"Itachi, do you regret it?"
The words hung in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre. Naruto's voice was quiet, almost gentle, but each syllable struck with the force of a kunai between the ribs.
Itachi's face, already set in grim determination, turned to stone. His jaw tightened. The muscles around his eyes twitched, just for a moment, before he forced them still. But Naruto saw it. Sasuke saw it too.
The question had found its mark.
A night breeze swept through the former Uchiha compound, carrying with it the scent of grass and old memories. Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirped, oblivious to the weight of this moment. Itachi's hands, still pressed against the ground where he knelt, curled slightly, fingers digging into the dirt.
He was remembering. Naruto could see it in the way his breathing changed, becoming shallower, faster.
Father's voice. Father's final words.
The memory rose unbidden, as vivid as if it were happening now. Fugaku Uchiha, kneeling in that same position, awaiting the blade. His face calm despite everything. His eyes, those same Sharingan eyes, looking at his eldest son with something that might have been understanding. Might have been forgiveness.
"Itachi, is this your choice?"
The words had been soft, devoid of accusation.
"Father is proud of you. I hope you won't regret your choice in the future."
Won't regret. The words echoed through Itachi's mind like a curse. He'd clung to them for years, used them as armor against the nightmares, against the screaming. His father's pride should have been enough. It should have justified everything.
But pride was cold comfort when you stood alone in the dark.
Itachi's throat worked, swallowing against something that might have been bile or might have been grief. When had the regret begun? He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment. It had crept in slowly, like frost spreading across a window, imperceptible at first until suddenly everything was frozen solid.
In those early days after the massacre, he'd been certain. The village needed protection. Sasuke needed to live. The coup would have destroyed everything. He'd made the only choice possible, the correct choice, the necessary choice.
He'd told himself that over and over, night after night, mission after mission with the Akatsuki. Each time he stood on a streetlamp waiting for dawn, he'd repeated it like a mantra. It was necessary. There was no other way. Sasuke is alive. That's what matters.
But the world kept turning. The years kept passing. And with each mission, each village he helped destroy, each jinchūriki they captured, Itachi saw more. Learned more. Understood more about the futility of it all.
The regret had planted itself like a seed in his chest. He'd felt it germinate somewhere between the second and third year, pushing roots down into his heart. By the fourth year, it had sprouted, sending tender shoots through his resolve. Now, five years later, it was a tree, gnarled and twisted, its branches strangling everything else inside him.
Sleep had become his enemy. When he closed his eyes, he saw them. All of them. The children he'd played with as a boy. The elders who'd taught him. His mother's gentle smile as she'd prepared dinner, completely unaware that her eldest son would cut her down that very night.
And in his dreams, they asked him the same question his father had asked: Do you regret it?
He'd wake gasping, drenched in cold sweat, and climb to the highest point he could find. Stand on a streetlamp or a rooftop or the branch of a tree. Wait for the sun to rise and burn away the darkness, if only for a few hours.
During those long nights, Itachi had thought about the choice. If it were placed before him again, what would he do? And the answer terrified him because it was always the same: I don't know.
He might make the same choice. He might not. The uncertainty gnawed at him worse than any definitive answer could have.
But perhaps the deepest regret, the one that cut like the Kusanagi blade now pressed against his chest, was simpler than all of that. It was the loss of normalcy. The loss of small moments.
He would never walk Sasuke home from the Academy again, listening to his excited chatter about the day's lessons. Never flick his forehead affectionately and watch that adorable pout form on his little brother's face. Never cook eggs for breakfast while Sasuke sat at the table, swinging his legs and talking about becoming Hokage someday.
Never hear Sasuke call him "big brother" with that perfect combination of admiration and affection.
Those moments were gone forever. Murdered by his own hand as surely as he'd murdered the rest of the clan.
But this is my burden, Itachi thought, his jaw setting once more. My sin. My punishment. Sasuke should never carry this weight.
The silence had stretched too long. Naruto was watching him with those unnervingly perceptive blue eyes. Sasuke's face was harder to read, the Sharingan making his expression distant, but his breathing had changed. Become heavier. Anticipatory.
They were both waiting.
"Itachi, why don't you speak?" Naruto prompted, his tone still that maddening gentleness, as if he understood far too much.
Sasuke's grip on the Kusanagi tightened. The blade's tip pressed harder against Itachi's chest, drawing a bead of blood that soaked into his already ruined Akatsuki cloak. "Answer him."
Itachi glanced between them. His little brother, so much taller now, face sharp with hatred. And the Nine-Tails' jinchūriki, who'd somehow become Sasuke's shield, his family, his light in the darkness.
Good, Itachi thought. That's good. Sasuke found someone.
But he couldn't show that relief. Couldn't let his mask slip. Not now. Not after holding it in place for five years. The performance had to continue until the very end. That was the only kindness he could still offer.
So Itachi forced his lips into a sneer. It felt foreign on his face now, wrong, like wearing someone else's skin. But he'd had years of practice making his face say things his heart didn't mean.
"Hehe," the laugh came out bitter, sharp. He shook his head slowly, deliberately. "Regret? I, Itachi, will never regret anything I do."
The words tasted like ash. Like the funeral pyre he'd walked away from that night, leaving his parents' bodies to burn with the rest.
He turned his attention fully to Sasuke now, letting contempt drip into his voice like poison. Each word was a carefully aimed kunai, designed to wound. "Sasuke, you're still the weak person who's used to hiding behind others. You used to hide behind me, but now you're hiding behind Naruto."
Sasuke's face flushed with anger, but Itachi pressed on. The more Sasuke hated him, the better. Hatred was pure. Hatred was simple. Hatred would let Sasuke move forward without the crushing weight of complicated truth.
"You really disappoint me. I thought the person who would defeat me would be you, Sasuke. But instead, it was your good friend Naruto who brought me down." Itachi made sure his tone conveyed maximum disdain, maximum disappointment. "How pathetic."
A muscle jumped in Sasuke's jaw. Good. Get angrier. Hate me more.
"If you lose, you lose," Itachi continued, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He met Sasuke's eyes directly, the three-tomoe Sharingan spinning slowly. "There's nothing more to say about it."
He paused, letting his gaze bore into his brother's. "What beautiful eyes you have now, Sasuke. Three tomoe in each. Almost like mine."
The words came easier now, falling into the familiar pattern of cruelty he'd established that night five years ago. "I'd originally planned to make you a part of me. To take your eyes and let me see this wonderful world through them for both of us."
Itachi saw Sasuke's disgust, saw the way he recoiled slightly. Perfect. Exactly the reaction he needed.
"However, since I've been defeated by Naruto, and I'm now at your mercy..." Itachi's voice took on an almost reasonable tone, as if he were discussing something as mundane as the weather. "Sasuke, why don't you take my Mangekyō Sharingan instead? Become a part of me in a different way. You'll become stronger, strong enough that you won't have to hide behind anyone ever again."
The offer hung between them like a corpse on a gallows. Itachi watched Sasuke's face carefully, noting every micro-expression, every tiny shift.
And what he saw made something inside him crack just a little more.
Because Sasuke's disgust was genuine. Complete. Absolute.
"I don't need your eyes," Sasuke spat, his voice dripping with revulsion. "They're too dirty."
Itachi felt as if Sasuke had driven the Kusanagi through his chest after all. Not the physical blade, but something sharper. Something that cut deeper than steel ever could.
"Eyes stained with the blood of your own clan," Sasuke continued, each word deliberate, meant to wound. "Disgusting."
Disgusting. His little brother thought he was disgusting. Thought everything about him was contaminated, corrupted beyond redemption.
Good, Itachi told himself, even as something vital inside him withered. This is what I wanted. What I needed.
But knowing it was necessary didn't make it hurt any less.
He kept his face impassive, refusing to let the pain show. Years of ANBU training helped. Years of wearing masks, literal and metaphorical. But inside, in the parts of himself he showed to no one, Itachi felt like he was suffocating.
Sasuke wasn't finished. His voice gained strength, conviction. "Yes, I want to become stronger. Much stronger. But I'll do it on my own terms, with my own power. Not by building my strength on someone else's pain and suffering."
The words struck like physical blows. Each one found the gaps in Itachi's armor, the places where guilt and regret had already weakened his defenses.
"Also," Sasuke's eyes flashed dangerously, "you said I'm weak because I hide behind others. I want to correct that misunderstanding, Itachi-san."
The formal honorific, cold and distant, hurt worse than any insult could have.
"You must feel bitter about your loss. After all, you have the Mangekyō Sharingan. You must have had many techniques you didn't get to use before Naruto defeated you."
Sasuke's perceptiveness had always been sharp. Itachi had fostered that, trained it, in those brief years before everything fell apart. Now that blade turned against him.
"But I think your bitterness is unnecessary," Sasuke continued, voice hard as iron. "Because even if you'd used every technique you possessed, every hidden trump card, you still wouldn't be Naruto's opponent."
Truth. Itachi knew it was truth. He'd felt the gulf between them during their brief exchange. Naruto's power was something beyond normal shinobi categories, beyond even what the Mangekyō Sharingan could bridge.
"As for why I stand behind Naruto..." Sasuke's voice shifted, became warmer. Not soft, but no longer quite so hard. "It's because Naruto is my family. It's only natural for family to protect each other."
Itachi's heart clenched.
"I used to stand behind you," Sasuke said quietly, and now there was something in his voice that might have been grief. Might have been longing. "That's because, at that time, you were also my family."
Were. Past tense. The knife twisted deeper.
"When I become strong enough, I'll stand in front of my family naturally. That's what family does." Sasuke turned his head to look at Naruto. "Right?"
"Yes," Naruto agreed immediately, nodding. His voice carried complete conviction. "Sasuke and I are family. Family members help each other, protect each other. That's what it means."
The simple declaration hit Itachi like a physical force. Family. Sasuke had found family. Real family, not the twisted, blood-soaked mockery that Itachi had reduced the Uchiha clan to.
That's good, Itachi thought, even as something inside him screamed in agony. That's what I wanted. For Sasuke to have people who would stand with him, who would choose him freely.
But hearing it, seeing the genuine connection between Sasuke and Naruto, made Itachi's sacrifice feel both justified and utterly pointless at the same time.
"We were family members before," Sasuke had said. Before. Not anymore. Never again.
Itachi's emotions churned beneath his carefully maintained mask. The pain was exquisite, perfect, exactly what he deserved. He welcomed it, even as it threatened to crack his composure.
Control it, he commanded himself. You've come this far. Don't break now. Give Sasuke what he needs. Give him permission to hate you completely.
So Itachi forced out another hollow laugh. "Hehe. Family?" He made the word sound like a curse, like something contemptible. "Sasuke, it seems you're still as naive as you were before."
The contempt in his voice was a masterpiece of acting. Years with the Akatsuki had taught him much about cruelty, about how to inflict pain with nothing but words and tone.
"What family? Isn't the lesson I taught you deep enough yet?" Itachi's voice dripped with mock concern, with false pity. "Family members will betray you. Family will put a knife in your back when you least expect it."
"Shut up!" Sasuke's shout cracked through the night like thunder. His face flushed with rage, the Sharingan spinning faster. "Do you think Naruto is the same kind of person you are?"
The fury in Sasuke's voice was beautiful in its purity. This was what Itachi needed. This perfect, crystalline hatred.
"Compared to Narut, you're not even worthy of mentioning!" Sasuke's voice shook with emotion. "You're a white-eyed wolf! The Uchiha clan raised you, trained you, gave you everything!"
Each word was a hammer blow.
"Father had such high hopes for you! Mother loved you so much!" Sasuke's voice broke slightly on that last word, and Itachi felt his own composure waver. "But what did you do? You killed them all! Every single one!"
I know, Itachi wanted to say. I know what I did. I live with it every moment of every day.
But he couldn't. Wouldn't.
"Are you even worthy of the love they gave you?" Sasuke demanded, voice raw with grief and fury. "Are you?"
Silence. What could Itachi say to that? No, he wasn't worthy. He'd never been worthy, and he never would be.
Sasuke's next words came out as a snarl. "Itachi, you're not human!"
You're right, Itachi thought. I stopped being human the night I chose the mission over my family.
But instead of acknowledging it, instead of giving Sasuke even that small truth, Itachi threw his head back and laughed. The sound was wild, uncontrolled, manic. He laughed until his sides hurt, until tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, until the sound of his own laughter rang hollow in his ears.
"Human?" Itachi gasped between peals of laughter, forcing himself to lean forward, then back, making a show of his amusement. "Hahaha! Human?"
He had to sell this. Had to make Sasuke believe he was truly mad, truly beyond redemption.
"When strength reaches a certain level, what need is there for humanity?" Itachi's voice dropped to something dark, something edged with madness. "That's when you transcend such mundane concepts. That's when you become a god."
He fixed Sasuke with a stare, letting the Mangekyō Sharingan spin lazily. "Do you know about Uchiha Madara? The one who established Konoha Village alongside the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju?"
Itachi could see he had Sasuke's attention now, see the confusion mixed with the hatred.
"Madara-sama took the eyes of his younger brother, Izuna, after his own went blind. Stole them from his own brother's corpse to regain his sight, to become stronger." Itachi's voice took on an almost reverent quality. "And with those eyes, he became a god among shinobi. A legend that still makes the world tremble."
It was a true story, more or less. Twisted to serve Itachi's purposes, but rooted in historical fact.
"So you see, Sasuke, what are concepts like 'humanity' or 'family' compared to power?" Itachi spread his arms wide, the gesture grand and theatrical. "What I wanted was to be like that. A god. A god like Madara-sama."
The words tasted like lies because they were lies. But they were lies that served a purpose. Lies that would let Sasuke hate him without complication, without doubt.
"Itachi, you've worked hard, haven't you?"
The quiet words cut through Itachi's performance like a blade through silk.
His laughter died in his throat. His arms dropped back to his sides. The manic energy that had animated him moments before evaporated like morning mist.
Naruto was looking at him with those eyes again. Those impossibly blue eyes that seemed to see through every layer of deception, every carefully constructed lie.
Itachi's smile froze on his face, becoming a grotesque mask. He turned slowly to meet Naruto's gaze.
"Sasuke," Itachi said, his voice suddenly tired, suddenly old, "it seems your friend is quite the unusual person. Always saying such strange things."
He tried to inject dismissiveness into his tone, tried to wave away Naruto's observation like smoke. But his voice lacked conviction. The words came out flat, empty.
"Naruto," Itachi focused on the jinchūriki now, studying him with the full weight of his Mangekyō Sharingan. "Do you understand what you're saying?"
It was meant to be intimidating. The legendary Itachi Uchiha, S-rank missing-nin, killer of his own clan, staring down a mere genin. But something in Naruto's expression, some fundamental unshakability, made the threat ring hollow.
Naruto met his stare without flinching. Those blue eyes, so different from Sharingan red, held something that might have been understanding. Might have been compassion.
And Itachi realized, with a sinking sensation in his gut, that this boy, this impossibly strong child who'd defeated him in combat and then peeled back the layers of his psyche with that terrifying technique, the Opening the Netherworld... he knew. Somehow, he knew.
Naruto's next words confirmed it.
"Itachi-san, there's no need to continue this performance." Naruto's voice was gentle but firm, like a parent coaxing a child to put down a dangerous toy. "I admit, your acting skills are truly excellent. Probably the best I've ever seen."
Itachi's mask cracked. Just a hairline fracture, barely visible, but it was there.
"But what's the point of continuing to act now?" Naruto asked, and there was no mockery in his voice. Only honest curiosity, and perhaps pity. "The truth is already exposed."
"One lie needs a thousand more lies to cover it up," Naruto continued, each word carefully chosen. "Itachi-san, your lie has been revealed. I've seen through it."
Itachi wanted to argue. Wanted to maintain the façade. But he was so tired. Five years of lies, of masks, of standing on streetlamps waiting for dawn. Five years of nightmares and regrets and guilt so heavy it threatened to crush him.
"You do regret it," Naruto said softly. "You regret slaughtering the Uchiha clan with your own hands. You regret killing your father, your mother, everyone you ever knew."
Each word was a nail in the coffin of Itachi's carefully constructed persona.
"I've seen the fear in your heart through the Opening the Netherworld," Naruto reminded him. "And the root of your fear, the source of all your nightmares, is exactly that. The massacre. The choice you made. The blood on your hands."
Itachi felt something inside him begin to crumble. The wall he'd built around his true feelings, brick by painful brick, was starting to collapse.
"So please, Itachi-san," Naruto's voice was almost pleading now. "Stop acting. Stop pretending. What good does it do anymore?"