Chapter 13 — Parting Ways
After that night, both Itachi and Shisui wore a quiet awkwardness. The easy, constant chatter that used to pass between them was gone; the two closest of friends had become unaccountably reserved.
They stepped into the trees, paced until the world around them thinned to only wind and moonlight, and then—once certain they were alone—both spoke at once.
"About Root that night—"
"And the whole sequence of events before that—"
They stopped mid-sentence and exchanged a glance. For a moment neither had words; then both offered the same rueful, helpless smile.
"So… there really might be an unknown Mangekyō," Shisui said, his voice low and tinged.
Itachi watched him. He knew, better than most, that Shisui was the one who carried the deepest anxieties in the clan. The strongest of them all and the center many looked to, his stance could sway the fearful and the hopeful alike. In the shinobi world, strength dictated weight and influence — a truth that was never merely theoretical.
Itachi was silent a long while, then asked, "Even with your Mangekyō, you can't detect another one?"
"A Mangekyō is a qualitative leap in ocular power," Shisui replied, rubbing the rim of his eye almost reflexively. "It's not a catch-all. It isn't omnipotent."
He'd awakened that eye years ago; despite his careful maintenance, his sight had noticeably deteriorated. A bitter joke about needing contact lenses nearly escaped Itachi's lips and was swallowed.
"Are you still digging through the records?" Shisui added, casually—except his peripheral gaze tracked every tiny expression on Itachi's face. His worry for his friend was plain.
"No." Itachi's voice was flat. His stare toward the distant horizon was empty. This wasn't relief—it was the resignation of someone who had run out of options.
"Shisui," he said after a pause, "do you remember? The day Root was attacked, Danzō went to the Third's office and had a huge fight—right there, with me and Kakashi in the room." He looked at Shisui as he spoke. "Then the Third himself swore to me—he promised he would stop Root. And yet… it turned out like this."
He met Shisui's eyes directly. "Are we doing the right thing?" he asked. "Why do the innocent always have to die?"
Silence fell; the night by the river murmured and the surf of the water seemed to swallow their words. For a long time Shisui said nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of things he'd kept close.
"You might not know everything," he began slowly, "but Danzō… he's always been capable of going beyond bounds. Years ago he actually plotted to assassinate the Third. I heard it was Kakashi who stopped him, otherwise it might have succeeded."
Itachi's head snapped up at the news. "Then why is the Third—"
Shisui cut him off before he could finish. "Because Danzō does not represent only himself. He carries the thinking of many within the high ranks. Killing him would be cutting off the political life of a lot of people. Not even the Third could bear that cost."
They stood in the dim light, two boys pulled by the same current in opposite directions. The truth now was no single blade but a tangle of hands and loyalties, history and fear. The road ahead was no longer a shared path.
Shisui turned toward him, his eyes unusually grave.
"Itachi," he said slowly, voice heavy with purpose, "what I'm about to tell you… you might not fully understand right now. But I need you to remember it—all of it."
He took a breath, his tone steady but filled with something like desperation.
"In this village, every leader—every shinobi, even—is bound by something larger than themselves."
"Whether it's the Third Hokage, Danzō, the Senju, the Uchiha, the Hyūga… or even nobodies like us. None of us are truly free. We all move because someone, somewhere, pushes us."
"There are things that, to you or me, look utterly wrong. But when you see the whole picture, you realize… for some people, at some moments, those 'wrongs' were the only choices they had."
"So I understand your anger when you saw what's hidden behind Konoha's mask," Shisui continued, bowing deeply—so deeply it startled Itachi. "But please—no, I beg you—think of our clan a little longer before you decide what to do."
His voice trembled faintly, stripped of pride. He bowed not as a mentor to a pupil, but as one brother to another—pleading.
Itachi froze.
He had never seen Shisui like this before.
The man everyone respected—the gentle, confident ideal of the clan—was now bent low, begging him to understand.
For a moment, words failed him. Then, recalling everything he'd seen and felt these past days, his voice sank into something dark and quiet.
"…Shisui-niisan."
"Even someone like Lord Sakumo Hatake—someone who gave everything for Konoha—was destroyed by their judgment," he said bitterly.
"No matter how much the Uchiha have contributed, no matter what we do from now on… can we really believe the village will let us survive?"
His tone was heavy with despair, the kind that made the air itself feel suffocating.
"Besides," he went on quietly, "the Third Hokage can't control Danzō anymore. So if—if that day really comes, and Danzō moves to wipe out every last Uchiha… what do we do then?"
Both of them knew the answer that had always lain beneath their mission.
They had long accepted that their lives were expendable—that they would die without hesitation if it meant peace between the village and their clan.
But peace built on blood… whose blood was it to be?
Shisui's eyes hardened. For a heartbeat, his expression faltered, then settled into calm determination.
"In that case," he said quietly, "we'll have to slaughter every Uchiha who joins the coup. All of them."
"We'll use their deaths to buy a future for whoever remains."
"And if that still isn't enough… then we keep killing—until Konoha no longer fears the name Uchiha."
Itachi froze. His pupils trembled, disbelief flashing across his face.
Shisui didn't stop. His voice, though calm, grew heavier with every word.
"I've read the records. After most of the Senju were wiped out, those who survived withdrew from politics. They lived quietly—weak, irrelevant, but alive. The clan still exists today. Some even hold teaching jobs at the Academy."
"If we can do the same for the Uchiha, that's a victory. As long as the clan lives, we win."
"With the Third's nature, he wouldn't exterminate a clan that no longer poses a threat."
Maybe it was Danzō's growing hostility, or the creeping blindness from his Mangekyō—whatever the reason, Shisui felt an unbearable pressure closing in. He knew this might be his last chance to speak honestly with Itachi.
"Let the Uchiha survive," he thought. "Even if only in name."
But his sincerity was met with only quiet horror.
Itachi stared at him, blank-eyed, voice trembling.
"...Why?" he finally managed. "Why go that far?"
"There's no why," Shisui said softly. The words came like a sigh of resignation.
"Between the village and the clan, only one can win. And we can't win, Itachi."
"So rather than let the village decide our punishment after the war, we'll decide it ourselves. We'll offer up the blood of our clan as proof of loyalty to Konoha."
That resolve—cold, absolute—had taken root in him from the day he joined Root.
"The Uchiha's… loyalty?" Itachi whispered.
He looked at Shisui, and in his crimson eyes burned anguish and disbelief.
"Shisui," he said through clenched teeth, "I never asked you to be like my father or Elder Setsuna. I'm not a demon!"
"But killing our own people to make the village comfortable? What kind of logic is that?!"
"Is Konoha so pure and righteous in your eyes that you'd butcher your kin to please it?!"
"What if they don't stop? What if even that isn't enough?"
He took a step closer, his voice shaking with fury.
"We share the same blood! Today it's the radicals, tomorrow the moderates, and the day after that what—Root orders you to erase every Uchiha left alive?"
"If that's where you're headed, then one day even I will have to stop you!"
Shisui listened quietly. He didn't argue. When he spoke again, his tone was strangely gentle.
"You're right. I can't be sure the village would stop even then."
"But if I can spare Konoha a civil war—if I can keep more of its shinobi from dying—then this is the lesser sin."
"We're Konoha shinobi, Itachi."
The words were simple. But they carried the weight of a lifetime.
To the world, the Uchiha were a clan. To the village, they were a single province within a nation.
To Shisui, Konoha came first—and the Uchiha were just one part of it.
His loyalty had never been to the clan. Only to the village.
"I…" Itachi's voice caught.
He knew. Deep down, he knew he was the same. Born and raised beneath Konoha's light, shaped by its teachings, he too identified with the village—not the bloodline that had given him life.
And yet… could family really be so easily erased?
He couldn't answer.
He turned away.
Shisui watched him go, his silhouette fading into the moonlight, and did not call out.
Between the silver of the moon and the black of the night, the line between them was drawn.
And just like that, their paths—once side by side—diverged forever.