Forged Beyond

Murder

After 3 days... "


Izumi hummed softly as she stood by the kitchen counter, the scent of miso soup and freshly cooked rice filling their home. A soft breeze slipped through the slightly open window, making the wind chimes jingle faintly.

She heard the sound of Itachi fastening his ninja sandals and turned just as he spoke.

"Izumi, I'm going out. There's a mission—Danzo has asked me to take part in it."

Izumi frowned, wiping her hands on her apron as she made her way toward him.

"What? You're not even going to eat?" she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

Itachi paused in the doorway, adjusting the strap of his kunai pouch. He had expected this.

Izumi was always like this—always watching out for him, always making sure he was okay.

She stepped closer, her delicate fingers pressing gently against his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his dark cloak. She tilted her head up, her black eyes meeting his.

"Will you be okay?" she asked softly. "If you need anything, you know who to contact."

A small chuckle escaped Itachi's lips. He placed his hand over hers for just a moment before letting it fall away.

"I'll be fine," he assured her.

Izumi huffed, folding her arms. "I thought we'd have onigiri and dango tonight. It's your favorite, after all."

A flicker of something—guilt, maybe—crossed Itachi's face, but it was gone just as quickly.

Instead, he smiled, raising his hand and gently poking her forehead with two fingers.

"Next time, Izumi."

Izumi felt the warmth of his touch before he pulled away, stepping outside.

The door shut behind him.

She stood there for a moment, arms wrapping around herself as she let out a quiet sigh. A soft blush dusted her cheeks as she whispered under her breath—

"Stupid Itachi."

A small smile tugged at her lips.

She just wished that next time would come soon.

That night, at 10 PM, Itachi left the village.

The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out. He was expected to return by morning—no later than 1 AM.

But at exactly 1:07 AM, someone knocked at the main Uchiha household.

Mikoto, who had been sitting with Fugaku, discussing clan matters in hushed tones, furrowed her brows. Who could be knocking at this hour?

She stood up, smoothing her yukata, and walked toward the door. Something felt off, but she brushed the unease aside.

The moment she slid the door open—

A blade lunged forward.

Mikoto barely had time to react as the katana sliced through her cloak, missing her by mere inches. She gasped, stepping back swiftly, her Sharingan flaring to life.

In one fluid motion, she flipped backward, grabbing a kunai from the weapons pouch tied to her thigh.

Her stance was defensive, her grip steady, but her heart pounded in her chest.

This man—whoever he was—was strong. Far too strong.

A smirk curled on the intruder's lips, though most of his face was obscured by the shadows of his hood.