Chapter Text
Rain pellets struck the roof, sliding down onto the edges of the shingles and descending with a luminous glow. Mikoto quietly rocked back and forth in her wooden patio stool. The political climate of the Uchiha was worsening by the day, surveillance plaguing every corner of the once prosperous, stable clan. As a retired kunoichi with a two-year-old child, a sense of hopelessness enveloped her.
Fingertips grazed along the cherry blossoms on the side table. Damp, half withered, yet simultaneously beautiful. “How could I ever tell Fugaku I’m pregnant again?”
She pondered to herself. Itachi wasn’t a troublesome kid; he ate healthy, learned quicker than his peers, and didn’t cling or cry. However, being discharged from missions took an unusual toll on their finances. Their resources were tightening by the day, but the thought of putting it anywhere but home repulsed her heart. In times of hardship like this, she’d typically turn to Kushina.
“If only you were alive. Maybe, our babies could grow up together,” Mikoto muttered under her breath, gripping her nightgown. Gripping bunches of the damp fabric, she wrung out some rainwater. She’d dry soon enough. But now? It felt like a loathsome stain punishing her for her judgements.
She lowered her gaze, blinking steadily as if that could hinder the sting behind her eyes. “If you were here, you’d offer to tell him, wouldn’t you?”
One hand lingered on the armrest for support while she rose. Beyond the doorway, her husband was jotting down work-related notes with a fountain pen. Stress lines on his face had deepened by a tenfold since last month. Council members began pushing forms for him to fill out, administrators started denying him the better duties until he accepted the restrictions forced onto his clan, he’d be demoted back to a regular team commander if he refused compliance.
Being head of the clan came with all the complaints from the community, relentless demands, and no pleasantries. Fugaku wrapped his lips around his half-smoked cigarette. He rested his elbow on the edge of the table with a deep exhale.
It’s a challenge for Mikoto to keep a straight face. “Fugaku, can we talk?”
He didn’t glance up from his tattered paperwork, rolling the curled up tobacco between his teeth with a frown. “Later.”
Mikoto approached the desk, gently placing her hand over his writing. “It’s important.”
Fugaku nodded, almost absentmindedly. Mikoto perched herself upon the chair beside him, tapping her fingers against her knees. There was too much she coveted — a bigger family, a sudden miracle, the oppressed lifestyle banished. It was all for naught. A third tap on her leg poised the sentence.
“I know things are terrible,” Mikoto started. “I know we’re struggling, and we try to be careful but-”
“Are you-”
“I’m pregnant.”
Fugaku stubbed his cigarette against the glass tray, flames dissipating into fumes.
For a fleeting moment, even breath forsook him. Faint tension seized his muscles as he looked her directly in the eyes. The stoic expression he wore distilled into a shocked, albeit sorrowful one. He knew the reality of this situation better than anyone. The soft palm of his hand carded through Mikoto’s silky hair instinctively. Mikoto let herself melt into repetitive motion.
Something fragile warred within Fugaku. The optimistic part of him sought another child. Another part of him however, knew Konoha could be bitter, unyielding, and ruthless. Nonetheless, sitting around and waiting wasn’t in his vocabulary, he had to reassure his wife gently.
“We can make it work,” Fugaku insisted. “But… This child would be targeted. You see what happens to Itachi at school. The other parents tell their kids to stay away from him because he’s from a dangerous lineage.”
“I can only pray things will go back to the way they used to.”
Fugaku softly clasped her hand. “I wish I could tell you it would. Whatever happens, we’ll do this together.”
Mikoto’s melancholic gaze shifted to a grateful one, intertwining their fingertips.“Thank you.”
That night, rest seemed futile. Elusive as mist seeping through the forest. Minutes stretched into hours of silence with an occasional bird coo. She shifted beneath the silk sheets, new positions somehow felt increasingly more uncomfortable than the last. Thought after thought surfaced, the image plaguing the obliette of of her mind.
Her very own daughter or son being labeled vicious before it could talk, potentially developing the sharingan, inheriting her dream for the future becoming a better place. Deep down, a part of her knew it was a fatuous wish to believe in a better outcome. As long as the stereotypes and the assumptions of how the Uchiha retained their power existed, they’d never live free. Everything became jaded in the vilest way. Her eyes flickered open in fear, it took a few sleep-addled seconds to notice those familiar numbers on the clock. Time for Itachi to wake up for pre-school.
Each limb in Mikoto’s body ached while dragging herself upwards. Sluggishly sliding her feet off the bed and onto the floor, she groaned crudely, unbefitting of her typical attitude. Unruly strands of hair caught on the static of her robes. She clutched the curtains and loosely tugged them aside.
Breaths of exhaustion knocked out of her swifter than normal. She knocked at the door, voice wavering. “Itachi, wake up!”
“Okay.”
After getting dressed, he emerged from the bedroom. As usual he ate breakfast with the family. Luckily, Fugaku stepped in to make the eggs and toast. Itachi hummed to himself happily at the first nibble. Between bites, he innocently stared at Mikoto like he had something to say.
“So, my little man,” Fugaku joked despite everything. “What are you learning in school?”
Itachi nodded enthusiastically. “Books.”
Scrapes from the dull knife rasping against the plate overwhelmed the room. Fugaku slid Itachi’s dish towards himself, dicing the scrambled egg in rhythmic motions until they corresponded into petite square shaped slices. Itachi’s awestruck look wasn’t lost on him.
“Y’know, most kids your age don’t talk. Maybe you’ll grow up to be a genius like your old dad!” Fugaku ruffled his hair.
“Maybe.”
“This genius almost failed mathematics!” Mikoto teased.
Fugaku protested, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, that was only in grade school!”
She flashed that effervescent grin. “Still happened, can you believe he needed my help, honey?”
Itachi chuckled to himself. He finished his plate, standing up and hoisting his plain red backpack over his shoulder. The straps lifted up the sleeve of his T-shirt, unraveling a sight his parents dreaded from the moment he was born.
“Wait there mister,” Mikoto tugged him by the back of his collar. “What’s that on your arm?”
Itachi shook his head vehemently, covering the bruise with his hand.
“Who did that to you?” Fugaku pressed. “This is unacceptable!”
He peered at his unsullied shoes, the textured doormat beneath him — anything but having this conversation.
“Itachi, I’m not messing around.”
“Sensei.”
“You go for now. I have to get ready for work. I’ll certainly have a talk with him later.” Fugaku paused in sheer rage and disbelief. He rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”
“Okay.” Itachi hurried out the front door. Mikoto and Fugaku gave each other a knowing look. Although their son was gifted for his age, talented enough to start schooling early, that didn’t negate the fact authority figures should’ve been easier on him. Not harsher.
“It’s because-”
“I know.”
A ceaseless ruckus ensued as parents picked up their children from school. The head master stood between the pick-up area and the building. He sponsored clan education sporadically. Fugaku advanced closer, trying to contain the seething rage that flooded his veins through his clenched fists. Of course, the heir of the Hyuga clan could never understand.
“Why did you hit my son?” Fugaku inquired. Numerous parents shot glances that felt too accusatory for Hiashi to handle.
“Woah woah,” Hiashi put his hands up. “That’s not what happened at all!”
“Then explain.”
“Itachi here had a bit of a conniption yesterday with another classmate.” Hiashi leaned down to crumple his head, proving Itachi wasn’t frightened of him. “They called him a mean name and he was about to put hands on the boy, so my apprentice grabbed his arm to pull him away. I can assure you there was no ill intent, just defusing a situation.”
Fugaku shifted the toothpick in his mouth to the opposite side. “Really? What did he call him? My boy wouldn’t raise hands willy nilly.”
Hiashi leaned in to whisper. “They called him a dirty Uchiha, just kid insults.”
Slowly, red eyes cut up towards him and Hiashi swallowed at the heated glare. “That’s not just kid insults.” Fugaku refuted. “And you didn’t talk with the boy’s parents?”
“Well-” Hiashi attempted to continue. His dubious expression clarified enough.
“Let’s go, Itachi.”
Itachi sauntered back home, humming a tune. At least his hope wasn’t entirely shattered yet, but who’s to say another kid’s wouldn’t? Fugaku’s steps lacked the usual hurry to match Itachi’s. On a typical day, Fugaku would ask him how his evening went. This time? He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. Shafts of pale sunlight fractured through the buildings, highlighting Itachi’s unique Uchiha features. He pointed at the dango vendor on the way.
“Oh, are you hungry kiddo?” Fugaku peeked at his face, and was met with a subtle nod.
Fugaku pulled yen from his side pocket. “How much for one dango?”
The vendor veered, then noticed the clan crest on his arm. “Sorry, we’re actually out of stock.”
Itachi fiddled with his thumbs pensively. Dishonest individuals were always evolving, their words were completely believable if he wasn’t short enough to witness the three spare desserts through the glass panels. He never knew why he was the top contender for their deception. Usually, he’d play along to not escalate the tension. Instead, the bellowing in his stomach didn’t cease, enough for him to question the motive this time.
“But there’s one right-”
With that, Fugaku coaxed him away from the stand. “It’s alright, we can leave.”
To say he was disappointed would be an understatement. He drudged a foot through a shallow puddle while walking. “Why?”
“They reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.”
“I don’t…” Itachi trailed off. “I don’t understand why people don’t like me.”
Heaving a sigh, Fugaku was overcome with a realization. Itachi didn’t get it, he couldn’t get it. How do you explain to a toddler why people are scared of them? A look of disdain plastered on his face. “Not everyone is nice like you, unfortunately.”
Itachi folded one arm over the other. “Not fair!”
“The world isn’t always fair, but it’s what you create out of it that can make it beautiful.” He stared at the engravings of their crest on the district stone walls.
“What makes beautiful?” Itachi asked.
“Well, you can create goals for yourself to achieve, a new friend, maybe even a lover someday!” He quipped.
Itachi stiffened, mouth slightly ajar as he walked through the door. “Lover?”
“I’m just kidding, you’re too young for that.”
“What are you two boys chatting about?” Mikoto queried, hiding a coy grin. She finished her last weave, resting her knitting tools into an sizable ebony basket.
“Mom, mom!” Itachi exclaimed. “Guess what I learned!”
“We’ll talk later, okay?” Fugaku said. “Go to your room for now.”
“Aww,” Itachi pouted, then obliged. Toeing off his shoes, he made his way to his bedroom with a mandatory huff along the way.
Fugaku slanted his back onto the large facsimile. The right words elude him.
“Take your time,” Mikoto smiled.
“Another kid called him a dirty Uchiha, so the teacher had to separate them by force. Is this really the future we want for another?”
Her glee never faded so fast. “They did what? How does a kid his age even know what that means? Itachi is a few years younger, but still!”
“Probably repeating what they’ve heard. You know this opens up a bigger discussion we need to have. First the elders stopped speaking to us, then the anbu watching us, now this?”
Mikoto rested the family portrait on their counter in her lap. Her thumbs traced the frame, halting at the glass where the memory felt the strongest. Joy was permanent here. Mikoto pursed her lips, gathering the courage to whisper. “I don’t want to fail this child. What if something awful happens?”
“Something awful will definitely happen if it has our surname attached.” Fugaku embraced her, she winced at the suddenness before relaxing into his forearms. “Look, I don’t want to consider other options either, but things aren’t looking up from here. It probably wasn’t the first bruise. Just the first one he couldn’t hide.”
“Do I have to decide now?”
“Soon. Your stomach is already showing. I’ll ask the hokage for the best course of action, maybe he can help. We were good friends of Minato and Kushina.”
“Kushina was such a brave woman,” Mikoto muttered. “I wonder if she would be disappointed in me.”
Fugaku squeezes her shoulders. “Has she ever been disappointed in you?”
Mikoto knew Kushina admired her drive as a former kunoichi and how stable she was during her first pregnancy. She couldn’t possibly sell a falsehood on her name, regardless of the melancholic side of her saying she would be disheartened. “No.”
“I think she’d understand,” Fugaku replied.
Her hands clinched at the necklace Kushina had gifted to her long ago.
“Hey Mikoto, congratulations on the news!” Kushina exclaimed, brimming with excitement. She practically threw herself at Mikoto for a hug, then stifled backwards. “Sorry! I totally forgot you’re almost due, y’know?!”
“It’s alright,” Mikoto giggled. “The baby is fine. If it can’t handle a hug, it might be too delicate to adopt my ninja way!”
“Any name ideas yet?”
“He’s going to be nameless.”
Kushina gasped. “What?”
“You’re so gullible sometimes,” she playfully jested, nudging her arm. “We’re naming him Itachi.”
“Not cool pranking me, I got a gift for you and everything!”
Mikoto’s interest piqued. Her friend wasn’t the type to take presents lightly, she’d cherish a simple note as long as it harbored sentiment. “Really?”
She rummaged through her side bag. A traditional paper-bound novella, highlighted by its creased spine and brittled yellow pages. “Nothing flashy, but it helped me towards the later stages of pregnancy. It also has some newborn tips! It’s ancient looking, so that’s how you know it’s the real deal.”
“Thank you,” Mikoto bowed.
“One more thing.”
Kushina flipped her vermillion-hued hair to the side and untethered her necklace. An authentic silver chain embedded with a ruby pendant. Why give away something so valuable? It’d be a shame if she ever misplaced it.
“I’m entrusting this to you.”
An odd silence swept the desolate streets. No matter how fascinating Kushina was, she’d outdo herself over and over like it was clockwork. Going above and beyond for those she loved. Rumor had it, the second hokage declared the Uchiha love deeper than any other, but was it true if a person this pure existed?
“Kushina,” she whispered. “Why?”
Pride blossomed behind her ribs. “Because the truth is you were my first friend. You deserve a symbol of my gratitude at a time like this.”
The metallic feeling emulated a familiar warmth along her collarbones as she bestowed upon the hokage’s quarters. If her memory served correctly, this was the right hovel entrance up ahead. Papers were stacked to the point she could barely see Hiruzen, it almost rivaled Fugaku’s work space.
“You’d understand, Kushina. He’s right.”
“Good evening, lord third. I have a request.”
Hiruzen cleared his throat. “What brings you here?”
“The clan situation has been getting worse, I don’t want my child to experience the backlash of being born into the wrong circumstances. May I request a private delivery, as Kushina’s former friend.”
“I typically wouldn’t do this for an average civilian, but Kushina spoke about you quite positively. Do you have an alternate surname in mind?”
So much had been thought about in the past week, she barely considered it. “Perhaps… I could honor my late friends with her last name.”
“Uzumaki?”
“No, Namikaze. Her married name. I don’t want any clan name attached.”
Hiruzen rested his chin in his hand. “I suppose they’d approve of it if they were still alive. Though, it will only be used on paper. I shall grant your request under one condition.”
“Yes?”
“This child must be situated in an orphanage. Once it grows older, the community will figure out this secret too quickly if they reside with you.”
Mikoto’s hands gripped at her dress for purchase. Even selflessness came with a compromise. “What? Why not house them with someone?”
“In this political state, almost nobody is adopting children. Especially not one without a valuable kekkei genkai.”
Mikoto chewed at her bottom lip. She clamped her mouth shut for a brief moment, narrowed her eyes, and pointedly twisted her body away from Hiruzen to look out the closest window. “Can you reassure me this is a safe option?”
Hiruzen unlocks his cabinets, flicking through different files. He slides over a photograph of the small orphanage. “Nothing is a guarantee, but it’s certainly safer than a foster home or adoption. Those kids are shaped into tools, at least yours will have a chance at becoming more. Kushina’s son also lives there.”
The alternative option still pierced her soul to think about, but it was undeniably the lesser of two evils. “I can’t accept this yet, I’ll have my answer shortly.”
“In the meantime, I’ll have one of my most capable anbu to monitor you until the delivery date. He’s a medical ninjutsu expert.”
In a brief, sporadic outburst, an ominous man teleported into the room. Silver hair, body obscured by his heavy clothing, and a mask resembling a feline of sorts. Few idolize a hokage past their time, fewer would join the anbu black opps knowing their identity would be stripped. For a woman on the opposite side of everything, she had to admit the loyalty was impressive.
His voice sounded impartial and lacked natural flow from behind the mask. “Good evening, ma’am.”
Mikoto showed no reaction to his kindness. “May I see your license?”
His gloves covered up his legal name at the top before he presented it. The familiar tang of lamination solidified the card. He spoke, curt, plain. “Try not to draw unnecessary attention to yourself.”
Not a single breeze disturbed Mikoto on her aimless walk out. There was nothing out to ruffle the grass and foliage, nor to carve waves out of the water. She couldn’t hear the sounds of animals either; she had strolled until the noise of Konoha died down to nothing. In spite of the peace that came from such loneliness, her stomach hollowed just as empty as the blankness surrounding her.
Ten years thereafter.
Naruto cast a glance over his shoulder. “Sasuke, you comin’ for a walk?”
“Sure, there’s not much else to do here. Not even a deck of cards to pass time.” He swept his eyes over the bleak design of the orphanage before sliding into his shoes.
“Hurry up!” Naruto tugged Sasuke forward by his sleeve.
Twilight stretched indigo shadows across the surface of the nearby lake. Above it, a bridge connected the rural areas to the plaza. Sasuke’s wilful hair ruffled up further in the wind.
Entering into the busier parts of town, people dotted about in crowds, more so Naruto’s forte than Sasuke’s. Bright iconography from local businesses glimmered overhead like some tacky form of filling space. Dim lanterns strung out in uneven shapes, painfully dull, not like he had anything better for comparison. He counted them in his head while Naruto blabbed about his dream of being hokage. Until, Sasuke came to a sudden stop. What he saw in the distance made every fibre of his being itch with envy.
“Father, can I get this?” Hinata meekly asked.
She held up a poorly sewn teddy bear from the souvenir shop shelves. The oversized, button-like eyes were mismatched but undeniably adorable. Its chunky paws were wrapped tightly in fleece and thread. Hinata handled it with care, stroking behind the floppy ears like it already belonged to her.
Without an ounce of hesitation, Hiashi replied in a soft voice. “Of course you can, sweetie. Let me get my wallet.”
Sasuke clenched his fists. Some people had a home, a real home that wasn’t a facade of workers being paid by the hour to play pretend. They couldn’t even begin to comprehend how lucky they were.
“Hey, Sasuke, what's wrong? Keep movin’ or you’ll get trampled!” Naruto exclaimed. Then, he nudged him. “Oh, is it about that cute girl?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous.” Slowly, he put one foot in front of the other again. “Do you ever wish you had parents?”
“Uh, do you really have to ask me in public?” Naruto awkwardly laughed. He scratched his neck.
“It’s a yes or no question, just answer me.”
“Yeah,” Naruto replied. “I think about it more than you know.”
Sasuke tilted his head up, this conversation was becoming more uncomfortable than he expected. Imbuing a certain aura he’d never expected, the full moon rose. He let his skyward stare drown out the chatter. His story… Just as unexplainable, unreachable.
He changed topics, knowing he’d tear up if he thought about it too hard. “Hey Naruto, who are you off to see anyways? This is the first time I’ve seen you change your clothes in a week.”
“Old man Teuchi said he’d save me a bowl of ramen if I got there before closing!”
Sasuke begrudgingly sat down on the stool next to him. A large bowl of ramen was placed in front of Naruto, he’d never seen his expression this ebullient. Teuchi offered Sasuke a serving as well, and he waved his hand. He didn’t like being treated like a charity case, particularly by adults. Their pity felt insulting.
Naruto, on the other hand, gladly took freebies. “This is so good! Believe it!”
“I can believe it alright,” Sasuke murmured, a hint of sarcasm present.
Tarty, sour, and easy, noodles were a delicacy, Naruto would take no criticism on that. He gathered the thin strands into one big pile, shoveling every last drop into his mouth. The heavy gulp nearly made Sasuke gag. Sometimes, his friend couldn’t spare a modicum of decency.
“Hey, who’s that creepy looking guy training over there?” Naruto pointed.
Between the trees, a boy around their age practiced striking dart boards with kunai. Admittedly peculiar at this time of night. He leapt into the air with a disjointed grace, perfectly splintering every wooden panel straight down the middle, wood chips sticking out underneath the weapons. Impressive, but of course Naruto found it unsettling.
Sasuke huffed. “You think he’s up to no good?”
“Can you go check? Whoever it is, he’s totally ruining the mood!”
Sasuke got up. He knew Naruto wouldn’t stop pestering him until he agreed. Hiding his steps, he tried to get a good angle of the guy’s face. Damp hair clung to his cheeks and forehead, though it did little to hide the faint blotches of red on his face induced by the sweat. He examined closer. “Woah. He’s beautiful.”
The boy choked out something unintelligible before veering. “Who’s there?!”
Sasuke shook his head. “Nobody important, sorry for sneaking up on you. What’s your name?”
“Itachi.” He lowered his head. “Itachi Uchiha.”
“Why the shame in his own last name? Weird.”
“I’m Sasuke, mind showing me what you were doing? To be fair, you were the one who startled my friend during his sacred ramen time.”
A bizarre chuckle came over Itachi; that comment, it was so out of touch, yet clearly from the soul. “Did I now? Well, I apologize.”
Once Itachi ensured Sasuke wasn’t an enemy — lacking any malice, gear, or tools — he showed him his collection of kunai. The menagerie certainly had variety. Some handles were all sleeved with a thick padding, a few were dull, one even had a visible chip on its right edge.
“You must train a lot, huh?” Sasuke snagged one from his grip to inspect it closer. “You’re sort of cool.”
Itachi looked around. “No way. You’re messing with me!”
“I’m serious.” Sasuke ducked his head, noticing the thick burn mark on Itachi’s hand he was clearly trying to cover with equipment. “What’s that scar on your hand from?”
Itachi swiftly tugged his sleeve over it. “It’s nothing.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Can you show me that trick you did where you hit all the targets?”
“Alright, but I’ll warn you, people get frightened by my eyes.”
Itachi's eyes flashed into a crimson void, the three spirals within unfurling sharply. Unease colored his face. All these years, people tormented him for it, shouted meaningless insults at him from afar. If only they knew his beliefs weren’t instilled in anything harmful. He became a shinobi to make his father proud. Itachi held his breath, he knew what Sasuke would say, something ignorant like every other kid his age.
“It’s pretty.”
Itachi was baffled. “What? Can you — sorry, can you repeat that?”
“Your eyes are pretty, what’s that called?”
He looked away nervously, his cheeks turning just about the same hue as his eyes. “It’s called the sharingan.”
“Hey!” Naruto shouted from behind, grabbing Sasuke’s shoulders. “You’ve been talking to that guy forever, we have to get back before they lock the doors!”
Underneath Sasuke’s stoic, charismatic demeanour, he too harbored a fear of judgement. “Jeez, way to embarrass me, loser.”
“Well, I also happen to think you’re sort of cool,” Itachi replied with a gentle tone, almost sickeningly sweet. “I’ll see you around another time.”
Amid a strong voice in his head beckoning him to stay, Sasuke smiled and turned his back to him. An hour had passed since they left. The lingering scent of desserts and refreshments filled the townscape. Oh, how he yearned for the luxury of street food.
Naruto kicked a pebble. “So, I may or may not have lied to you…”
“What are you talking about?” Sasuke chided.
“I got you to talk to that guy so I could see that girl buying the stuffed toy! No doubt, she’s a little bit of an oddball, all quiet and mumbling, but I like it!”
“You’re unbelievable.” Sasuke looked back to where Itachi honed his skills, he had already disappeared. His brows ridged.