Naruto Immersive Replay, The Curse of the Sharingan

It turns out that all I ever wanted in my life was for that person to say to me again, "Don't be afraid, I'm here."

Even a lie is fine.

【Hyuga Hatozaki】—The Untold Story of a Deliberate Arranged Marriage

Moonlight streamed through the paper door, making the incantation mark on his forehead appear even hotter.

I stared at the crumpled ball of paper in my palm. When Tianyin handed it to me, her fingertips were as cold as a corpse.

The unfolded Xuan paper was densely covered with the names of the dead, and behind each name was a picture of a bird with a broken wing. The seventeen members of the branch family who died in battle half a year ago were all 'free men' without caged birds.

"Did the Uchiha assassins do this?"

As I crushed the teacup, a shard of porcelain pierced my palm, and a drop of blood fell onto the list, perfectly staining the name "Hyuga Sota".

That was my younger brother. He died on a snowy night last winter solstice, and his body was burned beyond recognition by the flames of the Uchiha clan.

But it was only then that I realized he was free before he died.

"The sole surviving leader of the assassins..."

The intelligence scroll curled up into ash in the candlelight; the defected Uchiha, a woman, wielding a katana—these fragments pieced together a blurry image in my mind.

When the information about the newly appointed elders of the Uchiha clan was laid out on my desk, I crushed my third pen.

The ink splattered on the corner of the woman's eye in the portrait, like a drop of black tear.

Her disdainful demeanor was completely different from the hunched Uchiha prisoners in her memory. Those stray dogs whose Sharingan had been gouged out never dared to look Hyuga in the eye like that.

"Uchiha Nagi".

As I pondered the name, the Caged Bird Seal suddenly burned with pain.

It turns out that even the mere mention of a prisoner's name can be enough to scorch them.

At the clan meeting, I deliberately knocked over a teacup.

"Instead of stalemate with the Senju, we should consider the Uchiha's Sharingan." Boiling water spilled onto the tatami mats, creating winding lines that resembled a map of a secret passage leading to the Uchiha clan's territory.

The elders' disdainful glances flickered in the shadows, like fireflies lurking in the shadows.

Tianyin coughed violently behind the curtain, the sound of blood seeping through her handkerchief like some kind of code; she had seen through my trick.

On the negotiating table by the Naka River, I finally got a clear look at Uchiha Nagi.

Her brow bone was sharper than in the portrait, her skin paler than in the rumors. The rhythm with which she tapped the table with the handle of her kunai surprisingly matched the frequency of my heartbeat when the caged bird had an attack.

"A marriage alliance?" She suddenly looked up, her three-tomoe jade pendants swirling in the shadows. "Is the Hyuga sending members of the main family as hostages, or members of the branch family as suicide soldiers?"

A falling maple leaf landed on her shoulder and was instantly pulverized by invisible chakra.

The portrait artist asked us to keep a distance of thirty centimeters.

Those damned thirty centimeters were more suffocating than the cursed seal of the caged bird. She sat upright in the sandalwood chair, and the fan-shaped family crest on her Uchiha clan robe stung my eyes.

I should have been staring at the artist's brush tip, but my gaze was uncontrollably drawn to the end of her drooping hair, a strand of black hair gently brushing against the handle of the kunai at her waist.

"Lord Hyuga, please come closer."

The artist's voice startled me awake. I stiffly moved half an inch and smelled the bitter tea scent wafting from her.

This aroma reminds me of the confidential files I reviewed last night: Uchiha Nagi, who had a sweet tooth but always drank bitter tea in order to stay awake.

"Are you enjoying the drama of the marriage alliance between the two ethnic groups?"

She suddenly spoke, her voice even more astringent than bitter tea.

My nails dug into my palms as I clenched my fists. How ridiculous! I, the young clan leader of the Hyuga clan, don't even have the right to touch my fiancée's sleeve.

In the painting, we are dressed in close proximity, but in reality, we have to be careful even when we breathe.

The day Madara broke off the engagement, I wielded my sword at the training ground until dawn.

Every fallen leaf shattered by the blade represents a word I wanted to say but didn't.

The elders of the main family breathed a sigh of relief. They had no idea that my pain was not from losing political leverage, but from no longer being able to find a reason to openly gaze upon her.

The white banners in the mourning hall fluttered like mourning clothes.

The first cup of wine I offered spilled onto the ground, seeping into the patterns of the blue bricks.

This cup is a toast to the weight of her hair falling on my shoulder when I painted her portrait that year; the second cup, swallowed with blood, is a toast to the red thread that slipped from her sleeve when she was carried into the coffin by Ban, the very same marriage rope I had secretly replaced with her back then.

The pain of crushing the third glass between my fingers and the shards piercing my flesh was nothing compared to the excruciating agony of seeing her remains—the pain of a caged bird exploding in my mind, a pain that had long since been released from its cage.

Later, I sent people to dig up the painter's grave and retrieve the unfinished portrait. Now it hangs in my secret room, and I fix one brushstroke every day with a glare.

When the portrait is finally finished, perhaps I will be able to touch that thirty-centimeter distance in the painting.

Nagi-sama......

You see, even death couldn't make me cross that line.

【Rin Shikaga】—《The Substitute: The Keeper》

Blood seeped from the cracks in the city wall and dripped onto my eyelashes.

I knelt below the execution platform, counting the seventh head that rolled to my feet.

The Minister of Rites, who had once forced me to sit in the stable and feed me manure, still had his eyes wide open in terror, reflecting the purplish-red figure on the city wall.

"Lord Tanuki."

I deliberately called out softly in a hoarse voice, watching the wind blow the ribbon that held her hair back onto my face.

As she turned her head, I clearly heard a creaking sound from my spine. It was Kaguya's blood boiling, screaming a warning to me: Run! This is a monster more dangerous than your father.

But her gaze froze me in place.

That piercing gaze, like a dull knife, dissected my sordid past.

I know she wasn't looking at me, but at a ghost that died in her memory.

But it doesn't matter, as long as I can be the vessel for that gaze, I'd be happy even if I were just a substitute.

Does it have a name?

Her blade lifted my chin, and the icy golden chakra made my Adam's apple bob.

I should have uttered that shameful name that had haunted me for twelve years, but instead I saw my own blood-stained reflection in her pupils—what a perfect blank canvas.

As she shook her head, beads of blood splattered down her hair onto the surface of her boots.

"Lu Helin." Her voice as she sheathed her sword sounded like a sigh. "Your name."

The pain of those three words being branded into my soul was even greater than when my father burned my back with his pipe.

I crawled on my stomach to grab the hem of her fluttering clothes, like a drowning person grabbing a piece of driftwood. The strong smell of blood on her body made me tremble; it was the nakedest representation of power.

Later, I learned to use the Golden Escape technique to imitate her killing methods, carving the character "狸" (raccoon dog) on ​​the jaw of every traitor.

As she leaned against the porch watching me carry out the execution, the moonlight cast the shadow of her eyelashes onto the back of my hand, like some kind of subtle praise.

It was only when the chill from the wall seeped into my spine that I noticed her fingertips were trembling.

“Ah Su…”

The unfamiliar name rolled off her lips, carrying with it a strong smell of alcohol and a gentleness I was unfamiliar with.

Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the eaves, illuminating her slightly unfocused pupils, which reflected not me, but some ghostly shadow.

I stood frozen in place, letting her calloused palm caress my face.

She had never looked at me like that before, with eyes so tender, like gazing at fragile glass, and so sorrowful, as if she were about to burst into tears.

“Foster father, I am Rin.”

These words were like a knife, ruthlessly dissecting her illusions. I witnessed the fog in her eyes dissipate, and she transformed back into the cold-blooded prime minister.

She withdrew her hand so quickly that her fingernail scratched a bloody mark on my cheek.

"Sorry, I mistook you for someone else."

As she turned, the hem of her dress brushed against my knee. The bloody scent that had lingered around her for years was mixed with a faint hint of cherry blossom fragrance tonight—the scent of the departed soul named "A-Su".

Standing in the empty corridor, I suddenly remembered how she always told me I "didn't raise my wrist high enough" when she taught me hand seals; I remembered how she unconsciously wrote the character "夙" (su) and then hurriedly crossed it out when she was reviewing my essays; I remembered how the light in her room stayed on until dawn every stormy night...

It turns out that every move I practiced so hard was a reflection of someone else.

Later, I found a portrait scroll in a hidden compartment in her study. The boy in the painting looked about 70% like me, except for the extra beauty mark at the corner of his eye.

The back of the portrait is inscribed with "My younger brother Su", the ink of which has been blurred by repeated rubbing.

My lord...

You personally sculpted me into someone else's likeness, only to tear open this cruel truth while drunk.

That day, the Uchiha clan crest on the envelope looked like a clump of undried blood, stinging my eyes.

I watched her use a kunai to pry open the sealing wax, her knuckles turning white from the force. In the candlelight, her profile flickered in and out of focus, the shadow cast by her eyelashes on the bridge of her nose like an abyss she could never cross.

"You're leaving."

This was no question. Her fingers, which were folding the letter, paused. The ink seeped into the rain and mist, blurring the glaring character "return".

The rain started in the middle of the night.

I knelt in the middle of the courtyard, the icy rainwater seeping into my collar and running down my spine.

Her luggage was simple, containing only a few changes of clothes and the wakizashi I gave her. She once said that the sword was too delicate, but she carried it with her on every mission.

"Foster Father..."

When my fingers grasped the hem of her black robe, the rainwater on the fabric instantly soaked into my palm.

Her hand holding the umbrella was frighteningly steady, the umbrella tilted towards me, yet she refused to let her gaze fall on me even slightly.

These two words were sharper than a blade. I looked up at her, the rain washing over her cold, hard features.

Those eyes that once taught me to see through all the schemes and power struggles in the world now reflect my disheveled face. How ridiculous! I'm not even qualified to be a stand-in.

As my knuckles loosened one by one, I heard the sound of my heart being torn apart.

Her retreating figure was gradually swallowed by the rain. I slumped down in the puddles, swallowing the metallic taste of rainwater mixed with the rising heat in my throat.

Amidst the rumbling thunder, I suddenly remembered what she said when she taught me my first ninjutsu: "Rin, pain is proof that you are alive."

Later, in her empty bedroom, I found the abandoned wakizashi. The inside of the scabbard was engraved with the small character "夙" (Su), and the edges had been worn smooth by the wear.

I finally understood that even the gift I had carefully chosen had become a sacrifice for her to mourn others.

My lord...

You taught me how to survive in this cannibalistic world, but you never taught me how to live in a future without you.

It no longer matters who you are looking at through me.

Mother, father, all the nobles who humiliated me...

Now standing on your graves is Lord Tanuki's sharpest blade.

[Super Mini-Theater] - Part 1: Easter Egg

(Act 1, Timeline: Second year after marriage.)

"Three years older?" Madara's thumb rubbed against the ninja uniform sash on your waist. "You mean here?"

The frenulum suddenly snapped, revealing a long-standing diamond-shaped scar on your lower back.

You use the handle of a kunai to press against his chin, saying, "According to Chapter Four of 'Meridian Theory,' after the age of twenty-five, the chakra flow rate will—"

The words were swallowed between his lips and teeth. Just as Madara bit the tip of your tongue, Izuna quickly covered Gen's ears, but it was too late. The child had already learned a new word: "...chakra viscosity?"

Later, Madara built a giant sundial at the training ground.

With each step the gnomon's shadow moves, it presses you onto the corresponding mark to demonstrate the "age difference."

As Izuna expertly dragged Genro past, he heard his brother's voice mixed with the muffled thud of ninja tools sinking into wooden stakes:

"Did you see that clearly? Your so-called 'older'—"

Xuan counted on his fingers and asked softly, "Third Brother, is Big Brother researching time ninjutsu?"