Crimson Gaze

The night was silent.  

Not the quiet of peace, but the stillness of a predator moving unseen. The moon hung high over Konoha, casting long, jagged shadows across the rooftops—shadows I melted into, my chakra suppressed to nothing.  

Danzo’s compound loomed ahead, a fortress disguised as a nobleman’s estate. He chose to live away from his clan, something that doomed him. If I'd run the risk of having to deal with all of the Shimura Clan, I'd have planned more. Instead, I just had to kill his little pets to secure my prey.

Pathetic. 

Root operatives lurked in the darkness, their presence as obvious to my Sharingan as ink on parchment. They were good. Better than most.  

But not good enough.  

The guard nearest me never saw it coming.  

One moment, he was scanning the perimeter. The next, my kunai slit his throat, my hand clamping over his mouth before he could gasp. I lowered his body gently, ensuring no sound.  

One down.

The second died with a senbon through the brainstem. The third, his neck snapped mid-turn.  

I moved like a ghost, like death itself. My Mangekyou pulsed, its power humming beneath my skin.  

By the time I reached Danzo’s door, twelve Root operatives were corpses, their bodies sealed away in Yomi—my personal abyss, where not even time would find them.  

No alarms. No cries for help.  

Just silence.  

Danzo sat at his desk, pouring over scrolls, his single visible eye narrowed in calculation. He didn’t look up as I stepped inside, clad in the outfit of one of his subordinates.

“Report,” he commanded, voice like gravel.  

I smiled. “Your men are dead.”  

His head snapped up, his eye widening—just for a fraction of a second—before his composure returned. Impressive.  

“Kagami Uchiha,” he said, as if tasting the name. “I wondered when one of you would come.”  

I tilted my head. “And yet you didn’t prepare.”  

A flicker of irritation. “What do you want?”  

Everything.  

My Mangekyou spun to life, crimson and black, the tomoe twisting into a new pattern.  

“Geas.”

Danzo stiffened. His eye dilated. His muscles locked. Blood leaked from my left eye and I wiped it away, looking at how he was unable to fight back at all.

Good.

“Hand over every scroll, every research note, every secret you’ve hoarded,” I ordered, my voice low, absolute.  

Like a puppet on strings, Danzo moved. He opened hidden compartments, unsealed forbidden archives, laid out scrolls filled with human experimentation, stolen kekkei genkai, and blackmail on half the village.  

I took it all. Every. Last. Word. My Sharingan ensured I didn't forget a single thing.

Then, I leaned in.  

“Now,” I whispered, “your money. Every ryō. Every hidden stash.”  

His jaw clenched, veins bulging in his forehead as he fought the compulsion—but resistance was futile. He handed over the keys, the codes, the locations. I even had 6 pairs of 3 tomoe Sharingan. Perfect. All of it went into Yomi, stored away for when I needed it.

A king’s ransom. A lifetime of stolen power.  

Mine now.  

I stepped back, surveying my work. Danzo stood rigid, sweat dripping down his face, his breath ragged.  

I met his eye and unwrapped his bandages, revealing a Sharingan. “My namesake’s Sharingan. I'll be taking it back, along with that arm of yours. Luckily, one of your little agents was a Shimura too, which means we have the perfect replacement so no one suspects you of doing anything illegal like using the first Hokage’s cells to create an arm for yourself. Now be a good boy and stay silent.” I giggled at his discomfort as I pulled out the corpse, beginning to cut away at his arm slowly and painfully. 

When it was finally done, I stored the arm away along with the eye, feeling lucky that Danzo hadn't reached a proficiency to break through my Genjutsu with his Mangekyou. I took a look at the man, his eye and arm had been replaced with the one belonging to the Shimura Root Agent I'd captured. I'd ensured I did suitable damage to both beforehand so that it fit his story of him being injured in the war. “Think of it as a gift, I might be taking everything from you but at least you'll die with your reputation intact. No one will ever know you were even a traitor.” He tried to speak, maybe spit out some justification. 

I refused to allow that. 

“Stop breathing.”  

His body obeyed.  

His chest stilled. His pulse slowed. His face twisted in silent, choking horror as his lungs refused to inflate. 

I watched, unblinking, as the light faded from his eye.  

Then, I turned away with a smile on my face.  

The shadow of Konoha was dead.  

And the night had never been quieter. 

Morning light spilled over Konoha, painting the village in gold. Everything seemed brighter now.

I stood outside the Academy, ready to take the tests to prove I was capable and should be allowed to graduate. I had a wide grin on my face, like a child excited to finally become an adult. Inside, my mind was a blade, honed and ready.  

Early graduation wasn’t rare for prodigies. Itachi had done it. I would too—though my reasons were far less patriotic. Early graduates had to pass an evaluation from the Hokage before they were allowed to officially become ninja, at least in peacetime.

The Hokage would see me today. I had no doubt about that. I had taken down multiple Jonin level opponents with ease. This? This would be a breeze.

And by the time I left his office, Konoha’s future would be rewritten.  

The news of Danzo's death was met with some cheers in the Uchiha clan. He'd always been there urging to reduce the clan’s power and they were pleased to hear about his death. The civilian sector didn't really care much, after all, so many heroes had already died. What was one old war hawk from a previous time? 

And his businesses fell into my hands, though I obviously used intermediaries and never kept my money in one account. Nor did I make any insane purchases yet. I needed a way to ensure that I could mix my real income with my illegal one. That required me to become a ninja since I could easily explain away my wealth with investments, bounty hunting and missions.

I stepped into the Academy, breathing in the air. The hall buzzed with nervous energy as our class lined up for the final evaluations. Whispers slithered through the air, “Did you hear? Kagami’s taking the early graduation exam.”

Let them talk.

I headed to the graduating class’s room, they were giving their own exams too, so I gave the exam with them.

The proctor slammed the scroll down on my desk. "You have one hour."  

I unsealed it—basic tactics, history, chakra theory. Child’s play.  

My pencil moved in a blur, filling in answers before the questions fully registered. The Sharingan’s perfect recall made this trivial.  

Five minutes in, I rolled the scroll shut and stood.  

The proctor blinked. "You’re… done?"  

I tossed it on his desk. "Check it yourself."  

He did. His eyebrows climbed higher with each page.  

"Full marks," he muttered. "Every answer is flawless." Behind me, I heard a pencil snap.

Next came Ninjutsu.

The fireball jutsu erupted from my lips in a roaring inferno, swallowing the target whole and leaving nothing but ashes. The heat made the instructors shield their faces.  

"Sage above—that’s jonin-level firepower!" 

Genjutsu.

I trapped three Chunin in a looping illusion without even using my Sharingan. They stood frozen, eyes glazed, until I released them with a snap of my fingers.  

One vomited.   

Stealth.

They gave me thirty seconds to hide in the training field.  

They never found me.  

(They didn’t think to check the shadow beneath their own feet.)

Finally Taijutsu.

The academy’s head combat instructor, Morita-sensei—a grizzled Chunin with two decades of experience cracked his knuckles. "Alright, hotshot. Let’s see if you can back up that arrogance."  

I rolled my shoulders. "Try not to cry when you lose."  

The other students oohed. Morita’s eye twitched.  

“BEGIN!" 

He lunged first—a textbook haymaker aimed at my jaw.  

I leaned back, letting his fist whistle past my nose.  

Too slow. I sparred with Gai and kept up with him. This was nothing.

My counter strike was a blur—a palm strike to his floating ribs. He gasped, stumbling, and I hooked his ankle with my foot.  

Morita hit the dirt hard, my kunai pressed to his throat before he could blink.  

Silence.  

Then—  

"Again," he snarled, scrambling up.  

We went three more rounds.  

He never touched me once.  

Finally came the verdict.

The proctors huddled together, whispering furiously. Finally, the head examiner stepped forward, holding out a gleaming forehead protector.  

"Kagami Uchiha—by unanimous decision, you pass with perfect scores." His voice dropped as he muttered something about Uchiha prodigies under his breath.

I tied the hitai-ate around my neck, protecting one of my most vital areas.

As the other students gaped, I turned toward the Hokage Tower.  

Now for the true exam. 

The Third Hokage would see me today.  

And by the time I left his office, Konoha’s future would be mine to mold.  

The receptionist was a pretty blonde, someone I'm sure was only employed because she was hot. Maybe she was actually a competent ninja though. That thought went down the drain when she let me in to meet the Hokage with no questions.

Disappointing.

The Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, looked every bit the kindly old man as he sat behind his desk, pipe smoke curling around him like a lazy serpent. His eyes, though, sharp and calculating, betrayed the mind of a man who had ruled for so long.  

"Kagami Uchiha," he said, voice warm. "Top of your class. Your instructors speak highly of your talent."  

I bowed, just enough to feign respect. "Thank you, Hokage-sama. I only wish to serve Konoha to the best of my ability. But…”

Now to cast the bait.   

I hesitated—just slightly, just enough to sell it, before lowering my voice. "I… have sensitive information. Something that could destabilize the village if it got out."  

His fingers stilled on his pipe. The ANBU at the edges of the room tensed imperceptibly.  

Hiruzen exhaled smoke. "What kind of information?"  

I glanced meaningfully at the ANBU.  

A beat. Then, he waved a hand. "Leave us."  

The masked figures vanished without protest.  

The door clicked shut.  

Silence.  

Hook, line and sinker.

I met the Hokage’s gaze—and let my Mangekyou flare to life.  

Hiruzen’s breath hitched. His hand twitched toward a seal—too slow.  

"Geas."  

His body locked. His pupils dilated. The pipe slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the desk.  

I didn’t blink. "You will listen. And you will obey. You will not take any action against me ever. You'll do your best to ensure I receive a Sensei perfectly suited to my talents who will help me grow stronger.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. Resistance.  

I leaned forward. "Fugaku Uchiha will be named your successor. You will publicly endorse him. You will dismantle any opposition. And you will do it fast. You don't want to end up like your dear one eyed friend do you?"  

His face contorted, veins bulging at his temples as the compulsion fought against a lifetime of willpower.  

But no one resisted for long.  

Slowly, his shoulders relaxed. His breathing evened.  

The fight was over.  

I stepped back, releasing the Geas just enough to let him speak.  

Hiruzen’s voice was hollow. "…Why?"  

"Because Konoha needs unity," I said smoothly. "Because the Uchiha are not your enemies. And because I will not let this village tear itself apart. I will become what Danzo wishes he was, the true puppet master.”

His eyes were glazed, but his mind was still there—trapped, screaming behind the bars of my command.  

Good. Let him understand. Let him fear.  

I turned toward the window, where the Hokage Monument loomed over the village. "Call the council. Today. Make the announcement. You are not allowed to reveal what occurred today to anyone."  

A pause. Then, the rustle of robes as he reached for a scroll. I took a tissue and wiped my eye with it, cleaning it of the blood from using my Mangekyou.

"Yes," he murmured. "Fugaku… will be Hokage."  

I smiled and left with my forehead protector gleaming. The Anbu outside the room didn't even take a second look at me.

Idiots.

The smoky aroma of sizzling meat hit me the second we pushed through the doors of Akimichi BBQ. Around us, the chatter of shinobi and civilians alike filled the air, clashing with the hiss of fat dripping onto hot coals.  

Shisui threw an arm around my shoulders, grinning like a madman. "Look at you, Konoha's newest genin! And with perfect scores? And here I thought only Itachi would do that. I almost teared up—if I wasn't too busy laughing at Morita-sensei's face when you put him in the dirt."  

I smirked, flipping a senbon between my fingers. "He should've blocked better."  

Across the table, Itachi gave one of his trademark faint smiles—the kind that made you wonder if he was amused or just mentally calculating how fast he could dismember everyone in the room. "Your taijutsu has improved."  

High praise, coming from him. 

Then there was Sasuke.  

The little pipsqueak had been vibrating with barely-contained energy since we sat down, his tiny fists clenched on the tabletop. Now he suddenly slammed his palms down, making the plates rattle.  

"I'm gonna graduate early too!" he announced, like it was a declaration of war. "And I'll do it even faster than Kagami! My scores will be cooler!"  

Shisui nearly choked on his tea. Itachi blinked.  

I leaned forward, resting my chin on my palm. "Oh? And how exactly do you plan to do that, Sasuke?"  

His face scrunched up. "I'll—I'll train super hard! And I won't just beat the instructors! I'll... I'll set the training posts on fire with my Fire Style!"  

A beat of silence.  

Then Shisui lost it, howling with laughter loud enough to turn heads. Even Itachi's shoulders shook slightly.  

I reached over and ruffled Sasuke's hair, much to his protest. "Better work hard then. Last time we trained, you couldn't even hold a kunai right."  

"Hey!" He swatted at my hand, face burning. "I was four then! And stop acting like you're so mature, we're the same age!" Yeah but one of us killed multiple Jonin to High Chunin level opponents before graduating the academy.

I smiled and leaned in to share some wisdom, "Ah, but I'm the one who graduated with perfect scores. That automatically makes me wiser than you.”

The waiter chose that moment to arrive with our meat platter. Shisui immediately seized the tongs like a man possessed. "Alright, victory feast rules—whoever cooks the best slice gets to make Kagami do one embarrassing thing!"  

Itachi's eyes gleamed. "Anything?" 

I glared at him, “No. I'm refusing in advance.”

Two hours later, stomachs full and my pride thoroughly bruised from the request Itachi made(Damn him and his prodigy skills for applying to grilling as well), we stepped out into the warm Konoha night.  

Shisui slung an arm around both me and Itachi, grinning. "Next stop: Jonin rank. Then we'll really give the old men headaches."  

Sasuke, half-asleep on Itachi's back, mumbled into his brother's shoulder: "'M gonna beat you all..."  

I flicked his forehead gently. "Keep dreaming, kid."  

As we walked through the flickering lantern light, I caught Itachi's eye. He gave the slightest nod. I smiled back. 

My eyes locked onto the moon. One day, I'll come and show you what a true God looks like Kaguya.

Hiruzen Sarutobi sat at his desk, fingers steepled, pipe gone cold between his lips.  

The paperwork before him blurred. His hand moved without his consent, signing another decree—Fugaku Uchiha approved for Hokage candidacy—in neat, precise strokes. His own handwriting. His own seal.  

But not his will.  

Again.

He tried to scream. His vocal cords hummed placidly, useless. He tried to stand—his legs remained folded, obedient. His lungs inflated and deflated at the rhythm it demanded. Even his heartbeat was no longer his own.  

A puppet in his own skin.  

The worst part wasn’t the helplessness.  

It was the awareness.  

The Geas didn’t dull his mind. It let him see everything—the way his lips smiled at Uchiha Fugaku, the way his voice praised Kagami Uchiha’s “promise,” the way his hands signed orders that unraveled decades of political balance—all while screaming inside his skull.  

He’d tried to resist, once.  

A single, desperate thought: Bite off your tongue. Choke on the blood.

His jaw had locked. His teeth ground harmlessly against empty air until the urge passed.  

Even suicide was forbidden.  

His eyes (not his, not anymore) flickered to the window, where a flash of yellow leapt from rooftop to rooftop, chased by Anbu who were guarding him.  

Naruto.  

The boy was thinner than he should be, his clothes too large, his grin too bright for a child who ate expired milk and ramen every night.  

Hiruzen’s chest ached, a pain not even the Geas could suppress.  

Because this, at least, was his own failure.  

That night, for the first time in months, his body moved without the Geas’s command.  

He stood. Walked to the door. Paused.  

No resistance.  

Because it doesn’t care, he realized. Training Naruto changed nothing in Kagami’s plans.  

A laugh bubbled up—hoarse, his—as he Body Flickered away.  

Naruto nearly spilled his ramen when he suddenly appeared beside him.  

“Old man?!” he yelped, noodles dangling from his mouth.  

Hiruzen smiled—his smile, weak but real. “How would you like,” he said softly, “to learn from me?”  

Naruto’s eyes widened. “For real?!”  

“For real.”  

And as the boy whooped, Hiruzen clung to this tiny defiance:  

If he could not save himself, he would at least arm the future.