Convergence: A Sasuke Fanfiction

KONOHA

The boy is a threat. He possesses the Mangekyō. As far as I am aware, his brother had not awakened it until he was twelve; he is just six.

Danzo…

He is a risk to the village, Sarutobi!

He is a child.

Exactly why he must not be left to possess such power!

What would you have me do?

…The boy cannot be left with those eyes; we must seize them. I have seen him; the anger that burns in him is one that can only be quelled in blood. We cannot—must not—let that seed germinate!

…I still vividly remember your obsession with Itachi. Every time you came over, you ended up talking about the boy. What’s so different now? I daresay we should be glad we have him; a shinobi shaping up to have twice the genius Itachi is can only be a boon to the village. It would be utter foolishness to cripple him out of blind fear. Talk less of his brother’s reaction should he find out we did such a thing.

This is different! Utterly so! Even Itachi would understand the risks of leaving the boy as he is!

…First, you have his brother massacre his clan. Now you desire to cripple him for crimes he has yet to commit? You are so hasty to sentence him, Danzo. Why? Does the boy terrify you?

…You would risk the village’s future to shield an Uchiha spawn? Tobirama-sensei would be disappointed in you, Hiruzen.

***

TIME, ever the swindling crook. He steals the trustfulness of youth, changing it for the bitter truth. Joys he steals and also tears; pilfers hopes and filches fears. It's been three weeks since the… incident; the medical-nin in charge of our case suspiciously reluctant to have us discharged. The trek home was irritating; we could hear them; the peasant folk; their miserable attempts at being discreet failing quite reprehensibly; some in pity, others in gloating schadenfreude. We committed those faces to memory. At a few foolishly whispered words the urge to wring necks rose in us but we stomped the feeling down. We knew they were watching; the ANBU. They always are; unless, of course, during a massacre that is.

The bustle of the village we shed behind us as we slipped into the haunting bubble of silence that was our clan’s district. Segregated from the village and banished to the outskirts as it was, the Uchiha compound was devoid of life. At the sound of cawing overhead, our gaze flickered upwards towards a mundane crow perched on the powerline above. In a blur, our left hand flickered and the despicable creature exploded in a shower of iridescent feathers and viscera as a kunai shot through it.

We huffed in annoyance as we watched the projectile disappear into the distance. It would probably be a pain in the backside to retrieve. That was impulsive, we thought in annoyance. A horrible trait to possess as a ninja. Father had long drilled that fact into us. To forget his teachings at such a time … We shook our head, ridding ourself of the thought. Now was not the time; our attention returned to the present. As promised, the bodies had been cleared out, the only reminder of the weasel’s rampage being the occasional bloodstain or vandalised property. As we walked through the empty walkways and vacant cobblestone roads a sense of melancholy befell us. They were gone, we remembered. For good.

Our clan’s legacy was now our’s to care for and protect; all attempts by Sarutobi to forsake this responsibility and accept a domicile governed by the treacherous village we will continue to thwart mercilessly. Those unworthy Konoha dogs were not to be trusted with anything. Not now. Not ever.

***

Time, ever still the swindling crook. He steals our hope, our daring bold, leaving nought but wisdom’s yellow gold. A week goes by. Then another following the charade that was the funeral service prepared in honour of our clansmen. With a sigh, we dropped the wet rag we held into a bucket by our feet. The tin container jiggled noisily as we carried it to a nearby drain, the bloody water within swaying with a soapy swish. Our gaze flickered to what had previously been a bucket of water and cleaning solution. Red. It was tinged with the overwhelming red that seemed to be the hallmark of our clan. Red blood, Red eyes. Red fan. Red fire.

Red.

Pathetic—

The metal handle in our palm snapped spilling the contents of the bucket onto the floor. We stared at the flowing liquid for a few moments in stunned silence before sighing. Hunger, some part of us rumbled. With another sigh we discarded the shorn metal band and cleaned the mess before returning to our pare—no, our domicile to have breakfast. even though the sun felt hot on our back. It was already late noon. The perfect time for the first meal of the day, it seems.

With somewhat of a lazy, undignified shamble, we entered the kitchen and began looking around for anything and everything that might still be edible. After a few moments of searching, we came up with a bowl of hoshiume-dried plums from three days ago. It had signs of mould on it. In one of the lower drawers, we found a carton of milk that might or might not be good, a half-eaten, palm-sized senbei sitting on a covered plate on the kitchen counter, and a box of raw soba noodles in one of the upper drawers. Disappointed, we tossed the dried plums, bowl and all, into the sink, filling it with soapy water. Taking a bite from the desiccated cracker we flicked the cooker’s dial a few times to confirm if it still had fuel. It did.

Twenty minutes later, we dropped our spoon in the empty bowl before us and drank the last droplets of milk in the carton. The meal could at the very best be considered edible with its strong, earthly tones and mushy texture; nothing like the way mother used to make it. The milk was still good. Maybe. We were not certain. Then again, we did not care as long as the hunger was sated. We tidied the kitchen, making sure to reorganise it exactly the way we met it.

A few minutes later, we sat at our favourite spot by the exit watching as a sapling swayed, its leaves rustling with the gentle breeze. In silent meditation, our mind achieved clarity. We could feel the muted aura of their life force. Suppressed, like a dim flame in the dark expanse of the void. We could hear them, Konoha’s watchdogs; their relaxed breathing and decelerated heartbeats served to make detecting them all the more difficult; Jōnin, most probably. One to our left in our periphery and the other directly in front, hiding in plain sight. For what it was worth, even the weasel held our sensory skills in high regard. Father could find no higher praise to describe our talent at it.

With time and practice locating them was getting easier, and faster, but only by a little. No matter how talented we were, they were still more experienced after all. Regardless, this had to be done; if we ever truly desired to find the answers we seek we needed to be beyond the reach of Konoha’s scrutiny.

***

We loathe remembering the rush of pride we once felt at being accepted into this… institute of learning. Now that we look back we realise the academy offered little that our clan did not already offer in surplus. In terms of knowledge, there was little we did not already have or could not acquire from our archives. Everything from the history of the shinobi world continuing from the Sage of Six Paths. The alliances, treaties, and laws of uniformity among the different lands. Fundamentals, advanced techniques, practical strategies in fighting. Theory on physical ninja arts, kekkei genkai. Introduction to chakra. Tailed beasts, ninja beasts. Even an overview of sage barriers and natural energy fundamentals sat tucked away in Father’s study. At least they did until the Hokage had the ANBU “relocate” almost everything for safekeeping until he was certain we could safeguard the secrets they contained on our own. Thankfully, we had long memorized the texts. Our losses would have been unimaginable otherwise. Training partners the academy did offer as replacements now that the ones we had previously were all now dead, but the offer in itself was a moot point given our reluctance to expose ourself to further scrutiny. Yet that didn’t mean attending the academy was destined to be a waste of time. Our goal here was simple: Intelligence exfiltration.

Whispers ran amok and numerous eyes waxed over our groomed form as we crossed the threshold into the classroom. For a few seconds, the mutterings continued, slowly pittering until an uncomfortable silence finally descended on the class. Our gaze panned around at the gathered assortment of children, noble and peasant-born alike, as we carefully catalogued each and every one of them, sorting and ranking by estimated importance and potential. Most names we did not know, having never bothered to find out in the first place. They were just that unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Now? Not so much. A few were rather easy to deduce though; one Hyuga, an Inuzuka, an Akimichi, and an Aburame.

Our gaze subtly increased in intensity as we glanced at the instructors in front of the class. As usual, the two had snuck in while the students were distracted. “Ahem,” the one to the left with a scar across his face said, clearing his throat as we made our way towards a vacant bench. “Uchiha-san, I am glad to see you back here with us. For the duration of your stay here at the academy, I will continue to be your homeroom teacher and he would be my assistant”—the scarred one gestured towards his grey-haired partner. “As before, you can refer to us as Iruka-sensei and Mizuki-sensei respectively, or simply, sensei. Understood?”

We let the question hang in the air for a few awkward moments as we took our time to settle in before replying with a curt nod. “...Yes. Sensei.”

“...Good. Now, if you don’t mind, please reintroduce yourself to the class.”

Our gaze panned around once more at the students observing in silence, not once pausing on a single figure. They all knew who we were. There was not one student who could claim to be ignorant of our identity. “Uchiha,” we said simply, letting the weight of the word permeate the atmosphere as we turned to look out the window.

“Sasuke Uchiha.”