Madara Uchiha.
A severed arm!
Itachi stared in shock at the hand still twitching on the ground.
What truly sent chills down his spine, however, was the arm's unnatural color—an eerie, deathly white.
That agonized scream moments earlier had made everyone's blood run cold.
It wasn't Madara Uchiha's usual deep tone, but a shrill, piercing wail.
"What are you screaming for?"
Stepping back, Obito's eyes under the mask were cold.
The source of that voice was the other half of his body—the White Zetsu that formed part of his mask.
Its name was Tobi.
"Obito, go. Quickly."
Too weak to joke as usual, Tobi forced out those four words before falling silent.
Go?
Obito frowned.
His arm had been severed, but it didn't really matter.
He was confident that even if the fight dragged on, those two brats still wouldn't be his match.
After all, that arm hadn't truly belonged to him.
Even after all the pain he'd endured, he was still just a teenager—the same age as Kakashi.
Competitive?
No. He wanted to kill the two standing before him, who mirrored his own reflection.
Just like Kakashi, he too felt an uncanny sense of familiarity.
That sickening feeling always dragged him back into his memories—something he desperately tried to reject and cut away.
But Zetsu's words forced him to set those thoughts aside for now.
Taking a deep breath, his body began to slowly fade away.
"Hakken Yoru, Itachi Uchiha."
"I look forward to our next meeting."
His figure flickered—and in the next moment, he was standing inside a dim, shadowy cave.
The mask split open, and the weakened Tobi collapsed to the ground like a pile of sludge.
"It's just a severed arm. How could something like you even feel pain?"
Casting a cold glance at the ruined body, Obito spoke icily.
"You don't understand."
Tobi slumped against the floor, his voice faint.
"That slash just now… it wasn't the same kind of pain as before."
"Besides the normal pain I should've felt, it was like… how do I put it…"
The not-so-bright Tobi rubbed his temples in frustration.
"It felt like… I was still inside my body, but something was dragging me out of it."
"In that moment, it was as if I was being torn straight out of myself."
"What was it called again… right, the soul!"
"My soul—it was pulled."
Pulled out of his body?
Obito's expression hardened. "Are you sure? That feeling?"
"I knew you wouldn't believe me."
Tobi shook his head, casually summoning another White Zetsu specimen from the ground and reattaching his arm right in front of Obito.
Normally, it should have regenerated completely by now.
But this time, it just hung limply at his side—lifeless and numb.
"I hate to admit it, but I'm sure. My arm's soul was severed along with it."
"His blade… there's something wrong with it!"
The soul was severed?
For a moment, Obito was stunned.
A blade that could cut souls?
Tobi had no reason to lie.
That meant the opponent's weapon was indeed extraordinary.
Suddenly, cold sweat ran down Obito's back.
If that brat had struck him instead of Tobi, who had been fused with his body… what would have happened?
He'd already lost half of himself—his ruined body rebuilt from White Zetsu and the First Hokage's cells. If he lost control of even one more limb…
That eerie brat…
He could attack the soul itself!
Hakken Yoru.
Not only was his power formidable, but he also knew about the Moon's Eye Plan.
Could his existence become a threat to the project?
In an instant, countless thoughts raced through Obito's mind.
A single brat—yet such a headache.
Frowning, Obito looked down at Tobi on the floor. "Keep him under watch. Don't let him slip."
...
The sword was indeed special.
But the only one in the world who understood its mysteries was Hakken Yoru himself.
In anyone else's hands, that blade would appear completely ordinary—it wouldn't even release the spiritual pressure a Zanpakutō should have.
So the problem wasn't the sword.
It was the one who wielded it.
"I am a Shinigami, after all."
On the path leading to the Land of Hot Water, Hakken sipped his sake.
Beside him, Itachi carefully wrapped the bandages around his injured palm.
The battle had just ended, yet the heavens showed no mercy. As if trying to wash away the blood of their journey, a fine drizzle began to fall.
In the distance, the two genin wore blank, bewildered expressions. After this mission, their faith in the way of the ninja had likely shattered completely.
They would finally understand how dangerous this profession truly was.
Even a mere C-rank mission could take their lives if they lacked the strength to endure it.
"Itachi, your eyes."
Hakken flexed his newly bandaged hand. Though it was the second time he'd been injured that day, he had already grown used to the pain.
It was Itachi, however...
The fresh blood trailing from the grooves beneath his eyes told Hakken enough.
"Yeah. Sharingan."
A flicker of melancholy and sorrow crossed Itachi's face.
Unlike most who simply obtained power, he couldn't help but question why this power had come to him—and what it brought along with it.
Tap.
Hakken's finger flicked his forehead, making Itachi flinch in pain.
"Hey, you're still alive."
"I'm still alive too."
"Remember, you opened your eyes for me."
Hakken rose, slinging his sword over his shoulder as he strode forward with easy confidence. In Itachi's eyes, only that departing figure remained.
Remember, you opened your eyes for me.
The confusion in his heart was gone.
In its place was only resolve.
Compared to Hakken...
I'm still far too lacking.
...
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