As he began to walk down the dimly lit hallways, Itachi Uchiha found his mind drifting, not to his mission or his surroundings, but to the boy he left behind. Sasuke... How was he faring? Was he safe? Angry? Grieving? These thoughts, though buried under layers of composure, scratched at the surface like claws beneath silk.
All of this was very new, he always adapted to the surroundings and whenever his life shifted gears but it was clear this was something no one has done before. Espionage wasn't something he or anyone around him did but for him it wasn't a choice anymore. It was a duty, a duty he took upon himself for his village.
As he turned a corner, he saw Kisame Hoshigaki. Towering, shark-like, with a grin that seemed too large to be anything but dangerous. His partner, it seemed. The Akatsuki operated in pairs, a system of surveillance and balance. Their eyes met, and the two exchanged brief nods. Kisame smiled, curiosity etched across his face, but Itachi offered nothing in return. His mind was elsewhere.
He was scheduled to meet the leader of the Akatsuki — Pain — and receive his first mission. The Akatsuki worked quickly, silently. Efficiency was their creed. It hadn't even been a full day since his arrival, and already they were sending him out into the world again. A pace this rapid was concerning. If they continued with this momentum, they would grow in power far too quickly — faster than he would be comfortable with. And then there was Pain. The bearer of the legendary Rinnegan. A power that surpassed most mortal comprehension. Itachi was powerful by his own right, But power wasn't his purpose here. Quite the opposite. He was here not to dominate and flex his muscles to others, but to observe... to infiltrate.
He entered the meeting room quietly. Pain's projection flickered before him like a phantom made of authority.
Beside him stood another illusion, masked and barely precievable. Madara Uchiha. Or the man claiming that title. Even among phantoms, his presence was oppressive, undeniable. There was something ancient in his voice, something that made even Pain listen — a rare thing, for a man who fancied himself a god. Despite working with the Akatsuki and possibly being the man running everything if you judge by his reputation, Madara never worked for them...in the sense that he never took part in any of the missions. Clearly he was a part of something bigger with the way his presence loomed over the Akatsuki.
Another projection emerged: Zetsu — a being split into two halves. One side pale, whispering like wind through graves; the other dark, cynical, and mocking. Itachi had read much, but never encountered something quite like Zetsu. It was as if a shadow had learned to speak.
And then there was Konan. Though to his surprise, Present not as a projection, but in person. Blue-haired and silent, she stood beside Pain like a statue sculpted in sorrow. Of the three, she seemed the least authoritative. The listener. The observer. Perhaps the only one who still remembered what grief felt like.
Pain spoke.
"Itachi Uchiha. Now that you are here, you will undertake your first mission. Deidara, a rogue shinobi from Iwagakure, has caught our attention. We believe he has potential. Travel to the outskirts of Iwa and recruit him — by persuasion or by force. If he complies, good. If not... convince him through combat. You have one day."
A recruitment mission huh? This was an interesting start then. Fortunate, in a way. No innocents would be harmed — not today, at least. And it offered an opportunity: to study this Deidara, a potential future member of this organization, and to test the waters of his role as a double agent. But even as he nodded, a sliver of dread remained. If he was to maintain his cover...lives would eventually be lost. Even the undeserving.
Such were the choices that were always given to him by life. Not the correct one, but the one that was laced with the lesser evil.
He left the chamber without a word. As he stepped into the mouth of the cave, preparing to leave, he caught sight of Konan stepping out of the cave a few moments later. Her Paper ninjutsu was the first of the kind that Itachi had seen and wanted to know more about her and this jutsu so as to relay as much information as possible. Especially someone that is close to Pain and Madara. He watched as paper flew around her followed by her rising gently into the air, borne aloft on wings of paper. Her technique was elegant, strange, and unfamiliar, a jutsu as beautiful as it was deadly. He watched as she spread out her wings she began to leave, but then spoke.
"Any problems, Itachi Uchiha? You have a mission."
Despite the sudden question he responded with calm precision.
"I meant to ask, unlike Pain and Madara, you remain in the base. Why?"
A simple question, but one with purpose. guising the real intentions of eavesdropping.
She answered evenly, her voice like parchment sliding across stone.
"I've been assigned to recruit a rogue shinobi from Sunagakure, Sasori. He's a puppeteer, a style common to that region, and a dangerous one. Once you've completed your mission, we're to rendezvous at a temporary base near the Land of Birds."
He narrowed his eyes.
"That wasn't mentioned to me."
"It was — after you left," she said. "We would've crossed paths regardless, given the mission deadline. And the location"
He didn't question it further. A nod sufficed. As a murder of crows surrounded him and he vanished into the wind — silent, unseen.
She watched him leave with her usual face that lacked any expression. And then a wind of papers surrounded her as she left the cave as well.
...
After some time traversing the land, the lush tapestry of forest and foliage began to peel away. The soft rustle of leaves gave way to the whisper of wind brushing against jagged stone. Trees grew sparse, their bark stripped and grey, clinging to life in a soil that no longer cradled it. The air turned drier. Rolling hills flattened into hard, cracked earth, interrupted by towering rock formations that loomed like forgotten remnants. Dust lifted with every step, caught in the breeze and drifting aimlessly across the widening horizon. Even the birds had changed — once songbirds chirping in the canopies, now only the caws of scavengers echoed faintly in the distance.
Eventually, Itachi arrived. A vast canyon stretched before him, its sheer cliffs slicing into the land like a wound. A narrow river wound its way through the chasm below, glinting silver under the grey sky. The cliffs themselves were worn and stained by years of erosion raw and exposed. This, he deduced, was where Deidara would be. Clay was the medium of his so-called art, and the river would offer a steady supply of it.
From his vantage point atop one of the cliffs, Itachi saw him.
A solitary figure blonde, lean, youthful, perhaps his age. He sat cross-legged on a broad slab of rock, his hands busy shaping something. The descriptions had been accurate. Pale skin, blue eyes, and the mouths — grotesque, uncanny — on both palms. He looked consumed by his work, utterly detached from the world around him.
There was no time to waste.
Without a word, Itachi stepped from the ledge.
The wind roared in his ears as he descended, his cloak fluttering violently behind him. The rocky terrain blurred beneath him, and the sky above seemed to recoil at his presence. The fall should have looked reckless, even suicidal — but instead, it was measured, intentional. A murder of crows began to manifest around him, conjured by chakra and will. First at his feet, then his knees, then enveloping his torso, shoulders, and finally his face. Their feathers shimmered briefly in the light before consuming him whole. One moment he was a falling figure, the next nothing. Only the crows remained, bursting into the sky in a storm of black wings and piercing caws.
Down below, Deidara felt it. A shift in the air.
The wind picked up suddenly, brushing through his hair and tugging at his cloak. He looked up, frowning. The sky had dimmed unnaturally, as if a shadow had been cast without a source. It was weird, it rarely rained here. Then came the sound a dozen, no, hundreds of caws, sharp and close. His hands paused mid-shaping. The clay in his palms began to twitch slightly, reacting to his chakra spiking.
He stood quickly, eyes narrowing. Something was wrong.
And then—
"Deidara of Iwagakure."
The voice was calm, clear, and dispassionate like an executioner's verdict.
"I am Itachi Uchiha. The Akatsuki has chosen you as their newest member. I would suggest you give in without resistance... though I should add, your compliance isn't a factor."
Deidara froze. The words hit him like a slap, not for their threat — but for their arrogance. He turned swiftly, eyes flaring with anger and disbelief.
Akatsuki?
He had heard whispers. Rogues in cloaks, ghosts of the underworld. But this? Some Uchiha dropping in unannounced, belittling him mid-creation? That, he would not allow. No one disrespected the sacred act of art. Especially not some smug crow-user in a costume.
His hands clenched, the mouths on his palms twitching open with a low squelch.
He grinned a slow, twisted smirk.
"Interrupting me while I'm working on my art? Tch... You've got guts, I'll give you that. But you're about to see... true art."
Clay crackled in his hands as he formed a small sculpture. It twitched, hissed — alive with chakra.
Rushing forward with the a rush of adrenaline and exhileration he charged at Itachi
"Now get ready to explode, you bastard."
As the clay sculpture arced toward him, Itachi's eyes narrowed. Even mid-flight, he could sense its unstable chakra, the shape subtly shifting, pulsing with an unnatural glow. Combined with Deidara's venom-laced words, the conclusion was immediate — an explosive.
With no hesitation, he vanished in a blur, launching himself backward. The sculpture detonated mid-air with a concussive blast, the force tearing through the space he had occupied a second prior. The heat licked at his cloak, but he landed unharmed, fingers already weaving precise signs.
"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu," he intoned, voice steady.
A massive sphere of searing flame burst forth, screaming across the canyon towards Deidara, who was already mid-creation — hands furiously molding clay. A spider took shape first, then several grotesque bugs, their limbs twitching unnaturally as chakra was infused into them.
Deidara grinned as he dodged the fireball, hurling his new creations through the smoke.
"I'LL TURN YOU INTO THE VERY DUST I USED TO MAKE THIS ART!" he shouted.
The spider hit the ground first and exploded, kicking up another wave of smoke and rock. Itachi evaded effortlessly, his movements clean, precise. The swarm of insects followed, detonating in sequence, a trail of fire and shrapnel dogging his every step. But Itachi danced through them all untouched.
Until he landed.
There was a slight shift beneath his sandals — something soft, wrong.
His eyes flicked down.
The ground moved.
A clay snake slithered up his legs, cold and smooth. It coiled tightly, constricting his legs anchoring him in place. He barely had time to react before it began to glow ominously, the pulse of chakra unmistakable.
Itachi's eyes widened slightly as he looked up towards a grinning Deidara with a flicker of acknowledgement.
From across the battlefield, Deidara's mocking voice rang out. "Predictable landing spot. Are you even a fighter, or just some kid roleplaying those circus clow—"
"I have seen enough."
The tone was final. Cold. Not angry — just done.
Deidara blinked.
The moment his eyes reopened after the split second closure from the blink. The world shifted.
The battlefield evaporated. Gone were the cratered rocks and swirling dust. The scent of scorched earth disappeared, the heat of recent explosions replaced by an unnatural stillness. Silence reigned. No wind. No light. Just a void.
Then — clarity.
Deidara's breath caught in his throat.
Itachi stood in front of him — unharmed, uncoiled, composed. His right arm was raised, fingers elegantly pointed toward him. And there, blazing with a calm ferocity, the crimson eyes of the Sharingan stared into his very soul.
"Genjutsu…" Deidara whispered, his voice barely audible.
The illusion broke him.
He collapsed — unconscious before he hit the ground, body limp upon the scarred rock.
Itachi lowered his hand. No words. No celebration. As he moved closer to Deidara and picked him up.
He had captured and "recruited" Deidara as he was told. And had gathered all the knowledge about his combat. But the mission wasn't over yet, now it was time for the more interesting part of the mission.
He remembered exactly what Konan said, to rendezvous at the outskirts of the Land of Birds. She was right, they were most likely going to cross paths anyways as the Land of Birds was between Iwa and Sunagakure.
He had captured and "recruited" Deidara, as instructed. The word itself laced with irony, for what choice had truly been given? And more importantly, he had observed — carefully, wordlessly extracting knowledge about the clay-wielding shinobi's combat style and temperament. It was, after all
...it was time for the more interesting part of the mission.
He recalled Konan's words with precision, like a line from a play he had already rehearsed: to rendezvous at the outskirts of the Land of Birds. She was correct — it lay between Iwagakure and Sunagakure, making it the likeliest crossroads.
But before advancing, there remained a task of utmost importance. The actual task and the one that transcended mere strategy.
He sat beneath a jagged shadow of stone, drawing out a modest piece of paper and a plain pen. With swift, measured strokes, he began to write. The report was clinical every detail of Deidara's combat, his quirks, and most crucially, the fragments of what he could learn about Konan's paper-based jutsu.
These were not just notes.
They were seeds.
Planted for the day someone would need to cut through the illusion Akatsuki cast over the world.
He ended the report with a single line:
"This is only a one-way communication. I do not want any incoming messages, so as not to blow my cover. Take care of Sasuke."
With a flick of his wrist, he rolled the parchment and tied it securely to the leg of the crow that had been perched silently beside him. It watched him, black eyes glinting like polished obsidian. With a subtle nod, he sent it off, soaring eastward toward Konoha. Toward home.
The moment lingered. The stillness of honesty in a life otherwise painted in shadows.
He allowed himself the faintest of smiles as the bird vanished from sight.
Mission… resumed.
A storm of crows burst forth around him once more, cloaking him in black feathers. And just like that, the canyon was empty. No signs of battle. No bodies. No collateral.
...
By the time he reached the meeting point, the sky had turned the colour of bruised lavender — that strange hue between dusk and darkness. Konan stood there, waiting, as if she had always belonged to that still hour, draped in paper and silence.
Wrapped in layers of parchment like a sealed scroll, the body she carried bore a familiar face. Sasori. Only his head remained uncovered, staring upward with an eerie calm. A puppet-master, now lifeless in someone else's hands. Itachi took in the sight with quiet calculation.
He was late. Not for lack of speed, but necessity — the construction of his report to Konoha had taken longer than the skirmish with Deidara. Gathering information, summarizing tactics, encoding intentions — all of it was vital. But it meant Konan had finished her business long before he arrived.
He approached without a word, sharingan eyes glowing softly beneath his fringe. Every inch of her body, every fold of her origami cloak, was being read in real-time. As he saw her returning to her usual human form. The wind shifted faintly, rustling the edges of the paper cocoon she held.
She turned slightly, acknowledging him with a slow glance. Amber eyes as unreadable as the sea in fog.
"It's done," she said, voice quiet but certain.
He gave a slight 'Hmph' of acknowledgment in response.
He rarely responded. Not unless it was required. And yet, she didn't seem to expect one. They stood there for a moment, weapons in human form, wordless and watchful.
...
Then she asked something.
Just one question. In a voice firm but one that meant she had ulterior intentions behind it.
A question which caused a seam split in the armor of silence he always wore. Something that stiffened his posture.
"You have a brother, right?"