POV Shisui Uchiha:
The back entrance to Senju National Medical Center was unguarded, tucked in the shade of high walls and silence. Shisui adjusted his collar, slid his hands into the pockets of his tailored suit pants, and pushed the door open like it owed him something. He doesn't like this hospital, it reminded him of his trauma, but she was waiting for him here.
Inside, fluorescent lights hummed and sterilized scent clung to the air. But none of it mattered.
Because there she was.
Tsunade Senju. White coat, low neckline, a smirk that could wreck kingdoms.
"You're late," she said. But she was already walking toward him.
Shisui leaned in the doorframe, dark eyes tracing her like she was some forbidden art piece. "You missed me."
"I did."
And then her hands were on his collar, dragging him in like she hadn't touched a man in weeks. He let her kiss him first. Let her think she was leading.
But when her mouth opened under his, he deepened it—slow, firm, commanding. One hand at her waist, the other sliding into that golden hair like he owned it. Like he might never let go.
Tsunade let out a quiet gasp. His teeth grazed her lip, playful. Dangerous.
"Still taste like chaos," he murmured against her mouth.
"Still act like no one can tame you."
Shisui smiled into her neck. "That's because no one can."
Her nails curled into his shirt, but he just chuckled and kissed her harder.
Because Shisui Uchiha was a wildfire with manners. And even when she had him pressed to the sterile walls of her hospital, it was still him setting the pace.
And she knew it.
And she liked it.
He spun her and lifted her onto the lab table she'd clearly scrubbed earlier—he caught the faint scent of antiseptic and mint—before pulling open the coat, revealing the skin-toned lace beneath.
"You were waiting for me," he murmured against her neck.
"Maybe," she whispered, already undoing his belt. "Maybe I just like clean surfaces and bad decisions."
He chuckled, low and sharp, and dragged his mouth down her collarbone as he yanked her panties aside. "Then I'm your favorite mistake."
She gasped as he entered her in one hard thrust, her hands slamming back onto the table for balance. He held her there, one hand gripping her hip, the other braced beside her head. The lights were too bright, the room too sterile—but the sounds she made made it feel like fire.
"Still think Senju girls are soft?" she panted.
He grinned. "Soft doesn't make a man curse under his breath."
He flipped her, her hands gripping the edge of the table now as he slid into her again from behind. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, her back arched like a bow. His hand slipped down her stomach, between her thighs.
The table creaked beneath them, sharp contrast to the quiet professionalism of the lab around them. Her moan broke the silence like a glass shattering.
Their breathing was heavier than the silence, rougher than the cold steel beneath her. When he kissed her again, it wasn't soft. It was earned.
They moved together like they'd done it before in another life. Like dominance and desire had muscle memory.
And when it was over, she exhaled with her cheek pressed to his chest, while he traced circles along her spine, the scientific cold of the room forgotten—overwritten by sweat, heat, and the quiet certainty that even in her world of order and anatomy, some experiments couldn't be controlled.
Especially not this one. Especially not him.
The table was still warm beneath his spine. Sweat cooled against his chest, but Shisui made no move to rise—not yet. The sterile chill of the lab had been banished, replaced by the low hum of post-coital calm and the soft sound of Tsunade's bare feet moving across tile.
She opened the fridge.
A bottle of aged sake caught the light like a secret. Tsunade pulled it out, cracked the seal with a familiar flick, and turned toward him with that smirk—the one that always made him feel seventeen and invincible.
His right eye cracked open, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I can't tell my uncle I drank sake with a business partner," Shisui murmured, voice husky from exertion and laughter.
Tsunade poured two glasses and sank beside him on the table's edge. "Well, I can't tell my grandfather I drank sake in his own hospital," she said, handing him a glass. "So we're even."
They clinked.
The silence that followed was easy.
Until it wasn't.
Shisui turned his head. A soft rustle of paper caught his attention—barely audible. But he'd always been a man attuned to ghosts.
There, just beside the microscope tray, a folder left half-cracked open. A name stamped neatly on its tab.
Orochimaru.
The grin faded.
His body moved before he could stop it. He sat up, spine straightening like a blade being drawn. The laughter in his throat shriveled to nothing.
Tsunade noticed. Her fingers, moments ago curled in his hair, now brushed along his shoulder with caution.
"What is it?" she asked softly.
Shisui didn't look at her. His eyes were locked on the folder like it might sprout fangs.
"Who is Orochimaru?" he asked.
Not casually. Not like a man making conversation with his lover. But like a son whose father died under white lights, under official words spoken with surgical detachment.
Words spoken by a doctor with a name tag that still haunted his memory.
Dr. Orochimaru.
And now the name was here again. In her lab. In her hospital.
Tsunade's expression flickered. Just for a moment.
Something passed through her eyes—recognition, calculation, a hint of regret.
And Shisui knew.
This wasn't just medicine.
This was a door. And someone had left it cracked open.
Tsunade's fingers curled tighter around the glass.
The soft clink of her setting it down echoed like a pin dropping in a church.
She stayed quiet for a moment, then finally said, "Dr. Orochimaru was recently suspended. Illegal experimentation on live subjects—humans. My grandfather noticed too late. By the time we had enough evidence to act, he'd already vanished. Took what mattered. Left behind scraps."
She gestured to the folder on the counter. "Now I'm combing through what's left. Even from this, it's clear—he wasn't a genius. He was mad. A scientist with no moral lines."
She turned back to him, brows furrowed just enough to soften the edge in her voice.
"Why?" she asked. "Do you know him?"
Shisui didn't speak at first. His eyes dropped—not in shame, but in calculation. Memory rolled behind them like a slow wave.
"Orochimaru was the one who declared my father's death," he said. His voice was quiet, a register lower than usual. "He told us the injury was too severe. Internal bleeding. Nothing could be done."
He paused. Then smiled—too sharp, too bitter to be called anything kind.
"Uncle Madara almost burned this hospital down after."
Tsunade's breath hitched, just slightly.
Shisui's voice, when it came again, was even softer. "But I remember his eyes. Orochimaru's. The way he looked at us. At my father's body."
He looked up at her now, something dark and steady behind his gaze.
"Not like a doctor mourning a patient. Like a butcher admiring his work."
The silence that followed was no longer peaceful. It hung heavy. Charged.
Tsunade didn't speak, but her hand moved toward the folder again, fingertips brushing its edge.
—-
POV Kisame Hoshigaki:
Kisame stood barefoot on the sand, the water brushing gently over his toes like it wasn't sure it had permission to touch him.
The moon hung heavy, silvering the waves. Behind him, the soft music from the resort still played—something acoustic, romantic. Too pretty for his taste. But he didn't mind it tonight.
His hands were in his pockets. His breath tasted like sea salt and grilled lobster, and for the first time in months, maybe years, there wasn't a tension between his shoulders. Just the breeze.
His mind drifted.
To Haku's laugh when the waves knocked her over. Her wide-eyed joy at something as simple as ice cream served in a coconut. She didn't fake gratitude. Didn't try to impress. She just was—all sharp wit and too-fast punches and sudden innocence.
He smiled softly. Zabuza had finally relaxed, too. It took him half a decade to unclench his jaw. All it took was one private beach and no cops. Figures.
And then there were the others.
The Akatsuki kids. He didn't know what he expected—snobbery, most likely. The kind that dressed in designer labels and looked down at anyone without a last name carved in steel.
But they were… alright. Konan passed Haku a towel like she'd known her for years. That blond girl—Deidara—offered to teach Zabuza how to paint shells. And Sasuke—Itachi's little brother, all black eyes and too-perfect posture—had asked about Haku's boxing form like a nervous nerd trying to make friends.
It wasn't what Kisame expected.
And that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
He chuckled to himself, low and tired. Maybe—not all rich kids were trash.
His gaze shifted back to the water. Moonlight danced across the surface like something sacred.
Maybe this was okay.
The voice came soft behind him, smooth as the tide curling over sand.
"Enjoying yourself so far?"
He turned.
She stood barefoot in the sand, a loose white dress brushing her thighs like moonlight in motion. Her hair down, soft around her shoulders. No heels. No bag. No calculated poise or designer stiffness. For a moment, she didn't look like the Uchiha princess. She looked like a girl.
Kisame tilted his head, lips curving.
"Well," he said, voice low, "I don't remember the last time I've seen the ocean. So maybe you were partially right. Money can buy many things."
She stepped closer, her feet sinking into the sand beside his.
Then she smiled—not the smug, sharp one he'd seen her use on the world like a dagger—but something smaller. Honest. Lit by the sea.
"Well," she said, voice almost a whisper, "it can't buy Kisame Hoshigaki."
Her eyes met his.
"That one thing is clear."
She sat first.
Just folded into the sand without ceremony, white dress fanning around her knees, the moonlight making silk out of her skin. Her eyes tracked the ocean like it was saying something only she could hear.
Kisame joined her.
The sand was still warm, the tide soft in the distance.
"It seems like you love the ocean," she said quietly.
Kisame let out a low chuckle. "Well… one day I'll retire and open a sake bar by the shore. No suits. No rules. Just waves and drinks."
Itachi turned, one brow lifted. "With an underground tattoo shop?"
He laughed, and it rumbled deep from his chest.
"Exactly that."
Their laughter faded into the sound of the water, and then—
Silence. But not an empty one.
Kisame looked at her.
Hair tousled by salt wind. Bare feet buried in the sand like roots. And yet, she was still every bit the Uchiha princess. Still sharp. Still unreachable. But here—on this beach, under this moon—she felt closer. Like maybe, for once, the world didn't care about bloodlines or empires or reputations.
And damn it, he wanted to be close to her.
He didn't even realize he'd been staring until she stood.
"Thank you for the trip," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.
Itachi turned, eyes catching the shimmer of the tide, then settling on him. "It was nice to have you here."
Simple. Effortless. But something in her voice tugged.
She gave him the faintest smile—one that didn't feel practiced, didn't feel political—and turned toward the villa. "Have a good night."
He nodded. "You too."
And just like that, she disappeared up the wooden steps, long hair shifting with the wind. He watched her until the door clicked shut behind her.
Then he turned back to the sea.
And wondered why the moon didn't look quite as beautiful without her in front of it.
—
POV Itachi Uchiha:
The silk sheets were cool against her skin, but her body wasn't.
Itachi lay on her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. White linen curtains danced at the edges of the glass door, moonlight spilling like water across the marble floor.
She hated this feeling.
Not because it was foreign—but because it was human.
The kiss still lingered. Kakashi's lips. His voice. His hands steady at her neck. Fire.
But then there had been the beach. Sand sticking to her ankles. The moon caught in the tide. And Kisame—rough, grounded, honest in a way that made her feel… whole. Not as an Uchiha. Just as herself.
She exhaled slowly.
So this is what it feels like. Conflict. Want. The stupid kind of ache Konan tried to warn her about.
Her fingers curled around her phone.
A princess, after all, must prepare for war.
She told herself that as she typed into the address bar. Just research. Field knowledge. Data collection..
The screen lit up. Volume low. But it was enough.
Her breath slowed. Then quickened. She frowned at herself.
Five minutes in, her body burned. Her thighs shifted beneath the sheets.
Still research, she insisted.
Ten. Her fingers moved, slow and calculated, like testing the edge of a blade. She closed her eyes.
Twenty minutes later, sleep pulled her under like a tide, and the Uchiha princess dreamed—for the first time in a long time—of something she couldn't control.
Or maybe… didn't want to.
—-
POV Obito Uchiha:
The room smelled like dust and fear.
Obito stood in the center, black leather gloves folded neatly behind his back. The concrete walls of the old warehouse absorbed every breath, every rustle. Around him, his men stood in silence—shadows in suits, trained not to flinch.
The man in the chair didn't have that discipline.
He trembled.
Chains rattled faintly as Obito stepped forward. His voice, when it came, was smooth and polite—almost friendly.
"I'm ready to hear your truth."
The man's eyes darted. His lip was split. Sweat clung to his temple. "I-I swear, he doesn't know anything. It's just a coincidence."
Obito tilted his head.
"Coincidence," he echoed. "Kisame Hoshigaki—who lives in a district my niece has never even driven through—accidentally becomes her friend?
The man's skin went pale. "He didn't know who she was, I swear. I told you everything I know—he's just a gym rat and a tattoo guy. He didn't plan it. She found him."
Obito let out a slow breath.
He didn't speak.
He simply turned to one of his men and gave a small nod.
Obito adjusted the cuff of his sleeve.
"If anything happens to my niece," he murmured—"I'll make sure your secrets aren't the only thing buried."
The man gasps.
"I will carry this secret to my death, I swear."
Obito turned, coat swaying behind him, and stepped out into the Tokyo night.
Inside the car, the leather seat was warm. Obito leaned back and unlocked his phone.
A text blinked from Yugito.
It's simple: He's not aiming at your clan. Not yet. Senju's his current focus. Brought a mad scientist onboard and protected him from Senju prosecution.
Obito tapped a reply.
[red heart emoji]
Then slid the phone into his pocket as the car pulled into the mansion gates.
Inside, the dining hall was still. No laughter. No sake.
Madara. Fugaku. Shisui.
All seated, all unreadable.
Obito walked in, smile polite.
He sat down, eyes calm.
"Alright," he said softly. "Who died this time?"
The silence at the table wasn't new. The Uchiha knew how to hold it like a blade.
Shisui's voice broke it, soft but clear.
"I went to the hospital today."
Fugaku looked up.
"I just… wanted to mourn Dad," Shisui added, gaze fixed on the rim of his teacup. "But I overheard something. A scandal. A doctor recently suspended for unethical conduct. Human experimentation."
He looked up.
"Orochimaru."
Madara's hand paused mid-turn of his shogi piece.
"The same man," Shisui continued, "who told us that night Dad was beyond saving. Said it was internal bleeding. Irreversible." His voice didn't tremble, but something in his eyes did. "Now he's fled."
The silence twisted tighter.
Then Obito leaned back, a crooked little smile curling on his lips.
"I know where he went."
All eyes turned to him.
Madara's gaze sharpened, a single brow rising.
Obito pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb tapping once before he slid it back.
"Just got intel from my CIA contact."
He glanced around the table, tone almost playful.
"He went there."
No one asked where there was.
Because they all knew—if Obito was ready to say it, he would.
Madara exhaled slowly and leaned back, eyes distant now, as if measuring the shape of war just beginning to crest the horizon.
Fugaku simply muttered, "Then we'll need to move sooner than we thought."
And the war table, once again, began to stir.
Obito didn't sit like a soldier. He lounged. But his words never did.
"They're aiming at the Senju now," he said, voice smooth, almost casual—like he was talking about the weather and not a storm.
Shisui's eyes flickered. Just a breath. But Obito saw it.
Madara's fingers tapped once against the table. Then silence.
"Good," Madara murmured. "Let them burn."
He folded his hands, elbows resting on the carved arms of his chair.
"We'll prepare. Wait in silence."
He looked at no one, but they all felt his gaze.
"When the fire dies down, we'll be the ones still standing. And we'll decide what rises from the ash."
Fugaku reached for his tea without looking up. His voice was colder than the porcelain in his hand.
"Might be worth watching the Hyuga too. They're moving. Slowly. But almost like…" he paused, "…they want an alliance."
Madara's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"They always did admire our strength. They just never said it out loud."
Obito chuckled under his breath and murmured, "Maybe they're finally ready to admit they're not the only ones born with silver in their veins."
The room fell quiet again.
Obito leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him, gaze unreadable.
"One more thing," he said. "Somehow… Kisame Hoshigaki is now Itachi's friend."
The words didn't fall—they detonated.
Madara's face darkened instantly, the faint crinkle of his newspaper the only sound in the room. Fugaku's brows drew into a sharp frown.
Shisui stilled, the muscle in his jaw twitching once.
Obito kept going.
"She invited him. To the vacation. Today."
Madara lowered the paper slowly, each fold deliberate.
"I just interrogated half the street rats connected to him," Obito said. "All of them swear he doesn't know anything. That this was a coincidence."
Madara's fingers flexed on the table.
"Is this Minato's move?"
Obito shook his head. "I was pretty sure he was still neutral."
Madara exhaled hard through his nose, slow and calculated. Then his voice dropped, quiet but lethal.
"If we find out Minato is in this and if anything happens to Itachi…"
Obito answered before he finished.
"I will remind him again on Monday."
The silence that followed was a blade's edge.
Fugaku's jaw clenched. "I thought we settled with the Uzumaki. That deal was clean."
Madara didn't answer.
Shisui leaned forward, fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"What if it really was a coincidence?" he offered. "She told us that story—remember? The guy who refused her money? The one who said rich girls weren't his type."
Obito nodded slowly, recalling it now, the faint irritation in her voice when she said it. "Yeah. That was him."
"Shisui and I will talk to her," he said. "Find out exactly how they met. How deep it goes."
Madara turned to the window. The sky outside was clear, but his mind was already storming.
"Keep watching the university," he said. "If Minato breathes wrong…"
He looked back at them, and his voice sharpened into glass.
"…we'll know."
—-
POV Itachi Uchiha:
The silk curtains swayed with the sea breeze, and for the first time in weeks, Itachi woke not from Po's nudge or the knock of maids, but from sunlight stretching across her skin like gold ribbon. The quiet warmth felt… earned.
She stood, showered, and dressed in a breezy cream summer dress. No heels this time. Her hair was still damp when she walked barefoot into the beachside villa's breakfast hall.
The moment she stepped in, a strange warmth curled in her chest.
Deidara was already yelling about sunscreen conspiracies. Kakuzu was arguing that gold bars were safer than crypto. Zabuza was telling the story of his pawn shop customer who tried to trade a fake Rolex for a real katana, and Kisame was leaning back, arms crossed, grinning like a shark at a punchline only he found funny.
And then her eyes landed on Sasuke.
He was sitting on the armrest of a couch, a fruit skewer in hand, actually laughing.
Not smirking. Not scoffing. Laughing.
The sound was unfamiliar. Bright. Pure.
Not even their black Amex cards could've bought that.
She lingered in the doorway for a beat longer than necessary, then quietly stepped in, letting the rhythm of their voices fold around her.
"Look who rose from the royal grave," Deidara teased, tossing a grape in her mouth like a queen at a feast.
Itachi slid into her seat, perfectly calm. "Unlike some, I don't wake up to my own screaming."
Konan lifted her orange juice with a soft smirk. "We were betting on whether you'd skip breakfast again. I voted yes."
"And lost," Itachi said smoothly, reaching for a croissant. "I'm full of surprises."
Izumi leaned across the table. "You know what's surprising? The way Haku beat Sasuke at arm wrestling this morning."
Sasuke, still grinning, muttered, "She cheated."
Haku, seated beside Zabuza, licked her spoon slowly. "I used strategy. Sorry your ego lost."
The table erupted.
Itachi took it in—this patchwork of chaos and unexpected harmony. Her brother, open. Her friends, unfiltered. Zabuza's gruff laughter. Kisame's low chuckle like gravel and smoke. The strange ease between worlds that weren't supposed to coexist.
She didn't know what this morning was.
But it felt like peace.
And she wasn't going to ruin it by naming it.
The boat rocked gently on the aquamarine waves, anchored in a shallow reef pocket where the sea turned clear as glass. Beneath them: a dreamscape. Swirling schools of neon fish, coral blooming like underwater cities, and somewhere below—graceful sea turtles carving paths through light.
The crew handed out gear, instructors briefing them with smiling patience, but most of them were already halfway out of wetsuits or trying to claim who jumped first.
Nagato and Konan, predictably, disappeared together overboard with the silence of a plan they didn't share.
Deidara stood at the edge of the boat in her black designer bikini, scowling.
"This is a bad idea. I hate fish. They're like wet pigeons."
Sasori adjusted his snorkel calmly. "If you drown, I'll revive you. Then kill you for being dramatic."
She narrowed her eyes—then cannonballed in.
One by one, the group vanished into the water.
Zabuza took Haku's hand like it was made of porcelain. Gentle. Protective. Haku, in contrast, dove like a knife.
And then Kisame grinned—broad and easy—and leapt without a single piece of gear. Just trunks, salt-rough skin, and shark energy. He sliced through the water like he belonged there.
Itachi watched him surface, hair slicked back, and called out,
"You do realize you skipped every safety instruction?"
Kisame floated lazily on his back, water shimmering around his broad frame.
"I see better without all that crap. Goggles distort your vision."
She raised an elegant brow.
"What about bacteria? There's a rare species that—"
He rolled his eyes and sank under again. His voice echoed back up, distorted by sea and sunlight.
"Princess, the ocean's cleaner than half your country's antiseptics."
Itachi hesitated. Not because of fear—but principle. And pride.
Still…
She stepped to the edge. Stared down at that living sapphire beneath her. Then looked back at the crew holding out her goggles.
"No need," she said, to no one in particular. "Let's see if he's right."
And with that, she dove.
The ocean welcomed her like silk.
It was instant—different. The goggles had always dulled the world, created a barrier between her and the wild. But now, everything was raw. Vivid. Glimmering fish darted like brushstrokes across the reef. Coral opened up into alien spires. Light rippled from above like falling stars.
She forgot to be perfect.
She just… saw.
Then, a shadow moved.
A sharp edge of coral jutted from below—she hadn't noticed in time—and suddenly there was a hand on her waist. Strong. Steady. Kisame. He pulled her back, gentle but firm, guiding her aside with the ease of someone who knew this world better than the one above.
She looked at him. His dark blue hair floated like kelp, and his eyes—sea-colored—met hers in the stillness.
No words.
Just the silence of saltwater.
And something in her chest stirred.
It wasn't adrenaline. It was… gravity.
She reached out—fingers gliding through the water—to brush the strands of his unruly blue hair floating like seaweed around his face.
But he caught her.
A flash of a grin, sharp and boyish, then he took her wrists in one smooth motion and gently turned her around.
And there it was.
A sea turtle, ancient and majestic, drifting past them like a dream. Its shell shimmered with mossy greens and sun-soaked golds, flippers moving in slow, poetic arcs. It swam so close she could see the tiny barnacles clinging to its back, the serene wisdom in its eyes.
Itachi didn't breathe—not out of fear, but reverence.
Kisame's hands still lightly on her wrists. Not restraining. Just… anchoring.
She let herself float there. In the stillness. In the strange peace of being held.
The turtle vanished into the reef.
She didn't turn back immediately. Didn't speak.
For once, she didn't feel like a princess. Or a student. Or a name.
Just… human. Floating beside someone who didn't flinch from the wild part of her.
And that was almost scarier than the ocean.
The lunch had been light—grilled vegetables, fresh seafood, sparkling citrus water and strangely… grounding. Even Deidara didn't complain. Haku and Sasuke were trading inside jokes. Konan rested her head on Nagato's shoulder. For once, everything was quiet in the best way.
Then came the meditation.
It was held in a private bamboo pavilion overlooking the sea, incense curling softly through the warm air, the instructor's voice like velvet over stone. He didn't preach, didn't instruct. He guided.
And for the first time in years, Itachi listened.
She let her body settle into stillness, legs crossed, shoulders relaxed, mind tracing the shape of the ocean breeze.
She thought of the coral reef. Of Kisame's hands on her wrists. Of laughter from Sasuke she hadn't heard since they were children.
And slowly, like surf pulling back from shore, the mess of human ache receded.
She was Uchiha Itachi.
And Uchiha Itachi did not drown.
By evening, the jet was ready. Everyone boarded in silence—not tired, just… content. The sky outside the windows was painted in gold and lavender streaks, as if the island itself had kissed them goodbye.
No one played music. It was peaceful. Like after a storm, when the wind has already confessed everything.
When the jet finally touched down, Itachi stepped out with Sasuke. The mansion loomed ahead—ancient, cold, and familiar.
Home.
Uncle Obito and Shisui were waiting at the staircase like a pair of casual interrogators. Shisui's smirk was weapon-grade.
"You both got sunkissed," he said, eyes lingering a second longer on her bare collarbone.
Uncle Obito leaned on the railing, grin lopsided. "Tan looks good on you, princess."
Sasuke yawned dramatically behind them. "I'm going to bed. School tomorrow."
Itachi narrowed her eyes at Obito. Her voice was velvet-laced steel.
"You missed a lot of fun stuff," she said, walking past him. "And I'm not forgiving you easily for it."
She didn't wait for a response. Just the sound of her heels echoing down the hall like the closing of a gate.
The hallway was quiet except for the gentle click of her heels, the aftertaste of the ocean breeze still lingering in her mind. Itachi was halfway to her room when Obito's voice stopped her.
"I promised a gift to make up for my absence."
She turned, eyebrows raised, catching the small black shopping bag he lifted in one hand—subtle, expensive.
Obito crossed the distance and handed it over. "Thought it might ease the wound."
She narrowed her eyes playfully, suspicious as always. Reached in.
Inside, sealed in protective acrylic, was a limited first-print of Naruto Shippuden—gold-edged, signed by Kishimoto himself and has his original notes on special scenes. Her eyes widened, lips tugging into an uncharacteristically honest smile.
She didn't say anything at first.
Just stepped forward and hugged him.
"Fine," she murmured against his shoulder. "I might forgive you for this one."
He chuckled as she pulled away, fingers brushing her hair in a rare uncle-like gesture. "Only took a national treasure."
She turned to head back toward her room—but behind her, Shisui's voice floated out, too casual to be innocent.
"So… I heard you got new friends. How come you haven't introduced them to your favorite cousin?"
Obito added, mock wounded, "Yeah, or are we outsiders now that you've stepped into university life?"
Itachi didn't stop walking.
But her pace slowed.
And then she turned, one brow lifting as she faced them like royalty returning to address her court.
"Firstly," she said, eyes on Shisui, "you're always buried in your work. When was the last time we stargazed on the rooftop of your favorite hotel? You said you designed that spot for me."
Shisui had the decency to look sheepish.
"And you," she turned to Obito, "promised me a vacation and bailed the minute the jet door opened."
They both laughed. Guilty as charged.
"Fair," Obito said, throwing an arm around Shisui as if seeking backup. "But now we're genuinely curious. So tell us."
She didn't answer. Just walked into her room.
They followed.
Shisui flopped onto her bed like he owned it. Obito dropped to the floor with a tired groan. And Itachi? She collapsed into her absurdly regal beanbag—a crown-shaped throne of fluff, tailored for her mood swings and silent judgment.
She exhaled, then started.
"Remember when I told you about a guy from the streets who refused my money?"
Both their heads turned. Listening.
"That day, I got bored after university and went for a walk. Some idiot snatched my bag. Before I could do anything, a guy chased after him, tackled him, and gave my bag back."
She paused.
"His name's Kisame."
Obito's fingers stilled. Shisui's eyes flickered, then narrowed just slightly.
Itachi leaned back, arms crossed. "Apparently he does part-time deliveries. At our university. I noticed him from the classroom window later."
The two men exchanged a look.
Subtle.
Too subtle for most.
Not for her.
Itachi tilted her head. "Is something wrong?"
Obito's smile was too polished. "No, princess. Just… surprised by the coincidence."
She stared a moment longer. Then shrugged.
"Well, I was too. But it happened. And after that, he showed me his world."
Obito sat straighter. "His world?"
Itachi's smirk returned. "You two should try arcade games sometime. And riding on the back of a motorcycle at night. Turns out poor people know how to have fun."
Shisui let out a sharp exhale, leaning his head back against her pillows. "Unbelievable. You really are trying to give Uncle a heart attack."
Obito chuckled, but his gaze was still sharp, calculating behind the warmth. Watching her. Watching something.
But Itachi? She just pulled out her manga gift again, opened it to the title page, and smirked like the queen she was.
"Relax. He doesn't bite. He's just a guy with a bike and a better ramen taste than anyone in this mansion."
They said nothing.
But neither of them smiled this time.
Obito and Shisui stood up, brushing invisible dust from their tailored suits.
"Well," Shisui stretched lazily, "don't read too late. I heard your university has a thing about… what's it called? Attendance?"
Obito smirked. "Something about not being marked absent, princess."
Itachi smirked back, already thumbing through the gold-embossed pages in her lap. But then, just as they turned toward the door, something flickered behind her eyes.
She looked up.
"Wait. Uncle."
Obito paused at the doorway, turning back. His expression softened instantly—curious, open.
"There's something I wanted to ask."
Shisui raised an eyebrow.
Itachi sat up straighter in her beanbag throne. Her tone, when it came, was calm but sincere.
"There's a girl. Haku. She was adopted by Kisame and Zabuza. She goes to one of those charity-funded schools. But she's… brilliant. Brave. Bonded with Sasuke already. I want to enroll her in our upcoming Uchiha charity. Full scholarship. Private school. As part of the education initiative."
Obito didn't answer immediately.
Just a single pause.
A beat long enough to register.
Then he smiled again—perfectly easy, the kind of smile he used when she was small and asked for ponies.
"Of course," he said lightly. "We can do that."
Shisui gave a small nod of agreement beside him.
Then they both stepped out and quietly closed the door behind them.
It clicked softly shut.
Itachi didn't move for a moment.
Her head tilted.
Brows furrowed.
They were strange today. Obito's pause… Shisui's unreadable silence.
Something was off.
But—
Her gaze fell to the shimmering signature on the manga again. The first page curled in her fingers like a whispered invitation. She clicked her tongue softly.
Whatever mystery they carried could wait.
Because Naruto Shippuden: Limited Edition Collector's Print, Signed by the Creator Himself was right there in her lap.
And in this house, reading manga on silk pillows after surviving an F in business management class?
Was as close to peace as an Uchiha could get.
She leaned back. Smirked. And turned the page.