Chapter 470: Tsukuyomi? Kyōka Suigetsu!
"Is that so?"
Aizen showed no trace of panic. Instead, he curiously observed his surroundings and said, "A Mangekyō Sharingan technique? I've seen it in the game shop before. Regrettably, I never purchased it."
A mental-genjutsu type ability.
Very powerful. Capable of tormenting the target's spirit for dozens of hours—while in the real world, only a second passes.
This kind of intense mental torture could easily break down mentally weak players in a single move, leaving them unable to resist.
But he hadn't bought it.
Despite its power, the Mangekyō Sharingan's techniques were too direct for Aizen's style.
Too limiting.
Against someone like Naruto Uzumaki—empty-headed yet incredibly strong-willed—it could be resisted purely through brute force of will.
Aizen preferred a different kind of mental manipulation—one that worked subtly, step by step, like a game of chess, until the final blow was checkmate.
No matter how strong the enemy's will,
So long as he struck the right nerve, he could dismantle them completely—like melting steel with acid.
"That's to be expected."
Uchiha Itachi's cold voice rang out. "Even if you purchase Tsukuyomi, not everyone has the talent to master it."
And besides, players without Uchiha blood—even those who forcibly exchanged for it—were often mediocre at best.
Tsukuyomi, Amaterasu, Fire Style boosts…
All the various abilities tied to the Mangekyō were hard to master. Even with forceful acquisition, most players could only level them to 10. After that, skill proficiency grew at a snail's pace.
This was a natural gift of the Uchiha clan. Even the Samsara Game couldn't change that.
"Is that so? You still take pride in your Uchiha bloodline... and yet you slaughtered them all?"
"Shut up!"
A wooden crucifix rose from the surface of the water, pinning Aizen down like a death-row prisoner, unable to move.
Itachi's reflection shimmered on the water's surface—blood-red eyes staring down.
"You shallow fool. How could you possibly understand the Will of Fire?"
Within the Tsukuyomi space, Itachi finally lost control. Aizen's words had hit his sorest spot.
"It was the Uchiha clan's arrogance that led to disaster."
"I tried to stop them with everything I had, but none of them realized the damage their rebellion would do to the village!"
"The war had just ended. We were surrounded by enemies. If the Uchiha revolted, Konoha could have been wiped off the map!"
Itachi's voice was filled with pain.
To revisit these memories was to rip open a wound that had never healed—fresh, bleeding, and raw.
But he never believed he was wrong. The Uchiha were wrong. He had acted to protect Konoha.
"I see… so Mr. Uchiha Itachi is still lost in the dream he built for himself. Just like this world of Tsukuyomi."
"I heard the abilities of the Mangekyō reflect the caster's heart."
"You wanted everything to go your way, so you awakened this space of Tsukuyomi—a world where you control time, control reality."
"But in the end, it's all futile."
"When the time is up and reality returns… nothing will have changed."
That was the essence of Tsukuyomi.
It didn't inflict any real damage. Even if the target was mentally broken, it was just psychological torture.
If you wanted real mental destruction, even the weakest psychic shockwave might be more effective.
Just as Aizen said—
It was all a beautiful dream. And when it ended, nothing changed.
"Is that so? Then in the time we have left, I'll make sure you experience enough pain to etch it into your soul. Until you understand what real pain is."
Itachi's voice was cold, tinged with fury.
An elite-tier player had no hope of escaping a golden-tier's Tsukuyomi. The next few hours would be pure suffering.
Shing—
A brilliant white blade sliced across Aizen's body.
His chest tore open—muscle, then bone, then organs.
The katana in Itachi's hand felt more like a greatsword, nearly cleaving Aizen in half.
That's how deep his anger ran.
"AAAH!"
Aizen cried out in agony.
No matter how strong your will, if you could feel pain, Tsukuyomi was hell.
The pain in this realm was indistinguishable from reality. No one could simply shrug it off.
That was Itachi's confidence.
"I'm… not dead?"
Aizen opened his eyes with difficulty, still shaken. Despite having his guts sliced open, he was somehow alive.
And his wounds were healing.
Itachi's expression remained flat. There was no joy in torture—only clarity.
"You know this already. In Tsukuyomi, everything is under my control. As long as I will it, you cannot die."
"There are still forty-seven hours and fifty-nine minutes to go."
He didn't enjoy the torment—
But he did enjoy the feeling of complete control.
If his father had listened to him, perhaps he could have avoided the clan's downfall.
If his clan had listened to him, maybe he wouldn't have had to wield the blade.
So now, in this world where he had full control, Itachi found a twisted kind of peace.
"Aren't you afraid the Hokage will punish you for attacking me, Mr. Itachi?"
"I am his most trusted aide."
Aizen spoke between screams—his voice full of pain, yet laced with threat.
"I don't think the Hokage would blame me for something this trivial."
Itachi's sword briefly paused—then resumed slashing down.
He didn't believe for a second that the Hokage would doubt his Will of Fire.
Someone like Aizen, who dared provoke him, could not be forgiven.
"You really are loyal, Mr. Itachi. Even in this fake Tsukuyomi world, you don't harbor a single disrespectful thought toward the Hokage."
Suddenly, the bloodied, broken Aizen smiled again—gentle and composed.
As if everything up until now had been nothing more than a game played for Itachi's benefit.
"You?"
Itachi's brows knit slightly, but he quickly dismissed the thought.
He'd seen this before—
Players pretending nothing was wrong, trying to trick him into thinking Tsukuyomi had failed, or that they felt no pain.
But eventually, they always broke under the torture.
"You question your father. You question your clan. You blame them for not listening to you, for not submitting to Konoha…"
Even as blades continued to rain down,
Aizen chuckled softly. "But why don't you question the Hokage? Why don't you question the village elders—who never treated the Uchiha fairly?"
"Shut up!"
Dozens of blood-stained hooks and chains materialized, piercing Aizen's collarbones, ribs, slicing into his flesh like fish scales.
But Aizen didn't flinch.
It wasn't an act—Itachi couldn't detect any physiological response, not even the smallest twitch of pain.
Impossible.
"Uchiha Itachi…"
"Don't make bold declarations—because they only expose your own weakness."
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