Bab 17: Chapter Fifteen: Operation Black Box
The morning arrived quietly, the clan waking with a kind of deliberate slowness. The hum of daily life began to stir—doors creaking open, distant voices calling, the shuffle of feet across cobblestones. The air in the Uchiha compound was foreboding. People went about their daily rituals—cleaning, opening stalls, cooking meals—but there was no mistaking the atmosphere of quiet preparation. We were soldiers, each and every one of us, regardless of age or occupation. I watched from the steps of my family's home, my gaze lingering on a child sparring under her father's guidance. Their banter was strained, an attempt to mask the unease that clung to them. Even the wind seemed hesitant, as if it feared shattering the fragile calm.
Father stood nearby, speaking in hushed tones with a group from the station. His gestures were slow, deliberate, his fists clenching and unclenching as he spoke. His expression remained impassive, unwilling to betray his emotions. But I knew him too well—anger simmered beneath that composed exterior. He was still furious with me, and rightfully so. I had taken actions without his consent, actions that had thrown our clan into the centre of a brewing storm. He had agreed to my demands but the cost was the trust between us.
I kept my distance, my presence unnoticed, but my eyes never strayed far from him. I knew the stakes of his conversations, the lines being drawn in secret. The shinobi around him hung on his every word, their expressions a mix of uncertainty and determination. They believed in Father, believed in his vision for the Uchiha. And yet, there was a growing divide—those like Shisui who did not see the path we walked as the right one.
My thoughts, however, were elsewhere, drawn to the looming consequences I could already foresee. The signs were subtle—almost invisible, as they often were in the world of shinobi. But I knew what lay ahead, not through some sudden epiphany, but through my prior insight and a careful reading of intentions. Kumogakure's intelligence network would soon be operating at full capacity to ferret out Konoha's intentions, and if left unchecked, there were two likely scenarios.
The first: they might come to realise that the Leaf truly had no part in the assassination of their Head Ninja, which could lead them to hesitation, wary of manipulation by a third party. The second: they could misinterpret the situation and escalate matters, believing aggression was their best path forward.
Neither of these scenarios suited my purposes. Hence, I needed a way to influence Kumogakure's intelligence network, mould their narrative, and throttle how quickly tensions rose. Yet, as with all grand designs, the execution of my plan would prove far more elusive than the intent.
When the meeting with the shinobi concluded, Father turned towards me, his eyes hard as he beckoned me to walk with him. The tension between us lingered. As we moved through the compound, his voice was calm but carried an edge that discomforted me.
"You've been waiting here for a while," he said, his annoyance palpable beneath the measured words. "What is it that you need, Itachi?"
I fell into step beside him, my hands folded behind my back. "I wish to join the Police Force," I said simply. "With the current situation, I have no missions to occupy my time." My request was practical, even if the motivations ran deeper. Father's declaration had given me a reason to refuse my usual duties, hence, it was entirely plausible that was just an attempt to stay active—to keep my mind and skills sharp.
Father's eyes narrowed slightly, and he glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "The Police?" he repeated, his tone sceptical. "And why would you want that now?"
"I believe it would be best for me to keep you abreast of my activities from now henceforth," I said, my gaze steady. "Moreover, I would like to form a unit within the Force—a small task force, comprised of just a few competent and trustworthy Jonin." I paused briefly before adding, "Anyone you can spare, really. I don't think I have the liberty of being picky about ranks. I just need them to be reliable."
Father's silence was heavy, his footsteps echoing across the cobblestones as he considered my request. "You are still a Genin, Itachi," he finally said, his voice carrying a note of doubt. "There will be resistance. Few shinobi will accept being led by someone of lower rank."
I nodded, understanding his scepticism. "But I still have to try. I can only do so much with shadow clones before I start to get overwhelmed. Any issues that arise with morale, I will resolve."
Father regarded me for a long moment, his gaze weighing every word I had spoken. Finally, he nodded, though the motion was slow, reluctant. "I will consider it," he said. "In the meantime, you will submit a full report detailing your reasoning for this request. If I grant it, understand this: you will be under strict oversight. No drastic actions, Itachi. Not like before. Not without consulting me first."
I inclined my head, acknowledging his words. There was no surprise, no sting of disappointment; I had expected this. As we reached the edge of the district, Father paused, his gaze drifting outwards, taking in the village beyond, as if searching for an answer in the distant rooftops.
His voice cut through the silence, low and laced with doubt. "Do you truly believe the village would rather see us dead than reconcile?"
I turned to face him, searching his eyes for a moment before shifting my gaze back towards the surveillance building looming ahead of us. The quiet in the air was heavy.
"It doesn't matter what the village wants," I said finally, my voice almost swallowed by the wind. "As long as men like Danzo hold power, the Uchiha will never be safe."
Father's eyes hardened, his expression turning colder. "Explain," he demanded.
"Danzo and his ROOT," I said, "they've been taking the eyes of our clansmen. Experimenting with them. Using them as fuel to use our clan's forbidden Kinjutsus—Izanagi and Izanami. To Danzo, to ROOT—to Orochimaru, to Obito, our lost clansman known to some as Tobi and others as Madara, his allies—our people are not families or lives. They are resources to be harvested. Imagine, rows upon rows of precious Uchiha kekkei genkai just waiting to be used. To escape death. To rewrite reality. That is all they see when our crest appears before them."
The silence stretched on between us again. Father stared at me, the lines of his face etched with something between doubt and reluctant belief.
"Can you prove this?" he asked finally.
I shook my head.
Two days passed without incident.
The room I chose was spare, sparsely lit, the sort of office meant to convey a sense of order, not comfort. The wood-panelled walls were bare, save for a few maps and a pinned schedule, yellowing at the edges. I sat behind a desk that wasn't mine, in a workspace I had commandeered for my own purposes. Before me was the Jonin—mid-thirties, face worn and indifferent, dressed in a standard-issue uniform with the sleeves rolled up, as though to announce his casual dismissal of this charade. He looked at me like I was still a child, which, I supposed, in his eyes I very much was. A talented child, but a child all the same.
He slouched in his chair, feet just shy of propped up on the desk, his lips twisted in something between a smirk and a sneer. "I was certain Lord Fugaku was joking when he said you'd be in charge. You seem a bit young to be recruiting officers for a task force, don't you think?" he said, his tone tinged with derision. The flicker of condescension was a predictable response. They all thought the same: I was only here because of my father's insistence. That much was clear from the way his eyes skimmed over me, searching for something that wasn't there—authority, perhaps. Age. The semblance of a peer.
I leaned back, folding my hands in my lap, meeting his gaze. "I understand your hesitation," I said. "I would not be here myself if I didn't consider it a necessity." My voice was calm, even. The sort of tone that betrayed nothing and gave nothing away.
He snorted, tilting his head slightly. "A necessity, is it? And why's that then? What's a Genin looking to gain from all this?"
"Results," I replied. I paused, letting the word settle, watching his expression—the way his brow furrowed just slightly, how his mouth pressed into a thin line. "The situation we face is not one that affords us the luxury of hesitation. We need people who can act swiftly, who are trustworthy. People who understand what's at stake." My gaze didn't leave his, and I could see the muscles in his jaw tighten.
He was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if weighing the substance of my words. He shifted in his seat, bringing his feet down to the floor and straightening, perhaps for the first time acknowledging the gravity of our conversation. "Trustworthy, eh? And you think you can judge that, do you?" His voice was quieter now, the mockery drained from it.
"I can try," I said, my eyes still steady on his. "You are not obligated to trust me. But understand this—my father's orders are not a shield. I will not be under anyone's protection, nor will you. This task force is to operate beyond the oversight of traditional channels. You will answer to me, and I to Lord Fugaku. Not to the station, not to the clan, and definitely not to the Hokage's Council. If you cannot accept that, then I would prefer your refusal now."
He studied me for a long time, the air between us heavy. His eyes flickered across my face, searching. There was no sign of the mocking smile now—only consideration, a hint of something more thoughtful lurking beneath the guarded exterior.
Finally, he nodded, though the motion was slow, measured, a tacit acceptance rather than any show of enthusiasm. "Alright," he said, his tone gruff, but without the hint of derision from before. "I'll give it a go, for now. But know this—if you slip up, if you make even one mistake, I won't hesitate to call you out. I won't have my life in the hands of a child who barely knows what he's doing."
I inclined my head, acknowledging his words. "That's all I ask," I said. "Your honesty, and your vigilance." The room seemed a touch lighter then, the burden of mistrust easing, if only just.
He stood up, pushing the chair back with a scrape against the floor. He looked down at me for a moment, as though considering whether there was anything more to say. There wasn't, of course. Not yet. He gave me a nod, curt and deliberate, before turning to leave the room.
"Wait," I said just as his hand wrapped around the doorknob.
"What is it now?"
The Jonin turned to look me in the eye and the red of my Sharingan bled into his. He fought back, of course, his kekkei genkai emerging instinctively to resist mine, but it was to be a futile endeavour. My palm closed around his neck as I pushed him against the door, choking the air from his lungs.
Moments later, I leaned against the Jonin's chest, his body still beneath mine. Unconscious. Father would be wroth to learn I took such measures against a fellow clansman but I knew traitors lurked amongst us. There were risks just not worth taking.
I sifted through the Jonin's memories, piecing together the important bits. He was loyal, committed to the clan—a marked contrast from the turncoat I'd dealt with earlier. Still, trust was a precarious thing, easily lost and rarely given. I left behind a Yin-spectre, a subtle, lingering presence that would ensure his compliance, a shadow in his mind that would act in my stead if needed.
Satisfied, I rose, brushing the creases from my clothes as he stirred. He came to slowly, eyes blinking as the fog over his thoughts lifted. With a measured calm, he got to his feet, straightened his uniform, and settled back into his usual rigid stance. "I'll be taking my leave then," he said, his voice flat, giving little indication that anything had transpired.
I nodded in response as I watched him leave the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone