Muzan sat inside his tent with his hands open in his lap.
Thrust. Squelch. Gurgle.
The sounds kept replaying. The kunai going in. The wet scrape of the blade against bone. The Nara's eyes going wide, not with anger but with surprise, like he couldn't believe this was how it ended.
Muzan stared at his palms. He'd scrubbed them raw after the fight, watched the pink water run off until nothing was left. The blood was gone. He could still feel it.
That was his first conscious kill. And he felt wrong. Not sick. Not horrified. Just wrong, like something inside him had moved and wouldn't move back.
He kept circling the same thought. He'd taken a life. Ended someone's existence. Shouldn't that feel like more than this? Shouldn't he be sick, or crying, or something?
Instead he felt hollow. Empty. Like the feeling he was supposed to have never arrived.
He tried to force remorse. Made himself picture the Nara's family. His friends. People who would wake up tomorrow and not know yet. But every time he pushed toward guilt, another voice answered. He was going to kill Toshiro. He was going to kill you.
Then why were his hands still shaking?
Rustle.
Muzan had already sensed Toshiro coming. The younger shinobi stepped inside and looked at him, at the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers were pressing into his own knees.
"What happened?" Toshiro asked.
"Nothing," Muzan said. His voice came out flat.
Toshiro's eyes widened slightly. "Was that the first time you've killed someone?"
Muzan nodded once.
Toshiro crossed the tent and gripped his shoulder, firm and warm. "It's okay. We're shinobi. This is the life we were born into." He held the grip steady. "What you did out there saved my life. I mean that. Lord Urashi is glad to hear about it too. Keep proving yourself and I'm sure he'll help you with your illness."
Achievement. The word sat in Muzan's chest like a stone.
He nodded, not trusting his voice. His throat felt tight, not with tears but with the absence of them. The inability to cry even when some part of him wanted to.
He looked up at Toshiro. "If you had died back there, would you have regrets?"
Toshiro blinked at the question. Then he smiled, quiet and honest. "We all want long, happy lives. But not if it costs the people beside us." He paused. "If I'd died there, I'd have one regret. That I wouldn't be around to carry the load with my squad anymore."
"Then why have wars?" Muzan's voice came out lower than he intended. "If we could all just live in peace, no one would have to die like that."
A bitter smile crossed Toshiro's face. "It would've been possible if we'd tried it long ago. But we're past that now. We've done too much to each other to just forgive and forget." His expression darkened. "My parents died fighting the Senju. My grandparents too. Maybe I'll die the same way someday. If we just decided tomorrow to live in peace, what would all those deaths mean?" He met Muzan's eyes. "The want for happiness is the root of all tragedy."
The words landed hard.
Muzan sat with them. Could he forgive his uncle? No. Could he forgive the man who had done this to him? No. Would he take Genzo's place if he could go back?
Yes. Without thinking.
Then what right did he have to feel guilty about surviving?
The realization came slowly. He'd wanted to feel guilty because guilt would have proved he was still the person he used to be. But guilt was a privilege. It belonged to people who had the option to choose peace. His mother hadn't had that option. His father hadn't. Genzo hadn't.
If he wanted their sacrifices to mean anything, he couldn't afford to collapse under the weight of every person he killed in order to stay alive.
The hollow feeling didn't go away. But it shifted into something he could carry.
Toshiro was still watching him. "Muzan? You okay?"
Muzan pulled himself back. "Yeah. I think I understand now."
"Understand what?"
"Why we keep fighting," Muzan said. His hands had stopped shaking. "Why we can't just stop."
Toshiro's expression softened. He squeezed Muzan's shoulder once, then stepped back and cleared his throat. "Right. That's enough of that." His usual grin came back. "The reason I actually came here is that Lord Urashi wants to see you. You're getting a reward for your work last night. He's waiting in his tent."
A reward. For killing.
Muzan nodded and stood up.
Toshiro looked at his face and sighed. "You're too slow, you know that? Let's go. Lord Urashi is a busy man."
He grabbed Muzan's arm and pulled him out of the tent.
As they walked through the camp, Muzan caught his reflection in a puddle.
His eyes looked different.
---
Three days later, the night air tasted of ash and dew.
Muzan stood at the camp's edge and watched smoke curl from dying cooking fires. His fingers rested on the kunai holster at his hip.
"Yo, Muzan!" Toshiro appeared at his side, grinning. "Did you hear? Miyako-san is leading the other squad. Miyako-san!"
"You've mentioned it seventeen times," Naroi said from behind them. The older shinobi sat on a supply crate, sharpening his tanto with steady strokes.
Shhk. Shhk. Shhk.
"Seventeen?" Toshiro's face fell.
"Eighteen now," Masai added, adjusting the bandages on his forearms. He was built like a boulder, short and wide, with the kind of stillness that suggested he was hard to move in every sense. "You're more nervous than a first-mission genin."
"I'm not nervous!" Toshiro's voice cracked. "I'm just appreciating talent. She awakened her Sharingan at thirteen and she's already taken down two chunin-level Sarutobi solo."
Naroi didn't look up from his blade. "And you've taken down three scouts. Stop comparing yourself."
Thunk.
Amanai drove a kunai into a wooden post. He pulled it free slowly and examined the edge. "When Miyako's squad arrives, you will show respect, follow orders, and Toshiro." He fixed the younger shinobi with a flat look. "You will not embarrass this squad."
"I'm not going to embarrass anyone!"
"You already are," Masai said, and clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.
Muzan almost smiled.
"Muzan."
He turned. Amanai was standing closer than expected.
"Your mind is elsewhere," Amanai said.
"I'm focused on the mission," Muzan said.
"Your body is here. Your mind isn't." Amanai's voice dropped lower. "I've been watching you. If you stay in your head during a fight, you're already dead." He paused. "This isn't patrol duty. The Sarutobi will have that convoy guarded. You will need to kill again today. Maybe more than once."
Muzan's jaw tightened. "I can do it."
"Can you?" Amanai studied him. "I was twelve when I made my first kill. Couldn't eat for three days. Threw up every time I closed my eyes. My father told me I'd get used to it." His fingers flexed around the kunai. "He was right. And that scared me more than the killing ever did."
Crunch. Crunch.
Naroi walked over, chewing dried meat. "Deep conversation? Should we give you two some space?"
"No. We're done." Amanai looked at Muzan one more time. "Whatever you're feeling or not feeling, lock it away until the mission ends. Emotions are a liability when lives depend on split-second decisions."
"Incoming!" Masai pointed toward the main path through camp.
Five figures walked between the tents.
Toshiro immediately straightened and smoothed his hair. Naroi's eyes rolled so far back Muzan thought they might stay there.
Uchiha Miyako walked at the formation's center. She was younger than Muzan expected, barely looked sixteen, with dark hair pulled into a short ponytail. But the way she moved made her age irrelevant. Her Sharingan was already active, three tomoe spinning slowly in each eye.
"Amanai-san." Her voice was crisp and even. "My squad is ready. Shall we review the parameters?"
"Miyako-san!" Toshiro stepped forward with a wide grin. "Good to see you! It's been two months since—"
"Toshiro." Amanai's tone could have cut stone.
Toshiro's mouth shut.
Something flickered in Miyako's expression. It might have been amusement. "Toshiro-san. You're looking well."
"Y-yeah! You too! I mean, not that you don't always look well, I just meant—"
Miyako turned back to Amanai and continued without missing a beat. "Intelligence puts the convoy entering the valley two hours past noon. Ten guards minimum. Narrow walls on both sides and poor visibility."
Masai leaned close to Muzan. "Watch this," he said quietly.
"Toshiro-san." Miyako's gaze shifted back. "You're the squad sensor?"
"Yes!" The hope in his voice was painful.
"You'll hold perimeter watch with my sensor. Twenty-meter radius. No exceptions."
Toshiro's face fell. "But I could help with the initial—"
"Are you questioning my tactical assessment?" The tomoe spun faster.
"No! Of course not!"
Naroi coughed into his fist. It sounded like laughter.
One of Miyako's squad, a tall man with a scar across his nose, nodded to Amanai. "Ichiro," Amanai said, nodding back. "Your squad ready?"
"Always." Ichiro glanced at Muzan. "That the new guy?"
Every eye in the group shifted over.
"Muzan saved Toshiro's life last week," Amanai said flatly. "Killed a Nara scout. He's proven himself."
"A Nara?" A woman from Miyako's squad, Asuka by her positioning, raised an eyebrow. "You were only trained for a week before the battlefield?"
"Yes," Muzan said.
Miyako studied him with those red eyes. "That wasn't strength," she said. "That was your opponent underestimating you." She looked at Amanai. "You're confident he can handle prepared opponents?"
Muzan answered before Amanai could. "I'll do what needs to be done."
Miyako's lips moved slightly. Almost a smile. "We'll see."
Fwip.
She produced a small scroll and unrolled it. A map, rough but detailed. Her finger traced the convoy route through the valley. "They enter here. We split formation. My squad takes the eastern ridge, yours takes the west. Let the front guards pass, then collapse on the center where the supplies are concentrated. Quick, clean, and no survivors."
"For the Uchiha," Miyako said.
"For the Uchiha," the group answered together.
They moved out into the trees, ten shinobi heading toward the valley in silence.