twilight, it all seemed distant, almost unreal.
A cup of green tea steamed in his hand. Its delicate aroma momentarily took him home—to the Uchiha clan's dojo, where he first learned to hold a cup properly. His father had said then: "A warrior's path begins with small things. Every movement must be precise." The young man smiled bitterly. He wondered what his father would say if he saw his son cutting people to pieces in a nightclub.
A black business card lay on the table. A simple gold number on a matte surface. Uchiha didn't need to pick it up—his Sharingan had captured every digit. He remembered Kingpin's heavy gaze, his words about "talents" and "delicate problems." In another life, he would have scornfully burned such a card. But now...
The shinobi raised his eyes to his reflection in the window. The Rinnegan glowed dimly in the half-light, a reminder of the power he had gained. Of the price he had paid. Of the world he had lost. Once, this power had been an instrument of vengeance, then of atonement. And now?
"What do you want, Sasuke?" Itachi's voice echoed in his mind so clearly, as if his brother stood right behind him. He closed his eyes. Each drop of blood spilled yesterday was imprinted in his memory. He remembered how the fire inside had quieted, satiated by others' lives. For a few precious hours, the emptiness had retreated.
Steam rose from the tea in a thin wisp, dissolving into the air. Like the lives of those people in the club—here and now they seemed just as ephemeral. But their deaths... they had made him feel. After weeks of numbness, it was almost a revelation.
Perhaps that was the answer. This world didn't need his atonement. There was no clan to resurrect. No village to protect. There were only he and this void inside that demanded blood.
His gaze fell on the business card again. Kingpin wasn't just offering work—he was offering a path. Dark and bloody, but a path nonetheless. And wasn't that what the young Uchiha had sought all his life? Direction, purpose, meaning?
"You've always been alone, brother," Itachi's voice whispered again. "But now you don't even have the illusion of a higher purpose."
The shinobi slowly brought the cup to his lips. The tea had cooled, turned bitter. Like the truth he finally accepted: in this new world, he could be anyone. Avenger, killer, monster—all these labels had lost their meaning. All that remained were he and his thirst.
In the dim dawn light, the black business card gleamed like a kunai blade. Uchiha knew he would call. Not for money, not for power. Simply because he needed something to fill the void. And if that "something" was blood—well, he had long since stopped fearing stained hands.
Outside the window, a new day was beginning. Somewhere in the city, people were waking up, rushing to work, living their small lives. And here, in the quiet of his room, he was making a choice. Not between light and darkness—those categories belonged to his past life. The young man was choosing between emptiness and fire. And the fire was already kindling inside, anticipating fresh blood.
The business card disappeared into his pocket. The shinobi drained the cold tea in one gulp. The bitterness on his tongue felt almost pleasant—a reminder that he was still alive. Still capable of feeling. Which meant he needed to keep moving forward. Even if this path led into darkness.
After all, darkness had always been his element.
Sasuke set the empty cup on the windowsill. A thick fog hung outside, turning the outlines of trees into blurred gray silhouettes. The school yard, usually lively even in the early hours, now seemed deserted—not a soul in sight, only damp mist swirling above the ground.
His gaze slid over the surveillance cameras installed around the perimeter. After the Sentinels' attack, Hank had set up additional security systems. Now every movement on school grounds was recorded and analyzed. Decent protection... if dealing with ordinary opponents.
The young shinobi silently rose to the windowsill. The morning breeze ruffled the edges of his jacket as he gently pushed off from the ledge.
His landing was soundless. Activating his Sharingan, Sasuke slipped between the cameras' blind spots, moving so quickly that even if someone had been looking out a window, they would have seen only a blur. Within seconds, the fog and tree shadows swallowed him.
The forest greeted Uchiha with silence, broken only by occasional crows cawing. Dampness saturated the air, settling as cold droplets on his face. Here, away from the school's electronic eyes, he didn't need to hide. The Rinnegan flashed in the twilight, distorting space. The portal opened silently, like a cut in the fabric of reality.
One step—and instead of forest, brick walls towered around him. The alley in the industrial district greeted him with the smell of wet concrete and iron. Cars hummed in the distance, but here, between abandoned warehouses, a dead silence reigned.
The black business card in his pocket seemed to grow heavier. Sasuke took out his phone—another unfamiliar acquisition of this world. Call the number or wait? Memories of the night's carnage were still fresh; the fire inside had quieted but not died out. Perhaps he should first look around, feel the city from within.
Hands in pockets, the shinobi moved along the wall. The morning fog had stayed in the forest by the school; here the air was damp and heavy with smog. Gray clouds drifted overhead—another gloomy day in New York was just beginning.
Emerging from the alley, Sasuke merged into the sparse flow of early pedestrians. His steps were silent even on the concrete sidewalk—an old habit he hadn't tried to break. Gray building facades stretched along the street, store signs just beginning to light up in the morning twilight.
Around the corner, he saw it. An X-Sentinel, Trask's latest development, patrolling the street with measured mechanical steps. Three and a half meters of pure lethal efficiency. The dark metal of its body gleamed dully in the morning light, sensors methodically scanning the surrounding space.
Uchiha froze. Not from fear—that emotion was almost foreign to him. Rather, it was a shinobi's instinct, drilled in through years of training: freeze, assess, decide. His hand didn't even twitch toward a weapon—in this world, he had learned to restrain such reflexes.
But something unexpected happened. The Sentinel's optical sensors turned toward him, red glow focusing on his face. The machine stopped. A strange tension hung between man and robot—a moment that resembled recognition, though it seemed impossible.
He felt his Rinnegan itch beneath the genjutsu concealing its true color. Something about this Sentinel was... different. Its sensors seemed to see through the illusion, yet didn't register a threat. Or were they registering something beyond their programming?
The moment stretched, and then the machine simply turned away and continued patrolling, as if nothing had happened. Heavy footsteps echoed off the buildings as it moved down the street.
Sasuke watched the robot until it disappeared around the corner. Something about this encounter scratched at his consciousness. Sentinels were programmed to hunt mutants, but he wasn't one. And his power was of an entirely different nature. Then why had the machine shown such... interest?
In his pocket, Kingpin's business card seemed to grow heavier again. Perhaps the crime boss knew more than he let on. After all, his business flourished even after Sentinels appeared on the streets. That would only be possible if he had access to information about their operations. Or to something more.
The young shinobi took out his phone and dialed the number from memory. Three rings.
"Speaking," Fisk's rolling voice sounded as if he'd been expecting the call.
"It's me."
A pause. Somewhere in the background, the muffled noise of the city could be heard.
"Ah, the young talent from 'Inferno,'" satisfaction resonated in Kingpin's voice. "Glad you decided to call. I'll send a car..."
"No need." Uchiha cut him off. "Address."
Another pause. Fisk clearly wasn't used to such a tone, but something in the young man's voice suggested arguing would be pointless.
"Fisk Tower, penthouse. Think you can find your way?"
He simply ended the call. Putting away the phone, Sasuke scanned the nearby buildings. Somewhere in the distance rose a skyscraper familiar from the news—the headquarters of Kingpin's empire.
Taking cover in one of the alleys, the shinobi crouched slightly and pushed off from the ground. His body soared into the air with inhuman ease. Landing on a ledge of the nearest building, he immediately surged forward. Jump, push, slide along the wall—actions honed by years of training.
His movements were so swift that casual passersby noticed only a fleeting shadow flickering overhead. Before anyone could raise a phone to record or report suspicious activity, Sasuke was already far away. In a city flooded with Sentinels and surveillance cameras, he moved like a ghost—too fast for electronic sensors, too stealthy for the human eye. Only startled pigeons soared into the sky, marking his rapid path between skyscrapers.
He moved faster and faster, enjoying the freedom. Here, above the city, there were no cameras tracking his every step. No Sentinels' watchful gazes. Only wind in his face and the familiar sensation of flight between jumps.
Fisk Tower drew closer with each step. He wondered how Kingpin would react if his guest appeared through something other than the main entrance. Not that the young man cared. He had no intention of playing by this world's rules. He had his own ninja way. Even if that way now led down a darker path.
Uchiha landed in the shadow of the skyscraper. Fisk Tower loomed above him—a monolith of glass and steel reaching into the gray sky. Glass doors silently slid open, admitting him into the cool lobby.
Inside, the building breathed luxury and power. The marble floor, perfectly polished, reflected the light from crystal chandeliers. At a tall reception desk sat a woman with impeccable posture and platinum hair. Upon seeing the visitor, she immediately stood up, as if expecting him. Not a muscle twitched on her perfect face when their eyes met.
She silently gestured toward the elevator. The doors opened immediately with a soft chime, as if inviting him in. No questions, no document checks—everything had been prepared in advance. Kingpin knew how to receive guests.
The shinobi stepped into the elevator, paneled with dark wood and mirrors. The doors closed behind him, and the car silently began its ascent. The mirrors reflected a young man in a black jacket, whose eyes seemed too old for his face.
The doors opened directly into the penthouse. The Sharingan instantly assessed the situation, mapping potential threats. Six people, each occupying a tactically advantageous position for attack.
To the right of a massive desk stood a huge figure in gray armor resembling rhinoceros hide—metal plates gleaming in the morning light. Nearby, casually leaning against a bookshelf, stood a man in a yellow-brown suit with unusual devices on his hands. At the far wall, Sasuke noticed a barely perceptible movement of air—someone was there, using technology or ability for camouflage.
On the left stood a man with a scarred face, his hand resting on a gun handle. Behind him—a man in a green suit with a mechanical tail curving behind his back like a scorpion's. Behind them loomed a gray-skinned giant with arms the size of logs.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of morning Manhattan. Kingpin sat behind a mahogany desk, his massive figure casting a long shadow on the marble floor. He didn't turn to the newcomer, continuing to gaze at the city.
Uchiha noted cameras in the corners, hidden turrets in the ceiling, armored shutters ready to slam shut in seconds. Kingpin had prepared for any eventuality. Of course, if Sasuke wanted, all these measures would be useless.
Tension hung in the air. Fisk's men were clearly nervous—their fingers twitched near their weapons, muscles tensed. They were used to dealing with power, but something in the calm confidence of the visitor made them uncomfortable. Perhaps memories of the slaughter at "Inferno" from viewed recordings were still too fresh.
Kingpin finally turned in his chair. Their eyes met for a moment—two predators sizing each other up. Fisk silently studied his guest for several seconds, massive fingers tapping on the chair's armrest.
"Impressive work at 'Inferno,'" he finally said. "A bit... excessive for my taste, but effective. Russo had been a problem for a long time."
Uchiha didn't respond, continuing to assess the room and the people in it—a habit developed through years of training.
"But raw force doesn't interest me," Fisk stood up. "I have enough... specialists for such work."
"Why am I here?" the shinobi's voice was dry and businesslike.
A thin smile touched Kingpin's lips:
"You tell me. I offered work, but the decision to come..." he paused, "that was yours. So why?"
Uchiha remained silent. Tension hung in the room.
"Perhaps," Fisk continued thoughtfully, approaching the window, "you simply need... an occupation. Something to fill the void." He turned to Sasuke. "I saw the recordings. The way you fought. It was more than just work. It was... pleasure."
"You know nothing about me," the young shinobi coldly replied.
"I know enough." Kingpin returned to the desk. "Including your special talents. Those connected to your eyes."
"And?"
"And I happen to have an opportunity to show just how... beneficial our collaboration could be," he pressed a button on the desk. "If, of course, you're interested."
Somewhere below, the elevator hummed.
The doors opened, and two thugs dragged in a beaten man. His feet barely touched the floor, his face had become a bloody mask, his lips swollen beyond recognition. Despite his condition, a fire of resistance still smoldered in the prisoner's eyes.
The guards threw the man to the floor before Kingpin's desk. He fell to his knees but straightened up immediately, as much as his strength allowed.
"Mr. Donovan proved to be an... uncooperative guest," Fisk spoke almost with respect. "Three days of work by my best specialists, and he still keeps his secrets."
The prisoner spat blood onto the marble floor.
"Go to hell, Fisk."
Kingpin seemed to ignore the jab:
"You see, young man, sometimes we need more... delicate methods of extracting information." He glanced at Sasuke. "I've heard your eyes are capable of remarkable things."
The Uchiha silently stared at Donovan. The beaten man raised his head, meeting his gaze. Something like defiance flickered in his eyes.
"What do you say?" asked Kingpin. "Can you loosen his tongue... without further damage to his health?"
The young shinobi slowly approached the prisoner. The Sharingan flared in the dim room, coloring his iris blood-red. Three tomoe rotated lazily around his pupil.
"Interesting," Sasuke thought, "how similar all worlds are. Different reality, different powers, but crime... it's the same everywhere." He remembered ANBU interrogations in Konoha, the tortures in Orochimaru's dungeons. Methods changed, but the essence remained the same—pain and fear as instruments of power.
The young man leaned over the prisoner, their gazes meeting. "In the end," he thought, "what difference does it make where I use these eyes? In Konoha or here—they've always been a tool for penetrating others' thoughts, others' fears."
"Answer his questions," the shinobi said coldly, not breaking eye contact with the frozen man. Then he shifted his gaze to Kingpin, who understood and stepped closer.
"Where did Russo keep his loot?" the crime boss's voice was calm and businesslike.
Sasuke watched as the prisoner slowly revealed all of Russo's secrets under the genjutsu. Every word, every detail about the location of the safe, documents, and other valuables fell mechanically from his lips, without emotion. The Uchiha could feel the man attempting to resist the technique at the edge of his consciousness, but against the power of these eyes, an ordinary person didn't stand a chance.
Fisk listened intently, his massive figure casting a long shadow over the prisoner. A cold smile occasionally touched the crime boss's lips when particularly valuable information slipped from the interrogated man's mouth. Each word brought Kingpin closer to complete control over Russo's empire.
"Excellent," Fisk straightened to his impressive height, towering over the kneeling Donovan. "More than... thorough."
Then he waved his hand:
"My boys will take care of this trash," the crime boss nodded dismissively toward the prisoner, who was already being dragged out of the office.
Kingpin slowly approached the window, his massive figure casting a long shadow on the marble floor. Morning Manhattan spread below, and somewhere in the distance, another Sentinel was patrolling.
"You know," he said thoughtfully, without turning to the Uchiha, "since Spider-Man disappeared along with the other heroes, all the small fry have become quite brazen." Fisk ran his fingers over the glass. "Russo was just the tip of the iceberg. New... entrepreneurs have appeared in the city. Especially around the docks."
Sasuke silently observed the crime boss. The Sharingan caught the slight tensing of shoulders among the thugs in the room at the mention of the docks.
"Trafficking," Kingpin spat the word with obvious disgust. "Dirty business. Not my style. But these rats have spread throughout the coast. Some scum even dared to open brothels in my territory." He finally turned to the Uchiha. "You understand what I'm getting at?"
The shinobi met Fisk's heavy gaze. A tense silence hung in the penthouse.
"You want me to clean up the territory?" the young man's voice was as cold as a kunai blade.
A thin smile touched Kingpin's lips:
"Consider it a... test assignment. Show me what those eyes of yours can do. We'll see from there."
Sasuke listened carefully. Strange thoughts raced through his mind about how curiously fates intertwined in this new world. Not long ago, he had been a shinobi, a protector of his world, and now he stood in a crime boss's office, using the sacred techniques of the Uchiha clan for interrogation.
Once, such a thing would never have crossed his mind. But now, having lost everything, he understood—every choice has its price. And if fate had thrown him into this world of violence and corruption, perhaps here is where his powers would find their true purpose.
"What do I get for this?" the young man's voice sounded cold and businesslike. Not that he needed money so badly, but in this world, you couldn't go far without it.
Fisk smiled almost imperceptibly:
"Marked One," he nodded to the scarred man.
The man silently approached the safe, took out a black sports bag, and placed it on the table in front of Sasuke.
"Five hundred thousand," said Kingpin. "Consider it an advance for Donovan's information. You'll get twice as much for cleaning up the docks."
The Uchiha didn't even glance at the money. His eyes were fixed on the window, where a new day was dawning over the city. A day that promised to be the beginning of something new.
The line between justice and vengeance had always been blurred for Sasuke. Even in his darkest days, when the thirst for retribution for his clan clouded his mind, he considered himself an instrument of justice. But now, standing above the labyrinth of docks spread below, the young shinobi felt something inside him changing inexorably.
Fog lay over the port like a dense shroud, transforming rusty containers and abandoned warehouses into blurred shadows. In these gray boxes of concrete and metal thrived the filthiest part of the criminal empire—human trafficking. The Uchiha knew he had to end it, but for the first time, he doubted the purity of his motives.
The young man's fingers formed familiar seals, and the air around filled with the quiet pops of appearing shadow clones. Twenty exact copies emerged on the roof, each pair of eyes pulsing with the Sharingan, absorbing the slightest details of the surroundings. One thought, a short command—and they dissolved into the fog, becoming invisible observers of this realm of vice.
What the clones transmitted to Sasuke's consciousness over the next twelve hours changed him forever. Each image, each sound imprinted itself in his memory. Young girls trembling with fear, loaded into containers like cattle. Their eyes full of despair and pleas for help. The coarse laughter of the guards. The clinking of chains in warehouse basements. The heavy scent of fear and hopelessness that permeated every corner.
The Sharingan missed not a single detail. Guard shift schedules imprinted in his memory. Codes for electronic locks. Secret entrances and exits. But most importantly—faces. The faces of those who had turned human suffering into a profitable business.
Victor "Snake" Petrovich—his eyes lit up with greedy gleam at the sight of new victims. The Uchiha saw how a girl's hands trembled when he ran his manicured fingers across her cheek, "checking the merchandise."
Jackie Chan—a name mocking the famous actor. Snake-like grace in his movements, but in his eyes—the emptiness of a serial killer. He enjoyed others' pain, turning suffering into art.
Marcus Black—a former cop who sold his badge for a share in the dirty business. Now he used police connections to hide the "merchandise" from former colleagues. In his eyes, the Sharingan saw only greed.
The Esteban brothers, Carlos and Raul—kings of the docks, whose hands were bloodied to the elbows with those who tried to interfere. Their laughter echoed off the walls as they discussed the next "shipment."
With each new image, each fragment of information transmitted by the clones, Sasuke felt something dark and dangerous growing inside him. It reminded him of the worst times in the shinobi world—of the slavers from the Land of Lightning, selling children with awakened chakra. Of the underground arenas in the Land of Earth, where these children fought to the death for the crowd's entertainment. Of Orochimaru's laboratories, where experiments blurred the line between science and sadism.
And now, in this new world, in these gray boxes by the water... Everything was repeating again. The same methodology. The same conveyor belt of suffering, streamlined for efficiency. Human cruelty, as the Uchiha had learned, knew no boundaries between worlds.
When the sun began to set, painting the water the color of dried blood, the last clone dissolved, transmitting the final bits of information. The young shinobi slowly rose, feeling a plan crystallizing inside. Tonight, he would begin sowing seeds of fear among those who considered themselves masters of human lives.
They didn't suspect it yet, but they were already doomed. In a few days, they would all gather in one place, driven by paranoia and fear. And then... then Sasuke would show them what true horror meant. After all, who could be a better instrument of vengeance than one who had himself passed through the abyss of darkness?
The young man's eyes flashed in the twilight; Sharingan and Rinnegan—two powers capable of altering reality. But for the first time, the Uchiha wasn't sure he was using them in the name of justice. Perhaps it was just revenge. Or something even darker, something he wasn't yet ready to name.
Periodically, Sasuke maintained contact with the school through a shadow clone. Naturally, no one knew about his affairs, not even Naruto. Life at Xavier's mansion followed its own course. His brother seemed to have fully adapted to the new world, dividing his time between training with Scott, whom he taught to control energy similar to chakra, and his relationship with Rogue.
The Uchiha noticed how the girl had changed next to the jinchūriki—she seemed to bloom, experiencing all aspects of intimacy for the first time without fear of causing harm. Their passion for each other was obvious—Uzumaki's shadow clones constantly patrolled the mansion's corridors while the couple indulged in carnal pleasures in empty classrooms and secluded corners.
Sasuke's shadow clone occasionally stumbled upon traces of their "entertainment"—rumpled sheets in the recreation room, a hastily made couch in the library. The Uchiha would just shake his head, remembering how Uzumaki always found unconventional uses for his shadow clone technique.
Sasuke tried not to interfere in the school's life. His path now lay in a different direction, though sometimes he caught himself thinking that he was a little envious of the simple joy his former teammate had found here.
The reflection in the hotel room mirror slowly changed, obeying the shinobi's will. The Transformation Jutsu transformed every feature, every line of his body, turning the young warrior into a solid businessman from Eastern Europe. Sasuke scrutinized the created image—perfectly tied tie, impeccably fitting suit, gold cufflinks gleaming in the subdued light. The mask had to be flawless, for today his most sophisticated game would begin.
The restaurant "Golden Dragon" greeted him with subdued light and the aroma of oriental incense. Marcus Black, former guardian of the law turned into its perversion, was situated in one of the private rooms. The Sharingan instantly read the entire picture—four guards, positioned with feigned casualness in the corners, Black's slightly trembling fingers on a glass of whiskey, barely noticeable perspiration on his forehead. The former cop was nervous, though trying to hide it.
"Mr. Romanov?" Black rose to meet him, extending his hand. His voice had the feigned confidence of a man accustomed to evaluating his interlocutor by the first handshake. "I've heard about your interest in local... business."
The Uchiha returned the handshake, feeling the ex-policeman's keen gaze sliding over his face, trying to guess what lay behind the impeccable mask of the European businessman. Their eyes met—just for a moment, but it was enough. The finest thread of genjutsu, invisible and imperceptible, penetrated Black's consciousness, sowing seeds of trust.
"Yes, I've heard about your... efficiency," the words fell evenly, with a slight accent, each pause calculated to the millisecond.
Over the next hour, the young shinobi played his part flawlessly. Numbers, casually mentioned in conversation, made Black's eyes light up with greedy gleam. And then—as if accidentally dropped phrase about "Snake" Petrovich's meeting with federal agents... The former cop remained outwardly calm, but the Sharingan caught how for a fraction of a second his heart rhythm faltered, how the corner of his mouth twitched.
The next three days turned into a bizarre dance of manipulation for Sasuke. Each meeting was planned to the smallest detail. To the Esteban brothers, in their lair among the docks, he casually passed on an "accidentally overheard" conversation where Black called them "stupid Mexicans." In the smoke-filled hall of an underground casino, he whispered to Jackie about the brothers' plans to take over his territory.
Fine threads of genjutsu enveloped each leader's consciousness, turning thoughts into a distorted mirror of reality. The Sharingan allowed the Uchiha to see how his words poisoned their minds—in the trembling of hands, in beads of sweat on temples, in nervous glances over shoulders. At night, nightmares of betrayal tormented them; by day, every gesture from partners seemed a sign of an impending strike.
By the end of the week, the web of intrigue he had created began to bear fruit. Petrovich's bodyguards, exhausted by their boss's paranoia, shot one of Jackie's men, mistaking ordinary surveillance for preparation for an assassination. The Esteban brothers, fearing an attack, turned their warehouses into impregnable fortresses. Black, tormented by fear of federal agents, began a purge in his own ranks.
The young shinobi observed the unfolding chaos with the cold satisfaction of an artist seeing his concept taking form. Each of the leaders considered him a confidant, rushed to share suspicions, sought advice. And he merely directed their fears and paranoia, like a skilled puppeteer pulling invisible strings.
Petrovich's call on Friday evening sounded the final chord of the overture. The Russian, breathless with rage, demanded an immediate meeting of all the heads. His voice trembled with barely contained madness, grown from the seeds of suspicion that the Uchiha had so carefully scattered all week.
A thin smile touched the shinobi's lips. The marionettes were walking into the trap themselves, driven by fears he had planted in their souls. All that remained was to designate the place for the final act of this bloody play.
"The old warehouse on Pier 17," he said into the phone. "Tomorrow at midnight. I'll make sure everyone comes."
After putting down his phone, Sasuke walked to the window. The city below sparkled with lights, unaware that tomorrow one of the most ruthless gangs in its history would destroy itself. His shadow clone had already reported that Petrovich was preparing a "surprise"—snipers and a squad of cutthroats. The others would undoubtedly do the same.
Uchiha ran his fingers across the cold glass, watching as his touch left faint marks on the flawless surface. Tomorrow they would gather at the pier, each with their men and weapons, each convinced of the others' betrayal. And he wouldn't even need to use genjutsu—just one spark, and their own paranoia and bloodlust would do all the work.
In the silence of the hotel room, his hands formed familiar seals on their own. Shadow clones would prepare the stage for tomorrow's slaughter. Everything had to look like an ordinary gang shootout—no traces of chakra, no hints of outside interference. Let the monsters devour each other. After all, it was the most fitting fate for those who had turned human suffering into business.
Midnight descended upon Pier 17 like an inky veil. Heavy clouds swallowed the starlight as if nature itself was preparing to witness the impending carnage. The humid air, saturated with the scents of salt and rusting metal, settled on skin like a sticky premonition of blood. The old warehouse rose amid this darkness like a black monolith, its broken windows beneath the roof reminding Uchiha of the empty eye sockets of a skull.
The young shinobi stood on the roof of a neighboring building, allowing his Sharingan to absorb every detail of the unfolding scene. His shadow clones, positioned around the perimeter, were ready to cut off any escape routes. Tension had thickened in the air like coastal fog, and for a moment, Sasuke felt as if he were back in Konoha, preparing for an important mission. But no—this was a different world, a different mission, and an entirely different Uchiha.
The Esteban brothers arrived first. Three black SUVs, like predatory beasts, silently emerged from the darkness. The Sharingan captured every detail—fifteen fighters, spreading across the territory with military precision. Heavy weapons gleamed in the dim light—assault rifles, shotguns, a couple of grenade launchers hidden under tarpaulin. Uchiha noted to himself the distinctive bearing of most of them—former military men, accustomed to real combat operations.
Jackie's motorcade appeared next—two limousines surrounded by an escort of motorcyclists, like a scene from a gangster film. His yakuza, in black suits with katanas on their backs, seemed like visitors from another era. But the Sharingan saw beyond this theatrical facade to the lethal efficiency of every movement. Twenty fighters below, six more snipers on the rooftops—Jackie clearly wasn't taking any chances.
Marcus Black demonstrated his police training. His men had infiltrated the area long before the meeting began, occupying key positions for crossfire. The former cop himself arrived in an armored van, surrounded by elite special forces fighters. Sasuke could discern behind their outward calm a readiness to explode into deadly action at any second.
Petrovich arrived last, bringing a veritable army. Thirty heavily armed thugs in bulletproof vests, positioned throughout the warehouse territory. Snipers took positions on elevated points, completely controlling the perimeter. The Russian had prepared for war.
Uchiha felt cold satisfaction spreading inside him. Each of them had prepared exactly as he had anticipated. The puppets had obediently taken their places on stage, ready to perform the final act of this bloody play.
"Gentlemen!" Sasuke's voice, still in Romanov's persona, cut through the tense silence. He descended to the center of the warehouse, his every movement radiating the confidence of a man holding all the strings. The expensive suit fit him like a second skin; his mask of a European businessman was flawless down to the last detail.
The Sharingan greedily absorbed the reactions of those gathered. The nervous glances exchanged by the leaders. Hands frozen a millimeter away from weapons. The air was saturated with the smell of gunpowder and fear—a scent familiar to Uchiha since the shinobi wars.
"What the hell is going on here, Romanov?" Petrovich was the first to break the silence. Barely contained fury bubbled in his voice. "You talked about betrayal..."
"Oh yes," Sasuke allowed a cold smile to touch his lips. In this moment, he felt like a conductor before an orchestra, ready to begin his bloody symphony. "About betrayal. About how some of you have been selling information to the feds..."
Thin threads of genjutsu, invisible to the naked eye, entwined the consciousness of everyone present. The Sharingan caught the slightest reactions: how Black flinched, how the Esteban brothers' knuckles turned white, how Jackie's hand slid to his pistol grip.
"Bullshit!" Carlos Esteban shouted, but uncertainty already rang in his voice. "It's you who's stirring the pot, you bastard!"
"Really?" Uchiha pulled out a phone with the same grace with which he once unsheathed a katana. "Perhaps I should show you recordings of your conversations? Or bank statements?"
The genjutsu intensified every word, every gesture. For each person present, reality distorted in its own way—some saw irrefutable evidence of their partners' betrayal, others heard hidden threats in the intonations. Sasuke could feel how the paranoia he had nurtured for a whole week was reaching its peak.
"You..." Petrovich's face turned crimson, a pistol appearing in his hand as if by magic. "You're working for Black!"
"No!" Raul Esteban's hysterical cry pierced the air. "He's Jackie's man! I saw them together!"
The first shot sounded like a tuning fork adjusting the orchestra of chaos. The bullet cut through the air where Sasuke had stood a second ago, but the young shinobi had already moved to the second-floor balcony. Uchiha casually leaned against the iron railing, his thin lips curved in a cold smirk. The Sharingan rotated lazily, capturing every detail of the slaughter unfolding below—this symphony of violence, where he served as the sole conductor.
The flashes of gunfire played across his pale face, and his eyes reflected the hellish flames of the unleashed chaos. The warehouse exploded in a cacophony of violence. Bursts of automatic fire sliced through the air. Screams of pain and rage mixed with curses in different languages, creating a surrealistic symphony of destruction.
Uchiha watched as his puppets performed their final dance. Petrovich's men opened a barrage of fire on Black's positions, Jackie's yakuza, with an ancient battle cry, rushed at the Esteban brothers, the ex-cop's former special forces methodically turned any moving target into a sieve.
Blood spread across the concrete floor in bizarre patterns, reminding Sasuke of the abstract paintings he had seen in museums of this world. Bodies fell one after another, but no one could stop now. Carefully cultivated paranoia and fear had transformed these people into madmen possessed by bloodlust.
Petrovich fell first—Black's sniper bullet turned his arrogant face into a bloody mess. Jackie managed to demonstrate his swordsmanship by nearly cutting Raul Esteban in half before a burst of automatic fire riddled his own body. Carlos, driven mad by the sight of his brother's death, managed to send three yakuza after their boss before a grenade tore him to pieces.
Black and his men held out the longest, demonstrating the advantages of police training. They organized a competent defense near the van, methodically shooting anyone who approached. But even their professionalism couldn't withstand a hail of grenades. The last thing the former cop saw was a grinning yakuza mask and the gleam of a raised katana.
Sasuke observed the unfolding carnage with the same cold interest with which he once studied scrolls in the Uchiha clan library. His shadow clones, invisible guardians, blocked all escape routes. The few who tried to flee were caught in crossfire—gangs maddened by fear shot at anything that moved.
Twenty minutes later, silence fell. The warehouse had transformed into something resembling a mass grave—almost a hundred bodies covered the blood-soaked floor. Smoke from the gunfire slowly drifted out through broken windows, carrying away the last cries and moans of the dying. The air was saturated with the metallic smell of blood and cordite.
Uchiha descended, his perfectly polished shoes leaving tracks in crimson puddles. He methodically checked the bodies—no one must survive to tell the truth about what happened. In this moment, he felt a strange similarity to Itachi on the night of the clan massacre—the same methodical approach, the same cold efficiency. Perhaps, in the end, he had followed in his brother's footsteps after all.
The phone in his pocket vibrated, pulling him from his thoughts. Kingpin's message was laconic: "News?"
The young shinobi took several photos of the carnage. Each shot could have illustrated a textbook on the anatomy of violent death. "Gangs couldn't divide territory. No survivors," his response was equally brief.
Shadow clones were already handling the cleanup—destroying surveillance cameras, erasing fingerprints, removing any traces of his presence. By dawn, all that would remain here was another bloody story for police archives. Just another gang shootout in the docks, nothing unusual.
The metallic taste of blood hung in the air like a heavy fog. Dim lamps overhead reflected in dark puddles on the concrete floor, creating a bizarre play of light and shadow. Uchiha stood amidst this chaos, and a sudden realization pierced his mind: how simple it had been to manipulate them all. How easy it was to sow seeds of fear, to nurture a storm of paranoia in their souls. The corner of his lip twitched in an involuntary smirk.
The Sharingan slowly faded from his eyes, returning his normal vision. He could have ended it all with one strike of Amaterasu—black flames would have cleansed this warehouse in seconds, turning all these scum to ashes. Quick. Efficient. But such a solution would have lacked... that perverted elegance, that dark artistry he had achieved. Watching how their own vices transformed them into helpless puppets, how they destroyed each other with their own hands, was like creating a macabre work of art.
A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, echoing off the walls. Another followed, and suddenly the warehouse space filled with laughter—cold, unnatural, almost hysterical. He laughed at their predictability, at how easily they had succumbed to his subtle manipulations, at his own puppetmaster's mastery.
The familiar emptiness inside, which had haunted him since arriving in this world, retreated, like at the "Inferno" club. Its place was filled with dark satisfaction from a perfectly played game.
But suddenly the laughter stopped, as if cut by a sharp blade. In the ensuing silence, the sound of dripping blood seemed deafening. The young shinobi froze, struck by a sudden realization: what was happening to him? When had he transformed into this creature, finding perverse pleasure in others' suffering?
His hand slowly slid across his face, as if trying to erase a mask of madness. Memory obligingly unrolled scrolls of the past before him—his grandiose plans to change the shinobi world, his aspiration to become a unifying shadow, dreams of revolution and a new order. Then everything seemed so right, so meaningful.
And now? Uchiha looked around the warehouse filled with corpses. He stood here laughing like a madman, reveling in his power over others' lives. Perhaps this darkness had always lived within him? Maybe everything he had experienced—the clan massacre, Itachi's betrayal, the bitter truth about his brother, the war, and now the destruction of an entire world—had merely exposed his true nature?
The shinobi leaned against a cold metal column. His gaze wandered over the bodies of fallen enemies, but he saw something else—himself, standing before Naruto and announcing his decision to become Hokage, to protect the village from the shadows. How far had he strayed from those ideals? Or perhaps this was his true nature—to be a manipulator playing with others' fates?
Something wet slid down his cheek. Uchiha raised his hand to his face and was surprised to find a tear. When had he last cried? After Itachi's death? When he learned the terrible truth about him? These memories seemed so distant, as if they belonged to someone else.
Tilting his head back, the young shinobi stared into the darkness beneath the ceiling. What would Itachi say now? What would Naruto think, who had found his happiness even in this alien world? And his own path—Sasuke's path—had it always led to this moment, to this abyss of madness and darkness?
The Rinnegan pulsed in his eye socket, as if mocking his torment. These eyes, granting the power of gods... Perhaps they had caused his fall? Too much power, too many temptations. How easy to lose oneself when the entire world can become your plaything.
The wail of police sirens in the distance pulled Uchiha from the whirlpool of dark reflections. Reality demanded action. It was time to leave, abandoning his doubts here, among the bodies of those he had so artfully led to their doom.
But even as he dissolved into the night air, he couldn't shake the haunting question: what had he become? And more importantly—what was he becoming?
Two days later, Kingpin's penthouse greeted Sasuke with sterile silence and a view of morning Manhattan. The Sentinels had already begun their patrol between skyscrapers, their metallic figures casting long shadows on the streets below.
Fisk towered by the panoramic window like a mountain. Without turning to the visitor, he pointed to a leather chair near a massive mahogany desk. This silent gesture conveyed the confidence of a man accustomed to command.
Uchiha sank into the chair and began his report. His voice sounded detached, as if describing a chess match rather than a bloody massacre. No trace of pride or remorse—only a precise enumeration of facts: how he had manipulated the gangs, how he had sown distrust between them, how he had directed their paranoia and fear toward mutual destruction.
A heavy silence hung in the office when he finished. Kingpin slowly approached the bar, his movements unhurried and majestic. Amber liquid streamed into a crystal glass, and Fisk drained it in one gulp, as if trying to digest what he had heard.
"Incredible," he said at last, and in his voice was something resembling reverence for another's craftsmanship.
At the snap of his fingers, two guards entered the office, each carrying two sports bags. They silently set their burden before Sasuke and just as silently withdrew.
"Four million in cash, as agreed," Fisk returned to his desk, his massive figure casting a shadow over the young shinobi. "Plus a bonus for... the creative approach."
"Luke, I am your father!" Darth Vader's voice thundered through the darkness of the theater.
"No!" the hero on the screen cried out desperately.
"Whaaaat? How could he, dattebayo?!" the blond boy exclaimed, lurching forward in his seat. His blue eyes widened with shock, completely absorbed in the dramatic scene.
Rogue shifted irritably in her seat, once again tugging at her black dress. She had spent hours preparing for this evening—choosing her outfit, planning her makeup, even buying new lace lingerie. For the first time in twelve years, she had dared to wear something so revealing. And yet, this man didn't even notice her efforts, completely engrossed in what was happening on screen.
"And all last week he couldn't keep his hands to himself," Rogue thought with frustration, watching Naruto literally bounce in his seat in reaction to another plot twist. Every night they had met in secret—in empty classrooms, dark corridors, even in the library after curfew. Their passionate embraces and kisses made her feel alive, desired, real.
Rogue had deliberately chosen seats in the back row—the favorite spot for couples in love. In her mind, she had imagined rather intimate scenes... But reality proved far more mundane. Uzumaki was so captivated by the movie that he had barely turned his head in her direction during the entire showing.
The girl bit her lip, feeling desire building inside her just from memories of their nighttime encounters. For a whole week, she had enjoyed the possibility of being close to a man without fear of hurting him. And today she planned to go much further...
"Oh no, you won't get off that easily," a mischievous thought flashed through her mind. Rogue slowly crossed her legs, allowing the hem of her dress to rise slightly. In the dim light of the theater, her pale skin seemed to glow. But Naruto, enthralled by the space battles, didn't even notice this seductive maneuver.
Rogue quietly snorted. It seemed she would have to take more decisive action. She leaned toward her companion, her lips softly brushing against his neck. Naruto shuddered slightly but still tried to follow the events unfolding on screen. So she gently bit his earlobe while simultaneously sliding her hand along his thigh.
"Anna-chan," Naruto exhaled hoarsely, noticeably tensing. "But I wanted to find out if Vader is really his father..."
His weak protest only encouraged her. After so many years of forced prohibition, she could finally give free rein to her desires. And some movie wasn't going to stand in her way. Her hand moved higher up his thigh, while her lips continued to explore the sensitive skin behind his ear.
"Maybe we could find something more interesting to do?" Rogue purred, feeling Naruto beginning to yield to her charms. The sounds of the epic battle excellently masked his quickening breath.
Somewhere in the back of her mind flickered a thought about how much she had changed. That former Rogue, perpetually bound in gloves and covered clothing, would never have dared attempt something like this. But now... now she wanted to be bold, uninhibited, even a little wanton.
Her fingers reached his belt buckle, and she felt everything inside tighten with anticipation. After unfastening his fly, her hand slipped inside his clothes, and her chest fluttered with an acute sense of freedom.
When her fingers touched his warmth, a shiver of excitement ran through her body. Not just from the touch itself, but from the awareness of her own audacity.
"To hell with all prohibitions," flashed through her mind when she heard Naruto's heavy breathing. Twelve years of forced celibacy, fear, and loneliness were behind her. Now she wanted to try everything she had only been able to dream about for so long.
The subdued light from the screen reflected in his misty eyes as she lowered her head. People were all around, anyone could turn and see... The thought made everything inside her tighten with excitement. Right now, she wanted to be a bad girl. Very bad.
Her tongue touched his flesh, and she felt Naruto shudder. Each of his reactions, each restrained moan was a reward—confirmation that she could not only receive pleasure but also give it.
"Anna-chan..." his hoarse whisper only encouraged her. She wanted to be wanton, wicked, to do all the things she had never dared even fantasize about before.
The loud sounds of the film perfectly masked Naruto's quiet moans when she took him completely. An epic battle was unfolding on screen, but the real battle was happening here, in the darkness of the last row. And in this battle, she was definitely winning.
His fingers tangled in her hair, and Rogue felt a fire igniting inside her. She reveled in her power over him, enjoying his every movement, every convulsive breath. Right now, she was who she had always wanted to be—passionate, free, reckless.
When Naruto reached his peak, Rogue didn't pull away. On the contrary, she wanted to feel everything, to experience every moment of this forbidden pleasure. His seed filled her mouth, and she swallowed every drop, feeling wanton and debauched. And she damn well liked it.
Looking up, Rogue met his hazy gaze. Her lips slowly stretched into a wicked smile, and she demonstratively licked them, enjoying Naruto's embarrassment.
Rogue leaned back in her seat, adjusting her dress and observing her companion's reaction. He was still breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed, his gaze clouded. However, as soon as the scene with preparations for the attack on the Death Star appeared on screen, his attention switched back to the film. The girl bit her lip in mild irritation—she had hoped that after what had happened, he would show some initiative in return. But no, the space saga had completely captured his mind.
"How can someone be so... innocent?" the thought flashed through her mind as Uzumaki literally jumped in his seat during the explosion of the giant space station. Then again, this naivety and spontaneity were what attracted her to him.
In recent days, Kitty had been pestering her, trying to extract juicy details about their meetings. Every time the young mutant caught her and Naruto together, her eyes lit up with curiosity, and in the evening followed a barrage of questions that made Rogue blush, though inwardly she enjoyed the attention.
While the credits rolled, she became immersed in thoughts about the past week. Every night they met in secret, and each time Naruto left a shadow clone on guard duty. The memory of the cloning technique awakened quite explicit fantasies, making everything inside clench with anticipation.
"What if..." this idea seemed crazy, completely depraved, but all the more exciting because of it. Rogue mentally checked herself—perhaps this was going too far. She feared such fantasies might repel Naruto.
"God, what am I turning into?" she thought, but this thought provoked neither shame nor remorse. On the contrary, the awareness of her own depravity only inflamed her more. That former, inhibited Rogue was dead. Her place had been taken by a new one—eager to explore all facets of pleasure that had long been inaccessible to her.
The lights in the theater began to slowly brighten. Rogue looked at Naruto, still excited by the film discussion, and smiled. They had a whole night ahead, and she knew exactly how she wanted to fill it. After all, there were many fantasies just waiting to be fulfilled...
When they rose from their seats, Naruto briefly lingered his gaze on Rogue. Before, he hadn't thought he could feel so alive in this foreign world, although there had been plenty of reasons for despair in recent months. Even when such thoughts crossed his mind, he couldn't have imagined things would turn out this way.
Naruto watched Anna as they left the theater, unable to tear his eyes away from her seductive figure in that revealing black dress. The past week had seemed like an incredible dream—the way they had indulged in passion in every secluded corner of the school. He still remembered her moans when his fingers slid inside, finding the most sensitive spots. Pervy Sage would definitely be proud of his student.
The shinobi understood that after her bold actions in the theater, she expected passion in return. But why rush? The whole night lay ahead, and the day too; he had already scouted several secluded spots where he could post shadow clones on guard while he made Rogue writhe with pleasure.
Uzumaki had never thought he would find someone so special in this strange world. Her touches, fervent kisses, and passionate embraces had completely displaced his anxious thoughts about home. Every time the darkness of memories threatened to engulf him, Rogue's presence became a saving anchor.
"You know, Pervy Sage," Naruto mentally addressed his mentor, "I finally understand why you were such a pervert. There really is something special about this."
Naruto squeezed Rogue's hand, enjoying the simple ability to touch her. Every contact between them was a small miracle: for her—because for the first time in many years she could feel someone else's warmth, and for him—because in these moments, all losses were forgotten.
The young shinobi looked at his watch—there were still several hours until curfew. More than enough time to find a secluded spot and thank her for all those moments of pleasure she had given him. After all, a ninja must be able to return kindness for kindness, right?
However, in recent days, Naruto had noticed something special in her gaze. Not anxiety, no—rather, some carefully concealed desire. Each time he created shadow clones for protection, her eyes lit up with a strange spark, and her cheeks flushed. Naruto had a pretty good idea of what she was thinking at such moments—after all, he had imagined similar scenarios more than once. But he decided to wait until she gathered the courage to voice her depraved fantasy herself. After all, it would be amusing to see how long this passionate and uninhibited version of Rogue would hold out before her desire overcame her embarrassment.
Leaving the theater, Rogue pressed closer to Naruto, allowing him to guide her through the busy shopping mall. Uzumaki held her hand, carefully tracking every movement in the crowd. Despite her newfound freedom with him, Rogue still feared accidental contact with strangers—her bare arms and legs remained a potential source of danger to others.
Naruto skillfully navigated between people, gently directing his companion. Years of shinobi training had not been in vain—he noticed the slightest movements in the crowd that could lead to unwanted contact. When a group of teenagers rushed past, nearly bumping into Rogue, he deftly spun her around, shielding her with his own body.
The young shinobi examined New Ark's shopping center with interest. The huge multi-story building impressed him with its scale—even in Konoha, he hadn't seen such structures. The escalators smoothly moving people up and down still seemed like a marvel of technology to him. Soft music flowing from invisible speakers created a cozy atmosphere.
"Shall we grab a bite?" suggested Rogue, pointing to an elegant restaurant with "La Luna" on its sign. Through the tinted glass, comfortable booths could be seen, separated from each other by decorative partitions.
Naruto peered inside with interest. Such establishments were very different from his familiar Ichiraku.
"Looks very... fancy, dattebayo," he said, using a recently learned English word.
Rogue gently pulled his hand.
"Come on. They have private booths," her voice lowered, taking on seductive notes. "Very secluded."
The maître d', an elegant middle-aged man, greeted them at the entrance. His gaze momentarily lingered on the unusual appearance of the couple—the white streak in Rogue's hair and the whisker-like scars on Naruto's cheeks stood out even in cosmopolitan New York. However, years of work had taught him to maintain impeccable professionalism.
"Good evening, mademoiselle, monsieur," he bowed slightly. "Would you like a table?"
"One of your private booths, please," Rogue spoke with a slight smile.
"Of course, please follow me."
As they walked through the hall, Naruto looked around with interest. Subdued lighting, soft music, waiters in formal suits—all this created an atmosphere of luxury that simultaneously impressed and slightly surprised him. In Konoha, there was nothing similar—even the most expensive restaurants there looked much more modest.
The maître d' led them to one of the booths in the far part of the hall. Heavy velvet curtains created almost complete isolation, and a soft couch upholstered in dark red leather beckoned them to sit closer to each other.
"Enjoy your evening," the maître d' elegantly bowed and departed, leaving them alone.
Rogue gracefully sank onto the soft couch, looking mischievously at her companion.
"So Star Wars made such a strong impression on you?" there was undisguised mockery in her voice.
Naruto plopped down beside her, still under the impression of the film.
"It was amazing! Those lightsabers, spaceships..." He broke off, noticing her sly smile. "What?"
"Nothing," purred Rogue, moving closer. "It was just funny watching you jump in your seat every time..." she paused meaningfully.
"Hey!" protested Uzumaki, blushing. "I wasn't jumping, dattebayo! And anyway..." his voice grew quieter, "you weren't exactly following the movie either."
Rogue playfully ran a finger across his chest.
"Oh, I was very busy... with another entertainment."
Naruto swallowed, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn even more.
"Anna-chan... there were people there..."
"Mmm," she murmured with feigned thoughtfulness, "someone seemed to enjoy it. Especially when I..."
"Good evening!" came the cheerful voice of a waitress, making them both jump. "Ready to order?"
Rogue slowly pulled away from Naruto, but her hand still rested on his thigh. A mischievous smile remained on her lips as she turned to the waitress. Naruto tried to focus on the menu, but her proximity made his heart flutter.
"Allow me to help with the selection," purred Rogue, moving closer to him under the pretext of examining the menu. Her breath tickled his ear as she told him about the local dishes.
The waitress seemed not to notice their game, calmly writing down the order. When she finally departed, leaving the lovers alone, Naruto realized that Rogue had chosen several local cuisine dishes for them, whose names he could barely pronounce. Nevertheless, the jinchuriki completely trusted his companion's taste.
While they waited for their order, Rogue mentioned that "Star Wars" had been released long ago and the school had a whole collection of films on Blue Ray. Naruto perked up upon hearing that they could rewatch the film and find out what happened next with Luke. He mentally made a note to organize such a viewing.
The evening progressed in a cozy atmosphere. Between courses, they talked about life at school, about Naruto's training with other students. Rogue shared amusing stories about her missions to rescue mutants, carefully avoiding the darker moments. From time to time, their knees touched under the table, causing a slight tremor—memories of the events in the theater were still too fresh.
Watching how elegantly Rogue handled the cutlery, Naruto thought it would be nice to bring Sasuke here. Uchiha would probably refuse, but he decided that he would definitely make his friend go out somewhere. Lately, his sworn brother's behavior had been worrying him—he was becoming increasingly withdrawn and detached. "I'll need to have a serious talk with him," Naruto decided, putting the last bit of dessert into his mouth.
When dinner was finished, they rose from the table. Rogue paid with a credit card, and soon they were heading toward the exit. In the coat check, she retrieved a leather jacket that perfectly complemented her little black dress. Naruto threw on his orange-black windbreaker, and together they stepped out into the cool evening air. A walk in the park seemed the perfect end to the evening—at least its official part. Naruto had quite different plans for the rest of the night.
They walked slowly down the park alley, illuminated by the soft light of lanterns. The cool evening air made Rogue wrap her leather jacket tighter, though in reality, she felt warm beside Naruto. His hand, holding hers, seemed such a natural anchor in this world.
"You know," Rogue began quietly, looking at their intertwined fingers, "before, I couldn't even dream of something this simple. Just walking, holding hands..." Her voice trembled with emotions that washed over her. "Each day felt like imprisonment in my own body."
Uzumaki gently squeezed her hand, and the girl smiled gratefully. In such moments, she especially appreciated his ability to simply be near, not trying to fill the silence with empty words of comfort.
"What do you dream about now, Anna-chan?" asked Naruto when they stopped by a small pond. The reflections of lanterns trembled on the dark water, creating an almost magical atmosphere.
Rogue bit her lip, gathering her thoughts.
"Now... now I allow myself to dream of a normal life. Of simply being happy, loving..." She turned to him, her green eyes glistening in the half-darkness. "And you? What do you dream about?"
Naruto raised his gaze to the night sky.
"I always dreamed of becoming Hokage, dattebayo. Protecting my village, being recognized by everyone..." His voice grew quieter, notes of longing appearing in it. "Sometimes I fear I'll be stuck here forever and never be able to fulfill that dream."
Rogue sharply pulled away, as if from a blow.
"Stuck?" she repeated, and her voice betrayingly trembled. "So... for you, this is all temporary? This world... me..."
Naruto blinked, only now realizing how his words had sounded. Something painfully constricted in his chest when he saw Rogue's expression.
"Anna-chan, I didn't mean it like that..."
"No, it's fine," she said quickly, stepping back another step. Inside, everything was crumbling, and each heartbeat resonated with pain. "I should have understood. Of course, you want to return home. Where you have a real life, dreams, people who are waiting for you..."
The young shinobi reached for her, but she recoiled.
"For you, this world is a prison, right? Just as my body used to be a prison for me." A bitter smirk distorted her lips. "What irony. When I can finally touch someone, that someone dreams of being in another world."
Naruto felt everything inside him turning over from the pain in her voice. He didn't want this, didn't want to hurt her.
"Anna-chan, listen..."
"You know what's most frightening?" she interrupted, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to protect herself. "I can't even be angry with you. Because I understand. Who wouldn't want to go home?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I just... I thought I had finally found my happiness. Stupid, huh?"
Uzumaki looked at her, and his heart was torn by conflicting feelings. Longing for home, for his world and friends fought with the desire to protect, to shield from pain this girl who had become so dear to him. He didn't know what to say, how to explain the complexity of his feelings.
"I should go," Rogue suddenly said, turning away. "I... I need to think."
"Let me walk you back," Naruto quietly asked, but she shook her head.
"No need. I'll... I'll manage on my own. As always."
At the last moment, Naruto lunged forward and grabbed her hand.
"They're all dead," the words escaped in a hoarse whisper, as if against his will.
Rogue froze. Slowly turned, looking at Naruto's bowed head. His shoulders were trembling, his fingers painfully squeezing her wrist.
"The Divine Tree..." his voice broke. "It drains chakra completely. I saw this during the Fourth Shinobi War when Obito first used this technique."
Before Uzumaki's eyes once again rose the terrible picture: countless roots piercing the bodies of shinobi, sucking out life force in seconds. People turning into withered mummies right before his eyes.
"Sakura-chan, Kakashi-sensei, Shikamaru, Kiba..." his voice trembled more and more with each name. "Without me and Sasuke, there was no one who could stop it. The tree drained all the chakra from every living being in that world."
Rogue felt tears flowing down her cheeks again, but not from resentment—from understanding the depth of his loss. She carefully turned to face him, not trying to free her hand from his grip.
"I knew this," continued Naruto, his voice growing quieter. "Somewhere deep inside, I always knew. I just... just couldn't make myself admit it, dattebayo. Because if I say it out loud..."
"It becomes real," Rogue gently finished for him. She understood this feeling all too well—when acknowledging the truth makes the pain real, tangible.
Naruto finally raised his head, and the girl's heart clenched at the sight of his eyes, full of unshed tears.
"I don't want to go back, Anna-chan. I have nowhere to return to. But..." his voice broke, "how can I be happy here when all of them... when I couldn't save them?"
Rogue carefully freed her hand from his grip, only to strongly embrace him the next moment. She felt him trembling, his fingers frantically clutching at her jacket.
"You have the right to live on," she whispered, stroking his back. "It's not betraying their memory. It's... it's a gift. The fact that you can still feel, love, be happy—that's a gift."
They stood like that for a long time, under the light of lanterns, surrounded by the silence of the night park. Two people who had learned to live with the pain of loss but were still able to open their hearts to each other.
Suddenly, the silence was torn by the melody of a phone ringing. Rogue reluctantly pulled away from Naruto, taking her phone from her jacket pocket. Unknown number.
"Hello?" the echoes of recent emotions could still be heard in her voice.
"Good evening, Miss D'Ancanto," came a polite, almost human voice with barely perceptible mechanical notes.
Rogue tensed. Uzumaki, thanks to his heightened shinobi hearing, clearly heard every word.
"Who is this?" asked Rogue, mentally going through who might know this number. "How did you get..."
"Please don't worry," the voice said, still courteously. "I just wanted to talk to you. Could you turn around?"
They slowly turned. Several meters away from them, illuminated by the dim light of a lantern, stood an X-Sentinel—the same model that had attacked the school some time ago. Naruto instantly tensed, ready at any moment to create shadow clones, while Rogue instinctively took a fighting stance. They remembered all too well what kind of destruction this machine was capable of causing.
The Sentinel raised its hand in a greeting gesture.
"I," it said in the same voice they had heard on the phone, "am AI Prime."