Naruto Immersive Replay, The Curse of the Sharingan

The name Showa is like a stain, curled up in the mold on the last page of the family genealogy.

Zhili lifted my sleeve, and the old bruises looked like ugly centipedes in the light. When her pearly tears fell on them, I felt more pain than my parents' curses.

My days of hiding in the shadows are over.

The moonlight was cut off by the man's figure. He squatted down to look at me, and the sandalwood scent hanging from his sleeves made me dizzy.

I bared my teeth at him like a wildcat being grabbed by the scruff of its neck, my fingernails still stained with blood blisters from practicing Fire Release the night before.

"The hawkish elder?" I chewed on the word, like chewing on a hard piece of dry rations.

He smiled, and the lines around his eyes reminded me of the gilded edges on a family tree—those glamorous things I could never reach.

"Come with me." He held out his hand, palm up. "Are you hungry?"

I stared at his neatly trimmed nails, then suddenly lunged and bit his wrist.

As the metallic taste exploded on my tongue, I heard my soul scream: Run! It's a trap!

But my stomach growled even louder.

The residence of Elder Uchiha Xu had a medicinal smell.

The maids always held their breath when they combed my hair. I leaned over the corridor and watched Xu review the scrolls. The ink dripped down the tip of his pen, just like the blood on the day my parents were executed.

"Do you want to go to school?" he suddenly asked one day.

I was stringing three dead sparrows together with chakra threads when I heard this, and my fingers trembled.

The sound of children reciting ninja incantations came from outside the window, crisp and clear, overlapping with the voice of a purple-haired girl in my memory.

"No." I arranged the sparrow's corpse in a mocking expression. "The thing that taught me to kill."

Xu's brush paused on the paper, blurring into a dark moon.

At the age of fourteen, I crushed the last piece of my childhood remains.

The scrolls in the Forbidden Arts Pavilion soaked my fingerprints, and the bloodstains from the training ground seeped into the lines on my soles.

The maids now kneel to comb my hair, and no one at the clan gathering dares to look directly into my Sharingan.

Until that name appeared on the mission scroll—Uchiha Chisato.

She was wearing a modified version of her tribal clothing, her purple hair cascading down her back. The first thing she did when we met was smile at me—a silly, unguarded smile.

"Nice to meet you, Showa-senpai."

She called me senior.

She didn't recognize me.

Zhili always writes ridiculous things during breaks between tasks.

On the Possibility of Spiritual Healing with the Sharingan

The Resonance Effect of Chakra and Emotions

The most ridiculous thing is that book, "Izanagi Improvement Plan"—she actually dared to think that she could use this forbidden technique to reverse the fate of the Uchiha clan.

What suggestions did the Showa-era seniors have for the reform of clan schools?

Zhili's businesslike tone made me want to strangle her, but when she lowered her head to take notes, the sight of a strand of hair slipping down her side made me reach out as if possessed, and at the last second before touching her, I quickly changed my mind and brushed the fallen flowers off her shoulder.

“I suggest destroying Izanagi.” I stared at her suddenly raised face. “That thing will only hasten the demise of the Uchiha clan.”

"You don't understand at all!" she suddenly exclaimed, the ink spreading across the paper as her brush splattered. "This is the only chance to rewrite my destiny..."

I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look directly into my Sharingan. "Look me in the eyes and say it again: Is this rewriting fate, or another curse?"

The moon was especially red the night of the coup.

When I entered the Elders' Courtyard carrying my blood-stained katana, Xu was making tea. A few pieces of konpeito floated in the teacup he handed me, just like the lunchbox that had been on the windowsill many years ago.

"Teacher," I said, knocking over my teacup, sugar granules sticking to his trembling fingers, "it's time for you to step down."

As he collapsed to the ground, convulsing, he was still laughing, "You...finally...are you acting like this..."

I stepped on his neck, where the veins were bulging, and bent down to remove his elder's jade pendant.

The inside of the jade pendant is engraved with the small characters 'Showa', which is a thank-you note I wrote in a crooked hand a long time ago.

"Teacher," I crushed the jade pendant into powder, "remember to send my regards to my parents in hell."

There was a commotion outside the window. It was Zhili who had brought people to stop the coup. When she found Xushi, whom I had imprisoned, in the interrogation room, that eternally elegant man was humming a nursery rhyme. He smiled at her through the iron bars, "Little Zhili, the lunchbox you gave me back then... she didn't even leave a single grain of rice."

Look, we're all deceiving ourselves.

You pretend not to recognize the stray dog ​​that stole your lunchbox, and I pretend not to have smelled the wisteria fragrance in your hair.

The scroll of Izanagi burned in my palm, and as the flames licked my fingertips, it was as if I were back on that snowy night, when she held my frostbitten hand through the window.

"Showa-senpai..." She looked at me with the same expression she would give a stranger at the end, "Why?"

I stroked the newly made elder's haori, the cuffs embroidered with the family crest that Xu once owned.

"You got the wrong person."

Ashes covered my shoulders, much like the snow that never melted on the leaky eaves of my childhood home.

Many years later, when I killed the last clan elder at Nanga Shrine, I suddenly remembered the bento box that Jiri had placed on the windowsill back then.

It turns out that when people are truly starving, they dare not easily believe even the slightest bit of sweetness, fearing it might be a mirage-like illusion.

Look, I've finally become the very thing you hate the most.

Zhili, I still keep the lunchbox you gave me.

I still remember the first word that Zhili taught me to write—

The crooked, twisted marks are still etched on the inside of every one of my ribs.

【Uchiha Rei-xi - High-Level Torture】—The Unspoken Love

The author suggests instrumental music: Call of Silence (piano version with key changes).

OS: The author wrote Uchiha Rei's autobiographical side story while crying. He thinks it's very heartbreaking, probably because it's related to his past experiences.

My trachea was filled with rotten soil.

On the third day in the mass grave, his fingernails had long since peeled off, and the tips of his fingers were worn down to the bone.

I think I'm going to die here, like a stray dog, like an ant, like all the trash abandoned by their families, rotting in some unknown gutter.

Until the moonlight suddenly pierced the darkness.

"Lengxi—!"

Su's cries ripped through the deathly silence.

I squinted through my festering eyes and saw his dirty little face covered in tear stains, while the girl standing next to him was using a kunai to cut the ropes on my wrists.

Moonlight streamed onto her eyelashes, condensing into cool frost.

"Ah Su, this is the price of weakness."

Her voice was softer than the night breeze, yet it ignited a fire deep within my bones.

Later I learned that she was Uchiha Nagi, the youngest leader of the former elite group, and the "best older sister in the world" that Suku had mentioned.

She always stood at the edge of the watchtower wearing a black cloak, as if she might turn into a crow and fly away at any moment.

"Want to join the hawks?"

That night she suddenly appeared behind me, her hair still stained with undried blood.

I stared into her crimson Sharingan, where my distorted reflection was mirrored: a worthless coward clinging to life, a coward who didn't even dare to seek revenge.

The moment that word left my mouth, I seemed to hear the gears of fate meshing.

Entering the hawks' testing ground is like entering a slaughterhouse.

Those loyalists stared intently at my back, their mocking laughter like venomous snakes burrowing into my ears. "Isn't this the good-for-nothing who got thrown into the mass grave?"

"How could Lady Nagi choose such trash?"

My clenched fists were sweaty until the shadows fell upon me.

Nagi's steps were light, like a cat, like death itself. She didn't even glance at those people, but simply walked straight ahead.

“Now I’ll clear away all obstacles for you.” Her voice was so soft it sounded like she was reciting a eulogy. “You’ll have to repay me in the future.”

The first guy who rushed up to provoke her had his kneecap shattered by her kick.

Amidst the screams, she turned to look at me and said, "Come on."

I trampled over the wailing on the ground, crushing the Sharingan eyes scattered everywhere.

Over 1,800 days and nights, I transformed from a maggot in the mire into the second-in-command of the hawkish faction.

Nagi walked three steps ahead of me, the hem of her cloak fluttering like a raven's feather. I counted the scars on the back of her neck—fourteen, like fourteen waning moon markings.

As I watched her retreating figure, I suddenly recalled the moonlight that night at the mass grave.

So this is what it feels like to be illuminated.

I never knew.

I didn’t know that every time she disappeared, she was going to be tortured by her old subordinates. I didn’t know that the bruises on her wrists were marks from the chains. I didn’t know that her most cherished younger brother was being choked by Uchiha Yoshio.

"Sister...no...!" Su's cries were heart-wrenching.

She calmly removed her assassin's robe, revealing her back covered in old wounds.

"Thirty lashes." Yoshifu's laughter was like a dull knife scraping bone. "In exchange for this brat living another month."

When the first lash struck, not even her eyelashes trembled.

But in the shadows, I gnawed my own molars to pieces.

At that moment, I finally understood—

The light I looked up to was already mired in the mud.

Everyone says I'm like her shadow.

"Leng Xi, why do you still follow me?" she suddenly asked.

“Because…” my voice was hoarseer than the soil of a mass grave, “you are the person I have ever met who is most like the moon.”

Later, I secretly cultivated my power. When I handed the blood-stained kunai to Nagi, she showed me a genuine smile for the first time. That smile was colder than the moonlight, yet it made me willing to fall into darkness forever.

Look, I have finally become a demon who can stand shoulder to shoulder with you.

My blade is sharper than any of my direct descendants, and my Sharingan is more insidious than any of the elders.

But every night, I still return to that lookout tower.

Nagi sometimes comes, sometimes she doesn't, but I know—

Her blood dripped onto every inch of Uchiha's land, and my shadow will forever follow behind.

"You'll have to repay me someday."

On the day Su died, it rained heavily.

Blood mixed with rainwater dripped from her fingertips; her eyes were darker than the night and colder than a knife.

I stood behind her, a thousand words stuck in my throat, but in the end I could only utter two words: "My condolences."

That laughter felt like an ice pick piercing my heart; she was mocking me, mocking herself, mocking this rotten world.

Then she turned and left, never looking back.

As I stood there, getting soaked in the rain, I suddenly realized... that when a person is in extreme pain, they can't cry.

I often dream of Su.

I dreamt he was crying, I dreamt he was calling out "Sister", I dreamt the last look he gave me, so full of trust and dependence.

And I couldn't save him.

This guilt was too heavy, so heavy that it crushed all my courage. Whenever I faced Nagi, my surging love was brutally crushed by her, leaving only a silent, powerless gaze.

She stopped looking at me.

I... dare not let her see me again.