Dawn slowly breathed life back into Dosei City after a long, deep night.
A pale blue light stretched across the horizon, gently outlining the mountains as the first hints of morning sun emerged.
As the morning glow spilled over, bright sunlight gradually washed away the darkness from the entire city. People opened their doors, vendors and shops that had vanished the night before reappeared on the streets, and once the heavy city gates swung open, the lingering travelers and newcomers, horses, carts, cattle, and sheep, began bustling in and out once more.
By eight or nine o'clock, the commercial district was already lively, with most food stalls open for business. Meanwhile, Logan, who had stayed up all night, sat slumped in a dessert shop.
"Ugh, seriously… who eats sweets this early in the morning? What kind of madness is this..."
Outside the shop, steam billowed energetically from stacked bamboo steamers as the middle-aged owner, a cloth tied around his head, worked busily. But inside, there were hardly any customers.
Slouched in a corner, Logan propped his chin on his hand, staring listlessly at the two plates on the table.
One plate was already empty. The other still has two skewers of three-colored dango on it.
The seat opposite him should have been occupied… a pair of used chopsticks rested on the edge of the white porcelain plate. It hadn't been long since Itachi had bid farewell and left.
[Authentic Three-Colored Dango! Mastered by the shop owner over ten years of training… passed down from Konohagakure!]
The bold red print on the wall beside him was impossible to miss. It was also the reason Itachi had spotted this place immediately while dragging Logan around earlier.
"Senpai, let's eat this."
So there is the current scene.
"What's so great about it?" Logan rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the fatigue of staying up all night.
With his physical condition, lack of sleep was nothing. By the standards of internet-addicted weaklings, if he really put his mind to it, he could pull all-nighters until he ascended immortality.
But right now, something else was weighing on him, souring his mood.
The surrounding seats were empty, a stark contrast to the lively shouts and calls of vendors outside.
'Seriously… who in their right mind eats this stuff at this hour? I'd rather have sweet tofu pudding.' Logan grumbled inwardly.
Last night, he and Itachi had eaten late into the early hours, then talked outside the city until nearly dawn. Both of them were men consumed by their own paths. One unwavering in his devotion to the village and his brother, even unto death, while the other chasing the means to cross worlds, shuttling between two lives.
And yet, amid their separate journeys, their lives had briefly intersected in September, pausing for this rare moment.
To be honest, this little 'get-together' had been… nice.
But unfortunately, when it came to Sasuke, Logan's hope of persuading Itachi to abandon his cruel, tragic final battle, and to choose a gentler path, had failed. They hadn't reached an agreement.
Itachi's words after hearing Logan out, spoken with rare sincerity, still echoed in his mind.
"The source of my strength… is here."
Logan had laid everything out plainly, and Itachi had responded with even greater clarity. It was a heartfelt confession, an unshakable conviction, and in doing so, he had sealed his resolve, placing it above all else in this world.
So even after that, when Logan had tried again to persuade him, he knew deep down it was futile. Words felt hollow in the face of such determination.
Helpless. Unable to agree, yet somehow understanding. The frustration sat heavily in Logan's chest.
Bright sunlight streamed in, casting dappled patterns at the shop's entrance. He stared at the empty skewers, as if lost in time, "Looks like trying to reason with him properly, hoping for some miracle… was a failure after all..."
He sighed. But Logan wasn't one to give up so easily. There were other plans.
An hour ago, they had ordered two plates of three-colored dango. Itachi had eaten most of them before, for various complicated reasons, announcing that he couldn't stay much longer.
Now that he had spoken his mind and settled things with his senior, it was safer for him to leave.
Logan had wanted to keep him around, saying things like, 'Come on, guys have their moods too. Why not relax and have some fun together?'. But he knew how tightly Akatsuki kept watch. And the ever-disciplined Itachi had made his decision. There was no stopping him.
The streets thrived, and Dosei City welcomed yet another new day. It was as if nothing had changed, as if nothing had been left behind. The abruptness of the farewell left a faint sense of unreality hanging in the air.
Only the remaining three-colored dango on the plate proved that the other had ever been there.
Itachi liked three-colored dango. He used to like it, not because it was particularly delicious, but because the habit had remained.
Itachi hadn't said anything while eating, but Logan knew that this was probably one of the few innocent memories Itachi had left from Konoha.
'Wanting to eat this before leaving meant his mood wasn't too bad...'
'But it was of no use and had little to do with me. I am in a bad mood.'
Grabbing the two skewers of dango, Logan stuffed them into his mouth as if taking out his frustration on the food. His eyes flicked to the slogan on the wall again.
'Authentic… It's just sweet and sticky. What's so 'authentic' about it? If I looked it up on the Internet, I could probably make something better.'
With a scoff, Logan strode out of the shop in disdain.
Itachi had left first, so there was no reason for him to linger in Dosei City either. He'd said it many times… in the Land of Fire, carelessly showing his face was practically a crime.
With his hands in his pockets, Logan walked for a while, considering his next move.
His initial decision to seek out Itachi first was because they had a good relationship. Itachi was calm and rational, making it easier to discuss the Uchiha Clan's affairs without things escalating. Besides, at this point, Sasuke was still training in Orochimaru's hideout, which was not appropriate for him to visit.
'But now, since I couldn't persuade the older brother…' Logan exhaled sharply, 'That meant I had no choice but to go after the younger one.'
He raised his head, squinting at the vibrant morning sun, and fragments of conversation floated through his mind.
Last night, when it became clear persuasion was useless, Logan, who is annoyed and unable to do anything about Itachi's stubbornness, had just sat there in silence until the sky began to lighten.
In that stiff quiet, he'd muttered offhandedly.
…
"Hey… aren't you worried Sasuke might just die under Orochimaru's care?"
Itachi, who was sitting silently beside him in the dark, had answered in a way that made Logan pause.
"He is a man from the Uchiha Clan."
"It's just a mere Orochimaru, especially in his current broken state, won't be enough to hold him. I've fought him myself. I have faith."
The calm certainty in his voice carried a trace of quiet pride.
…
That was what Itachi had said.
Pulling his cloak tighter to block the sunlight, Logan clicked his tongue.
"What a troublesome family. Even now, it still has to be life or death..."
He headed toward the city walls, or more accurately, the nearest section he could scale.
Truthfully, convincing Sasuke would be even harder. There was a good chance they'd end up fighting within minutes of meeting. After all, when it came to reckless bloodlust, Sasuke was no less hotheaded than Naruto.
But he had to try. Do what he could. If even that failed in the end… Logan pressed his lips together, the Divine Bird's mark on the back of his left hand flickering faintly.
…
At the northern border of the Land of Fire, Itachi's figure flashed through the dense forest.
Thud.
At some point, he was forced to stop.
After changing into the black robe with red clouds pattern, Itachi stood atop a thick branch, the white straps of his cloak fluttering slightly. His dark eyes sharpened instantly.
In front of him, a man with a spiral-patterned mask waved cheerfully.
"Yo."
The wooden skewer fell to the ground, forgotten.