Chapter 15 – Strip Him of Everything
Chakra—
A strange, wondrous energy.
Unlike mere spiritual force, it could touch both the material and immaterial—matter and soul alike.
For as long as he could remember, Aizen Sōsuke had been obsessed with studying the limits of that energy.
Though his own abilities were still far from perfect, he had tried countless times to grasp the underlying laws of chakra—its true mechanics.
The experiments to forge a Zanpakutō were not only a means of power for him, but also the beginning of his attempt to uncover chakra's essence.
Just as one must study plasma to understand fire, or the laws of electromagnetism to harness lightning, Aizen's research sought to peel back the layers of chakra—to trace it to its most primitive source.
That was why he pursued the idea of merging the three most ancient bloodlines: the God Tree's factor, the Sharingan, and the Byakugan.
Of these, the ultimate evolution of the Sharingan was the one within his reach.
And the vessel he had chosen, after meticulous consideration, was Uchiha Itachi.
"A closed heart. A fragile mind. Extraordinary talent.
A soul always torn between contradictions."
Aizen's lips curved faintly.
A perfect subject.
Itachi's world revolved around only a handful of bonds—Shisui, his family, and the fragile thread that tied him to Konoha.
Aizen's task was simple:
cut each one.
One by one.
Until there was no one left he could turn to—no one but Aizen himself.
The lonelier a person became, the easier they were to guide.
When the time came, the Mangekyō Sharingan would fall into Aizen's hands as easily as a ripe fruit from a branch.
But his fascination extended beyond the eye's power.
What truly drew him was what happened between—
the invisible transition when chakra twisted and reformed, when an ordinary Sharingan metamorphosed into a Mangekyō.
The microcosmic change in chakra flow, the quantum rhythm of despair and awakening.
Every move Aizen had made—
fanning the flames between Konoha and the Uchiha,
playing the role of the calm mentor to a conflicted genius—
was all for that moment.
If he could capture the principle and reproduce the vessel, then even a blade could wield the power of the Mangekyō.
Still, Aizen tread carefully.
He always did.
The surface reason was simple—Shisui Uchiha.
Through various channels, Aizen had learned of Shisui's unique power: Kotoamatsukami, a genjutsu that could bend another's will without them ever realizing it.
For someone like Aizen, that power was far more terrifying than death.
Thus, it became essential to sever the bond between Itachi and Shisui—to poison it slowly, quietly.
But beneath that calculation lay a deeper vigilance.
From a macro perspective, souls themselves were energy.
In his previous life, the Soul Society had been the final destination of the dead.
Yet here, in this world, the souls of the dead simply vanished.
Even more unsettling—certain jutsu could summon them back.
So where did those souls go?
And who—or what—held dominion over them?
Aizen dared not ponder too far. His intuition alone warned him: that way lay peril beyond comprehension.
That was not something he could touch.
Not yet.
---
"Sōsuke-senpai?"
The voice snapped him from his reverie.
The ramen bowls before them were empty.
Across the counter, Itachi looked up with newfound clarity in his eyes.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "Your words… helped me a lot."
Aizen's smile returned, gentle and reassuring, like a teacher's hand on a student's shoulder.
"As a senior, it's only natural to guide those who walk the same path," he said smoothly. "If I could ease your mind even a little, that's reward enough."
He paused, as though recalling a casual memory.
"Perhaps, from time to time, you might also speak to your father about these things. I worked with Fugaku once—he's a wise man. Not very expressive, perhaps, but far from unkind."
"Father…" Itachi murmured. "I see."
When the meal ended, Aizen stood by the street corner, watching Itachi's slender figure fade into the evening light.
His smile never wavered.
---
"Itachi, you're home?"
His mother, Mikoto, looked up from clearing the dinner table, her smile warm and weary.
"Yes. I ate outside—with Aizen Sōsuke-senpai."
"Aizen-kun? Ah, that clever boy," Mikoto said, nodding approvingly. "Your father's in the yard teaching Sasuke a new jutsu. Go take a look—he's been working very hard lately."
Simple words.
Ordinary warmth.
To Mikoto, this quiet life—family under one roof—was happiness itself.
Itachi nodded softly and stepped into the backyard.
There, by the pond, Sasuke was struggling to mimic their father's hand seals. Sweat ran down his cheek, and the faint red mark near his lips betrayed a recent burn.
Fire Release practice.
A rite of passage for Uchiha children.
'He won't end up with thick lips, will he?' Itachi thought absently.
Hearing footsteps, Sasuke turned sharply. His little face brightened instantly.
"Onii-chan!"
From across the yard, Fugaku finally turned, hands clasped behind his back, expression solemn as ever.
"You're home?"
"Yes, Father."
Itachi answered while reaching down to ruffle Sasuke's dark hair.
"Sasuke," he said softly, "still practicing the Fireball Technique today?"
"That simple jutsu? I've already mastered it!" the boy huffed, puffing his cheeks in protest. But the next instant, his expression brightened into a proud grin.
"Today, Father taught me a new one—Phoenix Sage Fire Technique!"
"That one's a bit more advanced," Itachi said with a small smile, noticing the faint burns at the corners of his brother's mouth. "You must've practiced hard."
—He himself had mastered it after a single demonstration years ago, but he didn't say that aloud.
"Yeah! You have to spit out so many little fireballs," Sasuke said, animated. "If you slip up even once, it burns! My mouth's killing me!"
"If you want to become a ninja," Itachi replied, voice calm and gentle, "you'll have to learn to endure pain. It's part of the path."
"I know that already!" Sasuke shot back, puffing his chest in mock defiance.
From the side, Uchiha Fugaku watched his sons interact, the tension in his face softening just slightly.
The sight of them—Itachi composed and Sasuke lively—washed away a measure of his weariness.
Perhaps this was what all the struggle was for.
His gaze lingered on Itachi.
The boy's physical conditioning and chakra reserves had long since surpassed the average jōnin. It was time, he thought, to take the next step.
"Itachi," Fugaku said finally, his tone once more that of the clan head.
"Have you mastered Great Fire Annihilation yet?"
Itachi blinked.
It had been a long time since his father had personally taught him anything. Most of what he'd learned lately came from self-study.
He shook his head. "Not yet, Father."
Fugaku nodded slightly, withdrawing a scroll from his wide sleeve and tossing it toward him.
"Then learn it."
Itachi caught the scroll deftly and unrolled it. Two quick glances—that was all it took. His mind absorbed the hand seals and chakra flow instantly.
Tiger → Dog → Ox → Hare → Tiger.
Five seals formed in less than a heartbeat.
Then—
a roar like the breath of a god.
From his mouth surged a torrent of incandescent flame, a tsunami of destruction that turned the air itself molten. The blast wave rippled across the yard; even the residual heat made Sasuke flinch and sent Mikoto's hair fluttering through the doorway.
The pond in front of them began to boil and vanish, steam exploding upward as the sea of fire consumed the air. The inferno advanced like a living wall, devouring everything in its path.
And yet—
Not a single leaf outside the target zone burned.
Not one stone wall cracked.
When Itachi abruptly cut off his chakra, the roaring blaze collapsed into embers, leaving behind only a blackened scar across the earth.
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hiss of cooling air.
Sasuke stood frozen, eyes wide and shining with awe. His small mouth—burned and pouting—hung open.
So powerful…
Was this really a B-rank technique?
But Fugaku was watching something else entirely.
What impressed him was not the scale of the jutsu—but the precision.
Even in a confined courtyard, Itachi had contained that overwhelming chakra, controlling its shape and range flawlessly. Not even the outer wall twenty meters away had been singed.
It was artistry.
Pure, lethal artistry.
When Itachi turned toward him, seeking his father's approval, Fugaku met his gaze.
For the first time in a long while, the stoic man's expression softened.
He gave a single, firm nod, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a restrained, rare smile.
"As expected of my son."
The words were few—but for Itachi, they carried the weight of an entire lifetime.