After a long silence, Uchiha Itachi collected himself. The emotions stirring beneath his cool exterior were stilled—now was the time to analyze, not feel.
His eyes narrowed as he addressed the masked man before him.
"Gen's Mangekyo Sharingan wasn't just some support dōjutsu."
Obito's masked face tilted slightly. "Explain."
"He didn't simply strengthen others," Itachi said flatly. "The ability had conditions—triggers. And the core principle seemed to be manipulation through language… like a cursed contract bound by words."
Obito blinked behind the mask. "Word Spirit…"
Itachi gave a slow, confirming nod. "A verbal technique that shapes will and decision. It's not just suggestion—it's command."
And worse, Itachi thought, it might be contagious.
He recalled the shift in Shisui before his death… subtle at first. Unnoticeable until it was far too late.
"He could use it to infect minds… even affect other Mangekyo," Itachi said, his tone darker now.
Obito stiffened. "You're saying Gen tampered with Shisui's eyes?"
"He had ties to Shisui—ones I ignored."
Itachi's voice grew colder as he spoke.
"And the night the clan fell, you—Obito—you pulled out Gen's eyes. Do you remember what you did next?"
Obito frowned beneath the mask. "What do you mean?"
"You released Word Spirit," Itachi said plainly. "You pointed them toward me."
Obito froze. "It was just a joke."
"No," Itachi said, his Mangekyo beginning to spin slowly. "It wasn't."
There was no genjutsu.
But Obito could feel it—something alien, lodged somewhere deep in his instincts.
A flicker of memory he never placed there. A hesitation when handling Gen's eyes. A moment of… desire.
He took out the preserved eyes from within a sealed jar, the glass trembling slightly in his hand. "They're here."
Itachi's gaze pierced the container.
Obito watched him warily. "You think these are influencing me?"
"When you tried to destroy them," Itachi asked, "did you hesitate?"
Obito looked at the jar again, lips slightly parted.
A wave of emotion struck him—attachment. Obsession. Nostalgia for a world that never was.
He could see her—Rin.
"Isn't that your dream?" a voice whispered in his mind. "A world where Rin lives and smiles… forever."
Gen's final words echoed like a phantom:
"A perfect world… with only Rin."
Obito's hand tightened around the jar.
He closed his eyes, forcing down the burning in his chest.
"I am Uchiha Madara," he growled.
But even as he said it, the conviction in his voice was cracking.
Itachi exhaled softly. His theory was no longer a theory.
This ability—Word Spirit—wasn't just a genjutsu or a mental attack. It was an ideological parasite.
And it had already taken root in the Masked man's heart.
He had no time to waste.
"I need to return to Konoha," Itachi said. "Now."
Obito gave no objection. His mind was lost in confusion, tangled in the silent whispers of a dream that no longer felt entirely his.
"Go," Obito said at last, voice subdued and distant.
Ignoring Obito, Itachi left directly.
Konoha — Hokage Office
The atmosphere was heavy.
Hiruzen Sarutobi leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples as Hyuga Hiashi finished his report.
The news was grim—another Mangekyo had awakened during the Uchiha massacre. One that potentially wielded world-ending power.
Just as Hiruzen opened his mouth to respond, the doors slammed open.
He strode in like a storm, radiating arrogance and iron resolve. His tone was as sharp as ever.
"Hmph. You believe the Uchiha had a jutsu capable of destroying the world?" he scoffed. "Fairy tales."
Hiruzen's expression hardened. "Why are you so sure Danzo?"
"Because," Danzō said coldly, "if such a dojutsu existed, Root would already have it ripped out of these corpses that night."
The arrogance in his voice made Hiashi's lip twitch with disdain.
With deliberate calm, Hiashi stood. "I've delivered the intelligence I intended. What the Hokage and his associates choose to do with it… is no longer my concern."
In fact, Hyuga Hiashi had originally intended to also discuss matters of internal village unity and cooperation with Hiruzen Sarutobi during his visit.
But Danzō's sudden intrusion, and his reckless, even provocative remarks, completely made the atmosphere tense.
He bowed to Hiruzen—politely, but without warmth—and turned to leave.
But not before sending a glance toward Danzō that brimmed with disdain.
You'd dig out the eyes of your fellow villagers without a second thought… who could ever trust you?
As a member of the Hyuga, a bloodline clan himself, Hiashi understood the fear of dōjutsu falling into the wrong hands—but Danzō was the wrong hands.
The door clicked shut.
Hiruzen turned to Danzō, his voice weary.
"What are you really after?"
"Sasuke Uchiha," Danzō answered without hesitation.
"There's no discussion to be had there."
"I only want to mold him into a proper weapon. One who understands the Will of Fire."
"You mean a tool," Hiruzen replied icily. "You want another pawn."
"What about the Uchiha's assets?"
"The village will oversee them."
"Hiruzen, you will regret this."
Hiruzen stood now, voice rising like iron beneath velvet.
"How many times do I have to drill this into your skull, Danzō?"
He slammed a hand down on the desk.
Danzō gave no answer.
He didn't slam the door as he left this time—just vanished into the shadows, like the ghost of a mistake the village kept refusing to bury.
Hiruzen sat down, exhaling through gritted teeth as he felt a headache coming on.