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Keeping a twenty-meter gap, he moved silently hopping from tree to tree, his Sharingan scanning for unusual chakra flow or concealed weaponry. The boy didn't look back once, but Itachi noticed small changes... a brief tightening of the shoulders, a subtle shift of head angle as if listening for pursuit. He's keeping aware of his surroundings… even in this condition. Interesting. I would have rushed to finish the mission but he could leave this boy to the supposed pursuiters.
The minutes stretched. The forest deepened, and the boy's pace grew even slower, until his feet seemed to drag across the dirt. His breaths became audible... shallow, uneven.
Then it happened.
The boy's knees buckled, and with a dull thud, he collapsed onto the trail. Dust puffed up around him, carried off by the evening wind.
Itachi remained where he was, watching for several long seconds. No sudden movements, no hidden accomplices springing from the trees. The boy lay still, his small chest rising and falling in faint motion.
Finally, Itachi stepped out.
He approached in silence, every footstep measured, kunai already in hand but angled low. He crouched beside the body, his gaze sweeping the surroundings one more time before focusing on the fallen child.
The boy's head was turned away, the hair matted with dirt and sweat. Bandages wrapped his hands completely, stained dark with old and fresh blood. His breathing was uneven, shallow, but steady enough to suggest he wasn't on the brink of death.
Without a word, Itachi shifted the boy gently, rolling him onto his back. The boy's face was still hidden beneath a downward tilt of his head, but Itachi's eyes moved to his waist.
A small pouch.
Itachi loosened it carefully and checked its contents: a dozen kunai, a paper bomb folded tight, and a basic summoning scroll the kind that could hold small tools or messages. Nothing elaborate.
Odd. A child with shinobi tools, but not enough to suggest he's on a formal mission.
He confiscated the pouch, slipping it into his own pack. Then, in practiced motion, he checked for concealed items... sewn pockets, hidden wire, poison capsules tucked into clothing hems. Nothing.
Finally, his gaze returned to the boy's face.
The head was still angled downward, so Itachi shifted his position, crouching lower to see better. That was when he noticed the bandages over the eyes... white, though now streaked with drying blood.
A slight unease stirred in him.
Eye injuries. For a shinobi child, that could mean a great deal.
Reaching forward, he hesitated for a brief second. Then, with a careful motion, he lifted the stained bandage just enough to see beneath.
His breath caught.
A green mark, etched into the skin on his forehead, faintly glowing in the dim light. This was deliberate... a seal.
The pale skin, the faint outline of the eyes beneath... even without the seal's presence, the truth was obvious. This boy was Hyuga.
And not just Hyuga.. young. Far younger than any Hyuga he had seen outside the village on legitimate business.
For an instant, the urgency of his mission wavered in the back of his mind. That sense of cold professionalism... the part of him that weighed every action against its impact on the mission... was suddenly at odds with another instinct: camaraderie.
This boy could be a comrade. A Konoha shinobi-in-training.
Itachi lowered the bandage back into place.
He exhaled slowly, assessing the boy's condition with new eyes. Burn injuries on both hands and a broken ribcage, possible blindness or at least partial vision impairment from the overuse of his eyes, exhaustion to the point of collapse. No visible external bleeding besides the bandage staining and a broken rib.
Itachi straightened.
Leaving the boy here meant leaving him to die... either from his wounds or to whatever enemy had already harmed him. But taking him meant slowing down. Every hour lost in delivering the evidence increased the risk of coup fastening, or of Konoha making a move without knowing the full picture.
His gaze moved once more to the boy's small form lying in the dirt. And he made the decision.
Evidence was vital, yes - but so was a life. Especially the life of someone who might have been targeted precisely because of their clan. If the boy was connected to the situation Itachi had just uncovered… then this was no coincidence.
With that, he crouched again, sliding one arm beneath the boy's knees and the other under his back. The boy was light frighteningly so, like carrying a bundle of cloth rather than a living person.
Itachi adjusted his pack, securing the evidence tighter against his side, and set off again... faster now, but with a different priority shaping his steps.
#80
The rain fell in a steady rhythm outside, hammering against the leaves and rocks. In the cave, the air was damp, filled with the faint scent of wet soil and smoke from a small fire that burned low in the center. Shadows danced across the stone walls, flickering and stretching as if alive.
Neji stirred.
His eyelids fluttered open, the first sight he caught a blur of red light swirling in the eyes of a silhouette. His body tensed, a small jolt of panic rushing through his battered form. For a moment he thought it was the afterimage of flames still consuming him... but no, it was different.
Three tomoe.
A pair of Sharingan spun slowly, studying him with the patience of a hawk circling its prey.
"…Aw… hmm…" The sound rasped out of Neji's throat, broken, hoarse.
He tried to move, but his arms gave no response. The bandages wound around his charred hands were crude, but functional. He could feel the stiff tightness of medicinal salve pressed against his burns. His chest rose and fell with shallow effort, every breath tasting of iron. A searing pain from the side of his chest where the bone was poking.
A voice broke the silence. Calm, low, deliberate.
"Are you able to speak? Why is a Hyuga child this far from the village?"
Neji blinked, his vision still blurred from the blood crusted near his eyelids. But the boy before him was unmistakable.... younger than expected. Black hair, pale skin, the Uchiha crest faintly visible on his clothes.
Itachi Uchiha.
Not just anyone... the prodigy. The whispered name in the Hyuga compound, spoken with equal measures of envy and awe. A boy who embodied the "Will of Fire" preached by the elders, already serving in the ANBU at only eleven years of age.
Neji's throat burned as he tried again. This time, sound came out, rough but clear enough to form words.
"I… am Neji Hyuga." He paused, forcing weight into each syllable. "The son of the current Hyuga patriarch."
The declaration was intentional. A shield and a weapon both. He revealed not only his name but his political status. To deny it would be futile... Itachi had already seen his eyes, had seen the cursed green mark pressed upon them. Lies would break before the Sharingan. Truth, or at least a controlled version of it, was his only card.
The Sharingan tomoe slowed their rotation. Itachi tilted his head slightly, considering. His silence was sharp, measured, and Neji could almost feel the young boy's mind slicing through his words, dissecting tone, heartbeat, breath.
Finally, Itachi replied, his voice steady but carrying a faint hitch.
"I am Itachi Uchiha. The so- son o- of the curr-current Uch-Uchiha patriarch."
Neji blinked.
He hadn't expected Itachi to mirror the reveal so cleanly. It was unlike his future coldness... detached, efficient, void of excess. This was something else: a choice, deliberate vulnerability in return for vulnerability. He has not reached a point of no return, there is still a possibility.
"…Thank you, Itachi-dono." Neji forced a faint bow of his head, wincing as the motion pulled at the wounds along his neck. "For saving me. As gratitude… I would like to help you with anything you have in mind."
The words were bait, cast carefully into the silence. Trust was not built in a day, but threads could be spun from small gestures. If he could make Itachi believe they shared burdens as the heirs of two noble clans, perhaps they could become allies... or at the very least, Neji could prevent himself from being exposed once they returned to Konoha.
Itachi's eyes didn't waver. "Help me?"
"Yes," Neji rasped, nodding weakly. "We are not so different, you and I. Both heirs. Both trapped beneath the weight of our clans." He let the bitterness seep into his tone, a bitterness that was not false. "Since Hiashi-sama's death, my clan has… changed. My father Hizashi-sama, though branch head, has been forced to lead in his stead. It does not sit well with the elders and the members. A constant fight between main family not accepting my father and branch pushing their own agenda."
The words cracked slightly at the end, a mix of real resentment and carefully constructed bait.
For a long moment, the only sound was the rain outside, heavy and unrelenting.
Maybe he can understand my own suffering as the fellow heir of a noble clan like mine. Itachi finally spoke, his voice lower than before, almost thoughtful. "So you, too, bear the strain of clan divisions."
His eyes softened briefly. About 5-6 years old, almost same age as sasuke, yet carrying such a burden.
Neji's breath steadied. He had struck something.
Itachi looked into the fire, watching the embers glow. Then, after a pause, he asked quietly, "Neji… what do you think would happen if one of the main clans were to plan a coup against the village?" What has gotten into me, why am I asking a kid.
The words hung in the air, heavy, dangerous.
Neji felt his chest tighten. A test. A revelation. Perhaps both.
He could lie. He could feign ignorance. But the Sharingan across from him made such choices laughable. Instead, he measured his response carefully, tasting each word before it left his lips.