Itachi Uchiha's son Shinra Uchiha

The moment Shinra left the hidden clearing where Itachi had sent him, the world felt slightly askew. The air was the same—the cedar-scented breeze drifting through the trees—but something inside him hummed with warning.

"Itachi-san says this is vital intel," he murmured to himself, tapping his pulse to tune into chakra. The mission was simple: to follow a lone messenger into the heart of Rain Country, record his route and report back. No hidden threat, no complexity, nothing that would push Shinra beyond basic reconnaissance. Yet it felt too easy.

He adjusted the rough cloak Itachi had given him, tightening the sash around his waist and checking the small scroll tucked into his sleeve. The cloak hid his frame, and the scroll detailed the messenger's path. It was boring—but it was a mission And more than that, assigned by Itachi. So obedience had weight.

Stepping into the underbrush, Shinra watched the messenger from a distance as he moved easily through the trees. Rain Country's tall pines shot up like silent sentinels while gravel crunched underfoot and mist soaked his boots. No chasing, no fighting, no whispering winds carrying urgent warnings. Just… tranquility.

At the river's edge, the messenger paused. Shinra flicked chakra through his senses to take mental notes: distance markers, guard posts, lantern positions. He recorded each detail carefully. If this was all Itachi asked… fine. But when the messenger turned and left down a side trail, Shinra hesitated.

Why not follow him further? More intel wouldn't hurt.

Why send me on something so mild?

The silence was his answer. A peaceful calm so deep it screamed. It's too quiet. Shinra shook his head and spurred forward, instincts kicking in.

By sunset, he had mapped every bend and waypoint. Time to go home, he thought—but as he retraced his steps, the underbrush looked less familiar. Every fluttering leaf snapped like a heartbeat. Every distant birdcall landed wrong. Shadows lurked just beyond vision, as though watching him.

He knelt on a mossy log and closed his eyes. Itachi's words came back: Protection and instruction are two sides of the same coin.

Shinra inhaled, studied his palm chakra, recited Itachi's code of discipline. But the uneasy knot in his chest remained.

He had finished the mission. Nothing unexpected. No hostile threats. So why had Itachi given him such an easy task? Why require it at all?

He breathed. He walked.

Rain followed him as night crept into the trees. Raindrops tapped his hood. Shoots of moonlight drifted through branches, bright beams cutting through darkness. He kept moving, heart humming with tension.

Then, in a hush, he sensed distant chakra.

Not one signature. Two.

Trembling, he crouched behind a fallen pine. Eyes scanning.

When lightning flashed, he saw them: identical robes, identical swords, identical stances facing each other in grave stillness.

Itachi and Sasuke.

His heart hammered. Breath left his lungs. Painful stillness pressed on him like glass.

They were locked—chakra spilling forward, electric and alive. Only moments between. Shinra struggled to breathe.

Itachi's form glowed with fiery red Susano'o armor, blade drawn. Sasuke's lightning chakra crackled viciously in his hand—Taka's robes soaked with rain.

Shinra swallowed. Too late to run—not fast enough, far too close.

The exchange started quietly: two sets of footsteps. Then the world erupted.

Thunder from Susano'o's sword against Sasuke's lightning jutsu. Ground cracked under impact. Wood splintered. Rain sang in the air like shards of ice.

Shinra blinked. His chest tightened with grief.

They moved in perfect symmetry. Itachi's stance was calm, determined—and exhausted. Sasuke's charge was driven, desperate.

A single blow from Susano'o shattered lightning. A cry from Sasuke echoed.

And then—

A sudden surge of energy surged from Shinra's chest. Heart felt like it cracked wide open. Tears filled his eyes as he watched Itachi absorb torment like a shield.

Shinra's vision blurred. He saw Itachi's figure collapse—Susano'o shattered—and Sasuke towering over him.

A blade of lightning struck—it hit Itachi's chest. Red bloomed.

Itachi fell.

Shinra emitted a sudden roar: "Itachi-s…!"

The call ripped through the rain, heavy with grief. Instantly, he felt fire ignite in his eyes.

His Sharingan awakened—bright red heat spreading across his vision. Three tomoe spun in perfect circles.

He staggered—chest tight, breathing faltering.

And then—

He blacked out.

He woke to unfamiliar voices. Blurry figures around him. Rain stung his cheeks. His chest heaved—breath ragged. Panic fluttered in his chest when he realized his eyes were no longer burning red. The Sharingan had disappeared.

He sat up—too fast. Sharp nausea hit.

"H kop… calm," murmured a voice. Warm hands steadied him.

Shinra squinted. A blonde flurry of hair. Blue eyes like endless sky. Leaf crest on the headband.

"How are....you?" he muttered.

The voice tightened. "Naruto!"

Naruto Uzumaki—older, calmer, hands still on Shinra's shoulders.

Flanking him, silhouettes: Kakashi Hatake, Yamato, maybe Sai.

They surrounded him, tense but unarmed.

Shinra's heart raced. "What… what happened to Itachi? What about Sasuke?"

Naruto looked away. "We can't… talk about that yet."

Naruto's expression was unreadable.

Shinra stood unsteadily, robes soaked, cloaked left open revealing his plain garb.

"Who are you?" Kakashi asked, voice clipped and careful.

Shinra blinked. "Shinra… I'm Shinra."

He looked down then up, body trembling with grief and confusion.

Naruto stepped forward. "Come with us," he said softly. "We'll figure it out."