He had left a subtle but meaningful impression on Uchiha Itachi—though Uchiha Kai hardly cared. As Kai often said, no war is ever simple.
The Hidden Sand Village's aggression toward Konoha wasn't just a strategic maneuver—it was a consequence of internal instability. After the disappearance of the Third Kazekage, panic had spread through Sunagakure. Their territory, a barren expanse of desert, couldn't sustain agriculture, and famine loomed. War, in their eyes, was both a distraction and an opportunity: to claim fertile land from the Land of Fire and reduce their excess population by funneling labor into military production—or into the battlefield itself.
Other great nations—Kumogakure, Iwagakure, and Kirigakure—weren't so different. Their motivations for entering the Third Shinobi World War varied, but all sought influence, land, and dominance. The so-called "Four Great Nations" had turned on Konoha, seeing it as the strongest among them. Had Iwa and Kumo not overreached or turned on each other in their greed, they might have claimed decisive victory.
Konoha, for all its apparent strength, had taken heavy losses. Many of its most powerful shinobi had died or vanished—Sakumo Hatake, the White Fang, was gone. Jiraiya was often absent. Now, only a handful of high-level forces remained—Hiruzen Sarutobi, Danzo Shimura, and perhaps a few elite ANBU. Even so, the other villages couldn't afford to underestimate Konoha's will to survive.
Kai Uchiha understood this bitter truth well. He was a pawn, not a general. He could only play his part, watching the board unfold, perhaps with clearer eyes than most.
As he approached the Konoha Military Police headquarters, he noticed whispers following him—talk about Uchiha Itachi, who had sought him out earlier. It made Kai frown.
Foolish, he thought. Itachi is either naive or desperate. Whether it's his youth now or his future burden as a prodigy, his childish clarity will only arrive after death has forced him awake.
Within the building, silence fell the moment Kai entered. His reputation preceded him—not just as a capable shinobi, but as someone to be feared. Even those not on his squad dared not breathe too loudly under his gaze.
"Lord Kai," came a voice. It was Uchiha Chuan, approaching with a salute. "Welcome back."
"Mm. Where's your father?" Kai asked, scanning the room.
Chuan hesitated, then bowed. "My apologies, Lord Kai. I did not summon him."
Kai blinked. Did I even ask him to? He scratched his cheek. Still, a subordinate willing to assume responsibility so smoothly was rare—and useful.
"Go get him. I have something to discuss with you both."
"Yes, sir!"
A short while later, Uchiha Chuan returned with his father, Uchiha Asahi—currently Kai's aide in the Military Police. Asahi handled much of the department's administration when Kai and Kenta Imai were busy elsewhere. Kai trusted him. Giving something to Chuan meant reinforcing a reliable alliance.
"Lord Kai," both father and son bowed.
"I'll be blunt," Kai said. "Chuan, I know you've long been frustrated by your inability to awaken the Sharingan. I have a method to awaken it directly. But it's dangerous—experimental. There are no guarantees of success... or survival."
Both men froze. Awaken the Sharingan directly? It sounded insane—yet they knew Kai wouldn't joke about this.
"It's based on the same principles I used to push myself to the brink. A type of genjutsu—not just an illusion, but a targeted psychological rupture. I've refined it. You don't have to accept. You're a valuable subordinate either way."
Chuan didn't hesitate. He dropped to one knee. "I accept."
"Chuan!" Asahi stepped forward. "Think carefully. This isn't a game."
"I've already decided." Chuan's eyes were resolute. "This is my path."
Kai nodded solemnly. "I'll ask one more time: are you certain? This could kill you."
"I am. No regrets."
"Then let's begin." Kai's eyes spun into scarlet three-tomoe Sharingan. "Genjutsu: Inner Reflection."
This wasn't ordinary genjutsu. Kai had designed it for one purpose—breaking mental barriers. It forced the victim to confront the deepest anchors of their identity, to suffer their loss, and to either collapse—or awaken.
It couldn't be controlled once activated. Kei could only watch.
Chuan collapsed into a trance. Minutes passed. Then hours. Asahi stood by, tense and anxious.
Finally, after more than two hours, Chuan gasped—and his eyes bled red. A single tomoe spun in each eye.
"Chuan!" Asahi rushed forward, relief washing over him.
But then—
In a flash, Chuan pulled out a kunai and lunged at his father.