Kapitel 293: 292-Time

The office of Daichi Uchiha was an imposing space designed to exude authority, even after being in it a couple of times, it still managed to intimidate Renjiro to some extent. The shelves lined with case files and scrolls framed the room, their labels meticulously marked with the Uchiha crest.

A polished wooden desk stood in the center, its surface cluttered with neatly stacked documents, inkpots, and a single, freshly uncapped brush.

The midday sunlight streamed in through the shoji windows, illuminating motes of dust dancing lazily in the air. Renjiro entered the room with measured steps, his ANBU mask absent but his demeanor no less guarded.

Daichi glanced up, his sharp, calculating eyes narrowing slightly at the unexpected visitor. Though Renjiro had not been summoned, Daichi already knew the purpose of his visit.

"Renjiro," Daichi greeted evenly, his deep voice resonating in the room. He placed his brush down with deliberate care, leaning back in his chair. "I wasn't expecting you today."

Renjiro inclined his head in respect but didn't sit, choosing to stand at a polite distance. "Clan Head," he began, his voice calm but respectful, as he slightly bowed.

Daichi observed him silently for a moment before speaking again. "Have you been on any missions recently?"

Renjiro blinked, slightly caught off guard by the directness of the question. 'No foreplay? Not even the pretence of small talk,' he thought wryly.

'Well, I guess that makes sense. I'm the one who came to him.'

"Yes," Renjiro said as he sat, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "I just returned."

Daichi's pen stilled against the parchment he was working on. His dark eyes narrowed slightly. "And where was this mission?"

"Kumogakure," Renjiro replied without hesitation.

The air in the room seemed to shift. Daichi's hand froze mid-stroke, and he slowly placed the pen down. "Kumogakure?" he repeated, his voice measured but tinged with disbelief.

"What business does ANBU have that far from Konoha?"

Though Daichi had never served in the ANBU, his position as the head of the police force afforded him access to surface-level information about the organization.

Missions in foreign lands were not unheard of, but one in the Land of Lightning—a region known for its hostility toward Konoha—was highly unusual and deeply concerning.

'Does the Hokage want to start a war?' Daichi wondered, his thoughts racing.

Out of all the major shinobi villages, Kumogakure was the farthest from Konoha and, arguably, the most antagonistic. Sending an ANBU team there was an unnecessary provocation.

'What was so important that they had to risk it?'*

Renjiro, sensing the unspoken questions in Daichi's silence, answered carefully. "We were sent to rescue compromised spies."

Renjiro met his gaze evenly, his tone steady. "We were tasked with rescuing spies whose identities had been compromised."

Daichi leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of his chest as he processed this information. "A rescue mission?"

"That was the original plan," Renjiro admitted with a sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly as if weighed down by the memory.

Daichi's dark eyes narrowed. "What changed?"

Renjiro's jaw tightened briefly before he replied. "By the time we arrived, Kumo shinobi were already waiting for us. They ambushed us, led by A himself."

The mention of A caused Daichi's brows to knit together. He tapped a finger against the armrest of his chair in a slow, deliberate rhythm, his gaze never leaving Renjiro's face. "A. So, the Raikage's son himself was involved. That makes things more complicated."

"It did," Renjiro agreed quietly.

"Well," Daichi began, his voice laced with curiosity and a hint of scepticism, "it must have been hard to escape from A. Seeing you here safe and sound, I assume your team managed to retreat successfully."

Renjiro's face darkened, and his reply came softly, tinged with regret. "Kakashi and I did. Yano… didn't make it."

The tapping stopped. Daichi's expression hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze boring into Renjiro's.

"What happened?"

"Yano sacrificed himself," Renjiro added, his hand flexing at his side as if suppressing some emotion. "He held them off so that Kakashi and I could escape."

It was a lie—a calculated one.

Renjiro knew that revealing the truth would mean disclosing the existence of his summon, Tenjin, and the other lightning eagles. Unlike his exchange with Jiraiya, Renjiro doubted Daichi would let such a revelation slide without extracting every detail.

'The clan wants information about ANBU, but no one said it had to be the whole truth,' Renjiro thought, suppressing an inward scoff.

"How noble of him," Daichi remarked, though the faint edge in his voice made it clear the sentiment wasn't entirely genuine. "And the spies? Were you able to extract them?"

Renjiro shook his head. "No. They all died during the confrontation."

Daichi's eyes narrowed again. "So, you didn't complete the mission?"

Renjiro hesitated, inhaling deeply before responding. "Not exactly. One of the spies, Takata, left behind a mark, some forbidden jutsu from the Yamanaka clan containing vital information he discovered in Kumogakure."

Daichi's interest was visibly piqued. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk and interlocking his fingers. "What kind of information?"

Renjiro's expression turned grim as he delivered the answer. "It seems someone within Konoha has been working with Kumogakure to smuggle people. Civilians, shinobi—anyone with unique bloodlines or ancestry. They're being taken to the Land of Lightning."

Daichi's eyes widened slightly, the weight of the revelation sinking in. "Do we know who this collaborator is?"

Renjiro shook his head. "Takata and his team were close to identifying them, but their cover was blown before they could confirm anything."

Daichi's face darkened, his expression betraying a mix of anger and concern.

The thought of someone aiding Kumogakure in such a scheme was troubling enough, but the implications for the Uchiha clan were even more severe.

'If they're targeting individuals with special abilities, the Uchiha could be next,' he thought grimly.

"This is… concerning," Daichi said finally, his voice heavy with meaning.

"We cannot allow such treachery to go unchecked. If this operation continues, it could put the entire village at risk—and the Uchiha most of all."

Renjiro nodded in agreement, adding, "It might also be connected to a mission I was on prior to this one. We were investigating a smuggling ring suspected to be run by Kumogakure, but we didn't gather enough evidence to link it conclusively."

Daichi tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the desk. "If the two are connected, it means this operation is far larger than we initially thought."

The conversation lingered on the finer points of the mission, with Daichi probing for additional details while Renjiro carefully navigated the line between truth and omission. Finally, sensing that Daichi was satisfied for the moment, Renjiro rose from his seat.

"If that's all, Lord Daichi, I'll take my leave," he said politely.

Daichi waved a hand dismissively, already turning back to the parchment on his desk. "Go. And rest while you can, Renjiro. The clan may need you again soon."

"But don't forget where your loyalties lie, Renjiro." Daichi added

The young shinobi gave a small bow, his tone respectful but firm. "I haven't forgotten."

---

By the time Renjiro returned to his home, the sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of gold and amber. The quiet of his home was a welcome reprieve from the weight of the day's conversations.

He kicked off his sandals and sank into a chair, letting out a long, weary sigh. "Two months of no missions," he muttered to himself. "I need to make the most of it."

His eyes drifted to the high shelf across the room, where a familiar jar sat behind his seals. Rising from his chair, he approached the place slowly, his fingers brushing against the seal as he retrieved the jar.

Inside, a single Sharingan floated, its tomoe lazily rotating as if alive. Renjiro's grip on the jar tightened as he stared into the crimson depths of the eye.

"Time to get the Mangekyō," he whispered, his voice low but filled with resolve.

=====

Bless me with your powerful Power Stones.

Your Reviews and Comments about my work are welcomed

If you can, then please support me on Patreon.

Link - www.patreon.com/SideCharacter

You Can read more chapters ahead on Patreon.

Kommentar Kommentar von 1

Abstimmen

Kapitel 294: 293-Infinite Mangekyo

Renjiro's living room was quiet except for the faint creaks of the wooden floor beneath him. The dim light of the lantern cast flickering shadows on the walls, its soft glow lending an almost ethereal aura to the scene before him.

He was staring intently at the jar resting on the table before him. The blue liquid within shimmered faintly, catching the light from a nearby lantern. Suspended in the liquid was a Sharingan— the one he had stored a month ago and a reminder of the power he craved and the lengths he was willing to go to achieve it.

The thought of awakening the Mangekyou Sharingan filled him with a palpable excitement that he couldn't entirely suppress.

"Tap-tap-tap"

He drummed his fingers lightly on the table, the rhythmic sound blending with the faint creaks of his house settling around him.

The Sharingan was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of the Uchiha's legacy, a birthright that carried both prestige and a curse. To evolve it into the Mangekyou Sharingan, however, came at an unspeakable cost: the loss of a loved one, particularly a parent or sibling.

Renjiro smirked bitterly. "Lucky me," he muttered, his voice echoing faintly in the quiet room.

"I don't have anyone close enough to get their eyes."

Still, the allure of the Mangekyou was undeniable. In a world as cruel and unforgiving as theirs, any edge could mean the difference between life and death. Renjiro's mind raced as he contemplated the next steps. He walked over to another table, placing the jar down gently before taking a seat. The chair creaked under his weight as he leaned back.

"Do I need to get Miwa's eyes?" he wondered aloud, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty.

Miwa was his only living relative since his grandparents had long died during the two shinobi wars. He wasn't even sure if she had awakened her Mangekyou Sharingan, and if she hadn't, her eyes would be useless for his purposes. Renjiro sighed heavily, running a hand through his red hair.

"Even if she had..." He trailed off, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. "There's no way I'm killing her for this. So I need to find other ways."

His mind churned with possibilities. "But do I really need the Eternal Mangekyou Sharingan?" he asked himself, leaning forward and resting his chin on his clasped hands.

No, Renjiro was not in denial. The Eternal Mangekyou was an upgrade that not only amplified the power of the Mangekyou but also removed its debilitating side effects, like the progressive blindness that came with overuse. Yet, Renjiro wasn't ready to go down the traditional path to achieve it. Partly because he couldn't.

"For the improvement in power," he murmured, "I can just use my Mangekyou with the eight gates."

Renjiro's Sharingan already evolved when he opened the Eight Gates. The fourth tomoe that appeared in his eyes whenever he accessed this power greatly enhanced his genjutsu and perception. He reasoned that if his base Sharingan became stronger with the gates, his Mangekyou might follow suit.

Slapping his thigh, he exclaimed, "That reminds me! I need to work on opening more gates." He clenched his fists, the veins on his arms standing out.

"If I can open up to the fifth or even the sixth gate before my next mission, I'll be near unstoppable."

Taijutsu training, especially mastering the Eight Gates, had taken a backseat recently, and Renjiro realized he needed to refocus. The Gates was a guaranteed path to increasing his combat prowess in the short term, something he couldn't afford to ignore.

"As for the blindness…" Renjiro smirked, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "I'll just keep storing extra eyes. If one pair gets ruined, I'll replace them. Infinite Mangekyou."

The idea brought a wicked grin to his face, but a sliver of doubt crept in. "Wait," he muttered, frowning.

"Will the regenerated eyes still have the Mangekyou? Or will they revert to the base Sharingan?"

There was a possibility that his regeneration could not handle regenerating Mangekyous as it does with his base Sharingan.

He tapped his fingers against the table, deep in thought. "Well, that's not an issue right now. If I can force my Mangekyou to awaken by combining two pairs of Sharingan, it might work like the Eternal Mangekyou process."

The sound of his chair scraping against the floor filled the room as Renjiro stood and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he filled the glass, he muttered,

"If that doesn't work, I'll just have to think of another way to awaken it. Maybe I could use fuinjutsu to create a loop of negative memories, enough to extract the emotions needed for the evolution. A forced Evolution"

He chugged the water down in one go, his throat bobbing with each gulp, and slammed the glass down on the counter.

"And if all else fails," he said, shaking his head, "I'll keep the extra Sharingan for Izanagi and Izanami."

The thought of mastering those forbidden techniques brought a sense of satisfaction. Daichi had recently increased Renjiro's access to the Uchiha clan's private library due to his 'services', and it was only a matter of time before he learned them.

"But why am I getting ahead of myself?" Renjiro muttered, smirking. "I don't even have a Mangekyou yet."

Rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt, he strode purposefully back to a nearby sink. He placed his left hand on the table to steady himself and held out his right hand, focusing his chakra.

A faint blue glow enveloped his hand, crackling softly like distant thunder.

Taking a deep breath, Renjiro activated his Sharingan, its three tomoe spinning lazily in his eye. Without hesitation, he plunged his glowing hand toward his face.

"Schlick!"

The sound of flesh being torn echoed in the room, followed by a sharp, guttural groan of pain as Renjiro wrenched his right eye from its socket.

Blood spilt freely, warm and viscous, running down his cheek and onto his shirt. His vision blurred, and his knees buckled slightly, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to collapse.

"Drip."

The crimson drops fell onto the wooden floor, staining it with splatters of blood. Renjiro held his eye carefully in his glowing hand, his breathing ragged as he forced himself to move. He used the Chakra on his hand to sterilize it.

He opened the jar, the faint scent of preservative fluid wafting out, and carefully dropped the freshly extracted Sharingan into the liquid. It sank slowly, joining its counterpart in an eerie, almost ceremonial moment.

Grabbing a roll of bandages from a nearby drawer, Renjiro pressed them firmly against his empty socket. The bleeding slowed as his body's regenerative abilities kicked in, though the pain was still sharp and unrelenting. He wrapped the bandages tightly, securing them in place, before turning his attention to the bloody mess he'd left behind.

Renjiro cleaned methodically, scrubbing the blood-stained sink and floor with a wet cloth. The repetitive motion allowed him a moment to centre himself, the sharp sting of his wound a constant reminder of what he had done.

Once the room was spotless, he sat down in front of the jar, his single remaining eye fixed on its contents. The two Sharingan floated side by side, their crimson hues glowing faintly in the blue liquid.

Excitement and fear churned within him, a volatile mix that left his stomach in knots. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward until his face was inches from the jar.

"This is it," he whispered. "I'm one step closer. I just need to wait for my to heal and then I can begin."

But as the minutes passed and his thoughts settled, a new realization dawned on him.

"I might have made a mistake," he muttered bitterly, slumping back in his chair.

The truth hit him like a ton of bricks.