The evening sky above Konoha was draped in a heavy, slate-gray blanket of dark clouds. A soft, persistent drizzle fell over the village, slicking the soot and ash that covered the devastated streets.
Hundreds of shinobi and civilians gathered around the central memorial site, dressed in formal black robes. The atmosphere was stifling—thick with the scent of wet stone, burning incense, and unexpressed grief. White lilies surrounded the massive wooden-framed photographs of Minato Namikaze, Kushina Uzumaki, and the dozens of shinobi who had sacrificed their lives to hold back the Nine-Tails.
Akira stood quietly near the rear edge of the Hyūga clan delegation. His elders stood erect, expressions stoic and unreadable, maintaining the rigid dignity expected of the Byakugan lineage. Akira preferred staying in the shadows near the back, keeping his presence minimal while casually watching the crowd.
As Lord Hiruzen Sarutobi stepped forward to give his solemn eulogy, Akira felt a faint tug on his senses. Looking toward the Uchiha section of the crowd—who were intentionally sequestered off to one side under the cold, watchful eyes of the Anbu—he spotted a small figure shivering under the light rain.
It was the six-year-old girl he had saved the night before.
She was kneeling in front of two freshly laid black marble markers, weeping quietly with her face buried in her small hands. Her dark hair was soaked, sticking to her face, and her shoulders trembled uncontrollably with every ragged breath.
Akira's eyes narrowed slightly as he recalled the details from the previous night.
"The woman I pulled from the rubble... and her husband with the six-tomoe Monkeykill Sharingan..." Akira thought, his heart remaining cool and pragmatic. "That was her family."
He recognized her fully now. Her name was Uchiha Izumi, a girl the exact same age as him. In the original timeline, her intense emotional grief during the Nine-Tails attack was the exact catalyst that caused her to skip the initial stages and awaken a fully developed multi-tomoe Sharingan straight away.
Feeling bored by the long-winded speeches, Akira stepped away from the back line of the Hyūga formation, slipping toward the tree line where the crowd thinned out.
Izumi wiped her swollen eyes with her sleeve and stepped away from the crowd, stumbling slightly as she tried to catch her breath near a stone lantern. She looked up, her tear-stained eyes widening as they landed on Akira.
Despite his black funeral attire, she recognized his face instantly—the pale, distinct eyes, the calm demeanor, and the exact same six-year-old boy who had snatched her from beneath a falling boulder just hours ago.
"You..." Izumi whispered, her voice raspy from crying. "It's you..."
Akira stopped a few paces away, his hands tucked inside his wide sleeves, his expression entirely aloof and indifferent. "Do I know you?"
Izumi blinked, taken aback by his blunt, icy tone. "W-What? Last night—in the Uchiha district! You saved me from the boulder... you carried me to Itachi!"
Akira didn't bother to soften his gaze, staring right past her. "You have the wrong person. The Hyūga were deployed strictly on the western perimeter last night. I didn't step foot in Uchiha territory."
"No! That's impossible!" Izumi insisted, stepping closer, her voice shaking with desperation. "It was you! Your face, your eyes... Please don't lie to me!"
Akira let out a quiet, dismissive sigh, completely bored by her emotional display. "It was a dark, chaotic night. Shinobi were moving everywhere. People imagine things when they're panicked. Go back to your clan."
Izumi stared at his cold face, tears spilling over her cheeks again as she clutched her black collar. "My... my father is gone," she choked out. "He died under our house trying to protect my mother... My mother woke up in the hospital, but my father... he never came back."
Akira remained entirely unbothered, his face a mask of total apathy.
"Her father... the man who unlocked the six-tomoe Monkeykill Sharingan in his final moments just to beg me to save his wife..." Akira thought impassively. "He died protecting them, leaving his power buried in the dark."
"People die in beast attacks," Akira stated plainly, his tone devoid of any sympathy. "That's just how it is."
Before Izumi could react to his harsh words, Itachi stepped out from the nearby shadow of the trees, holding an umbrella over baby Sasuke. His dark eyes flicked sharply between Izumi and Akira.
"Izumi," Itachi called out calmly. "The service is concluding. We should head back."
Izumi looked back at Akira one last time, her eyes filled with confusion, hurt, and unsaid questions. "My name is Izumi..." she murmured softly toward him. "Uchiha Izumi."
Akira didn't bother responding, simply turning his back on her before she even finished speaking.
As Itachi guided the weeping girl away, his dark gaze lingered on Akira's retreating posture for a long second. "He claims he wasn't there... but his chakra signature matches the boy from last night. Why is he acting so cold and distant?"
As the crowd slowly dispersed under the dimming twilight, Akira took a long, circuitous route back home through the devastated market and residential ruins, completely ignoring the mournful whispers around him.
He walked at a leisure pace, looking around with mild curiosity. As he passed through quiet back alleys and fallen wooden structures, his Byakugan flickered beneath his eyelids.
Spotting the small wooden crates he had placed days prior, he effortlessly retrieved his hidden Chakra Sealing Bowls.
One by one, he picked up the small porcelain vessels. Through his dōjutsu, he could see the dense, dark orange Kyūbi chakra completely locked tight inside the sealing matrices, looking like thick, glowing liquid amber.
He slipped each sealed bowl discreetly into his canvas bag, ensuring no Anbu patrols or clan sensors noticed his movements in the dark.
By the time he reached the front gate of his home, he had successfully recovered four fully saturated sealing bowls without raising a single shred of suspicion.
Entering his house, Akira locked the door behind him, tossed his bag onto the table, and let out a long, quiet breath into the empty, dark hallway.