Chapter Text
Something had changed.
Kisame wasn’t sure when it started, but after their last mission in the Land of Water, Itachi was… different.
She ate more. Not much, but enough for him to notice. She slept a little longer. Her fever still lingered sometimes, but after applying eyedrops, it passed faster.
She stopped coughing.
It wasn’t obvious—not to anyone who wasn’t really watching her.
But Kisame did.
And today was no different.
He leaned against the doorway of their hideout, arms crossed, watching as she moved through her morning routine. Every movement precise, practiced. Folding her cloak neatly. Combing through her hair with quiet patience.
But there was something about the way she did it now that felt… softer.
Kisame huffed, shaking his head.
He wasn’t gonna question it. Not yet, anyway.
Instead, he stepped back inside, preparing tea for both of them.
By the time she settled down on the grass outside, the sky stretching in soft hues of dawn, he was already there. Two cups in hand.
Without a word, he handed her one.
Without a word, she took it.
That silence—the comfortable, unspoken understanding—had always existed between them.
But for the first time, Kisame felt something shift in it.
Like maybe, just maybe…
She was choosing to stay.
The moment stretched, peaceful—until the familiar hum of their rings activating shattered the quiet.
Projections flickered into existence. The rest of Akatsuki.
Kisame exhaled, taking a lazy sip of his tea.
🦈 Kisame, sipping tea: "Well, well. What’s the reason for the group chat today? Someone finally killed Hidan?"
🔪 Hidan, immediately offended: "Tch. Keep dreaming, shark boy. Lord Jashin keeps me alive for a reason."
💰 Kakuzu, sighing: "Yeah. To cost me money."
💥 Deidara, smirking: "Tch. He’s immortal, but his IQ sure ain’t."
🎭 Sasori, deadpan: "We could test his immortality by burying him alive. See how long it takes before he digs himself out."
🔪 Hidan: "Pfft. Jokes on you, asshole. I’d just start a cult underground."
💰 Kakuzu, muttering: "And somehow, I’d still be the one funding it."
☁️ Konan, rubbing her temples: "Must we do this every meeting?"
🦈 Kisame, sipping again: "Yes."
🌿 Zetsu’s white half: "I like these conversations. They tell me who to eat first if it ever comes to that."
🎭 Sasori, unimpressed: "I don’t have flesh. Have fun with that."
🌿 Zetsu’s black half: "No taste. Useless."
🔪 Hidan, cackling: "Pfft—imagine getting rejected by a cannibal, Sasori."
🎭 Sasori, monotone: "Imagine still breathing because Jashin forgot to collect your soul."
💥 Deidara, laughing: "Oi, Sasori, my man, that’s the most personality you’ve shown all year, yeah."
🔥 Pein, exhaling slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose: "Are you all finished?"
☁️ Konan, deadpan: "They never are."
🔥 Pein, glaring: "I will replace my Paths of Pain with all of you."
🔪 Hidan: "Lies. That’d be against the whole ‘peace’ thing."
🔥 Pein: "Fine. I’ll just mute all of you."
💥 Deidara: "You can do that?!"
🔥 Pein: "No. But I wish I could."
🔥 Pein, finally composing himself: "Now. We have a mission."
🦈 Kisame, smirking: "Finally. Thought we were just here for group therapy."
🔥 Pein’s voice was calm, absolute. "The client requested to gather intel on a possible politic candidate, he is located in a small village near the border of The land of Lightning. We need a way to gather intel without alerting either faction."
🎭 Sasori tapped his fingers against his knee. "I have a spy network—"
🔥 "No," Pein interrupted. "We don’t know how discreet your spies are. The underground circles all know each other. We can’t risk them getting caught."
🎭 Sasori’s face remained unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes.
💰 Kakuzu hummed. "Then we infiltrate with transformation jutsu."
🌿 Zetsu’s black half chuckled. "No good. We don’t know if there are any sensor ninjas there. They’d spot the chakra in an instant."
A pause.
☁️ Konan crossed her arms. "Then we send two people in disguise. No jutsu. No risk of detection."
Silence settled over the group.
Then—
🔪 Hidan, casually leaning back: "Yeah, and since we’ve got a whole damn bet pool on whether Kisame and Itachi are screwin’, why not send them? No one’s gonna question two lovebirds."
The room froze.
🦈 Kisame’s eye twitched. His fingers flexed around Samehada’s hilt. "I am going to cut your head off."
🔪 Hidan smirked. "Tch. Get in line."
And then—
🐦⬛ "It’s a good idea."
The words were spoken calmly. Flatly.
Everyone turned to look at Itachi.
☁️ Konan blinked. 💥 Deidara choked. 🔪 Hidan wheezed.
🎭 Sasori sighed. "Of course she agrees."
💥 Deidara, still processing: "Wait—WHAT?!"
💰 Kakuzu, cackled. "Oh-ho, now this is getting good."
🦈 Kisame’s blush peaked. His face twisted in fury. "Oi—Itachi-san, don’t just agree to this shit!"
💥 Deidara, eyes wide, finally snapped. "So, you guys are dating?"
A tense, unbearable pause.
🦈 Kisame gritted his teeth, about to swear on Deidara’s entire bloodline—
But before he could, Itachi deadpanned:
🐦⬛ "What do you think?"
The room went silent.
🦈 Kisame’s is dead.
💰 Kakuzu looked like he was calculating profit margins.
🎭 Sasori just sighed.
🔪 Hidan: "Kakuzu, I want to increase my bet."
🔥 Pein, exhaling sharply. "Enough. You two are going. Pack your things."
🦈 Kisame, exhaling sharply: "Tch. This is the worst day of my life."
🔪 Hidan, grinning: "Oh nah, this is the best day of mine."
💥 Deidara, smirking: “If shark boy doesn’t want to go, I’ll take his place, yeah.”
🔪 Hidan, enjoying what Deidara has started: “Shit, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll go instead.”
🦈 Kisame froze. The air shifted. Slowly, he turned his head. “The hell did you just say?”
💥 Deidara shrugged. “I mean, think about it. I blend in better than you, yeah. Way more charming.”
🔪 Hidan, grinning, absolutely living for the chaos: “Hell, and if she kills me after the date? Might just be the best way to go.”
🦈 Kisame’s grip on Samehada twitched. “You two have a death wish?”
💥 Deidara, smirking, leaning back just to provoke Kisame further:
“Relax, man. Just saying—if Itachi needs a date, might as well be someone who actually appreciates those pretty red eyes, yeah?”
💥 Deidara, grinning wider, twisting the knife:
“Shame to waste ‘em on someone who can’t even see the art in ‘em.”
🦈 Kisame’s patience snapped like a brittle twig.
The temperature dropped.
🦈 “Say that again. I f**king dare you.”
🔪 Hidan, laughing: “Hah! You mad, Kisame?”
☁️ Konan sighed, rubbing her temples.
💰 Kakuzu, amused: “So, should we just put all our money on Kisame now?”
🎭 Sasori, finally looking up from fixing one of his puppets: “Mm. I figured this outcome years ago.”
💥 Deidara, smirking, clearly not done: “Come on, un. No need to be jealous. Itachi’s a free woman, yeah.”
🦈 Kisame, deadly calm: “You’re about to be a free corpse.”
💰 Kakuzu, nodding approvingly: “That’s poetic.”
🎭 Sasori, monotone: “I give Deidara two minutes before he loses another arm.”
💥 Deidara, rolling his eyes: “Tch. You all act like Itachi wouldn’t just kill me herself if she cared.”
Silence.
Then—
☁️ Konan glanced at Itachi. “Are you going to kill him?”
All eyes turned to Itachi.
She took a slow sip of her tea.
Finally, she spoke.
🐦⬛ “Art is all about timing. Right now isn’t quite right.”
💥 Deidara, blinking. ”…Wait, hold on—that means…”
🦈 Kisame’s entire existence short-circuited.
🔪 Hidan, wheezing: “OH, SHIT, BRO THINKS HE HAS A CHANCE.”
🎭 Sasori, monotone: “How unfortunate.”
💰 Kakuzu, counting money: “I need to increase my bet.”
🦈 Kisame, DEATH GLARING at Deidara, voice like a blade: “Finish that sentence and I’ll finish YOU.”
💥 Deidara, sweating. “Uh—”
🎭 Sasori, nodding: “Smart.”
🔥 Pein, eyes twitching: "Enough. Kisame is going. No substitutions. I will not be entertaining a goddamn love triangle in this organization."
💥 Deidara, grumbling: "Tch. Whatever."
🦈 Kisame, low, dark: "Yeah. Whatever."
🦈 Kisame shot a sideways glance at Itachi.
She just sipped her tea. Watching. Enjoying the chaos.
🔥 Pein, completely deadpan, muttered under his breath: “Bet if I went with her, she’d actually talk to me.”
Silence.
☁️ Konan CHOKED.
🔪 Hidan WHEEZED.
💥 Deidara’s jaw HIT THE FLOOR.
🎭 Sasori, monotone: “Well. Didn’t see that coming.”
💰 Kakuzu, flipping through his bounty book: “Huh. I’d pay to watch this.”
🦈 Kisame blinked.
🦈 Kisame processed.
🦈 Kisame lost his goddamn mind.
A crack of chakra burst through the air.
Samehada SLAMMED into the ground.
🦈 Kisame, voice dangerously low, sharp as a blade: “The f** did you just say?”*
🔥 Pein, completely unfazed: “You heard me.”
☁️ Konan, TEARS in her eyes, barely able to breathe: “Nagato, please. This is the funniest thing you’ve ever done.”
🔪 Hidan, ABSOLUTELY HOWLING: “OH, THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.”
💥 Deidara, gasping for air: “SOMEONE WRITE THIS DOWN.”
🎭 Sasori, nodding: “I need a puppet of Pein for this exact moment.”
💰 Kakuzu, smirking: “Which corpse are you sending out of the six?”
🔪 Hidan, grinning ear to ear: “Or maybe all?!”
🔥 Pein, blinking slowly, absolutely DONE: “This meeting is over.”
🦈 Kisame, still GLARING DAGGERS: “It’s not over until I kill someone.”
🔥 (Pein disconnects. Everyone VANISHES.)
🦈 Kisame: ”…”
🦈 Kisame: ”…THAT SON OF A B—”
The sun hung low in the sky, the early morning light stretching long shadows across the grass. The warmth of dawn settled over the hideout, gentle and unassuming—the perfect contrast to the absolute hell Kisame had just endured.
They sat outside, side by side, cups of tea resting in their hands. The remnants of breakfast lay forgotten between them, but Kisame hadn’t touched his drink.
Because Kisame was spiraling.
It had been fifteen minutes since the meeting ended.
Fifteen minutes since he humiliated himself in front of the entire Akatsuki.
Since he nearly ripped Deidara apart. Since he slammed Samehada into the ground. Since Pein of all people had nuked his soul before disconnecting on purpose.
Since Kisame—the Monster of the Hidden Mist, the ruthless, feared swordsman of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist—had completely lost his shit over a dumb joke.
Because of her.
Because he cared.
…Shit.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing his temple.
He needed to say something. To cover his ass.
He cast a sideways glance at Itachi.
And of course.
Not a single ounce of regret touched her face.
Not for siding with Hidan’s dumbass idea.
Not for sitting there, drinking her tea, letting the others tear him apart.
Nothing.
Meanwhile, Kisame was one existential crisis away from digging his own grave.
Fine. If she wasn’t going to address it, he would.
He forced out a chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Tch. Don’t go thinking I actually cared back there.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I was just pissed at how annoying they were.”
Silence.
Itachi didn’t react. Just slowly took another sip of her tea, unbothered, untouched, unreadable.
Then—finally—she spoke.
“Mm.”
Kisame frowned. “‘Mm’?”
She took another sip. Still not looking at him. Still untouched by reality.
Then—her voice, smooth as ever.
”That’s a shame.”
Kisame blinked. “…What?”
Itachi finally turned her head, dark eyes locking onto his. Calm. Cool. Drenched in quiet amusement.
”Because if you did care…” She tilted her head slightly. “…I might’ve liked watching you keep acting like it.”
Silence.
Kisame’s brain is completely blue-screened.
Did she just say that?
Did she just imply—
Is she PLAYING with him??
She’s playing with him.
She’s ENJOYING this.
HE IS IN HELL.
Kisame choked. Literally.
“The—wait, the hell does that mean?!”
Itachi took another slow sip of tea.
Didn’t answer.
Didn’t deny.
Just stood up.
Brushed the dust from her cloak. Turned. Began walking away.
Kisame, still spiraling: “Where the hell are you going?”
She didn’t pause. Didn’t even glance back.
“Packing my things.”
“…For what?”
Finally, she looked over her shoulder.
Calm. Collected.
Deadpan.
“You heard Pein.” A slow blink. “Going on a date.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Kisame’s entire soul left his body.
——
The scent of freshly baked bread hung in the air, mingling with the crisp morning breeze. The streets were alive with quiet murmurs of early risers, merchants setting up their stalls, and the occasional clatter of wooden carts rolling over stone. Sunlight filtered through the rooftops, casting soft, golden light over the cobblestone paths.
It was a peaceful town. Untouched by war.
And yet—Kisame barely noticed any of it.
Because Itachi was walking beside him.
For once, she didn’t wear her usual ninja clothes, no Akatsuki cloak, the weight of bloodshed and war stripped from her presence. Instead, she was dressed in a deep purple civilian dress, the soft fabric flowing subtly with her movements. No forehead protector. No visible weapons. Just her.
Her hair, unbound, shifted lightly with the breeze.
The heels.
Not too high—just enough to give her an effortless, untouchable grace. Every step was calculated, smooth, like she belonged among these nobles and traders rather than on a battlefield.
Kisame walked with his usual ease, hands tucked into the folds of his civilian cloak. But his gaze flickered sideways.
Not for long. Not too obviously. Just enough.
The silk of the dress, the quiet confidence in her step, the way her presence still carried an edge despite the civilian disguise—it was distracting.
Kisame exhaled through his nose, dragging his gaze forward again. “Tch.” He rolled his shoulders. “Didn’t think I’d see the day you played the noblewoman role.”
Itachi didn’t respond immediately.
Didn’t even turn her head.
Instead, she kept walking, eyes fixed ahead, her voice as smooth and cold as ever—
“You’re taking the obsessed boyfriend role a little too seriously.”
Kisame missed a step.
Then let out a low, sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Hah. You got jokes today, huh?”
Itachi didn’t answer.
Didn’t smirk. Didn’t even acknowledge the hit she just landed.
She just kept walking.
Like she hadn’t just sent Kisame straight to hell.
Kisame kept walking beside her, hands in his cloak, expression casual.
At first, everything seemed fine.
The town was peaceful—almost too peaceful.
Children played near the fountain, merchants exchanged coins over fresh produce, the smell of baked goods drifted through the streets. The illusion of normalcy was perfect.
Too perfect.
And Kisame noticed it first.
The way people flinched—just barely—when guards passed by.
The way conversations dropped into whispers when certain men in armor strolled past.
The way a woman’s hands trembled when counting change, her eyes darting toward an alleyway.
It wasn’t obvious. Not unless you were watching.
And Kisame? Kisame was watching.
Beside him, Itachi moved like she noticed none of it. Silent. Controlled. Cold.
Then—it happened.
A child.
Small, barely more than five or six, running through the crowded street. He turned a corner too fast—and collided straight into Itachi’s legs.
Kisame barely had time to process it.
The boy stumbled back, eyes wide, panicked.
And then—he bowed.
Deeply.
Like he had made a mistake that would cost him his life.
“I—I’m sorry,” the boy stammered, voice tight.
Kisame scoffed, stepping forward. “Tch. Relax, kid. She’s not gonna—”
“Ren!”
A woman’s voice.
The boy turned. His mother—**a frail woman, tired eyes, a scarf wrapped around her shoulders—**hurried forward.
She smiled.
Soft, polite. Careful.
“My apologies,” she said smoothly, dipping her head. “He’s a little clumsy.”
Itachi said nothing. She gave them a small nod.
The woman dipped her head once more—then took the boy’s hand and led him away.
She didn’t rush. Didn’t run.
Just walked.
Like nothing had happened.
Like everything was normal.
Kisame watched them disappear into the crowd.
Then turned to Itachi.
She was already walking.
Toward a small tea shop near the center of town.
Kisame followed.
The tea shop was quiet.
The warm aroma of fresh tea drifted through the air, mixing with the quiet chatter of the other patrons. The atmosphere was comfortable, peaceful—a perfect contrast to the absolute hell Kisame was about to experience.
They had barely sat down when a sweet, elderly woman approached their table, her face crinkled in a warm smile. She moved with the ease of someone who had been running this teahouse for decades—someone who noticed things.
And Kisame?
Kisame didn’t trust her.
“Ah, young love!” she greeted, eyes twinkling. “Such a rare thing to see these days. A strong man, a refined woman—oh, what a lovely pair you make.”
Kisame immediately felt an oncoming stroke.
Itachi, unbothered, folded her hands neatly on the table, her posture effortlessly composed.
The woman clasped her hands together. “Now, what can I get for you two?”
Before Kisame could even breathe, Itachi spoke first.
“Jasmine tea. And dango.” A beat. Then, just as effortlessly—“Green tea, no sugar. And something sweet for him.”
Kisame stared.
The old woman beamed. “Oh my, you know him well!”
She turned to Kisame, beaming like this was the best thing she had ever witnessed. “You’re a lucky man, dear. Not many women pay attention to what their husbands like.”
Husbands—
HUSBANDS—
Kisame had seen horrors. He had been a horror.
But this? This was suffering beyond measure.
The elderly woman gave them a knowing smile. “How long have you two been together?”
Kisame’s brain stalled.
“I—we—that’s not—”
“Three years.”
The answer was calm. Immediate.
He snapped his head toward her. “Itachi-san—”
Itachi tilted her head slightly. Smiled gently.
“You always forget our anniversaries, dear.”
Kisame was going to die right here, in this goddamn tea shop.
The old woman gasped, delighted. “Oh, how wonderful! Three years! And still so modest around each other. That’s how you know it’s real.”
Itachi, still entirely in character, rested her hands on the table neatly. Smiled gently.
The woman placed her hands on her hips, looking between them. “And tell me, dear—when are you two getting married?”
Kisame actively malfunctioned.
His hands twitched. His jaw locked. His brain short-circuited.
And Itachi—
Itachi tilted her head slightly, voice smooth, effortlessly composed:
“Why rush?”
The old woman giggled. “Oh, how romantic! You’re taking your time, cherishing the journey. A good foundation makes for a strong marriage.”
Kisame’s eye twitched.
This was hell.
Absolute hell.
Then—
She turned to Kisame.
And Kisame knew, right then and there, that he was about to be obliterated.
Her expression softened, warm and knowing.
“With such beauty beside you, dear, you should propose soon.” She patted his shoulder like a wise elder. “She’s not going to wait forever.”
Kisame.exe has stopped working.
Itachi, still perfectly poised, cast a glance in his direction. Waiting.
The old woman, clueless and delighted, bustled away to prepare their order.
Kisame dragged a hand down his face.
Then, muttered under his breath—“I’m killing Hidan the second we get back.”
And Itachi?
She smiled.
Kisame stared at the plate in front of him.
Sweet. Rice. Cakes.
The absolute mockery.
Across from him, Itachi calmly picked up a skewer of dango, taking a slow, delicate bite—completely unbothered.
Meanwhile, Kisame glared at his plate like it personally offended him.
“Tch.” He exhaled sharply. “You ordered me sweets on purpose.”
Itachi, cool as ever, lifted her gaze slightly. “Did I?”
Kisame’s jaw ticked. “You did.”
She hummed. Took another bite of dango. Didn’t deny it.
Kisame grabbed his own skewer begrudgingly, eyeing it with suspicion.
Then, Itachi—without looking up—dropped the killing blow.
“I just thought something sweet might suit you, dear.”
Kisame choked.
The skewer almost slipped from his grip.
He snapped his head up, eyes wide, stunned, completely wrecked. “What—”
Itachi, serene, elegant, completely in character, took another bite.
Didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t do a damn thing.
Just enjoyed her dango like she hadn’t just set Kisame’s entire brain on fire.
Kisame, actively suffering: “I hate you.”
Itachi, calmly sipping her tea: “No, you don’t.”
The server return after a while with a knowing smile:
“Well, my dears,” she said, “I must say, it’s been a pleasure serving such a lovely couple.”
Kisame was still recovering from Itachi’s previous war crime.
But the sweet old woman wasn’t done yet.
She looked at Kisame with a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “You’re paying, right?”
Kisame stalled.
“Uh—”
“Of course he is.”
The calm, even voice that answered wasn’t his.
It was Itachi’s.
Kisame’s head snapped toward her. “Itachi-san—”
Itachi, serene, sipping her tea: “It’s only natural.”
The old woman giggled. “Oh, what a gentleman! It’s the little things that count, dear.”
Kisame stared at her. Betrayed. Defeated. He had lost in every possible way today.
Muttering curses under his breath, he dug into his pouch, slammed down the ryo, and forced himself not to throw himself into the nearest river.
The woman took the coins with a pleased smile.
“Oh, you’re a keeper, dear,” she said sweetly. Then— she turned to Itachi.
“Hold on to him.”
Kisame had nothing left.
Nothing.
And Itachi?
She smiled.
Calm. Serene. Deadly.
Then, she landed the final kill shot.
“We should get going,” she mused, glancing back at him.
Then, smoothly—without hesitation—
“After all, we’re on a date.”
Kisame died.
The air still held the warmth of laughter, the tea shop’s cozy atmosphere undisturbed—except for Kisame, whose soul had long since left his body.
Itachi, composed as ever, turned to the elderly shopkeeper, tilting her head slightly.
“I was wondering,” she said smoothly, her voice light, casual. “This town seems… peaceful.”
The woman beamed. “Oh, yes, dear. We’ve been fortunate. War hasn’t reached us here.”
Kisame, still mentally reeling, half-listened as he tried to put his dignity back together.
Itachi took a delicate sip of her tea, then tilted her head ever so slightly. “It must be well-governed, then.”
The woman’s smile faltered.
Kisame noticed immediately.
Just a flicker. A hesitation. A split-second crack in her expression before she smoothed it over.
“Ah, well,” the old woman said quickly, voice too practiced, too polite. “Our Lord takes care of us. The guards make sure we’re safe.”
Safe.
The word lingered strangely.
Itachi set her cup down gently. “Safe from what?”
The old woman blinked.
And this time—she hesitated too long.
Her hands clasped the empty tray, knuckles tightening just slightly.
A moment too late, she forced out a strained chuckle. “Oh, you know how it is. Bandits, thieves. The usual troubles.”
Liar.
Kisame finally looked up.
The shift in the air was subtle, but he could feel it now. The tea shop had been warm, light, filled with laughter minutes ago.
Now?
The old woman was too stiff.
Too careful.
Itachi let the silence stretch. Let it sit.
And the woman, perhaps realizing she had said too much, quickly patted Kisame’s shoulder again, laughing.
“Enough about that,” she said, brushing off her own words. “You two enjoy your stay. A lovely couple like you should cherish this peaceful town.”
Itachi tilted her head.
And smiled.
A polite, empty little thing.
One Kisame had seen far too many times before.
The shopkeeper left quickly, disappearing into the back.
Kisame leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Well, well,” he mused, his usual smirk creeping back onto his lips. “we are about to discover something interesting here, right, Itachi-san?”
Itachi didn’t answer right away.
She simply picked up her last piece of dango. A slow, deliberate movement.
Then, finally—
“It’s starting to stink.”
Kisame grinned.
A low, amused chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“Oh?” He exhaled sharply, cracking his knuckles. “Then let’s air it out, yeah?”
The town remained picturesque on the surface. A quiet, peaceful façade stretched beneath the evening sky, where the lanterns burned warm against the cooling air.
But beneath it? Something festered.
Kisame and Itachi moved through the dim streets, blending into the drifting crowd. Civilians moved about their lives with forced ease, their voices light, their smiles just a little too stiff.
And then—there it was.
A quiet alleyway. Too quiet.
Itachi’s gaze flickered—a child. The same one from earlier.
Kisame followed her line of sight. The boy was huddled behind a stack of crates, peeking through a slit in the wooden boards of a building.
Then, a voice. Muffled. Strained.
“Please—please, we didn’t mean to—”
A sharp crack. A choked-out sob.
Kisame’s lips curled. There it is.
They reached the entrance—a nondescript wooden structure, blending with the rest of the town. But now, up close, Kisame saw it.
The scratches along the door. The dark smears. The faint scent of something rotting.
Itachi pressed her fingers against the wood. Chakra pulsed—faint, precise.
A flicker of movement.
A latch inside clicked.
The door swung open.
Darkness greeted them.
And then—the smell hit.
Kisame inhaled slowly. Blood. Sweat. Faint traces of burned flesh.
They stepped inside.
The hallway stretched narrow, leading downward—a staircase, spiraling underground.
Torches lined the stone walls, flickering dimly, illuminating the filth-streaked corridors.
And then—the sounds.
Low, hushed whispers. Ragged breathing. Chains scraping against stone.
A prison.
No—a correctional facility.
Itachi moved ahead, her steps light. Kisame followed.
They reached the first room.
The door was cracked open.
Inside—people.
Cramped into cells, huddled in corners. Some were injured. Some weren’t moving at all.
And standing above one of them—a man.
A guard. Holding a branding iron.
Kisame exhaled slowly.
Ah. So that’s how it is.
The guard turned at the sound of their footsteps.
His expression froze.
The branding iron clattered to the floor.
The room went silent.
Then—a shift.
One of the guards finally reacted. Hand moving instinctively to his weapon. His grip tightening. His eyes scanning them—assessing. Calculating.
“You two,” he said, voice low, sharp with suspicion. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Kisame offered a lazy, practiced grin. “Didn’t mean to intrude,” he drawled. “We’re just tourists, got a little lost.”
A pause.
Another guard stepped forward. This one older, higher-ranked—his expression dark with recognition.
His eyes flicked between them, lingering on Itachi. His gaze narrowed. Then—he made a decision.
“You’ve seen too much.” His voice was final. Absolute. “You’re coming with us.”
Kisame’s grin tightened at the edges.
The first guard moved.
A sharp grab, fingers clamping harshly around Itachi’s wrist. His grip was rough—too rough. A display of authority.
Kisame’s fist curled.
His breath came slow, even. But his jaw clenched.
Then—she looked at him.
A single glance.
Barely a flicker of motion. A silent command.
Play along.
Kisame exhaled through his nose.
Fine. He’d play along.
For now.
The guards marched them forward, leading them out of the underground chamber, through the dark corridors, and up into the main estate.
The hallways grew wider. Cleaner. Decorated. It was the difference between the people who ruled and the people who suffered.
Finally, they reached a pair of tall, ornate doors.
The guards exchanged a glance. Then, one of them stepped forward, pushing the doors open.
And there—sitting comfortably on a grand chair, sipping wine as if the world outside wasn’t rotting beneath his feet—was their target.
The governor.
His gaze flickered up lazily.
And then—he smiled.
“Well, well. What do we have here?”
The guards shoved them forward.
“My lord,” one of the guards spoke, bowing slightly. “These two seem to be travelers. They claim to be passing through, but they… stumbled upon the facility.”
The governor’s gaze lazily flicked over them, lingering for only a second before returning to his drink. Unbothered. Unconcerned.
He let out a slow, disinterested hum. “Is that so?”
Then, his eyes finally landed on Itachi.
And—Kisame nearly dropped dead on the spot.
She was trembling.
Visibly.
Not in the way someone physically weak would tremble—but perfectly measured. Just enough to be believable.
Her hands clutched together, knuckles whitening. Her breath shallow, uneven. Her eyelashes fluttered, as if she was struggling to contain her panic.
And then—her voice broke.
“W-What is going on in this town?”
The governor let out a long sigh, swirling his wine as if this was all a mild inconvenience.
“Well,” he drawled, amusement glinting in his gaze. “Since you ask so sweetly, allow me to enlighten you.”
And then—he told them everything.
Every crime. Every method. Every disgusting, twisted justification.
Every single thing they needed to know.
He sat there, completely unaware.
Telling his own executioners exactly why he deserved to die.
Itachi flinched.
Her knees gave out. She collapsed onto the floor, her hands trembling as she covered her mouth, eyes wide with horrified realization.
Kisame nearly blacked out.
He was going to die before the mission even ended.
This was too much.
Because Itachi Uchiha didn’t flinch.
Not in battle. Not in war. Not even on her deathbed.
And then, in a voice so soft—so unlike her—she pleaded.
“We—” She swallowed thickly, shaking her head, looking down as if she couldn’t even hold his gaze. “We won’t tell anyone. Please… just let us go.”
The governor chuckled. “Oh, my dear,” he sighed, tilting his head. “You say that now, but you see…” He leaned forward, smiling.
“I can’t let you go.”
The governor tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze as he stepped closer.
His gaze flicked toward Kisame, tone casual, assured. “Your boyfriend will die.”
Kisame exhaled, as if he was holding back a laugh.
Then—the bastard tilted his head.
His gaze dragged over Itachi, lingering. Studying.
Kisame felt it before he even spoke.
That shift. That slow, calculating flicker in the governor’s gaze.
And then—the inevitable.
“However…” His gaze dragged over her, slow, deliberate. “Killing something so exquisite would be such a waste.”
Kisame’s vision turned red.
Kisame’s jaw locked so hard it felt like his teeth might shatter.
Itachi, still trembling, forced herself to look up.
Wide, broken, terrified.
“…Then—” Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Then… what happens to me?”
Kisame stopped breathing.
She was baiting him.
She was baiting him.
And it was working.
The governor chuckled, his fingers tapping against the rim of his glass.
“Oh, don’t you worry, my dear.”
His disgusting smile widened.
“I’ll think of something.”
That was it.
That was all Kisame needed.
Because this man?
This man was already dead.
The room, once filled with smirking guards and a smug governor, held nothing but silence now.
The governor walks back to his grand bench, leaning back, fingers barely curled around his wine glass, watching her.
Amused.
Studying her.
Just like the guards.
Kisame saw it.
Felt it.
The way they all lingered on her, delighting in what they thought was helplessness.
Itachi’s lashes lowered. Once. Slow. Unhurried.
And when she opened her eyes—
The fear was gone.
The trembling vanished.
Something shifted. The room tensed. The air turned cold.
And then—She spoke.
“So this,” she murmured, voice smooth, utterly devoid of emotion, “is what happens to poor tourists who happen to pass by this town.”
She stood. Effortlessly. She dusted her sleeves.
Kisame smiled. A slow, sharp-toothed smile.
The guards froze.
The governor’s wine glass tilted in his grip, spilling crimson liquid onto his lap.
No one moved. No one breathed.
Then—Red.
Her eyes bled into Sharingan.
The governor sucked in a breath.
His body locked. Frozen in place.
His fingers twitched. His throat bobbed.
His lips parted, breathless.
“…Sharingan.”
His voice was barely a whisper. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t run. But he could see.
He could see everything.
And then—Itachi tilted her head slightly.
A small, almost gentle motion.
Her voice—smooth, soft, almost a whisper.
“What do you think about my eyes?”
Silence.
The governor’s breath hitched.
The same eyes he had admired, the same ones he had lingered on—Now held him in paralysis.
The color wasn’t beautiful now. It was terrifying.
Itachi took a step forward.
He couldn’t even flinch. Could only watch.
She stopped at his table.
Lowered herself onto the seat next to him with the grace of a queen.
She picked up a cherry from the silver platter.
Turned it between her fingers.
Casually. Bored.
Then—She popped it into her mouth.
Savoring.
Slowly, effortlessly, she turned her head.
Looked directly at Kisame. And smiled.
“Kisame,” she murmured.
She leaned back slightly, crossed her legs.
“I miss seeing Samehada in action.”
Kisame exhaled. A deep, slow breath.
His grin widened. He cracked his neck.
Let out a low, dark chuckle.
“Well, well…” He rolled his shoulders, stepping forward, cracking his knuckles.
The moment Itachi spoke his name, a ripple went through the room.
A few of the guards—those with shinobi training—stiffened. Their faces lost color.
One of them—a younger one, barely seasoned,—staggered back.
His breath hitched. His mouth opened before he could stop himself.
“Kisame?… Hoshigaki?”
Silence. Something shifted.
Kisame tilted his head. Slowly. Deliberately.
Then—he grinned.
Not just any grin.
A sharp-toothed, death-sentence grin.
His voice, deep and almost amused—
“Ah… So you’ve heard of me.”
The young shinobi flinched.
The other guards turned to him, confused.
They hadn’t realized yet.
They didn’t understand what name had just left his lips.
The young shinobi’s breathing turned shallow. His hands shook.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“Demon of the Hidden Mist.”
That was all it took.
The rest of them understood now.
A horrible, sinking realization.
Kisame saw it in their eyes.
The fear.
That was his favorite part.
He exhaled through his nose. Rolled his shoulders.
Kisame summoned Samehada into his grip.
Then, with dark amusement—he answered.
“Good. That means you already know how this ends.”
And then—The massacre began.
The air shifted. The guards froze.
Then—they ran.
But it was already too late.
Kisame was already moving.
Steel met flesh.
Limbs flew.
Blood splattered.
Screams echoed.
No one survived.
The carnage was over in minutes.
Kisame exhaled, rolling his shoulders.
He turned toward Itachi.
She was still sitting there. Unbothered. Composed.
Polishing her nails in red. Not blood. Actual red nail polish.
Kisame huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.
“Well,” he mused. “The mission was only to gather intel.”
Itachi casually lifted her hand, admiring the glossy finish.
Then—blew on them. Unrushed. Deliberate.
“Well I got Pein’s nail color today,” she murmured. “So I went with his ideology.”
She glanced up at him.
A slow, knowing smirk.
“And you got your little revenge for him disconnecting you.”
Silence.
Then—Kisame barked out a laugh.
“Tch. And here I thought I was the unhinged one.”
Itachi tilted her head slightly.
And then—She dropped the bomb.
“Though…” she hummed, lightly tapping her nails against the armrest. “Pein might’ve played the role better than you.”
Kisame froze.
His smirk twitched. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
Itachi took her sweet, sweet time, inspecting her nails.
Then, in a smooth, effortless tone—
“Well.” She cast him a slow glance. “He would’ve actually played the role.”
Kisame blinked. Processed. And then—died inside.
“Tch—what?! I was playing the damn role!”
Itachi gave him a look.
A soft, mocking, you absolute dumbass look.
And then—She smiled.
“Were you?”
Kisame.exe officially malfunctioning 💀
Then Itachi turned to the governor who still sat frozen.
Rooted in place. Paralyzed.
He had been forced to watch. To see his men slaughtered.
To witness everything—without the power to move.
And now—Slow. Unhurried. She released the paralysis.
The moment his body unlocked—he collapsed.
Trembling. Sweating. His breaths came ragged. Panicked.
Itachi watched. Unblinking. Expectant.
Finally, her voice cut through the silence.
Low. Unshaken.
“What do you think about your crimes?”
The man’s breath hitched. His eyes darted wildly across the room.
Blood. Bodies. His stomach twisted.
He swallowed thickly. Falling into full submission.
“I—I regret everything.”
His voice cracked.
“I—” A deep inhale, the sound of pure, primal desperation.
“I will release the slaves. I will—”
His hands pressed together.
“I’ll change. Please—”
He bowed his head.
“Spare me.”
A long pause. Itachi tilted her head.
As if she was considering it.
As if she actually believed him.
The false hope bloomed in the man’s eyes.
And then—A soft, almost disappointed sound.
She clicked her tongue.
Lifted a finger—A slow, deliberate no-no motion.
And then—her voice, smooth. Absolute.
“You don’t deserve death.”
The man’s lips parted—A flicker of hope.
Itachi’s gaze darkened.
“You deserve a suffering death.”
Tsukuyomi hit instantly.
The room warped. His body seized. His pupils dilated. His mouth opened in a silent scream.
Inside the illusion—Years passed. Decades of unrelenting agony.
When she released him—only seconds had passed.
His body convulsed. He hit the floor, twitching. Broken beyond recognition.
And then—Itachi reached forward.
Picked up a fork from the table.
Plunged it—Slow. Deliberate.
Deep into his throat.
The man gurgled. Choking. Bleeding out.
Slow. Suffering.
Exactly as promised.
Itachi watched. Cold. Unmoved.
Finally, she stood. Brushed off her sleeves. And turned.
Kisame watched her. Expression unreadable.
Impressed? Terrified?
Maybe both.
Then—A low, amused chuckle. Kisame flashed sharp teeth.
“That’s one hell of a way to use a fork.”
The mansion burned.
The fire swallowed everything—the walls, the wealth, the history of tyranny.
But the people? The people walked free.
A sea of survivors flooded into the streets, stunned, trembling, disbelieving. Chains once bound to their wrists lay broken in the dirt.
Some wept. Some collapsed. Some stood frozen, staring at the inferno that once held them captive.
They didn’t know who had done this. They didn’t ask. Because it didn’t matter.
Their tormentor was dead.
And the devils who delivered justice?
Were already walking away.
Kisame adjusted Samehada on his back as they stepped into the quieting streets. The sun hung low, dipping the town in gold and blood-red hues.
He glanced sideways at Itachi, who walked beside him, unbothered, effortless, poised as ever. The fire behind them painted an eerie glow against her pale skin, making her look less like a woman, more like a legend.
Kisame exhaled, shaking his head.
“Well, Itachi-san,” he muttered, smirking as the first screams of realization echoed behind them, “Guess the official report is gonna say… an unfortunate accident?”
Itachi didn’t slow her pace.
“Pretty tragic how these fires start themselves, huh?”
Her voice was smooth. Unbothered.
Kisame chuckled, shaking his head.
Behind them, the mansion crumbled.
In front of them—the world didn’t suspect a thing.
By nightfall, the town would learn of a tragic fire that claimed the governor’s life.
By morning, his rule would be a memory.
And by the time anyone dared to piece together the truth—Itachi and Kisame would be long gone.
Two ghosts.
Two shadows.
A fading legend in the dying light.
——-
After traveling for days toward their next mission, Kisame finally had enough.
“We’re renting an inn tonight.”
Itachi barely spared him a glance. “There’s no need.”
Kisame rolled his eyes. “Speak for yourself. Some of us enjoy sleeping on an actual mattress instead of a rock.”
She didn’t argue, which he took as silent agreement.
When they arrived at the inn, Kisame slapped a fat stack of ryo onto the counter.
“The best room you got,” he said, grinning.
The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “Sir, that includes private hot springs, silk bedding, and a full-course dinner—”
“Perfect. We’ll take it.”
As the key was handed over, Itachi finally gave him a glance. A silent, knowing glance.
Kisame smirked. “What?”
“…Kakuzu...”
Kisame scoffed. “Yeah? And I’ll rip his heart out if he dares to question me.”
The moment they stepped into the suite, Kisame spread his arms.
“Ahhh, now this is travelling.”
Itachi, already removing her cloak, merely said, “You’re going to be reimbursing this, I assume.”
Kisame flopped onto the silk mattress. “Tch. I’ll just tell him the mission required high-end undercover work.”
Itachi raised a brow. “In a room with embroidered curtains and imported tea?”
Kisame grinned. “Absolutely.”
And for once, she didn’t argue.
——
Kisame sighed deeply, stretching out in the hot spring, the steam curling lazily around him. His arms draped over the edges of the rock, his entire body soaking in the warmth.
“Now this is what I call livin’,” he muttered to himself, shutting his eyes. “I swear, we should just quit this whole Akatsuki thing and run a bathhouse somewhere. Who the hell needs world domination when you’ve got this?”
A faint ripple disturbed the water.
Kisame cracked one eye open—
And immediately choked on his own spit.
Itachi stepped into the spring, moving with her usual quiet grace—except this time, she wasn’t in her Akatsuki cloak.
No.
Of all the things Akatsuki’s appearance budget had been wasted on—rings, cloaks, straw hats—this was, without a doubt, the best use of funds he had ever seen.
She was in a simple black swimsuit, sleek and understated, yet still elegant. Her hair was gathered into a loose high clip, leaving her neck bare, while a few stray strands framed her face. Her forehead protector was absent, making her look almost… softer. The steam curled around her, the dim glow of the lanterns casting a warm shimmer over her pale skin. And there—resting just above her collarbone—was the necklace. The one he had given her. She still wore it.
Kisame blinked.
Then blinked again.
What. The hell is this?!
Itachi settled into the water, as serene as ever, completely unaffected. She tilted her head slightly, eyeing him with mild amusement.
“I’ve never seen any enemy make your eyes look like they were about to pop out.”
Kisame choked on air, dragging a hand down his face.
“You little—!”
He slumped against the edge of the spring, groaning dramatically as he covered his face with one massive hand. “Oh, you enjoy this, don’t you?”
Itachi, completely unbothered. “Maybe.”
Kisame exhaled sharply, shaking his head, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable.”
Itachi simply leaned back against the rocks, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Kisame, feeling too comfortable, decides to fully submerge himself in the hot spring, stretching like a damn king. He’s in peak relaxation mode.
Then—he slips.
Not just a little slip.
A full, catastrophic, limbs-flailing, slipping-on-the-smooth-rocks disaster.
Kisame goes down like a boulder.
The splash is enormous—an absolute tsunami of water.
Itachi doesn’t move. At all. Not even an inch.
She just tilts her teacup slightly so the splash doesn’t get in her drink. That’s it.
Kisame resurfaces, completely betrayed by the laws of physics.
Coughing, sputtering, glaring.
His pride? Gone.
His dignity? Shattered.
Itachi, completely composed, watches him with the most unreadable expression ever.
Then—she speaks.
“…You should be more careful.”
Kisame gapes at her. That’s it? That’s all she has to say?!
“You—” He points at her, seething. “I could’ve died.”
She takes a sip of tea. “But you didn’t.”
“You could’ve at least pretended to be concerned.”
She looks at him, entirely too calm. "You are stronger than some slippery rocks."
Kisame is offended. Betrayed. Staring at her like, Are you even human?
And then—she takes it one step further.
“I had expected a member of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen to have better balance.”
Kisame freezes.
OH.
OH, SHE DID NOT JUST—
Itachi Uchiha had made a joke. At his expense.
And the worst part?
She wasn’t even smirking.
It was deadpan, perfectly delivered, completely calculated—like she knew it would hit harder that way.
Kisame just stares.
Then he starts laughing. Loud, shameless, roaring laughter.
Itachi doesn’t react. She just continues sipping her tea.
But Kisame knows. She did that on purpose. She’s having fun. And somehow, that realization makes his laughter even worse.
After the fine dinner, they returned to the room.
The air outside was crisp, the faint hum of the village life below drifting through the window. A lantern flickered softly on the wooden nightstand, casting warm golden light across the room.
They sat on the bench near the window, tea in hand, gazing out into the night.
It was quiet. Peaceful, even.
Kisame, without thinking, muttered,
“Y’know, Itachi-san… maybe if things were different, we wouldn’t be sitting here in an inn, drinking tea like an old married couple.”
Itachi didn’t react at first, just sipped her tea, her gaze still distant, still unreadable. Then—
A quiet hum.
“Would you prefer we were drinking sake instead?”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. A dodge.
She was good at that—redirecting, avoiding, keeping everything at arm’s length.
But Kisame? Kisame had an idea.
His grin sharpened. She was 20 now. And he was damn sure she had never had sake before.
Without a word, he stood up.
Itachi blinked as she watched him grab his cloak, slinging it over his shoulders.
He didn’t explain.
She didn’t ask. She just watched as he disappeared through the door.
A few moments passed.
Then a few more.
She exhaled slowly, shaking her head slightly as she returned her gaze to the window.
And then—The door slid open.
Kisame stepped back inside, holding a bottle of sake and two cups.
He smirked, setting them down on the table between them. “Well?”
Itachi stared at the bottle. Then at him. Then—finally—a single raised brow.
“…You really went out just to buy sake?”
Kisame shrugged. “Call it a first-time celebration. Can’t have you goin’ your whole life without at least trying it once.”
He poured her a cup without waiting for a response, sliding it toward her.
She hesitated.
Then—without a word—she picked it up.
The cup was cool against her fingertips.
Kisame watched as she lifted it, her movements as graceful and deliberate as always.
She took a slow sip.
And for once—just once—she didn’t mask her reaction.
Her brows furrowed, lips pursing slightly as the sharp burn hit her tongue.
Kisame grinned. There it was.
“…Tch.” She placed the cup down, exhaling quietly. “It’s stronger than I expected.”
Kisame laughed, pouring himself a cup. “Yeah? Welcome to the world of bad decisions.”
Itachi shook her head, staring at the liquid in her cup. A pause.
Then, she murmured, almost absentmindedly—
“You drink often?”
Kisame tilted his head, resting his arm along the back of the bench.
A rare question.
“I’ve had my fair share,” he admitted. “Used to drink a lot more back in Kiri. Guess I stopped caring about it much after I joined Akatsuki.”
A soft clink as she tapped her fingernail against the cup.
“…Why?”
Kisame exhaled through his nose. “Didn’t have a reason to.”
He looked at her.
And something about this moment felt… different.
Like a line that had been there before—an unspoken boundary—was slowly starting to blur.
She was still unreadable. Still untouchable.
But for the first time, she wasn’t pushing him away.
Instead—She raised her cup slightly.
“Then… let’s drink tonight.”
A small smirk tugged at Kisame’s lips.
“Are you making a bad decision, Itachi-san?”
She took another slow sip, meeting his gaze over the rim of her cup.
“…Maybe.”
And Kisame knew he was in trouble.
Itachi took a slow sip, letting the warmth spread through her chest.
She exhaled quietly, setting the cup down with practiced grace.
Then, in a voice as smooth as the liquor itself, she murmured—
“I have regretted many things in my life.”
Kisame glanced at her, already raising a brow.
“And not trying this sooner,” she continued, tilting the cup slightly, watching the liquid swirl, “is now one more thing on the list.”
Kisame let out a bark of laughter.
“Damn, Itachi-san, was that a joke? Should I be writing this down?”
She hummed, taking another sip.
“I imagine it will be the only thing you remember in the morning.”
Kisame grinned. “Tch. That a challenge? ‘Cause I’d like to see you out-drink me.”
Itachi arched a brow. “Are you asking to die?”
Kisame snorted, refilling her cup. “I just like a fair fight.”
She glanced at the fresh pour.
Then—without hesitation—she downed the whole thing.
Kisame blinked.
Then, very slowly, his smirk widened.
“Oh-ho, so that’s how it’s gonna be?”
At this point, Kisame’s loose, the sake’s kicked in, and the atmosphere is relaxed. He could lean into the teasing now:
Kisame, lazily swirling his sake.
“Y’know, I bet if you wanted to, you could get anyone.”
Itachi raises a brow.
“Anyone?”
Kisame smirks.
“Hell yeah. Think about it—you’re mysterious, you got that whole cold and deadly thing goin’ for you, and those eyes? Tch. Bet people would die for those eyes.”
Itachi blinks once, deadpan.
“People do die for these eyes.”
Kisame chokes.
“Tch—that’s not what I meant.”
Itachi exhales, gaze distant.
“I don’t have time for distractions like that.”
Kisame leans back, smirking.
“Doesn’t have to be a distraction. Could be fun.”
Itachi flicks her gaze to him, unimpressed.
“And who would you suggest?”
Kisame grinned, leaning forward, propping his chin on his hand.
“Tch. I dunno… Hidan?”
Itachi set her cup down with purpose.
“I will strangle you where you sit.”
Kisame howled with laughter.
“Oh c’mon, he’d love it!”
He swirled his drink, smirking wider. “But if Hidan’s too much trouble… Deidara, maybe?”
Itachi gave him a look. A slow, unimpressed blink.
“He’s terrified of me.”
Kisame exhaled dramatically. “Yeah, well, some people are into that.”
Itachi took a sip of her drink. “And some people lack survival instincts.”
Kisame tapped his chin, pretending to think.
“Hmm. Sasori?”
Itachi didn’t even blink. “He’s a puppet.”
Kisame waved a hand. “Alright, technicality, but hear me out—at least he’d never argue with you.”
Itachi raised a brow. “No. He’d just poison me for breathing wrong.”
Kisame shrugged. “Okay, so he’s not a romantic.”
Kisame, clearly not done, leaned back, grinning wider. “Ah, but Kakuzu—now there’s a man who knows commitment. He literally keeps five hearts for emergencies.”
Itachi let out a slow breath.
“I would rather date a kunai.”
He took another sip, shaking his head. “Alright, alright—so no Akatsuki men. But if you had to date someone, who’d it be?”
Itachi didn’t answer immediately.
Didn’t react.
Didn’t even blink.
Instead, she simply lifted her cup. Took a slow sip.
Then—she looked at him.
Flat. Blank.
Unreadable.
“Are you not even trying to put yourself as a candidate?”
Kisame choked.
On nothing.
Just pure air.
“Tch—what?!” He practically slammed his cup down, gaping at her like she had just suggested world peace. “That’s—that’s not—”
She blinked, as calm as ever. “You asked the question.”
Kisame pointed an accusing finger at her, sputtering. “You—you’re doing this on purpose!”
A slow, elegant sip of sake.
“Am I?”
Kisame groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I swear to god, you’re gonna be the death of me.”
Itachi exhaled quietly, setting her cup down. Then—
A small, almost imperceptible smirk.
“Good.”
Kisame died.
Kisame sighed, taking another swig of sake, watching her over the rim of his cup.
She was drinking. Actually drinking. The way she always kept herself in check—so controlled, so measured—it had to slip at some point, right? No one could stay a mystery forever.
Kisame figured it was just a matter of time. A little more sake, a little more teasing, and maybe—just maybe—he’d finally get her to drop the damn wall.
“Man. First sake, what’s next? You gonna tell me you’ve never had romance with anyone before either?”
Itachi didn’t even blink.
“I haven’t.”
Kisame stared.
“No?”
“No.”
Kisame groaned, slumping forward dramatically.
“Tch. That’s depressing. You know, Itachi-san, some people actually enjoy life.”
She exhaled, slow and composed.
“Some people make poor decisions.”
Kisame grinned. “Yeah? And yet, here you are, drinking with me.”
Itachi swirled her cup.
“One more poor decision on the list.”
Kisame laughed so hard he almost spilled his drink.
Kisame huffed, refilling his cup. “Tch. So that’s it, huh? You’ve never loved anyone?”
Itachi took a slow sip, unfazed.
“I never said that.”
Kisame froze.
His cup paused halfway to his lips.
“Wait. What?”
Itachi took a slow sip.
Didn’t react. Didn’t scoff. Didn’t deny it.
“Falling in love… is easy.”
Kisame blinked.
Something in her tone—low, quiet, final—made his grip tighten around the cup.
She set her drink down.
“But loving only happens once.”
Kisame stopped breathing.
The room went still.
He turned to look at her fully—his smirk gone, his usual teasing absent.
”…What?”
Itachi’s lashes lowered.
“Once in a lifetime. Once in existence.”
A breath.
“You don’t get another.”
Kisame’s chest tightened.
“Tch. That’s kinda depressing, don’t you think?” His voice was light, but it felt forced—even to himself.
Itachi hummed, swirling the sake in her cup.
“It’s only depressing if you waste it.”
Silence.
Kisame stared.
There was something too sure in the way she said it.
She wasn’t wondering if love was a one-time thing.
She knew. Because she had already fallen.
And Kisame knew—deep in his gut—whoever that was…She would never love anyone else.
“You’re serious.”
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t deny it.
Didn’t elaborate.
Just… finished her drink.
After a beat of silence, she sets her cup down, her gaze shifting back to him, composed as ever.
“And you?” she says smoothly, tilting her head. “Have you ever been in love, Kisame?”
Kisame, still processing the emotional war crime she just committed on his heart, nearly chokes on his drink.
“Tch—what?!” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, immediately on defense. “The hell kind of question is that?”
Itachi simply raises a brow. “It’s only fair.”
Kisame scoffs. “Hah! You really think someone like me had time for romance?” He waves his hand. “Nah. My face ain’t exactly built for charming people, y’know.”
A pause.
Then, with absolute sincerity, Itachi says—
“That’s not true.”
Kisame short-circuits.
He stares at her, caught off guard. “Tch—what?”
Itachi, unbothered, picks up her sake again, taking a slow sip. “You underestimate yourself.”
Kisame blinks. His brain is not computing.
“Oi—hold on. What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice comes out rougher than intended.
Itachi tilts her head slightly, considering.
“You’re strong. Reliable. Manly.” She takes another sip. “You’re good-looking in your own way. Some people find that attractive.”
Kisame’s soul leaves his body.
“WHAT.”
Itachi doesn’t blink. “I’m simply stating the facts.”
Kisame grips his cup like it’s a damn lifeline. He needs a second. Maybe several.
“Hah—WHAT—” he wheezes, rubbing a hand down his face. “Itachi-san, you can’t just say shit like that!”
She shrugs. “You asked.”
Kisame stares at her, feeling the full force of hell descend upon his psyche.
His entire existence is spiraling.
Itachi, meanwhile, casually pours herself another drink like she didn’t just ruin his entire perception of himself.
Silence lingers for a second.
Then—slowly—Itachi tilts her cup, swirls the sake.
And without looking at him, she drops the final death sentence.
“I imagine some women would feel safe with you.”
Kisame dies instantly.
He has never been more unprepared for a single sentence in his life.
Itachi is calm.
Kisame? Kisame is malfunctioning.
He grips his cup tighter.
“Tch—are you messing with me?” His voice comes out lower than intended.
She exhales, taking another sip.
“Why would I?”
Silence.
Kisame blinks aggressively, trying to restart his brain.
He exhales sharply, shaking his head, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable.”
Then, after a long pause, he mutters—“And here I was, thinking I’d finally get you to loosen up tonight.”
Itachi, setting her cup down neatly, tilts her head.
“Did I not?”
Kisame groans dramatically, leaning back. “Oh yeah. Yeah, you did. Just not in the way I wanted.”
He downs his drink in one go.
And Itachi?
She just smirks.
The sake bottle sat between them, almost-empty. The lantern light flickered softly, casting shadows along the wooden floor.
Itachi, as composed as ever, swirled her drink in her cup. Then—her gaze flickered up.
“So, Kisame… since you have experience in drinking, tell me—what do people usually do when they’re drunk?”
Kisame blinked.
Then smirked. “Hah. Depends.” He leaned back, resting one arm along the bench. “Some people get loud. Some start crying. Some wanna fight. Some start gambling. Some get all sentimental—”
A pause.
Then—Kisame grinned, eyes glinting with pure chaos.
“And some? Some start making really bad decisions.”
Itachi hummed. “I see.”
Kisame tilted his head. “Why? You feeling something, Itachi-san?”
A pause.
Then—Itachi slowly set her cup down.
She turned toward him, gaze unreadable.
“Perhaps.”
Kisame stopped breathing.
What.
WHAT.
“Hold on—” He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘perhaps’—?”
Itachi stood up.
Kisame froze.
She stepped toward the small balcony, pushing open the wooden doors. The night breeze filtered through, ruffling the ends of her hair.
And then—without a single ounce of hesitation—
She climbed onto the railing.
Kisame’s soul left his body.
“ITACHI—!” He shot to his feet.
She balanced effortlessly, arms at her sides, completely unbothered.
“Kisame,” she said, “you said people do reckless things when they’re drunk, correct?”
“YEAH, BUT NOT SUICIDAL THINGS—!” Kisame lunged, reaching for her—
She stepped forward. Not down. Forward. And—disappeared.
Silence.
Kisame had a heart attack.
“TCH—WHAT THE FU—”
Then—before he could process his entire life choices—
She landed.
Kisame rushed to the edge.
There she was. Standing perfectly fine on the rooftop below, arms folded, looking up at him like he was the crazy one.
A slight tilt of her head. Smug. Amused.
“You’re slower than I expected.”
Kisame saw red.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”
Itachi’s lips curved slightly.
“A reckless decision.”
Kisame was going to lose his mind.
He gripped the railing, teeth grinding, muscles twitching.
“You know what?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Fine. FINE. You wanna play this game?”
Then—Kisame jumped.
Not gracefully. Not effortlessly.
A full-blown, massive, hulking shark-man leap.
He landed right next to her, cracking the roof tile beneath him.
He straightened, looming over her, grinning sharp-toothed and feral.
“Now what, princess?”
Itachi starts walking down the street. Calm. Collected. Like she hadn’t just defenestrated herself from a second-floor window.
Kisame walks beside her.
“Tch—where are you going?”
Itachi, completely unbothered: “We’re making a bet.”
Kisame narrowed his eyes. “…What kind of bet?”
She didn’t answer. Just kept walking.
Then Kisame saw where she was heading.
Oh. Oh no.
The underground gambling den reeked of alcohol, bad choices, and desperate men. The kind of place where people risked their life savings for a single chance at fortune—and lost.
Kisame felt right at home.
Itachi?
Itachi looked like she had wandered in from a temple.
No Akatsuki cloak. No forehead protector. No visible weapons.
Just a sleek, deep-purple civilian dress, mid-high heels, hair loosely tied back—casual, unassuming.
And yet, as always—she drew attention.
The moment they walked in, the men at the tables glanced up—not with fear, not with caution, but with amusement.
And Kisame? Kisame didn’t like it.
Kisame reached out, fingers curling around her sleeve, tugging just enough to slow her steps.
“Tch. You sure about this?” His voice was low, edged with something between exasperation and warning.
Itachi didn’t stop. Didn’t falter.
Then—she turned her head.
Her gaze met his.
Red.
Swirling, hypnotic, absolute.
Kisame exhaled sharply through his nose.
Oh.
Oh.
He understood now.
A slow, sharp-toothed grin crept onto his face as he released her sleeve, shaking his head.
“Shit,” he muttered, watching her stride forward, sake cup still in hand, unbothered as ever.
“This is gonna be fun.”
She walked toward the nearest gambling table and with quiet grace, slipping into an empty seat.
The dealer—greasy, overconfident, and already grinning like he had won before the game even started—sighed dramatically.
“New here, sweetheart?”
Kisame exhaled through his nose.
“Oh, you poor dumbass.”
Itachi tilted her head slightly.
“Explain how this works.”
Silence.
Then—laughter.
The men around the table grinned, exchanging smug glances.
“Oh-ho, that’s rich. She doesn’t even know how to play.”
“This is gonna be easy money.”
“Sweetheart, you sure you wanna be here?”
Kisame? Kisame was grinning.
They had no idea.
The dealer sighed theatrically, shaking his head.
“Alright, sweetheart. It’s simple—roll the dice, bet on the outcome. Luck of the draw. High stakes win big.”
Itachi hummed.
She placed a hand on the table.
Then—casually.
“I don’t have money.”
Silence.
Kisame choked.
The dealer blinked.
Then—he grinned.
“Oh? Then what exactly are you betting with?”
Itachi rested her chin on her hand. Calm. Collected. Completely unbothered.
“If I lose…” She tilted her head slightly, as if considering.
“I will mop the floors here tomorrow.”
Kisame froze.
His brain stalled.
…Was she serious?
Because knowing her—she wasn’t talking about actual cleaning.
His gaze flickered toward the men around the table. Big. Smug. Laughing.
Kisame barely held back a grin.
Was she implying she’d mop the floors with their bodies?
Was that a joke?
Did she just casually threaten them in the most polite way possible?
He inhaled sharply.
Damn. This woman is dark.
And he liked it.
“The hell?! That’s not a bet!”
The table burst into laughter.
“Oh, sweetheart, you got yourself a deal!” The dealer wiped a tear from his eye. “Though, I gotta say…”
The dealer leaned in, eyes flickering over her, smug as hell.
“You’ll need more than the floors if you lose.”
His gaze dragged over her face.
“Such a shame, though. With eyes that pretty… bright red like that… damn. Almost hypnotic.”
The men around them chuckled—low, knowing.
Kisame’s grip on his cup twitched. His eye twitched. Everything twitched.
“Oh?”
Itachi’s lashes lowered slightly, her expression unreadable. Calm. Flat. Dangerous.
“Fine.” She blinked slowly. “If I lose…”
A small, polite smile.
“I’ll let you spend the night looking into them.”
Silence.
Kisame froze.
The dealer blinked. Once. Twice. Then grinned wider, leaning back.
“Now that’s a bet.”
A slow, deliberate pause.
Then—her lips curled, voice smooth as silk.
“…Though, I don’t think you’d last more than a second.”
The dealer grinned wider, absolutely eating this up.
“Oh, sweetheart, I like your confidence.” He leaned forward, fingers tapping against the table. “But let’s be real—” his eyes dragged over her, smirking— “You wouldn’t be the first woman to say that.”
A low chuckle rippled through the table.
One of the men whistled. “Damn, boss, she’s got fire.”
Another snickered. “I’m almost jealous. Getting to drown in those pretty reds all night? Some guys have all the luck.
Itachi, ever composed, picked up the sake bottle, refilling her own cup. Then—
Calm. Deadpan. Perfectly unbothered.
“I’ll take all of you.”
Absolute. F*ing. Silence.
Then—The entire table lost it.
“OH, SHIT—” One of the guys choked on his drink.
“Damn, sweetheart, we got a bold one here!” Another hooted, slapping the table.
“I call first round!” Someone hollered, sending the whole group into roaring laughter.
Kisame died.
Oh. Oh, she was playing dirty.
This was it. This was PEAK dark humor.
The idiots had no idea. No. Idea.
He slammed a fist on the table, doubled over in absolute wheezing laughter.
The men didn’t get it.
But he did. Oh, he did.
Kisame was shaking. “T-Tch—” He gasped between laughs, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re f**king killing me, Itachi-san.”*
The dealer, grinning like a wolf, exhaled a slow chuckle. “Oh, sweetheart,” he purred, “you better be careful saying things like that—”
He leaned in, eyes gleaming.
“—’cause I might just take you up on it.”
Itachi?
She just lifted her sake cup. Soft. Polite.
A slow sip. A single, slow blink.
“I suppose we’ll see.”
The idiots cheered.
Kisame covered his face.
They thought she was drunk.
These poor, stupid bastards.
They were so dead.
And then—she rolled.
Round One:
The dice clattered. Itachi won.
The laughter dimmed slightly.
A few men exchanged glances.
Round Two:
She won again.
The amusement faded.
The dealer adjusted his rings.
Round Three:
She won. Again.
Someone coughed.
The dealer narrowed his eyes.
Round Four:
A bead of sweat rolled down the dealer’s temple.
The onlookers stopped smirking.
Kisame leaned back, watching with absolute delight.
Final Round:
The dice clattered.
Itachi didn’t even look.
She won.
The room was silent.
The dealer’s hands curled into fists.
Kisame grinned like a damn lunatic.
“Tch. You guys okay? Look a little pale.”
The boss of the den stepped forward. Big. Scarred. Smelling like bad whiskey and arrogance.
“Nobody wins that much.”
His gaze flicked over Itachi. Cold. Calculating. Threatening.
Itachi, casually standing, brushed off an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve.
“I played the game better.”
The boss exhaled slowly. Then smiled.
A dangerous smile.
“That so? Well, we got rules ‘round here, sweetheart.”
Behind them—movement. The doors shut.
Armed men stepped forward.
A subtle shift in the air.
The energy in the room turned from tension—to violence.
Kisame felt it before anyone moved.
He straightened, rolling his shoulders.
“Well, well.” He exhaled, stretching his neck. His knuckles cracked.
“Guess this is the part where we get jumped, huh?”
Itachi sighed.
A soft, almost disappointed sound.
Then—she took a step forward.
Calm. Unbothered.
Her voice, smooth as silk.
“Well… I did say I’d let you have a taste of my eyes.”
The gangsters chuckled.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re damn right about that.” One of them grinned, cracking his knuckles. “We’ll take ‘em real nice and slow.”
A low chuckle rippled through the group.
Amused. Confident.
Itachi smirked. “Don’t blink.”
And then—
They all stopped laughing.
One by one—they dropped.
Their faces twisted in horror—eyes locked onto something only they could see.
Kisame blinked.
“Holy shit, Itachi-san, you just wiped the floors with them anyway.”
Itachi picked up a shot from the table. Tipped it back. The burn didn’t even make her blink.
“Guess I was prepared for both outcomes.”
Kisame laughed so hard he almost passed out.
The town was far behind them now.
The dirt road stretched ahead, quiet, empty, the only sound their footsteps against the worn path. The distant hum of the nightlife had faded, replaced by the rustling of grass and the soft whisper of the wind.
Eventually—Itachi stopped.
Without a word, she dropped down onto the grass.
Kisame blinked.
Then, with a shake of his head, he followed.
They lay there—side by side—under the vast, open sky. The moon hung high, casting its silver glow over them, painting the field in soft light. The night was crisp, the air cool against their skin. The scent of fresh earth and distant rain lingered in the breeze.
For a long while, neither of them spoke.
Then—Kisame sighed, stretching his arms behind his head.
“So?” His voice was lazy, relaxed.
“Do you regret drinking?”
Beside him—silence.
Then—he heard it.
A soft exhale. A quiet chuckle.
And then—
Laughter.
Real, genuine, unrestrained laughter.
Itachi Uchiha burst into laughter.
Kisame froze.
Then turned his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
She was still lying there, one arm draped across her stomach, eyes half-lidded in amusement. Her shoulders trembled slightly, her breath hitching between each wave of laughter.
Kisame just stared.
He had heard her laugh before—smirks, scoffs, quiet huffs of amusement.
But this?
This was different.
It was unfiltered. Open. Carefree.
Like, for the first time in her life, she wasn’t thinking.
And damn it all if it wasn’t the prettiest thing he’d ever heard.
Finally, she exhaled, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye.
Then—she turned her head slightly. The moonlight caught in her lashes.
“If I knew it’d be this fun…” Her voice, still tinged with amusement. “…I wouldn’t have wasted my time earlier.”
Kisame huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Tch. Unbelievable.”
Then—Itachi tilted her head slightly, looking at him with that too-calm, too-dangerous expression.
And dropped the bomb.
“We should drink more often.”
Kisame stopped breathing.
His brain short-circuited. His soul ascended.
Then—
“…Woman, are you trying to get us fired?”
Itachi hummed. “I’d like to see Pein try.”
Kisame groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Tch. That’s it. We’re gonna be the first Akatsuki members to get kicked out for ‘excessive partying.’”
Itachi chuckled. “At least we’d be known for something.”
Kisame rolled onto his side, staring at her in mock disbelief.
“We’ll just start a sake bar.”
Itachi, completely deadpan:
“With a gambling den.”
Kisame howled. “Holy shit. Pein would actually kill us.”
Itachi took a slow breath, letting the cool night air settle in her lungs.
Then—she smirked.
“…If he can find us.”
Kisame lost it.
A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips.
Then another.
Beside him—Itachi exhaled sharply, amusement flickering in her gaze.
Another beat. Another breath.
Their laughter synced—low at first, soft, just under their breath—before spiraling.
Into something unrestrained. Carefree. Loud.
They laughed.
For the first time in what felt like forever—
No war. No duty. No weight on their shoulders.
Just this.
The cool night air. The sake is humming in their veins.
And laughter—real, untamed, together.
The moon hung high, spilling silver light across the open field. The village was distant now, nothing but a dim glow on the horizon. The wind rolled lazily through the grass, rustling the fabric of their clothes, stirring the cool night air.
Kisame lay there, one arm draped behind his head, eyes tracing the stars above. The sake had settled warmly in his chest, blurring the edges of his usual restraint. He wasn’t drunk—just loose enough to let the words slip.
Words he wouldn’t have said otherwise.
Words he’d pretend never left his mouth come morning.
“…Y’know, Itachi-san…”
His voice was quieter than usual. Lower.
“If you ever… I don’t know… wanted to just walk away from all this… I wouldn’t mind.”
No response.
Not that he expected one.
Kisame let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly toward her.
“Tch. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not sayin’ you should. Just sayin’… if you did…”
He hesitated.
Then, softer—more dangerous—
“…You wouldn’t have to do it alone.”
The words felt heavier now that they were out.
Too real. Too dangerous.
He waited.
Waited for her to scoff.
Waited for her to change the subject.
Waited for her to brush it off with another cryptic, indifferent remark.
But instead—
A quiet, barely audible hum.
Soft. Almost absentminded. But there. An acknowledgment. A small, subtle, agreement.
Kisame froze. His breath caught.
His head snapped up—Did she just—?
He turned to look at her fully—And immediately choked on air.
She was asleep.
Kisame just stared.
Then—he gritted his teeth, shoving a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly.
“You’ve gotta be—”
A sharp exhale.
Was she serious?!
After all that—after everything—she falls asleep now?!
Kisame groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
For a second, just a second, he had actually believed—
Tch. Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.
He glanced at her again, ready to shake her awake—just to yell, maybe just to call her out on this injustice.
But—
The way she looked…
The way her face was relaxed, her breathing steady, the faintest hint of peace settling over her features—
“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath.
Itachi was still curled up in the grass, completely undisturbed. Completely unaware of the fact that she was about to become his problem.
Kisame stared at her for a long moment, jaw tightening.
Tch. Great. Now what?
He wasn’t about to leave her here—not in the middle of a random field where any idiot could stumble across them. But waking her up? Risky.
She’d probably kill him on instinct.
Or worse—say something cryptic and go right back to sleep.
Kisame exhaled sharply through his nose. He didn’t have time for this.
So, without another thought, he crouched down and slipped his arms beneath her.
Light. Too light.
Like carrying a ghost.
Kisame frowned but shook the thought away, shifting her carefully against his chest before rising to his full height.
She didn’t stir.
Didn’t so much as twitch.
Deep sleeper, huh? He huffed, adjusting his grip before taking off towards the inn.
The walk back was silent. Too silent. The whole damn village was asleep—lanterns dimmed, streets empty, only the occasional creak of wooden signs swinging in the night breeze.
A few people were still lingering around the entrance of the inn when he walked in, but the moment they saw him—a six-foot-four shark man carrying a sleeping woman in his arms—they looked away.
Smart choice.
Kisame stepped up to their suite, nudging the door open with his foot before stepping inside.
The room was dimly lit, a soft golden glow still flickering from the lantern near the bed.
Kisame approached the mattress, carefully shifting her weight before lowering her down.
The sheets barely rustled as she settled into them.
His gaze drifted.
Her hair spilled lazily across the pillow, a few strands resting over her face.
Kisame exhaled.
Without thinking, without stopping himself, he reached out—brushing them aside.
His fingers ghosted over her forehead, then down past her temple.
And then—against her cheek.
Warm. Soft.
His hand lingered.
A second too long. A second too dangerous.
Then—He froze.
Shit. Shit.
He yanked his hand back, pulse hammering in his ears.
What the hell was that?!
She’d kill him if she found out.
Kisame exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. Get a grip, you idiot.
What a ridiculous, frustrating woman.
Even asleep, she was still messing with his head.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Tch. Guess we’re both going to the same place in the end, huh?”
A pause.
“Think you’ll let me walk beside you when we get there?”
No answer.
No reaction—
Except.
A quiet hum. Barely there. Faint.
Kisame exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.
“Tch. Even in your sleep, you won’t give me a straight answer.”
He huffed a quiet laugh.
“Didn’t think so.”
He reached down, grabbing the blanket, stretching it over her shoulders.
Then—
Her fingers curled around his wrist.
A touch. Barely there. Featherlight.
Kisame stopped breathing.
It wasn’t a firm grip. Not something meant to stop him.
But it was there.
A quiet, unconscious motion. A hesitation.
As if, somewhere in the depths of sleep—
She didn’t want him to go.
Kisame’s pulse was too damn loud. He looked at her. Really looked.
Her skin, faintly flushed from the sake, a rare hint of color against her usual porcelain complexion.
Her lips— slightly parted, a deeper shade of red, as if she had painted them without meaning to.
At the faint crease in her brow—like something in her dreams was still troubling her.
Something she wouldn’t say out loud.
His free hand twitched at his side.
There were a million things he could do.
A million things he shouldn’t.
…Would she even know?
Or—maybe this is exactly what she wants?
He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening.
Damn her.
With a final glance, he leaned down—just slightly.
And then—