"No————————!"
Sasuke sprang to his feet in terror and ran toward home in blind panic.
To him, home was warmth.
Safety.
A sanctuary.
Along the way, the mountains of corpses and rivers of blood terrified him so badly that he squeezed his eyes shut, sprinting forward purely by memory.
In reality, however, his body stood frozen in place—trembling slightly, cold sweat soaking through his back.
Not far away, Wen Lan, Fugaku, and Itachi watched silently, using their Sharingan to peer into Sasuke's mental world.
Wen Lan glanced at Itachi with exasperation.
"Your scene design is way too rough. Why is everyone lying dead in the streets—and all cut in half? No creativity.
And that baby—have you ever seen a baby wandering outside by itself? At least put the mother's body next to it."
Fugaku and Itachi both stared at him with dark expressions.
Do you think this is a movie set?
"I'll show you how to do it," Wen Lan continued casually.
"When he gets home, turn the clan leader into minced meat—leave the head rolling on the ground.
Have Aunt Mikoto collapse inside, still holding an unfinished scarf. Let her body crawl desperately toward a table. On that table, place a family photo. Her eyes should still carry warmth and fear—like she was trying to protect her family in her final moments.
And I'll stand nearby confronting you. The instant he walks in, he sees me cut your head off."
Fugaku and Itachi stared at him in shock.
What kind of brain stores details like that?
And are you actually insane?
Sasuke was still just a child—and this plan was brutal.
Fugaku even had a private thought:
Are you slipping in personal revenge?
Why am I the minced meat? Planning to make dumplings out of me too?
"Acting needs realism and emotional impact," Wen Lan said with a shrug, his tone as calm as if discussing dinner.
"What you designed is just killing.
What I want is an imprint—something he'll never forget for the rest of his life.
Fear.
Grief.
Rage.
All of it has to be precise.
The awakening of the Sharingan is born from extreme emotion.
If you want him to become strong but can't bear to let him suffer, then he'll remain weak forever."
His gaze swept over their stiff faces.
"Don't forget—this is the path he's destined to walk."
After hearing that, Itachi reluctantly admitted the logic.
A genjutsu ordeal was still kinder than real tragedy.
So he began adjusting the illusion.
As Sasuke continued running, the sunset vanished.
In its place rose a blood-red moon hanging among dark clouds, bathing all of Konoha in crimson.
At last, Sasuke burst through his front door.
The stench of blood slammed into him, forcing him to stagger backward.
In the courtyard, stone lanterns had toppled. Blood flowed along the cracks in the tiles like winding streams.
Shaking, he stepped into the main hall.
There, on the tea table—
sat his father's head.
Its eyes were wide open, staring directly at him.
Beside the table lay a heap of mangled flesh.
The sight struck him like lightning.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees.
"Father…"
He crawled forward slowly, trembling fingers reaching toward the cold head.
Suddenly—
a faint groan echoed from the corner.
He snapped his head up.
The sound came from the inner room.
Under the blood-red moon, the darkness inside rang with the continuous clash of weapons.
"Senpai… what happened to you?"
Itachi's voice called out from within.
"Itachi! Evolving the Sharingan is the only path! I will gather all your eyes and merge them into one!
Don't blame me—
You insects only lived this long because of me!
Your existence is nothing more than nourishment!
Your lives are worthless!
Yours—
Your mother's—
Your father's!"
Sasuke's pupils shrank violently.
A metallic taste surged into his throat.
He scrambled to his feet and rushed into the room.
Inside—
his mother lay collapsed in a pool of blood.
In her hand, she still clutched the unfinished red-and-green scarf. The yarn was stained with crimson.
She struggled to open her eyes, lips trembling.
"Sasuke… run…"
Before she could finish, the light faded from her pupils.
Not far from her stood Wen Lan and Itachi.
Wen Lan's face was drenched in blood, twisted into a monstrous grin—like a demon from hell.
In the next instant—
he grabbed Itachi by the hair and swung his blade sideways.
The body fell.
The head remained in Wen Lan's hand.
Outside the illusion, Wen Lan covered his face in disbelief.
"My god… what kind of ridiculous dialogue is that?" he muttered.
"You said my goal is the Sharingan—so after killing everyone, why wouldn't I take their eyes?"
Itachi flushed red and quickly looked away, the tips of his ears burning.
"I got too absorbed… forgot the logic."
He looked like a writer caught having his embarrassing work read aloud by family members—mortified beyond words.
Especially if the story had awkward romantic scenes.
Family members would never let him live it down.
Wen Lan glanced at him and laughed.
"Relax. Don't look like you're about to hang yourself. The scene's already done—you can't undo it now."
Itachi stared at the floor, wishing he could sink into the tiles.
"Next time you write a script, make sure it actually makes sense," Wen Lan teased, patting his shoulder.
"And that scarf you gave Aunt Mikoto is ugly. Red and green? What is she, a Christmas tree?"
Beside them, Fugaku rubbed his temples.
At that moment, he felt letting Sasuke enter this illusion might have been a terrible mistake.
Both sons were suffering—
while Wen Lan seemed to be enjoying the show.
Inside the illusion—
"B-Brother…"
Seeing Itachi's severed head dripping blood in Wen Lan's hand, Sasuke collapsed to the floor.
His body trembled violently.
His pupils shrank to pinpoints.
His throat felt sealed shut—no sound could escape.
Wen Lan's blood-soaked face twitched.
His eyes locked onto Sasuke like lightning.
Every hair on Sasuke's body stood on end.
He felt like prey pinned beneath the gaze of a venomous snake.
Wen Lan tilted his head slightly.
The severed head in his hand slowly rotated, droplets of blood pattering onto the floor.
Then he smiled.
But the smile never reached his eyes.
"What's wrong, Sasuke?" he asked softly.
"Afraid?"
He stepped toward Mikoto's body and raised his blade to her neck.
Blood slid down the edge of the sword and dripped into her trembling collar.
"Don't worry," he said calmly.
"You're next."
The blade cut across her throat.
Blood sprayed outward—
splattering across Sasuke's face.
Warm liquid ran down his eyelashes.
His vision turned red.
His mouth opened—
but no sound came out.
His body felt nailed to the ground.
All he could do was watch as his mother's eyes slowly lost their light.
—------------------------------
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