Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The waves rolled in, soft yet relentless, stretching toward the horizon as if they had no end. The water below was deep, impossibly blue, and yet Itachi could see shadows moving beneath the surface - sharks, circling silently.

She watched them without really seeing them. Her mind was elsewhere.

Shisui.

His name was an open wound.

She could still hear his voice in the wind, see his silhouette disappearing into the river that had swallowed him whole. The only person who ever truly understood her, the only one she had ever trusted, gone. And for what? For a village that had never deserved his loyalty?

Her fists curled slightly in her lap.

Her clan. Her people. Her hands were stained with their blood. She had told herself it was for peace, for what so called “greater good”. That it was necessary. That it had to be done.

But there were nights, quiet, suffocating nights, when she still heard their voices. When she still saw their faces frozen in shock, in fear. They had trusted her. And she had betrayed them. But it was too late to mourn. Too late to regret. She had made her choice. Now, she had to carry it.

Her thoughts shifted, unwillingly, to her little brother.

Sasuke.

Was he safe? Was he eating well? Was he still training hard? Did he hate her yet?

She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment. The pain was quick, sharp, like a kunai to the ribs.

Sasuke, her only light in a world of shadows. The one person she had wanted to protect more than anything. And yet, she had orphaned him. She had stolen everything from him.

“Hiruzen-sama… please keep your word.”

She had trusted the Third Hokage to watch over him. She had no choice but to believe that he would.

But the guilt never left her. She hated herself.

The waves below crashed against the dock, snapping her back to the present. She exhaled quietly, trying to push the thoughts away. She was Akatsuki now. There was no room for weakness here.

The sharks continued circling beneath her feet.

And then, a new presence approached.

A heavy, confident stride. The creak of wood under a massive weight. A sword being adjusted over a broad shoulder.

A voice, deep and amused.

“I’ll be teaming up with you starting today. I’m Kisame Hoshigaki, formerly of the Hidden Mist, one of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen. So pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Itachi did not turn. Her expression smoothed over into calm indifference. The past was gone. The pain was hers to carry. Now, she had to move forward.

Kisame smirked, resting Samehada against his shoulder. So this was his new partner. Itachi Uchiha. A name that carried weight, whispered in the shadows like a ghost story. The prodigy who massacred her own clan overnight. The one who abandoned her village and joined the Akatsuki at an age when most shinobi were still learning what it meant to kill.

He took a step closer, voice low and amused. “And you’re Itachi Uchiha, formerly of the Hidden Leaf.” He tilted his head slightly. “I’ve heard the rumors. That you slaughtered all of your fellow Uchiha clansmen.”

Her expression remained unreadable, those blood-red Sharingan eyes catching the light like spilled ink swirling in water.

Kisame mused, “I think we’re alike, you and I. That’s the reason I wanted to be teamed with you in the Akatsuki.”

No reaction. No words. Too quiet. Not what he imagined when he pictured the kind of person who could wipe out an entire bloodline without hesitation. She had an air of something deeper, something heavier—like she was carrying a weight that no one could see.

A pause. Then, with the same casual grin, he added, “It’s really indescribable, isn’t it? Killing your comrades is quite the sensation, wouldn’t you say so, Itachi-san?”

She blinked once, slow and deliberate, then turned halfway toward him. When she spoke for the first time, her voice was soft, but sharp enough to cut through steel.

"You talk a lot."

Her voice was soft, but sharp enough to cut through steel.

“You don’t understand me. You don’t even understand yourself.” She turned back toward the sea, watching the waves roll in. “You’re just a thug who got lost in the mist and ended up here. You can’t even control where you’re going. Am I wrong?”

Kisame stilled.

For the first time since their conversation began, the grin on his face faltered—just a fraction, just for a second.

Then, a low chuckle rumbled in his throat.

Well, wasn’t that something?

People had called him a monster before. A demon. A killer. But none of those words had ever bothered him. He knew what he was, what he had done. And he had never cared to be anything else.

But this girl—no, this Uchiha—had cut straight through him like a blade through water.

A thug lost in the mist.

Hah. What an interesting choice of words. She made it sound so simple, like he was nothing more than a mindless brute who had been carried here by the current, unaware of where he was drifting.

But she wasn’t entirely wrong, was she?

Kisame had never given much thought to where he was headed. He had no clan, no village, no grand vision. He wasn’t like her—burdened by ghosts, bound to some invisible sense of duty. He had just kept moving forward, cutting down anyone who got in his way, because that was all he had ever known.

And yet, the way she said it… it was almost irritating. Not because she insulted him—no, he could take an insult. But because she said it like a fact.

Like she had already figured him out.

Like she had already dismissed him.

His grip on Samehada tightened.

Alright then, Uchiha.

If she thought he was just some directionless brute, then he’d remind her exactly who he was.

Without hesitation, he swung Samehada off his shoulder and pointed it directly at her head. The blade let out a deep, guttural growl.

“Do you want to know something interesting?” he asked, tilting his head. “Most sharks are ovoviviparous, which means the eggs hatch inside the female’s body before the young are born. However, with some kinds of sharks, the number of eggs that hatch will differ from the number of young that emerge out of the mother’s belly.”

He watched her carefully, but she didn’t react, didn’t even blink.

“Do you know why that is?” Kisame continued. “Because of cannibalism. Right from the moment they hatch, they start eating each other inside their mother’s uterus.”

A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“The fratricidal warfare begins as soon as they’re born. To each shark, all the others are just food to be eaten.” He lifted the blade slightly. “Starting today, you’re an Akatsuki member and my companion. So be wary… of me.”

Itachi finally moved.

Her eyes shifted, and in an instant, Kisame was trapped in a Genjutsu.

The world around him shifted into a blood-red haze. For a brief moment, he saw his own reflection in Itachi’s eyes, not as a man, but as a shark caught in a net, thrashing helplessly.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the illusion shattered.

Itachi’s voice was calm, detached.

“Same goes for you.”

Silence.

Then, Kisame laughed again, louder this time, and slowly sheathed Samehada.

Well, well.

For a moment there, she had actually caught him.

It had been an instant—just a flicker of that damn Sharingan—but in that brief second, he had seen something that almost sent a chill down his spine. His own reflection, not as a man, not as a swordsman, but as prey—caught, struggling, ensnared.

It was rare. No—unheard of—for someone to make him feel that way.

He had spent his entire life playing the predator, hunting, killing, carving his way through the world like a beast that knew no cage. And yet, in the span of a heartbeat, she had flipped the script. Turned the hunter into the hunted.

And she had done it so easily.

That should have pissed him off. Should have made him want to sink Samehada into her flesh and see if she was as untouchable as she pretended to be.

But instead… he laughed.

Because, hell, wasn’t this interesting?

For the first time in a long while, he felt something more than the dull repetition of kill, eat, survive. She wasn’t just some brooding, hollow shell like the rumors made her out to be. There was something in her—something sharp, something dangerous, something that made his instincts hum with anticipation.

She was not like the others.

No.

She was like him.

“Well, let’s be friends and have some fun, alright? And hope we won’t end up as each other’s final opponents.”

Itachi didn’t respond at first. The wind shifted, rustling the edges of her cloak. 

Then, she murmured, “No one who dares to raise their hand against a comrade ever dies a decent death. Remember that.”

Kisame chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, that means our fates are sealed. Seems you and I are depraved and worthless.”

At that, Itachi stood up, turned towards him.

It was the first time Kisame truly saw her.

For all the stories, the fear, the bloodstained name that carried weight across the shinobi world—she was small. The Akatsuki cloak hung loosely on her frame, almost swallowing her, the high collar brushing against her jaw. She was seventeen, but standing there in front of him, she didn’t look like the merciless killer the rumors painted her to be.

She looked… quiet. Deliberate. And yet, something about her presence made even the vastness of the sea behind her feel insignificant.

Her gaze steady, her voice quite but sharp:

“Not true.”

For the first time, her voice held the faintest trace of emotion, something distant, something almost… sad.

“We’re both human. Not fish.”

The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows across the dock. The ocean was still impossibly blue, the water stretching endlessly into the horizon. Itachi walked past Kisame.

“No matter who you are, you do not truly know what kind of person you’ve become until you reach the very end,” Itachi continued, her voice quieter now. “One realizes one’s true nature at the moment of death. Don’t you think that’s what death is about?”

Kisame looked at her then—really looked at her.

She was young, younger than she should be, but her words carried the weight of someone who had already lived through a thousand endings. It was a strange thing, for someone so young to speak of death like she had already made peace with it.

Kisame had seen many kinds of killers before. But none like her. She wasn’t like the Mist shinobi, who took pride in brutality. Nor was she like the others in Akatsuki, each chasing their own ambitions. No—Itachi’s detachment was different. Not arrogance. Not bloodlust. Just a quiet resignation, as if she had already seen the end.

It wasn’t the look of a killer who enjoyed the bloodshed. It was the look of someone who had already decided she was beyond saving.

His grin softened, just slightly. He didn’t know where he was going, and neither did she. But for now, at least, they were going together.

“Heh. I guess we’ll find out one day, won’t we, Itachi-san?”

Itachi didn’t respond. Without another word, she continued walking toward the hideout.

Kisame watched her for a moment before following, the rhythmic sound of the ocean fading behind them.

What an odd creature.

They called her a prodigy. A genius in the art of war. The kind of name that made even hardened killers wary.

And yet… she looked more like a walking philosopher than a battlefield prodigy.

Talking about humanity. Talking about death. Talking about how no one truly knows themselves until the very end.

Hah. That’s not exactly the mindset of someone who carved their name into history with a massacre.

Kisame had expected something different. Something colder. He had seen his fair share of killers—the kind that took pleasure in the act, the kind that wielded violence like an artist wielded a brush. But Itachi… she wasn’t like them.

She spoke of death not with fear, not with hunger, but with the quiet detachment of someone who had already accepted it.

And that, in a way, was almost more unsettling than the alternative.

Her words still lingered in his mind. “We’re both human. Not fish.”

Most shinobi he had met embraced the idea that they were something beyond human. Weapons. Beasts. Monsters. He had always believed that, too—after all, wasn’t that what it meant to survive in this world? To cast off the weakness of humanity and become something greater?

But she rejected that notion outright.

Not fish, huh?

She still clung to the idea of humanity. Not as a shield, not as an excuse, but as a simple fact. There was no arrogance in it, no righteousness—just an understanding. As if she had already made peace with the kind of person she was.

Kisame wasn’t sure if he found that admirable or just foolish.

He rolled his shoulders, letting out a breath. It wasn’t his problem, anyway. He wasn’t here to understand her, and he sure as hell wasn’t here to save her.

Still.

It had been a long time since he had met someone who made him think.

A long time since he had met someone he didn’t immediately want to kill.

His grin widened slightly as he adjusted Samehada on his back, falling into step behind her.

Well. This might just be interesting after all.

The sun was still shining.
The sky was still blue.

But somewhere beneath the waves—
The sharks kept circling.

Chapter Text

The air was thick with the scent of burning incense and melted candle wax, a cloying sweetness that barely masked the undercurrent of blood soon to be spilled. The feudal lord’s estate was lavish—ornate gold and silk draping every surface—a shrine to excess, soon to become a tomb.

Kisame stood just outside the inner chambers, gripping Samehada loosely in one hand. The mission was simple, eliminate the lord and anyone who stood in their way.

Itachi, on the other hand, had taken a different approach.

Kisame had watched as she moved like a shadow, slipping past guards without a sound. When one had spotted her, she didn’t strike him down. Instead, she lifted her hand, and with a single glance, the man collapsed, caught in an invisible nightmare.

Genjutsu.

Kisame had seen plenty of shinobi who relied on illusions, but never like this. There was no wasted movement. No unnecessary force. Just one flicker of those crimson eyes, and her enemies fell without ever drawing a blade.

It was precise. Controlled. Efficient.

They reached the final corridor before the lord’s chambers, where one last guard stood, gripping his spear with shaky hands.

Kisame smirked, lifting Samehada. “Looks like the poor guy is scared stiff. Let’s put him out of his misery.”

But before he could swing, the guard suddenly went limp and collapsed, unconscious.

Kisame blinked.

“Our mission is the feudal lord. Nothing more.” Itachi said quietly.

For a moment, Kisame just looked at her.

She had massacred her entire clan. She was a wanted criminal. She had been labeled a ruthless killer.

“Huh.” Kisame grinned, shifting Samehada back onto his shoulder. “You sure are an interesting one, Itachi-san.”

She said nothing.

They stepped into the feudal lord’s chambers. The man barely had time to gasp before Kisame was on him, his blade tearing through silk and flesh in one clean motion. Blood splattered across the golden tapestries.

Itachi did not move. She did not blink. She simply stood there, watching.

For some reason, Kisame had expected something, a reaction, even a flicker of satisfaction or disgust. But her face remained completely unreadable.

He wasn’t sure if that made her terrifying or tragic.

As the body slumped to the floor, Kisame turned to her. “You’re not even gonna say anything?”

Itachi cast one last look at the corpse before turning away.

“The mission is complete. Let’s go.”

The stench of blood was still thick in the air when they stepped out of the feudal lord’s mansion. The golden glow of lanterns flickered against the deepening twilight, casting long, eerie shadows on the stone pathway.

Itachi walked ahead without looking back. Kisame rolled his shoulders, adjusting Samehada on his back. Another clean job.

Or so he thought.

Then, five figures appeared in front of them.

“You bastards,” one of them spat, drawing a curved blade. “You think you can kill the lord and walk out of here alive?”

They were clad in dark armor, their headbands marking them as elite guardian shinobi of the feudal lord’s estate.

But they weren’t late.

No, they had been there all along. Watching. Waiting.

They weren’t here to protect the feudal lord. That part of the mission had already failed.

They were here to make sure that no one—not even the assassins—walked away with the truth.

Kisame let out a slow chuckle, twirling Samehada over his shoulder.

"Heh. Guess we were never meant to leave this place alive, huh, Itachi-san?"

Because that was how the shinobi world worked. The villages kept their hands clean, parading themselves as beacons of peace while hiring men like him and Itachi to do their dirty work. The difference? The villages called it “national security.” The Akatsuki called it what it was: Murder. Betrayal. Hypocrisy. The world needed men like them. But it would never acknowledge them. And in the end? It would always throw them away.

Kisame cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders.

"Well, that just makes this more fun."

The five shinobi shifted into battle stances, their weapons gleaming under the dim light.

“You won’t leave this place alive.” another growled.

Kisame cracked his knuckles. Finally, some action.

“I’ll take three,” he said lazily, rolling his neck. “You can handle the other two, right, Itachi-san?”

Itachi didn’t respond. She simply summoned a kunai.

And then, the fight began.

Kisame wasted no time. He loved fights. He never tried to end them quickly.

He leaped forward, weaving hand signs before spewing a torrent of water bullets—Shark Bullet Technique.

The three shinobi dodged, but not completely. Thin red lines appeared on their arms and legs, blood dripping from shallow cuts. The wounds weren’t deep, but they were enough to slow them down.

“Heh. Not bad,” Kisame mused, gripping Samehada tightly. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

The first shinobi lunged at him. Kisame sidestepped effortlessly, catching the man’s wrist mid-strike. With a brutal yank, he dislocated the arm and kicked him square in the chest, sending him crashing into the ground.

The second opponent was faster, coming at him with a flurry of kunai. Kisame deflected them with a single swipe of Samehada, then smashed the blade downward, shattering the ground beneath them.

The third one tried a surprise attack from behind. Big mistake. Kisame swung his elbow back, catching the ninja square in the face, sending him sprawling.

“Tch, you guys are weak,” he said, licking the blood off his knuckles.

His opponents struggled to stand. Kisame grinned. He wanted to play a little more. But when he finally finished tearing them apart, literally, he turned to check on Itachi. And that’s when he froze.

Two enemies had faced Itachi. Now, two bodies lay at her feet.

Kisame’s three opponents had put up a fight, but her two hadn’t even had the chance to scream.

The cuts on their bodies were clean, precise, a single strike to vital points. No wasted movement. No struggle. Just instant, merciless death.

Kisame looked down at the corpses, then back at Itachi.

She hadn’t even activated her Sharingan. She hadn’t needed to. No illusions, no tricks—just pure, surgical efficiency.

For a moment, he just stared at her.

“Damn,” he muttered, shouldering Samehada. “You sure don’t waste time, huh?”

Itachi flicked the blood off her kunai before sheathing it. Her voice was as calm as ever.

“Let’s go.”

Kisame watched as she walked ahead, completely unfazed by the blood staining the ground. For the first time, he wasn’t sure if she was terrifying or impressive. Maybe both.

But one thing was clear, this partnership was going to be interesting.

——

Kisame and Itachi return to the Akatsuki hideout and share a quiet meal.

The fire crackled softly, sending flickers of orange light dancing across the cave walls. Smoke curled into the cold night air, carrying the scent of grilled fish.

Kisame sat with his legs stretched out, casually holding a skewer over the flames. The warmth of the fire was a stark contrast to the icy silence between them.

Across from him, Itachi sat perfectly still, her posture straight, movements slow and deliberate. She had already begun eating, quietly pulling apart her portion of the fish with slender fingers.

Kisame, on the other hand, wasn’t eating. He was watching her. Not in the way he watched his enemies, not like someone sizing up a target. No, this was different. He couldn’t figure her out.

The flickering firelight cast shadows across her face, highlighting the contrast between her delicate features and the deadly presence she carried.

Her hair, as dark as the void, was parted at the center, with long, sleek bangs framing her face—sharp yet effortlessly falling into place. The rest was tied back in a simple but secure style, strands escaping just enough to soften the severity of her features. Yet, rather than making her seem more approachable, it only added to the quiet enigma surrounding her. Her eyelashes were long, framing those dark eyes—eyes that had condemned countless men to death without a second thought.

She was beautiful, yes. But it wasn’t a beauty that invited admiration. It was a beauty that commanded distance. Something untouchable. Something enigmatic. Kisame had never cared for a woman’s beauty before. But this? This fascinated him.

She was a paradox. A killer who barely spoke. A rogue ninja who showed restraint. A woman whose very presence demanded attention, yet seemed to exist on a plane entirely separate from the world around her.

His grip on his meal loosened as he became lost in thought. He had fought alongside ruthless men before. Men who enjoyed the thrill of battle, the chaos of destruction. Men who would slaughter their own kin without a second thought. The world said Itachi was one of them. But as he stared at her, this quiet, composed figure, her black hair shifting in the firelight, her dark eyes glowing faintly in the dimness, he couldn’t understand it.

Had she really ended her entire clan ruthlessly, without hesitation? What was her motive? Had she truly done it without regret?

As he tried to piece her together, she suddenly spoke.

“You would never finish your meal if you continue staring at me.”

Kisame blinked, his thoughts scattering. Then, he let out a deep, amused chuckle.

“Damn, caught me.” He picked up his skewer, finally taking a bite. “You just have an interesting face, that’s all.”

Itachi didn’t look up. Her voice was calm, unreadable.

“Interesting?”

Kisame chewed thoughtfully. “Yeah. You look like someone who’s already dead.”

This time, she did lift her gaze. Her eyes met his, empty, endless.

“Perhaps I am.”

Silence.

The fire crackled, the flames reflecting in her eyes like distant embers.

Kisame exhaled, shaking his head. “Man, you sure talk like a ghost.”

Itachi tore off another small piece of fish. “Maybe I am one.”

“If you were a ghost, you wouldn’t need to eat.”

For the briefest moment, Kisame thought he saw something almost like amusement flicker at the corner of her lips.

“Even the dead must eat while they walk among the living.”

Kisame paused. Something about that answer made his curiosity peak. He never cared to ask questions. Never cared about anyone else’s past. But this time, he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned forward slightly, voice low but direct.

“So then, tell me, Itachi-san—why did you do it? What was the reason behind your clan’s slaughter?”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t even hesitate. Her voice was cold, detached.

“To test the limits of my abilities.”

The answer came so smoothly, so emotionlessly, that if Kisame hadn’t been watching her closely, he might have believed it. But he saw it. The slight tension in her grip. The flicker in her gaze, gone as soon as it appeared.

A lie.

A well-practiced one. The one that only someone like him can see through.

But a lie nonetheless.

Kisame smirked, leaning back, letting the lie sit between them.

“Hah. Now I know you’re full of shit.”

Itachi didn’t look at him at first. She simply placed her skewer down, dusting off her fingertips with slow precision.

Then, she lifted her gaze, those red, glowing irises catching the firelight like burning coals.

“If you insist on staring, I could offer you something worth seeing.”

Kisame’s smirk faltered slightly.

Oh.

That was a threat.

And not just any threat—a promise.

He knew exactly what she meant. A glimpse into her world. A flicker of something he might not come back from.

So she realized she had slipped. This was a desperate attempt to cover up the crack in her facade. A subtle warning, not out of genuine threat, but to make him stop digging.

Kisame’s grin widened, more amused than ever.

He let out a short laugh, leaning back. “Tch. Maybe later, Itachi-san. But if you ever want to stop dodging questions, I’ll be right here.”

She gave no response—just a slow blink before returning to her meal.

But he had learned something valuable tonight.

Itachi Uchiha was a liar. A good one. A practiced one. But still, a liar. And that? That only made him want to figure her out even more.

Chapter Text

“Come on, Itachi-san. What’s the harm in a little sparring?”

Kisame stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders, his smirk sharp with challenge. The hideout was quiet—no missions, no bloodshed—just an empty training ground waiting to be used.

“No ninjutsu. No genjutsu. Just pure ninja skills.” He grinned. “Won’t even take much energy.”

Itachi remained seated on a nearby rock, unmoved.

“I have no reason to fight you.”

Kisame scoffed, crossing his arms. “Tch, really? You were all about ‘testing the limits of your abilities’ the other night.”

Silence.

His grin sharpened, voice turning lower, taunting. “Or was that just something you told yourself to sleep at night?”

Then—slowly—Itachi lifted her gaze.

And Kisame knew, right then, that he had her.

Her expression remained unreadable, but Kisame didn’t miss the way her fingers curled slightly at his words.

A hit.

Finally, she exhaled, slowly standing up.

“Fine.”

Kisame grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Kisame rested a hand on Samehada’s hilt, rolling his neck with a smirk. “Try not to overthink it, yeah? Wouldn’t want you philosophizing about the meaning of pain while I’m handing you an ass-whooping, Itachi-san.”

Itachi, in contrast, merely pulled out a single kunai.
Small. Simple. Almost insulting.

Kisame raised a brow, glancing between her and the massive Samehada. Then—he laughed.

“A kunai?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “And here I thought you were at least gonna use those crazy eyes of yours.”

His grin widened, sharp and taunting. “Gotta say, Itachi-san… you’ve got confidence.”

She said nothing. Just shifted her grip—low, measured, deliberate.

Kisame’s smirk twitched. Alright. Fine. He’d humor her.

Kisame didn’t hesitate—he surged forward, Samehada crashing down in a brutal arc. The blade screeched against the air, aiming to cleave through the spot she stood in.

But she was gone.

Kisame’s eyes flickered up—she had leaped high above him, flipping mid-air.

Then, she dropped down, kunai aimed directly at his exposed shoulder.

“Tch—”

Kisame swung Samehada upward to block. The impact cracked the air, but instead of clashing, Itachi twisted mid-strike, redirecting her momentum to land behind him.

She didn’t move with brute force.

She moved like a falling leaf, weaving between the gaps in his defense with near-impossible precision.

Kisame smirked, pivoting instantly—Samehada lashed out again.

But this time, when Itachi blocked it with her kunai, something crackled beneath the surface.

Chakra.

Her grip did not break.

He pushed harder, testing the pressure. She shouldn’t be able to hold back Samehada with a kunai.

And yet—Itachi stood firm, her arm steady, chakra subtly reinforcing her muscles.

Kisame’s grin widened.

“Hah. So that’s how you’re playing it, huh?”

Raw strength vs. controlled strength.

He pushed forward harder—forcing her back. She met his advance with a sidestep, dodging in millimeter-precise movements.

And then—

A shuriken flashed past his face.

Followed by another.

Kisame twisted to dodge them, his sharp reflexes making it easy—at first.

Then the next one came. And another. Faster.

Shit, these are fast.

A relentless storm of shuriken rained toward him at a speed that was hard to follow with the naked eye. Each one was aimed with lethal precision, the angles so perfect that if he were even a fraction of a second slower, they would have buried themselves into his flesh.

He dodged instinctively, weaving between them, but he could tell—this would have instantly killed a normal shinobi.

If it weren’t for his superior reaction time, his heightened combat instincts, and sheer durability, he would be dead.

“Damn, Itachi-san, you throw those things like you’re trying to kill me,” Kisame chuckled, still dodging.

Another shuriken. Barely missed his cheek.

“But, is this really the best you’ve got?” Kisame chuckled, swiping one out of the air. “I thought you were a genius, not a lousy shuriken spammer.”

And then—She threw a final kunai.

Kisame’s instincts screamed.

The moment the last kunai struck the ground, the air around him shifted.

The scattered kunai glinted—thin, near-invisible wires stretched between them, crisscrossing into an intricate web.

Wait—

With a flick of her fingers, the wires snapped taut.

The final kunai yanked the entire structure closed, tightening like a snare.

Kisame moved to break free—but the wires had already forced him into position.

That was it.

He hadn’t been dodging for survival.

He had been dodging exactly the way she wanted him to.

Every step, every weave, every instinctive reaction—it had all led him here.

To this trap. To this moment.

His arms were caught mid-motion, pulled tight.

And then—a kunai at his throat.

Itachi stood in front of him, her grip steady, her expression cold.

She had set this up from the beginning.

She had been controlling the fight the entire time.

For a moment, Kisame just stared at her.

And then—He laughed. Deep, amused, thoroughly impressed.

“Hah… damn.” He looked down at the wires binding his arms. “So that’s how you fight, huh?”

Itachi removed the kunai, stepping back without a word.

She wasn’t strong in the way he was. She didn’t need to be. Her strength wasn’t about overwhelming power—it was about never needing it. She didn’t fight battles. She ended them before they began. And that? That was far more terrifying than brute force.

“I was right about you, Itachi-san.” Kisame stretched, finally freeing himself from the wires. “You don’t fight for the thrill. You don’t even fight for fun.”

His grin sharpened.

“You fight to win.”

Itachi said nothing, but as she turns away, Pein contacts them. A holographic projection of Pein’s Rinnegan-eyed gaze flickered into existence before them.

“Your next mission has been assigned.” His voice was as cold as ever. “Iwa has requested our services to eliminate a group of four A-rank ninjas from Kumo. They wish to erase them but cannot afford to leave any trace of their involvement.”

Itachi absorbed the information quietly. Political assassinations were common in their line of work.

“Two of the targets have been located. You will eliminate them immediately.”

The transmission ended.

Kisame stretched, rolling his shoulders. “Now this is what I call a good time.”

Itachi merely turned in the direction of their targets. 

Tracking their first two targets wasn’t difficult. They found them near the border of Fire Country—experienced, powerful, and clearly aware that someone was after them.

The fight began swiftly and without hesitation.

Kisame, eager for battle, lunged first. Samehada clashed against lightning-infused blades, water jutsu colliding with storm release techniques. The battlefield erupted into chaos, shockwaves shaking the trees as Kisame relished the fight.

Itachi moved differently—calm, methodical. She weaved through the battlefield, launching precise kunai strikes and countering with swift, efficient ninjutsu.

But it wasn’t enough.

The two Kumo nin were strong, their teamwork tight, and Itachi quickly recognized that this battle would drag on if fought conventionally.

She didn’t have time for that.

So she activated her Mangekyō Sharingan.

Her target barely had a second to react before his world turned black.

Tsukuyomi.

When the illusion broke, his body crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

Kisame, meanwhile, was still fighting the second opponent, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was having fun.

The Kumo ninja was strong, forcing Kisame to merge with Samehada, increasing his power dramatically. The battle dragged on longer than Itachi’s, but Kisame enjoyed every second of it.

Eventually, he overwhelmed his opponent, tearing him apart with sheer force.

Kisame exhaled, cracking his neck. “Damn, that was a workout.” He glanced at Itachi. “And you? Took yours out already?”

She didn’t respond, merely stepping over the fallen bodies.

“Heh. Of course you did.”

As they walked toward their next set of targets, Kisame’s curiosity finally got the better of him.

“That thing you did,” he mused, tilting his head toward her. “That wasn’t normal genjutsu. You killed the guy with this one.”

Itachi remained silent for a moment before answering.

“It’s called Tsukuyomi.”

Kisame raised an eyebrow. “And what makes it so special?”

“It allows me to trap my enemies in a genjutsu where I control time and space,” she said coolly. “A split second in reality can feel like days—an eternity of suffering. It is designed to break one’s spirit. Or if I choose to kill someone inside, their body will be tricked to die in reality.”

Kisame let out a low whistle.

“Damn,” he chuckled, grinning. “And here I thought I was the monster between us.”

Itachi didn’t reply.

But Kisame could tell—she hated it. Not in a way that showed on her face. Not in a way that anyone else would notice. But he saw it. The slight tension in her stance. The way her fingers curled just a fraction tighter around her sleeve. She didn’t take pleasure in it. She endured it.

He studied her for a moment longer, then smirked.

“Well, as long as you never use that thing on me, I think we’ll get along just fine, Itachi-san.”

She said nothing.

Pein’s holographic projection appeared once more.

“The last two targets have been located.”

Straight to the point.

“Eliminate them.”

The transmission ended.

Kisame smirked. “Well, looks like we’re wrapping this up.”

Itachi said nothing—just started walking.

Tracking the last two targets led them to a dense forest near the Lightning border. But something was off. They could feel it—a presence far greater than two people. Then, the trap sprung. From the shadows, twenty one A-rank shinobi appeared. 

Kisame clicked his tongue. “Well, shit. Looks like we got played.”

No hesitation—the enemy attacked immediately. Kisame and Itachi fought back, killing 10, but it became clear—this battle was dragging too long. The enemies were adapting. Learning. They had fought them long enough for their patterns to be analyzed.

Kisame snarled, blocking a strike with Samehada. “Tch. Annoying bastards.”

Itachi remained eerily calm. But Kisame noticed something—her hand slightly trembled. She was calculating something. And then—Her Mangekyō spun.

Amaterasu.

The battlefield erupted in black flames. Nine of their enemies were instantly consumed, their bodies igniting in unnatural fire. Screams filled the air as the flames refused to die, burning through flesh, armor, and chakra barriers alike. Kisame saw it. Blood trickled from her eye, carving a crimson path down her cheek. She was still burning them alive when another enemy rushed her from behind.

“Itachi—!”

Kisame moved without thinking.

His body slammed into hers, shielding her just as a blade sliced across his shoulder.

“Tch—” Kisame growled, gripping Samehada tighter.

The enemy startled that his attack had been blocked, was quickly cut down by Kisame’s counterattack.

Finally, only one opponent remained. This one was different. Faster. Sharper.

The moment Kisame engaged, he realized—this man was faster than him.

And then—a blur.

The enemy moved with a sudden burst of extreme speed, his attacks almost impossible to follow with the naked eye.

Kisame barely blocked a punch—his bones rattled from the force.

He cursed. “Tch, the hell is this guy?!”

Itachi flicked her gaze toward the enemy, ready to cast Tsukuyomi. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t meet his eyes—he was too fast. The enemy moved again, attacking from multiple angles.

Kisame barely held his ground.

And then—

A crimson glow erupted around them.

Susanoo.

Itachi’s chakra surged, a spectral warrior forming around them. The taijutsu master’s attacks slammed into the ethereal shield—only to be completely blocked.

Kisame, breathing heavily, smirked. “Heh. You really don’t like losing, do you, Itachi-san?”

Itachi’s expression didn’t change.

“Watch for an opening.”

Kisame nodded.

The enemy, realizing his attacks weren’t getting through, backed off for a second—just long enough.

Kisame saw it.

The split-second gap in his defense.

Without hesitation—Kisame struck.

Samehada ripped through their opponent, ending the battle instantly.

Silence fell over the battlefield.

The final body dropped. The battle was over. For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Kisame exhaled, shaking blood off his blade. “That was a pain in the ass.”

He turned to her, his usual smirk faltering slightly.

“Guess I should thank you for the save.”

Itachi met his gaze. “And I should thank you for backing me up.”

Kisame chuckled.

“Heh. You sure don’t look like much, but damn, your arsenal is crazy.” He tilted his head. “First that black fire, now this chakra monster protecting us—what the hell was that?”

Itachi wiped the blood from her eye.

“Amaterasu—undying black flames that burn anything in my vision. And Susanoo—a manifestation of chakra that shields its user.”

Kisame whistled. “Damn, so you’ve got a fire that never dies and an armor that blocks everything?”

She didn’t respond.

But Kisame understood something now.

Before, he thought she was just smart. Just efficient.

But now? Now he knew—she was strong.

Far stronger than he had originally thought.

The battlefield was far behind them now.

They had retreated into the woods, moving swiftly through the shadows. The scent of burning flesh from Amaterasu still clung to the air.

Kisame was fairly tired, Samahada had healed him and gave him chakra. But he could tell—Itachi was. She didn’t say a word, didn’t stumble, didn’t breathe any heavier than usual. But he noticed it. The slight falter in her step. The way her fingers twitched slightly before she clenched them into a fist.

She had pushed herself too far.

Tsukuyomi. Amaterasu. Susanoo. On top of everything else—ninjutsu, genjutsu, taijutsu—they had just taken down twenty-three A-rank shinobi within the same day.

And yet—she didn’t complain.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you, Itachi-san?”

She didn’t respond. Kisame sighed, looking ahead. And then—he saw it.

A tea house nestled between the trees, the faint golden glow of lanterns flickering through the evening mist.

He grinned.

“Let’s take a break.”

She didn’t protest.

That alone told him she needed it.

The moment they entered, Kisame felt eyes on them.

Understandable. They weren’t exactly subtle—an Akatsuki rogue swordsman and a Sharingan-wielding Uchiha draped in bloodstained cloaks.

But no one dared to say anything. The tea house was small, the kind that catered to weary travelers, mercenaries, and shinobi too tired to care about allegiances.

Kisame dropped into a seat, Samehada resting against the table. He expected Itachi to order something practical, tea, maybe water.

Instead—

“Dango,” she said flatly.

Kisame blinked.

He looked at her, then at the waitress, then back at her.

“Hah. Dango? Didn’t take you for the sweet type, Itachi-san.”

She didn’t respond, simply adjusting her sleeve.

Kisame leaned back, grinning. “Not sure if that’s cute or just completely out of character.”

The waitress returned a few moments later, placing a plate of skewered dango in front of her. Itachi picked one up, taking a slow, deliberate bite. Kisame watched her for a moment longer, then chuckled. 

“Guess even you have your quirks.”

She still didn’t respond. But he noticed something. There was something almost nostalgic about the way she ate them. Not indulgent, not particularly joyful—just… quiet acceptance. Like something from a past life. That piqued his interest. But he didn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, Kisame tilted his head.

“That crow thing you do.”

Itachi glanced at him.

“Your clones. Normal shinobi use logs, smoke—maybe a substitution. But you? You disappear into crows.” He tapped the table. “That’s… artistic.”

She was silent for a moment.

Then—something flickered in her eyes.

“When I was four,” she began, her voice even, but distant.

Kisame raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected her to actually answer.

“I jumped off a cliff.”

He blinked.

”…Huh.”

Itachi set down her skewer.

“I saw no meaning in life.”

There was no emotion in her voice. Just a simple statement of fact.

“As I fell, I saw a crow. It reminded me that I wasn’t searching for death, I was searching for a reason to live.”

Kisame stared at her.

Not because of what she had said, but because of how she said it. Flat. Detached. Like she was reciting someone else’s memory.

“That’s why I signed a summoning contract with crows.”

She picked up another skewer, taking another quiet bite.

Kisame watched her for a moment longer before exhaling through his nose.

“Huh.”

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s… morbid as hell, Itachi-san.”

She didn’t react.

But Kisame smirked.

“I like it.”

He picked up his tea, taking a sip. A kid throwing themselves off a cliff and getting life advice from a bird. Damn. That’s gotta be the most Itachi thing I’ve ever heard.

Kisame took another sip of his tea, watching as Itachi wordlessly picked up another skewer of dango. It was a simple thing, really. A small, insignificant movement. And yet—for some reason, he forgot.

Forgot that she was a criminal.

Forgot that she had slaughtered her entire clan.

Forgot that she was just as ruthless as him.

For a fleeting second, as the lantern light softened her features, she didn’t look like an S-rank rogue shinobi. Didn’t look like the woman who had trapped him in a genjutsu the first day they met. Didn’t look like a killer. She just looked… young. Too young. A girl sitting in a tea house, eating sweets.

Kisame frowned slightly, tapping his fingers against his cup. That was strange. He didn’t know why he felt like that. It shouldn’t matter. They had been partners for a while now, but that didn’t mean he should drop his guard. She was still Itachi Uchiha. And yet—the moment lingered. And somehow, Kisame found himself watching her just a little longer than necessary.

Chapter Text

Kisame knew exactly what he was walking into.
And damn if he wasn’t looking forward to it.

The moment he and Itachi stepped into the Akatsuki hideout, the air was already buzzing with energy—the kind that only ever appeared when every member was physically present for a meeting.

Which meant one thing.

Someone—without fail—was going to become the joke of the night.

And nine times out of ten?
It was Hidan.

Kisame grinned to himself, cracking his knuckles.
He was ready.

And tonight?
Tonight, Kisame had a feeling.
Tonight was going to be good.

🐦‍⬛ “You’re in a good mood,” Itachi murmured beside him, voice as unreadable as ever.

🦈 Kisame smirked. “It’s Akatsuki tradition, Itachi-san.”

She didn’t respond, but he didn’t need her to.
He was hyped.
Because this was the one time he could relax.

The cavernous hideout was dimly lit, the faint crackle of torches casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. 

And, as always—it was a goddamn circus.

🔪 Hidan, stretching obnoxiously: “Tch. Better be good this time. If this is another ‘let’s all sit in a circle and talk about our feelings’ kinda meeting, I’m walking.”

💰 Kakuzu, without looking up from his bounty book: “You owe me 30,000 ryo.”

🔪 Hidan, rolling his eyes: “For WHAT?!”

💰 Kakuzu, flipping a page: “Existing.”

🎭 Sasori, unimpressed: “Hidan, if you walked, it would be the most useful thing you’ve ever done.”

💥 Deidara, grinning: “Now, now, we should all appreciate the effort. Even Hidan's tiny brain has to work hard to keep up with basic conversation, yeah.”

🔪 Hidan, seething: “You wanna f***ing go?”

💥 Deidara, smirking: “I’d blow you to pieces before you even finished a prayer, un.”

🔪 Hidan, pointing: “SASORI, BACK ME UP!”

🎭 Sasori, deadpan: “No.”

🦈 Kisame, chuckling: “I dunno. Kinda hoping Pein’s just calling us all here to announce which one of you he’s killing first.”

💰 Kakuzu, nodding: “I’d bid for that.”

🔪 Hidan, snarling: “F**K ALL OF YOU.”

💥 Deidara, smirking: “Love you too, yeah.”

☁️ Konan, sighing: “Every time.”

🔥 Pein, appearing, staring blankly at this absolute disaster of a group:
"Our terrorist organization is a joke."

Silence.

☁️ Konan, sipping tea in absolute resignation: “You knew this when you hired them.”

🔥 Pein, rubbing his temples: “I was desperate.”

🔪 Hidan, shrugging, smug: “Yeah, well, now you’re stuck with us.”

💰 Kakuzu, still flipping through his bounty book: “Unfortunate.”

🎭 Sasori, flatly: “A mistake.”

💥 Deidara, grinning: “A tragic one, yeah?”

🔥 Pein, staring at all of them like he’s reconsidering his entire life.

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, casually sitting beside Konan, sipping tea, completely unbothered: “Hn.”

☁️ Konan, patting Pein’s shoulder, deadpan: “Deep breaths.”

🔥 Pein, monotone: “I need a raise.”

🔪 Hidan, scoffing: “Tch. The f** kinda leader needs a raise? You pay yourself, dumbass.”*

🔥 Pein, eyes narrowing: “You know what, Hidan? I actually hope Jashin calls you back early.”

🔪 Hidan, grinning: “Tch, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, boss.”

🔥 Pein, exhaling slowly, ignoring him, turning to the group: “Can we actually focus now?”

💰 Kakuzu, flipping a page, unimpressed: “Only if you cancel Hidan’s debt.”

🔪 Hidan, immediately: “YEAH, CANCEL MY DEBT.”

🔥 Pein, expression crumbling into sheer, godforsaken exhaustion.

☁️ Konan, whispering to him, horrified: “You can’t. You’re the leader.”

🔥 Pein, staring blankly, monotone: “I am choosing to focus on the fact that they still have the cloaks on.”

☁️ Konan, sighing, looking back at Itachi. Processing.
“…I need stronger tea.”

And then—

🚪 BOOM. DOOR FLINGS OPEN. 

👺 Tobi enters—carrying two massive bags of produce, grinning like a menace.

👺 Tobi, dramatically: “I BOUGHT FOOD!”

🔥 Pein, staring. Processing. “…Tobi. I told you to buy food.”

☁️ Konan, already done: “…Why did you bring produce?”

👺 Tobi, cheerfully: “Because the Akatsuki hasn’t gathered together for a while, so I decided to cook a feast today!”

Silence.

Absolute. Catastrophic. Silence.

💥 Deidara, jaw dropping: “Wait. WAIT. YOU CAN COOK?!”

👺 Tobi, proudly: “Of course! Tobi is a good boy, and good boys know how to cook!”

🔪 Hidan, LAUGHING, losing it: “WE’RE F**ING DEAD.”*

💰 Kakuzu, immediately flipping to a blank page: “Who wants to bet we get poisoned?”

🎭 Sasori, placing a precise stack of ryo down: “I’ll bet on the hideout burning down.”

🔥 Pein, exhaling sharply: “Fine. Just—just get started.”

👺 Tobi, EXCITED, racing to the kitchen space: “YAY! TIME TO COOK!”

🔪 Hidan, nudging Kisame: “Oi, shark boy. How do you wanna go? Poison or food poisoning?”

💥 Deidara, shaking his head: “Man, I think starvation is a better option, yeah.”

🦈 Kisame, thoroughly enjoying this: “Tch. I kinda wanna see how bad this gets.”

And then—

👺 Tobi, dramatically: “FIRST—FIRE!”

BOOM.

🔥 A FKING FIRE ERUPTS.**

👺 Tobi, SCREAMING, waving his arms: “OH NO! FIRE, FIRE—WAIT, NO, NOT REAL FIRE—”

🔥 Pein, rubbing his temples, about to throw himself into the flames.

💥 Deidara, smirking: “Pfft. And he calls himself a fire user, yeah?”

🔪 Hidan, pointing, HOWLING: “LOOK AT THIS F**ING IDIOT.”*

💰 Kakuzu, flipping a page: “Should I bet on the hideout burning down?”

🎭 Sasori, unimpressed: “We’re doomed.”

🦈 Kisame, SIGHS, finally putting out the damn fire, shaking his head.

And then—

☁️ Konan, slowly turning to Itachi, absolutely DONE with Tobi:
"What do you think, Itachi? Would you Amaterasu him alive?"

Everyone turned.

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, sipping her tea, unreadable: “Hn.”

Then—she stood up.

Slow. Calculated.

And walked towards Tobi.

👺 Tobi, SWEATING UNDER HIS MASK: “U—uh, Itachi-chan…? What are you doing?”

🔥 Pein, deadpan: “Finally. Something productive.”

🔪 Hidan, GRINNING: “YEAH! BURN THE LITTLE F**ER!”*

💥 Deidara, crossing his arms, smirking: “Finally, some real art.”

💰 Kakuzu, already adding ryo to his bet book.

☁️ Konan, nodding approvingly: “It’s for the greater good.”

👺 Tobi, slowly backing away: “N-now, now, Tobi just wanted to help, no need for—”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi ignored all of them.

Instead—she sat down.

And started cooking.

Silence.

Dead. Absolute. Silence.

The Akatsuki, a group of ruthless, S-rank criminals, terrorists, and mass murderers, all stared.

👺 Tobi, blinking: “…Eh?”

💀 Akatsuki.exe has stopped working.

💥 Deidara, jaw-dropping: “WAIT. WHAT?!”

🔪 Hidan, pointing, blinking rapidly: “OI, OI, OI, AM I SEEING S**? IS SHE ACTUALLY COOKING?!”*

💰 Kakuzu, PAUSING MID-WRITE: “I’m canceling my bet.”

🎭 Sasori, baffled for the first time in his entire existence: “…A terrorist… knowing how to cook?”

🔥 Pein, blinking slowly, unable to process.

☁️ Konan, staring at Itachi, then back at the vegetables, then at the rest of them.

"This is not real."

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, calmly stirring the pot, not looking up.
"Hn."

The rest of the Akatsuki were still loudly losing their collective minds around him—Hidan was swearing, Deidara was ranting, Kakuzu was muttering about lost bets—but Kisame barely heard them.

Because he was still staring.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because for a solid moment—his brain completely shut down.

Itachi, calmly stirring the pot, sleeves pushed up, steam rising around her.
Like this was normal. Like this was just another mission.

But it wasn’t.

It was so far from normal that Kisame could barely process it.

She looked like she belonged here.
Not on a battlefield. Not covered in blood.
Just here. Cooking.
Like she had done this a thousand times.

And for a second—just a second—if he hadn’t known her, hadn’t fought alongside her, hadn’t witnessed her cold, calculated execution of battle strategy firsthand…

He would have never believed she was a shinobi.
Let alone a killer.
Let alone an Uchiha.

His fingers curled against his knee.

What the hell?

This was Itachi Uchiha.
His partner. Eighteen. One of the most feared criminals in the entire damn world. The deadliest genjutsu user he had ever known.

And yet—

She was standing there, in candlelight, quiet, composed, stirring a damn pot.

Like war had never touched her.
Like she had never belonged to it.

Kisame swallowed.

Tch. What the hell was he thinking?

Then—

💥 Deidara, elbowing him, smirking: “Oi, Kisame. You ever seen your partner cook before?”

Kisame blinked.

Looked at Deidara. Looked at Itachi.

Then—he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“…No.”

Not like this. Not ever.

🔪 Hidan, leaning forward, smirking: “Damn, Kisame, you’re lucky as hell.”

🦈 Kisame, still processing: “…Huh?”

🔪 Hidan, leaning back with a smirk, arms crossed: “Well, damn. Who knew we had a whole housewife in the Akatsuki?”

🦈 Kisame, blinking, brain still catching up.

💥 Deidara, wheezing, nudging Kisame: “Oi, did you know your partner was wife material, yeah?”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, still calmly stirring the pot, completely unbothered: “Hidan.”

🔪 Hidan, snorting: “What?”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, smoothly, voice deceptively soft, “I was just considering the menu.”

🔪 Hidan, blinking. “Huh?”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, gaze flicking to him, expression unreadable, voice cool: “We’re short on meat.”

🔪 Hidan, suddenly feeling very exposed.

💰 Kakuzu, flipping a page in his bounty book, completely indifferent: “He’s not worth much, but I won’t stop you.”

🔪 Hidan, glaring: “OI, THE HELL YOU MEAN ‘NOT WORTH MUCH’—”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, lazily rolling her wrist, the kunai in her fingers catching the firelight.

🔪 Hidan, swallowing. Hard.

The room fell into a stunned, eerie silence.

☁️ Konan, sipping her tea, smirking: “Good choice. Lean meat.”

💥 Deidara, barely holding it together, whispering to Kisame: “Bro. Your partner just threatened to turn Hidan into dinner.”

🦈 Kisame, watching Itachi in absolute disbelief, then exhaling through his nose, shaking his head, muttering: “Tch. She’s terrifying.”

💰 Kakuzu, dryly flipping a coin: “I’m betting she’s more efficient than most chefs.”

🎭 Sasori, nodding absently: “Hn. Good technique.”

🔥 Pein, deadpan: “If we start a restaurant, maybe we can finally fund our operations properly.”

🔪 Hidan, cackling: “Oh f***, the Akatsuki Ramen Shop—feared across nations.”

💥 Deidara, grinning: “With explosive flavors, yeah?”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, flatly: “You’ll be the first dish.”

💥 Deidara, choking on air: “Wait, what—?!”

Meanwhile—

🦈 Kisame, still staring, exhaling sharply, rubbing his face:

Tch. Damn it.

He wasn’t looking at her.

Not like that.

…Right?

Except—his eyes flickered to her again.
The way the firelight caught against her hair. The way her hands moved—controlled, precise, like this was just as natural as a blade in her grip.
And damn it all—he was still staring.

💥 Deidara, side-eyeing him, barely containing laughter: “You’re still looking, yeah?”

🦈 Kisame, deadpan, grumbling: “…Shut up.”

☁️ Konan, watching all of this unfold, exhaling deeply, rubbing her temples:
"So, just to summarize..." She glanced around the room. "Tobi almost set us all on fire, Pein is considering opening a restaurant, and Itachi is actually cooking—like this is a normal evening?"

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, unbothered, calmly stirring the pot: "Hn."

☁️ Konan, sighing, reaching for a sake bottle: "I need a drink."

💥 Deidara, nodding: "Hn. I’ll drink to that, yeah?"

🔥 Pein, pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering: "This is not how I imagined Akatsuki’s legacy."

The table was set.

Perfectly.

Neat, precise— too precise for a group of criminals.

The aroma drifted through the cavernous hideout, rich and mouthwatering. A stark contrast to their usual rations, and the disaster they almost witnessed with Tobi at the helm.

A long, heavy silence settled over the room as the Akatsuki all stared.

At the food.

At the table.

At Itachi.

☁️ Konan, blinking slowly: “This… doesn’t feel real.”

💥 Deidara, cautiously picking up his chopsticks, whispering: “Did we get replaced? Is this a genjutsu?”

💰 Kakuzu, suspicious, arms crossed: “Too good. There has to be a catch.”

🎭 Sasori, analytical as ever: “The presentation is almost… professional.”

👺 Tobi, clapping his hands together, completely unbothered by everyone else’s existential crisis: “ITADAKIMASU~!”

A moment of hesitation—then, one by one, they all picked up their chopsticks.

The first bite.

Silence.

Absolute. Dead. Silence.

Then—

💥 Deidara, slowly looking up, disbelief in his voice: “…Oi. This is actually f**ing good, yeah.”*

🔪 Hidan, stunned: “…Like, what the hell. No, actually—what the hell.”

💰 Kakuzu, already grabbing another bite, nodding in deep approval: “Tch. If she wasn’t a terrorist, she’d make a killing in the food business.”

☁️ Konan, setting her chopsticks down, smirking, nudging Itachi: “I didn’t know this side of you, Itachi.”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, calmly, taking a sip of tea, completely unfazed: “Hn.”

☁️ Konan, raising a brow, amused: “Alright then, tell me—how did you learn to cook like this?”

A pause.

Everyone turned, watching Itachi expectantly.

Itachi, setting her teacup down, composed as ever:

🐦‍⬛ "Would you all believe me if I said practice and observation?"

Silence.

🔪 Hidan, throwing his hands up: “OF COURSE SHE’D SAY THAT—”

💥 Deidara, gesturing wildly: “THIS WOMAN JUST EXISTS AND GETS GOOD AT THINGS, YEAH?!”

💰 Kakuzu, unimpressed but taking another bite: “Efficiency at its peak.”

🎭 Sasori, muttering: “Tch. No wasted movement.”

🔥 Pein, staring at the ceiling like he was so done with life: “…I give up.”

☁️ Konan, shaking her head, smirking into her tea: “Of course you did.”

Meanwhile—

🦈 Kisame, still watching, still processing, taking in the scene with an unreadable expression.

She was a puzzle.
A damn enigma.

A girl who wielded a kunai like an extension of herself—yet set the table like a goddamn housewife.

She had cut down enemies without hesitation—yet moved in the kitchen with the same careful, calculated precision.

The contrast was insane.

The contradiction unreal.

And yet—

It was all her.

And Kisame had no idea what to do with that realization.

☁️ Konan, raising a brow at him: “Kisame? You alright?”

🦈 Kisame, snapping out of it, shaking his head, clearing his throat: “Tch. I’m eating.”

And with that—he took a bite.

And damn it all.

It was good.

Then—

👺 Tobi, raising his hand excitedly: “Tobi has decided!”

Silence.

Everyone turned to stare.

👺 Tobi, nodding sagely, completely serious: “Next time Itachi-chan visits, Tobi will buy produce again!”

Silence.

Then—

💥 Deidara, groaning, running a hand down his face: “…I hate that I’m saying this, but—yeah. I’d eat this again.”

🔪 Hidan, pointing his chopsticks at Itachi: “For real. We need to keep her in the kitchen.”

💰 Kakuzu, nodding, already calculating savings: “Cost-efficient. Acceptable.”

🎭 Sasori, sipping his tea, monotone: “At least she didn’t overcook the vegetables.”

🔥 Pein, exhaling, but visibly satisfied: “…Fine. Approved.”

☁️ Konan, smirking slightly, glancing at Itachi: “Guess you’ll have to visit more often, then.”

Silence.

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, setting down her cup, gaze sharp, voice flat: “I will Amaterasu the next batch of produce.”

Silence.

👺 Tobi, FREEZING, waving his hands wildly: “WAIT, WAIT, TOBI WAS JUST KIDDING—”

💥 Deidara, CACKLING: “SHE F**ING SHUT IT DOWN, YEAH?!”*

🔪 Hidan, throwing his hands up, laughing: “OH, SHE'S MERCILESS!”

💰 Kakuzu, flipping a coin: “Knew it was too good to last.”

☁️ Konan, watching all of them fall apart, sighing, sipping her tea: “…I still need a drink.”

🦈 Kisame, smirking, shaking his head, muttering under his breath: “Tch. That’s my partner.”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, calm, unbothered, already finishing her meal: “Hn.”

💀 Akatsuki is in ruins. 💀

Dinner passed in rare, fleeting peace.
Plates were emptied. The fire dimmed. The last traces of warmth lingered in the air.

And then, one by one, the Akatsuki moved.

Conversations quieted. Smirks faded. The casual, almost domestic moment dissolved as they filed into the meeting chamber—returning to what they were.

At the center, Pein stood, expression unreadable, his Rinnegan gaze sweeping across the room.

🔥 Pein, voice steady, final: “Orochimaru has allied with Suna and launched an invasion of Konoha.”

Silence.

And just like that, the world outside their walls bled back in.

A murmur of interest spread through the group.

💥 Deidara, smirking: “Hah. So the old snake finally made his move. Bet he’s throwing a dramatic monologue while he’s at it, yeah.”

🔪 Hidan, stretching: “Tch. And here I thought we’d have some real news. Who gives a shit about Konoha?”

💰 Kakuzu, flipping through his bounty book: “If Konoha falls, their bounties drop. That’s my problem.”

🎭 Sasori, flatly: “Orochimaru was always theatrical. The invasion is messy. Unrefined.”

🔥 Pein, ignoring them: “The Third Hokage is dead.”

Silence.

💥 Deidara: “Damn. Didn’t think the old fossil had it in him to croak. Heh. Guess even Hokages go boom eventually.”

🔪 Hidan, grinning: “PRAISE JASHIN! Someone FINALLY put that old bastard down!”

💰 Kakuzu, disinterested: “Did Orochimaru at least make it profitable?”

🔥 Pein, exhaling slowly: “With the village in chaos, now is the perfect opportunity. We will locate and begin tracking the Nine-Tails Jinchūriki—”

Before he could finish—

🐦‍⬛ “I’ll go.”

The room fell into brief, stunned silence.
The words were sharp. Immediate. And they came from Itachi. Kisame blinked. That was… new.

💥 Deidara, blinking: “Wait. What?”

🔪 Hidan, wheezing: “Did she just VOLUNTEER?”

🎭 Sasori, monotone: “How unexpected.”

💰 Kakuzu, counting coins: “Damn. Should’ve placed a bet on that.”

🦈 Kisame, raising a brow: What the hell?

Itachi never volunteered. She listened. She waited. She absorbed orders without question. But this time—she reacted.

🔥 Pein, watching her closely: “…Very well.”

The discussion moved on.

But Kisame wasn’t listening anymore.

Because for the first time… he had seen Itachi break her own pattern.

Kisame’s gaze flicked to her.

What the hell was that?

It was subtle. No change in expression. No hesitation. But he knew—he knew—Itachi never moved first.

Kisame’s fingers curled slightly against his knee, his mind running over every interaction, every mission, every moment they had spent together.

She never moved unless it was calculated.
She never spoke unless she had already decided the outcome.
She never volunteered.

And yet, today, she had.

It wasn’t eagerness. Wasn’t excitement. No, this was something else.

Something too quiet. Too restrained. Too controlled.

And that, more than anything, made his stomach twist.

The meeting had ended.

One by one, the Akatsuki dispersed, moving to their rooms. The cavern dimmed, torches flickering low.

Itachi turned, already walking toward the exit.

Kisame hesitated.

Then—he followed.

It wasn’t unusual. He always did. But this time? This time, something felt different.

It wasn’t just her silence—she was always quiet. It wasn’t just her composure—she was always unreadable.

No, this time it was something else.

She had spoken first. She had volunteered. And now, as she moved ahead of him, that single moment replayed in his head like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

His steps were easy, unhurried, but his eyes never left her back.

What are you up to, Itachi-san?

For a while, neither of them spoke. The cave walls echoed with the faint sound of dripping water, their footsteps the only thing breaking the silence.

And then—

“So.”

Itachi didn’t stop walking, but Kisame knew she was listening.

“Didn’t think you’d be so eager to head back to Konoha, Itachi-san.”

No response.

Kisame smirked. “What, no clever deflection? You jumped at that mission before Pein even finished talking.”

Still, nothing. But then—a pause. It was small. Barely noticeable. But Kisame caught it.

Finally, Itachi spoke. Quiet. Distant.

“It’s a mission.”

Kisame huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s a mission with you. But we both know that’s not the whole story.”

Itachi didn’t respond.

Kisame eyed her carefully. She was always calm, always composed. But now?

Now he knew something was beneath the surface.

“You could’ve waited for Pein to assign it,” he said, more casually this time. “But you were afraid that he would assign it to another pair. Why?”

For a moment, it almost seemed like she would answer.

But instead—

“Do not concern yourself with things that do not matter.”

Cold. Absolute.

The conversation was over.

Kisame sighed, shaking his head. “Tch. Fine, fine. Keep your secrets.”

But as they stepped further from the hideout, Kisame kept following, his gaze still lingering on her.

Itachi stopped walking.

She didn’t turn. Didn’t even glance his way.

“Keep following me, and I’ll assume you need something else to lose besides your sword.”

Kisame blinked.

Then, he barked out a laugh. “Damn, Itachi-san. Didn’t know you had jokes.”

She didn’t look back. “I don’t.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving Kisame smirking in the darkness.

But his smirk didn’t last long.

Because now, more than ever—he knew.

She was hiding something.

——

Only faint embers flickered in the dark, casting fleeting shadows against the stone walls.

Kisame wasn’t one to wake up in the middle of the night. But something felt… off.

It sat heavy in his gut—an unease that hadn’t left him since they left Konoha.

He opened his eyes, blinking against the dim glow. Silence.

A breath. A pause. And then—
He remembered.

Everything about today didn’t make sense.

He had seen how she used Tsukuyomi before. How it left enemies broken. How it killed.

But today? She didn’t kill Kakashi.

​​And even stranger—she wasted it on her brother. Not on the greater threat. Not on the Sannin standing right there. But Sasuke. She had always been strategic, so why?

"You lack hatred."

Brutal. Merciless. Cold.
But not final.

She had left him alive.

Kisame sat up, rubbing his chin.
It didn’t add up.

The night of the massacre. She had spared one. One loose end. One surviving Uchiha. Kisame knew how meticulous she was—how she never left anything unfinished.

And yet, this.

A bad taste settled in his mouth.

He glanced at her usual sleeping spot.

Empty.

He exhaled through his nose. Of course.

Grabbing Samehada, he stood. He already knew where she was.

And he was right.

She was exactly where he expected.

Sitting just outside the cave, perched on a rocky outcrop, bathed in pale moonlight.
Her long black hair moved slightly with the wind, her expression unreadable, as always.

Kisame walked over, stopping just behind her.

“Well, I thought you ran away from the Akatsuki.”

No reaction.

He smirked, resting Samehada against his shoulder.

“You know why they put us in pairs, right?”

She finally glanced at him, Sharingan dim in the dark.

“To prevent betrayal.”

Kisame let the words settle.

Then, after a beat—

“So tell me, Itachi-san—why did you leave your brother alive?”

The night air was crisp, the moonlight casting an eerie glow over the rocky terrain.

Kisame waited, watching her carefully.

She didn’t turn away from the moon, didn’t shift under his gaze.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t breathe wrong.
Too calm.

And when she finally spoke, her voice was steady. Absolute.

“I need him alive to steal his eyes.”

Kisame’s smirk twitched—just barely.

“The cost of using my Mangekyō Sharingan is blindness. His eyes will give me eternal light.”

She tilted her head slightly, as if pondering the weight of her own words.

“As I said, I want to see the limit of my powers.”

Bullshit.

Kisame didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t believe a damn word.

This wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t ego. It wasn’t strategy.

It was a lie.

And not just about Sasuke.

She’s been lying since the day I met her.

Still, his smirk didn’t waver. “Then why didn’t you take them today?”

Silence.

For the first time tonight, Itachi hesitated.

It was small. Barely a fraction of a second. A flicker in the way her lashes lowered—like she was measuring her next words too carefully.

Then, she spoke—her voice as cold and detached as ever.

“What’s fun in taking them now when I can wait till he grows up and test my abilities properly?”

A ridiculous answer. And she knew it.

Kisame stared at her.

It wasn’t the lie itself that caught him. It was how she said it.

Too smooth. Too rehearsed.
Like she wanted him to believe she was cruel.
Like she needed him to believe it.

Except Itachi Uchiha didn’t enjoy toying with victims.
Didn’t savor cruelty.

And this? This was something a monster would say.

And Kisame knew—Itachi Uchiha was many things, but a monster wasn’t one of them.

Before he could call her out—
She stood up.

Just like that.

Conversation over.

Not calmly.
Not as if she was simply done talking.

No.

As if she was running away.

Kisame swung Samehada out—blocking her path.

Itachi stopped. Slowly, she turned, crimson eyes meeting his.

Calm. Unreadable. As always.

"Move, Kisame."

Kisame didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t listen.

Instead, his smirk curled—sharp, humorless.

"Yeah, see…" His grip on Samehada tightened. "No. I don’t think I will."

A pause. A breath.

Then—his voice dropped.

"I think we need to talk about the absolute shitshow you pulled today."

No reaction.

Kisame’s grip on Samehada tightened.

"Let’s go over this again, shall we?" His voice was mocking.

"You insisted we stop at that busy-ass dango shop. Sat there, sipping your damn tea like we had all the time in the world."

Silence.

"You could’ve ended that fight with Kakashi in one move." His eyes narrowed. "Hell, you could’ve just Amaterasu’d Gai and been done with it. Instead—what? You took Kakashi down, but ran away the moment the others showed up?"

Still, nothing.

"Then, what do you do?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "You wasted time. Staring at a damn kid instead of getting straight to the mission."

Kisame exhaled sharply. Then, he pushed further.

"You never waste jutsu, but today? You burned Tsukuyomi on your brother. A kid."

Silence.

Itachi didn’t move.

His voice dropped lower. Rough. Dangerous.

"So tell me, Itachi-san—" He leaned in. "What the hell were you doing today?"

Silence.

Still. No. Answer.

Kisame’s grip on Samehada tightened. His patience? Gone.

Then—his voice dropped. Low. Dark. Dangerous.

"Give me a logical answer. Right now."

A pause. A slow inhale.

"Or I will end you myself."

Silence.

It stretched between them—long, heavy, deadly.

Kisame wasn’t bluffing.
And Itachi knew that.

She knew that if she didn’t say something now, this would turn into a real fight.

For a long, unbearable moment—nothing.

Then—finally—she spoke.

Calm. Quiet. Absolute.

"It would’ve been a waste."

Kisame’s jaw clenched.

"What?"

Itachi exhaled, tilting her head slightly—calculating. Measuring. Unbothered.

"Killing them." A slow blink. "Killing you."

The words landed like a kunai to the gut.

Kisame’s grip on Samehada twitched.

Then—her next words hit harder than any jutsu.

"I don’t kill what doesn’t need killing."

Silence.

Cold. Suffocating. Suffocating.

Kisame’s breath hitched, mind whirling.

That wasn’t an answer.
That wasn’t an explanation.
That was a dismissal.

And worse—a reminder.

A reminder that he, too, was still standing because she had let him.

Kisame didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

And Itachi—Itachi didn’t give him another glance.

Just stepped around Samehada and walked past him.

Kisame stood there. Silent. Still.

His grip loosened on Samehada.

Not because of her threat.
Not because he was intimidated.

But because—for the first time in a long time—he was letting someone slide.

And he wasn’t even sure why.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. Processing.

The way she walked away so easily.
The way she dismissed everything in a single breath.
The way she acted like her own words were the only truth.

It would’ve been a waste.

Hah.

That was the biggest load of shit he’d ever heard.

Kisame ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.

"You know…" his voice came out lower now, almost amused, almost something else.

He smirked—sharp, knowing, unfazed.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Itachi-san."

No response.

Just the soft shuffle of her footsteps as she disappeared into the shadows.

Kisame didn’t move.

Didn’t stop her.

Yeah.
He knew she was lying.

But this? This wasn’t him losing.

This was him letting her win.

For now.

As he watched Itachi retreat into the cave, her words still hanging in the cold night air—he couldn’t ignore what his gut was telling him.

Kisame wasn’t a fool. He had killed enough men, served under enough corrupt superiors to know a traitor when he saw one.

And Itachi Uchiha was a traitor.

Not to Akatsuki. Not to him.

To herself.

She had lied.

Not just about Sasuke.

Not just about her damn “limit testing” excuse.

No—she had been lying since day one.

And the worst part? He was sure of it now.

Everything that happened earlier today.

It wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t lack of ability. It was a choice. A deliberate, calculated choice.

Kisame clenched his jaw, staring at the spot where she had stood moments ago.

She wasn’t loyal to Akatsuki.

Not really.

Oh, she played the part well. Cold. Detached. Followed orders.

But underneath?

She wasn’t like the others.

She was keeping up a facade—one that even their own leader probably hadn’t caught onto.

And yet—he wasn’t calling her out on it.

Why?

Kisame was loyal to Akatsuki. He was loyal to the mission.

So why the hell was he letting this slide?

What was it about her that made him bite his tongue?

Was it her damn mysterious aura?

Was it the way she spoke in riddles, like everything was some philosophical puzzle?

Or worse—

Was this some kind of genjutsu?

He should report this.

He should have already reported this.

But instead—

Instead, he wanted to see how far this went.

How deep this lie ran.

He wasn’t letting it slide because he cared.

No.

This was just curiosity.

That’s all.

He would figure her out. Then he’d decide what to do with her.

And if some part of him—some ridiculous, nagging part—already knew that he wasn’t going to report a damn thing?

Tch.

Guess he’d just have to keep watching.

Chapter Text

Kisame and Itachi have received a new mission.

The client: A small but wealthy nation hires Akatsuki to eliminate a rebel leader who’s threatening their “peace”

The truth: This so-called "rebel" is actually a freedom fighter, standing up against a corrupt daimyo who secretly profits from the ongoing war.

Kisame: “Hah. Sounds like every other rich bastard in this rotten world.”

Itachi says nothing—but Kisame notices the slight tension in her posture.

They locate the rebel leader’s hideout, but the bounty hunters are already lying in wait. 

The night air was thick with smoke, the scent of burning wood and scorched flesh filling Kisame’s lungs as he adjusted his grip on Samehada. The stronghold was in chaos—screams echoing through the halls, flames licking at the walls, and the metallic clang of steel meeting steel filling the battlefield.

The daimyo’s “rebel leader” lay motionless at Kisame’s feet, a fresh wound carved through his chest. The mission was over. Or at least, it should have been.

Kisame wiped the blood off his blade, turning to Itachi, who stood eerily still amid the wreckage.

"Alright, mission’s done. Let’s head out.”

But Itachi didn’t move.

Her crimson eyes flickered toward the remaining fighters—not just bounty hunters, but civilians, women, and children hidden among the chaos. They weren’t a threat. They were just trying to survive.

Kisame sighed, already catching on. Here we go again.

"Tch, what’s with that look? You knew the job when we took it."

Before he could press further, a blur of movement caught his eye—reinforcements.

A dozen bounty hunters emerged from the shadows, their eyes burning with greed. They weren’t just after the rebels. "I see how it is," Kisame muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Daimyo wanted to tie up all loose ends."

And that included them. The Daimyo had hired both Akatsuki and the bounty hunters—one to complete the job, the other to clean up the mess. A clever move. Two birds, one stone.

The bounty hunters set fire to the stronghold, the wooden beams crackling under the heat. Smoke filled the air as the civilians ran, desperate to escape.

"Tch, what a mess," Kisame growled, already charging into the fight. He relished the struggle, Samehada tearing through flesh like a shark cutting through the sea. The battlefield was his domain, the chaos his playground.

But then—he noticed something strange.

Itachi wasn’t fighting like she usually did.

She was targeting only the bounty hunters, making precise, calculated strikes to protect the fleeing rebels.

Kisame’s grin faltered. What the hell is she doing?

She was fighting to protect. And that? That wasn’t just unlike her. That was something that should have been impossible.

Then came the breaking point—

A bounty hunter grabbed a woman, using her as a human shield. The woman screamed, struggling against the iron grip of the man ready to slit her throat.

Kisame didn’t hesitate.

"Move."

Samehada swung down in a clean arc, ready to cleave them both apart.

But Itachi moved first.

A blur of black and crimson—she stepped between Kisame’s blade and the target.

Steel met steel—her kunai clashing against Samehada, stopping his strike.

Kisame’s eyes widened in shock. Did she just—

Itachi, who always fought with deadly efficiency, had just—saved someone? And not just that. She had gone against him to do it.

The bounty hunter took the chance—his blade lunging for Itachi’s side. She shifted at the last second. The edge missed her vitals, but it cut deep into her arm.

The blade tore through fabric, through flesh, the sound of metal slicing muscle sharp in the chaos. Blood seeped through the tear in her sleeve, slow at first—then faster.

But she didn’t react. Didn’t flinch.

Instead—she turned toward her attacker.

Her eyes flickered red.

And in an instant, he collapsed to his knees, screaming—before falling limp. Dead.

She had killed him in an instant. A genjutsu execution. The women ran away.

The battle ended quickly after that. The remaining bounty hunters were slaughtered, and the last of the civilians and rebels escaped into the night.

The fire raged behind them, a towering inferno consuming everything in its wake.

Kisame exhaled, watching as Itachi gripped her bleeding arm. And for the first time since he met her—he had no idea what the hell was going through her mind.

—--

The fire crackled softly, sending lazy embers into the night sky. The battle was over, but the scent of burning wood and blood still clung to the air.

Kisame leaned back, arms crossed, watching as Itachi carefully bandaged her wound. She was methodical, precise—treating the injury with the same detached efficiency she applied to everything in life.

"Need a hand?" he offered, his tone half-mocking.

"No."

She didn’t even look at him.

Kisame exhaled through his nose. Of course not.

Still, his gaze lingered.

It wasn’t often that he saw her without the heavy Akatsuki cloak draped over her, concealing everything but her face. But now, under the dim firelight, she was just Itachi—small, quiet, and eerily still.

Then, lower, to the high-necked mesh dress that clung to her form beneath the split-thigh short robe. The fabric, delicate yet practical, hugged her frame, revealing the subtle definition of her physique without sacrificing modesty.

She was thinner than most kunoichi.

For a brief second, the thought unsettled him. He had fought alongside plenty of shinobi, and even the most delicate-looking ones carried a certain toughness in their build. But her? She was fragile-looking in a way that didn’t make sense.

Because he knew better.

She had taken down enemies twice her size with ease, survived wounds that should’ve slowed her down, wielded power so effortlessly that even he had to admit she was dangerous.

And yet—there was something about the contrast that made him pause.

Strength wrapped in fragility.

A blade so sharp, so lethal—yet so delicate-looking that he wondered, for just a second, how it hadn’t broken yet.

Kisame clicked his tongue, shaking the thought away. Tch. What the hell am I thinking?

She finished securing the bandage and, with slow precision, pulled her Akatsuki cloak back on.

And just like that, the illusion was gone.

Kisame leaned forward, tossing a small branch into the fire. But the question stuck with him.

"You fought differently today."

No reaction.

"You cared."

Still nothing.

Kisame’s lips curled slightly in irritation. He hated liars.

And she was a liar. A damn good one.

But that only made him want to figure her out even more.

"You know, Itachi-san…" Kisame tilted his head, his grin sharpening. "The more you brush me off, the more I want to keep digging."

Finally, she looked at him.

"Then do as you wish."

Cold. Detached.

But Kisame caught it—that tiny flicker of something behind her eyes.

A warning.

Or maybe… a plea to stop.

Too bad for her. He wasn’t stopping.

The fire crackled between them, casting long shadows against the cavern walls. The warmth barely reached Kisame, but the moment felt heated in its own way. He stretched his arms behind his head, staring at the embers lazily before speaking.

"You ever notice, Itachi-san, how something is always easier the second time?" His voice was uncharacteristically slow, thoughtful. "First time’s the hardest—whether it’s swinging a blade, taking a life… or making a mistake."

He glanced sideways, gauging her reaction. Nothing.

So he tilted his head, grinning slightly.

"But today… didn’t seem quite as easy as how you massacred your clan."

A flicker—so fast that even he nearly missed it. But it was there.

A flicker of guilt before she quickly masked it by closing her eyes for a moment.

She didn’t look at him, didn’t even pause in adjusting her sleeve. But her words came cold, clipped.

"It’s not your business."

Kisame let out a slow, exaggerated sigh.

"See, that’s where you’re wrong. It is my business." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his sharp teeth flashing in a humorless smirk. "I hate liars, Itachi-san. And you? You’re a liar. A damn good one. But I see through you."

No response.

Kisame's grin widened. She’s trying to ignore me.

"I don’t care what the truth is." His voice lowered, turning rougher. "But whatever it is, you won’t get away with it. Keep denying it, and all you’re doing is treating me like a fool. And I hate being underestimated."

A long silence stretched between them.

Then, finally, Itachi exhaled softly. Not quite a sigh—just an exhale, controlled and measured.

She turned her gaze toward the fire, her eyes reflecting the embers like distant stars.

"I never denied anything." Her voice was calm, but there was something else beneath it. Something heavier.

She lifted a hand, letting her fingers hover near the flames before pulling back.

"The truth is irrelevant."

Kisame's eyes narrowed slightly.

"The sins are what remain. That is all that matters."

The words settled between them, cold despite the fire.

“Tch. Bullshit.”

Itachi didn't react.

She was always doing this—answering without answering. But this time? This time, it pissed him off.

Kisame studied her, the way her expression remained unreadable, the way she shifted the weight of the conversation just enough to answer without really answering at all.

He had cornered her.

And yet, she had escaped. She admits without admitting. And Kisame hates it.

And he’s had enough.

Kisame, voice low, sharp: "You always do this."

Itachi doesn’t react.

Kisame, stood up: "You talk in riddles. You dance around the truth. You admit without admitting."

Silence.

"You think that makes you smarter? You think that makes you stronger?"

Itachi finally glances at him, unreadable. "It means nothing."

Kisame’s smirk vanishes.

That’s it. That’s the final straw.

He’s done with this.
He’s done letting her pretend.

Kisame, voice cold now, cutting deep:
"No, Itachi-san." His grip on Samehada tightens.
"It means you’re a coward."

Silence.

Itachi’s breath stills.

"You pretend to be above it all. You pretend to be untouchable." Kisame steps forward, towering over her. "But the truth? You’re just running."

Itachi, coolly: "Running from what?"

Kisame, voice dropping: "Yourself."

A pause.
A sharp, suffocating silence.

Itachi never reacts.
She never lets him win.

But this time—he sees it.
The smallest shift. The tightening of her jaw.

And that’s when he knows he hit something real.

She won’t let him have the last word.
She won’t let him be right.

Itachi, softly, cruelly: "Then I suppose that makes two of us."

Silence.

Kisame, expression darkening: "Tch. What?"

Itachi tilts her head slightly. Calm. Calculating.
"You pretend to be a brute. To be unbothered. To not care."

She watches as his jaw tightens.

Itachi, voice cutting:
"But you’ve been chasing my truth since the moment we met."
A pause. Then— "Who’s really running here?"

That’s it.

That’s the moment everything shatters.

The air is too still. Too heavy.

Their eyes locked.
The fire crackling between them.

Then—she speaks.
Low. Cold. Unshaken.

Itachi, voice sharp as steel:
"You misjudge me, Kisame."

She stood up slowly, deliberate.
Her gaze flickers over him—calculating. Measuring.

Itachi, quiet, final:
"You think I’ll be patient with you."

A pause. A soft exhale.
Then—her gaze sharpens.

Itachi, voice cold as ice:
"But you overestimate yourself."

That—that does it.

The words sink in.
A slow-burning rage coils inside him.

Kisame, voice low, dangerous:
"Tch. You really think you're untouchable, huh?"

Itachi?
Itachi just tilts her head.

And then—she delivers the final insult.

Itachi, dismissive, almost bored:
"I don’t even need genjutsu for you."

Silence.

Kisame freezes.
Just for a second.

Then—
A slow inhale.
A sharp exhale.
His grip on Samehada tightens.

Kisame, voice low, dark, dangerous:
"You’re the one underestimating me, Itachi-san."

Itachi tilts her head slightly. Measuring. Calculating.
Unbothered. Completely unshaken.

And that— that pisses him off even more.

Kisame, eyes narrowing:
"Let’s see if you still think that when I put you on the damn ground."

THEN THEY LUNGE.

Kisame moved first. No hesitation. No restraint.

Samehada swung—a monstrous arc of raw power cleaving toward her.

And then—

She was gone.

A flicker of motion. A blur of black and red.

Then—she was behind him. Kunai flashing toward his ribs.

Kisame scoffed, blocking just in time. “Tch. That’s fast. But speed ain't gonna save you, Itachi-san.”

Itachi’s voice was cool. Detached. “Neither is brute force.”

She struck again. Fast, precise, unrelenting.

Kisame barely caught it. Her movements were sharper, more aggressive than usual. Not careful. Not calculated. Not like her at all.

He deflected another strike, stepping back just slightly. “What’s wrong? No clever schemes today?”

No response.

Another lunge—this time, she didn’t aim for a kill. She aimed to overwhelm.

Her Sharingan gleamed in the firelight, reading him, anticipating every shift in his stance. He could feel it—she wasn’t thinking ahead like she usually did. No careful setups, no layered traps.

She was fighting in the moment. Pure instinct. Pure emotion.

And that? That was dangerous.

He saw an opening. A sharp counter, Samehada slicing forward—

She dodged. Almost.

The blade grazed her other arm.

A clean cut. Not deep. But enough to make his point.

Kisame grinned. “That makes two now, huh?”

Still, no reaction. No flinch. No hesitation.

Just a slow glance at the wound.

Then—she looked at him.

And for the first time tonight, there was something behind that gaze.

Not frustration. Not pain.

Something colder.

Something sharper.

Then she moved.

Fast. Too fast.

Her kunai flashed, slicing clean across his cheek.

A shallow cut. Small. Precise.

Deliberate.

Kisame stilled. Then—he exhaled sharply, touching his face.

A slow grin spread across his lips. “That’s it?”

She tilted her head slightly. “You seem impressed.”

Kisame rolled his shoulders. “Nah. Just disappointed.”

His smirk sharpened. “Here I thought you were untouchable.”

Her eyes remained steady. Then—just slightly—her lips curved.

“Oh?” Her voice was light. Amused, almost. “Would you like to test that theory?”

Kisame’s fingers tightened around Samehada.

And this time—he didn’t hesitate.

They both moved at once.

A violent collision.

Steel against steel.

Samehada against kunai.

And then—

A sharp crack.

Both weapons were knocked away.

Kisame barely had a second to react before she lunged again.

Bare hands. Chakra-fueled strikes.

He blocked—just barely. She was fast. Too damn fast.

“Tch. What happened to not wasting effort?” he muttered, parrying another strike.

Itachi’s breath was steady, unshaken. “Consider this a rare indulgence.”

An elbow toward his ribs—he twisted, catching her wrist.

Then—he used sheer strength.

A sharp shift. A twist in momentum—

And suddenly—

She was on the ground.

Pinned beneath him.

Kisame loomed over her, breath steady, grip firm.

“Looks like I win this one, Itachi-san.”

No hesitation. No pause.

She simply stated, flatly—

“No.”

Then she moved.

A sharp twist of her body—swift, controlled.

Before Kisame could brace, her knee shot up, catching him in the ribs.

Not enough to hurt.

But enough to make him shift.

And that shift was all she needed.

She kicked him back, fluid as water, rolling up to her feet in a single movement.

Kisame barely had time to adjust before she was on him again.

They clashed—fast, brutal, unrelenting.

Fist to fist. Blow for blow.

Kisame, all raw strength and endurance.

Itachi, all speed and precision.

Neither giving an inch.

Until—

Kisame feinted left.

She reacted, tilting to counter—

And that’s when he took his opening.

A sharp step forward. A shift in weight.

And suddenly—

Itachi’s back hit the nearest tree.

Kisame was on her, pinning her wrist against the bark.

Her eyes flickered, analyzing, calculating.

She moved fast—her knee shooting up for his ribs.

But Kisame was faster.

He blocked with his own knee, trapping her movement, closing the space between them.

Too close.

Too damn close.

And he knew it.

He felt the exact moment she realized it, too.

The flicker in her stare—the way her breath hitched, just slightly.

Not in surprise.

Not in fear.

But in absolute, burning irritation.

Kisame smirked, watching her test her restraints.

Her fingers twitched—a silent attempt to free herself.

But his grip was unrelenting.

His voice dropped, low, knowing.

“Oh? What’s this?”

He leaned in just enough—just enough to see the way her jaw tensed.

“Is this the part where you use genjutsu?”

Silence.

Stillness.

Then—she stopped struggling.

Just for a second.

Her dark gaze locked onto his, unreadable. Measuring.

Then—finally—her lips parted.

Her voice was quiet. Flat.

But undeniable.

“Fine.”

A pause. A slow exhale.

“I underestimated you.”

Kisame stilled.

The words settled deep—heavy—a victory far sharper than any blade.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then—his grip loosened.

And just like that—she escaped.

The tension still hung in the air.

Itachi adjusted her sleeve, moving as if their fight had never happened. As if they hadn’t just thrown each other to the ground like wild animals.

Kisame exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders.

“Tch.” He rubbed the side of his neck. “Alright, fine.”

Itachi didn’t look at him.

But she was listening.

“I shouldn’t have called you a coward.”

A pause.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

No reaction. No acknowledgment.

Still—he knew she heard him.

They stood there for a moment—not friends, not enemies. Just two warriors who had beaten each other bloody and somehow walked away understanding each other better than before.

Then—

Itachi smoothly changed the subject. Too smoothly.

“Tomorrow, we’ll set out on a side job.”

Kisame raised a brow.

She continued, too calculated.

"We’re going to kill the feudal lord. He framed us. We will revenge. Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to steal some extra money? Pretty sure Kakuzu would not oppose it.”

Kisame blinked.

Kisame exhaled through his nose. A convenient excuse.

But he knew better. She wasn’t doing this for the money. She wasn’t even doing it because they were framed. She wanted justice.

Kisame raised a brow, letting out a short laugh.

"You know, I’m older than you." He smirked, tilting his head. "What makes you so damn arrogant that you’re deciding for me too?"

She didn’t even blink.

"You don’t have to go."

Cold. Indifferent. Like it really didn’t matter to her whether he came or not.

Kisame let the words settle, feeling something twist in his chest.

Damn her.

He knew what she was doing. She was giving him an out. A real one. No threats, no manipulation—just a simple statement.

But the thing was…

He didn’t want it.

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Tch. Like hell I’m letting you have all the fun alone."

And just like that, the decision was his. But deep down, he knew. He wasn’t going just for the mission. He was going because it was her.

Itachi brushed the dust off her cloak. Then, with that same indifferent calmness, she murmured,

"Suit yourself."

She lowered herself back onto the rock, reaching into her sleeve, and—of all things—pulled out a small bottle of nail polish.

Kisame blinked.

Right. Akatsuki dress code.

He watched as she unscrewed the cap and calmly started painting her nails like they hadn’t just decided to assassinate a feudal lord.

The contrast was… fascinating.

He caught himself staring again—at the way her fingers moved, at the sharp contrast between her pale skin and the dark purple polish. For a fleeting moment, it almost felt normal. Just a woman doing something mundane. 

Then, without looking up, she cut through the silence.

"It seems like you’re asking me to do your nails as well."

Kisame stiffened.

She wasn’t even looking at him.

The worst part? It almost sounded like she was teasing him.

He scoffed, crossing his arms. ‘Tch. I can handle my own, Itachi-san.’”

She finally glanced at him then—just a small, fleeting look. A hint of amusement flickered in those enigmatic eyes.

"Oh? Is that so?"

Kisame suddenly felt… weird. Too aware of the way she was looking at him. A heat crept up the back of his neck before he could stop it.

Damn it. Was he actually blushing?

She just continues painting her nails, and doesn't even look up at him.

Kisame exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders before shifting his gaze away from her.

Damn her.

Damn that fight.

It had started with anger.

Pure, unfiltered frustration.

She had pissed him off—her arrogance, her cryptic nonsense, her absolute refusal to give him a real answer. And when they fought, he had been determined to make her eat her words.

But somewhere in the middle of it—something changed.

It stopped being about anger.

And he started enjoying it.

Too much.

She wasn’t the strongest opponent he had faced. Wasn’t the fastest. And yet—every move she made was sharp. Precise. Perfectly calculated.

She fought smart.

She outmaneuvered him more than once, forcing him to switch tactics, forcing him to think. No one ever made him think. Not like that. Not in pure combat.

And that…

That was damn interesting.

Kisame frowned, rubbing his jaw.

Somewhere between trading blows, between her refusing to back down, between the way she looked at him—steady, defiant, untouchable—something had shifted.

And then—that second.

When he had pinned her against that tree, her breath still steady, her wrist caught in his grip. When she had looked up at him—and he hesitated.

That damn stare.

For the first time—he felt something shift in his gut.

For the first time—he had been the one to look away first.

Tch.

Kisame clenched his jaw.

He was thinking too much.

He turned his head, exhaling through his nose, forcing himself to shove the thought aside—

“You’re thinking too much.”

Kisame stiffened.

His head snapped back toward her.

She wasn’t even looking at him.

Calmly painting her nails, utterly composed, as if she hadn’t just read his goddamn mind.

She dipped the small brush back into the bottle, completely unbothered.

Then—the final nail in his coffin.

A faint smirk. “Something distracting you, Kisame?”

…

Kisame clicked his tongue.

Tch. Damn her.

He turned away again, arms crossing over his chest. “Finish your nails, Itachi-san.”

But he could still feel the heat at the back of his neck.

And the worst part?

She knew.

Chapter Text

Another year.

They had been partners for 2 full years now.

Kisame knew her too well by now—and yet, still not at all.

He had long since abandoned any attempt to unravel the mystery of Itachi Uchiha. Whatever secrets she carried, whatever truths she refused to speak, they were hers to bear. He didn’t bring up her past anymore, didn’t press her on things she clearly didn’t want to say. And that was fine. If anything, he knew she felt better this way, and to him, that is enough.

Their synergy had become effortless—on the battlefield, and beyond.

It wasn’t just about fighting together anymore. He had grown into liking looking after her, in ways so small she never called him out on it. He knew her favorite foods—not that she ate much. He learned the little routines she kept—the way she sat outside at night, staring at the moon as if waiting for it to whisper something back. At first, he had only watched her from a distance, but over time, he started joining her.

They never talked about anything deep. But they talked. And something told him that, beneath all her distance, she wasn’t opposed to his company.

​​Kisame woke up early that morning. Itachi was still asleep.

Her breathing was quiet, steady, but there was something off about it. Her hair, usually neat, was a mess of dark strands tangled across her face. She had been sleeping longer lately.

And she had been eating less.

He had noticed it first in passing—her barely-touched meals, the way she subtly pushed food around instead of finishing it. But then there were the other things. How she stopped using her Mangekyō Sharingan during fights, only when it was a life or death situation, and he can’t deny, that those techniques have saved both her and his lives multiple times. How she fought more defensively, dodging instead of attacking. The small signs—subtle fatigues that didn’t slip past his eyes.

Kisame frowned.

His thoughts were interrupted as a sudden pulse of chakra flared from his ring.

Pein was summoning them.

Across the room, Itachi stirred.

Her lashes fluttered open, and for the briefest moment, Kisame saw it—the exhaustion in her eyes, the split second before she fixed her composure, hiding it beneath that same unreadable expression.

She pushed herself up, smoothing her hair back into place. “Another mission.”

Kisame only grunted in response, but as they prepared to leave, one thought lingered in his mind.

How long has she been like this?

And more importantly—how much longer will she last?

The mission brief was simple: Intercept the target. Ensure his survival. Deliver him to the escort unit outside the village.

But Kisame knew—nothing was ever simple with Itachi.

The target was an informant—a man carrying classified intelligence that, if delivered, could spark a political catastrophe.

Their client wanted him alive. Not dead. Alive. To be persuaded, bribed, or blackmailed into silence.

The problem?

• He was heavily guarded by elite shinobi—not just bodyguards, but specialists who had survived multiple assassination attempts.
• He traveled only through populated areas, using civilians as a shield.
• He was one day away from reaching his final destination—where he would be untouchable.

The mission was clear: Capture him before morning.

It was a lively village. The kind Kisame usually hated. Too many people, too much noise—too easy for someone to notice if a pair of rogue shinobi slipped in unnoticed.

And yet, here they were. No cloaks. No headbands. Just two travelers, blending into the crowd.

Kisame exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Tch. And how exactly are we not supposed to attract attention?”

Itachi adjusted the sleeve of her robe, gaze sweeping the village in that calculated way of hers. “You are too tall.”

Kisame scoffed. “And you’re too small.”

She glanced at him. “Exactly. We don’t match.”

Kisame clicked his tongue. “Tch. So what? You want me to crouch?”

Itachi didn’t answer. Just kept walking, her pace steady, her presence barely noticeable amidst the flow of villagers moving about their morning. Then, finally—

“Separate.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “We’ll cover more ground.”

Kisame let out a slow exhale, raking a hand through his hair. “Fine. But if you get into trouble—”

“I won’t.”

The response was instant. Absolute.

Kisame smirked despite himself. Damn her. She really did know how to shut down a conversation before it even started.

With that, she turned, disappearing into the crowd.

Kisame lingered for a moment, watching her vanish between the shifting bodies of villagers. Then, exhaling through his nose, he muttered under his breath,

“Damn it. This mission’s already annoying.”

Then he turned, slipping into the opposite direction.

Kisame had barely been apart from her for thirty minutes.

Thirty damn minutes.

And yet, when he turned the corner—there she was.

Standing by a dango stand.

Not searching.
Not interrogating.
Not even pretending to be on a mission.

Just… standing there.

Kisame stopped in his tracks, his eye twitching.

Tch. You have got to be kidding me.

She wasn’t alone, either.

Some random merchant—well-dressed, probably in his mid-twenties—stood beside her, holding out a fresh skewer of dango with an easy smile. His posture was relaxed, his expression far too comfortable for Kisame’s liking.

And Itachi?

Itachi took the damn thing.

Kisame narrowed his eyes.

The hell am I looking at?

The man chuckled, saying something Kisame couldn’t hear over the blood rushing to his ears. Itachi, ever composed, simply dipped her head in a small nod, took a bite, and—for the love of everything—she actually looked pleased.

The merchant lit up.

Kisame clenched his jaw.

Oh, you think you’re special, huh?

A shinobi like her—calm, distant, deadly—wasn’t exactly approachable. So yeah, he could already guess what was happening.

This idiot thought he was lucky.

Thought he had just stumbled across a quiet, beautiful woman who happened to enjoy sweets and was now responding to his kindness.

Tch.

Kisame moved before he could process his feelings.

Not rushed. Not angry. Just—decisive.

The man was mid-sentence, still talking about who-the-hell-cared-what, when Kisame stepped in behind Itachi.

Close.

Too close.

Enough to loom. Enough to cast a shadow over both of them.

Itachi didn’t react. Didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

The merchant, however—

Oh, he noticed.

Kisame watched in satisfaction as the man’s shoulders tensed.

"Ah—" The merchant hesitated, eyes flickering up at him. "Is this—"

And before Kisame could open his mouth—

Itachi answered.

Calm. Effortless. Indifferent.

"My traveling companion."

Companion.

Kisame’s eye twitched.

That’s it? That’s all she was gonna say?

Not partner.
Not comrade.
Not the guy who’s saved my life more times than I can count.

No.

Just some damn travel companion.

The merchant perked up.

Oh, this guy really thought he had a chance now, huh?

The man cleared his throat, smiling at Itachi again. "I was just mentioning that this stall makes the best dango in the village. Not many people appreciate the flavor."

Then—he actually turned to Kisame.

"Would you like some, too?"

Kisame smiled.

Sharp. Too sharp.

"Nah." He bared his teeth. "I don’t take handouts."

The merchant laughed nervously, but Itachi? Itachi just took another bite of her dango, completely unbothered.

And then—

Then, this absolute moron had the audacity to look right at her.

And say—

"You have a refined taste, beautiful miss."

Kisame blinked.

Oh, he did not just say that.

And Itachi?

She didn’t even react.

Didn’t shut him down.

Didn’t correct him.

No. Instead, she just tilted her head slightly and—

"Do you know a good place for jasmine tea?"

Kisame snapped.

His entire body tensed.

The air around them shifted.

Slowly, calmly, deliberately, he shifted just enough—just enough to cast a shadow over the merchant.

The guy froze.

Because now? Now, Kisame was looking at him.

Not smiling.
Not grinning.
Just looking.

The merchant’s brow twitched. His fingers tightened around the dango skewer.

"Ah—well, actually, I—um—" The man laughed nervously, stepping back. "I just remembered—I have business to attend to!"

And just like that—he bolted.

Coward.

Kisame exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. Good riddance.

Then—

A voice.

Smooth. Quiet. Teasing.

"Why did you scare him?"

Kisame stiffened.

Slowly, he turned to look at her.

Itachi, still calmly eating her dango, finally looked at him.

And then—with that same infuriating calmness, she said—

"He was actually being cute."

Kisame almost choked.

His brain stuttered.

What the hell did she just say?

Cute?!

No. No, absolutely not.

Kisame exhaled sharply, trying to gather himself.

"Why are you distracting yourself from the mission?" His voice was rougher than intended.

Itachi, as always, did not care.

Completely unfazed, voice calm. Too calm.

"I already located the hotel."

Kisame blinked. Once. Twice.

Then—

Excuse me?

Itachi, completely unbothered, wiped her fingers with a napkin. “That guy might actually know a good place for jasmine tea.”

Kisame froze.

No. No. He was not about to sit here and listen to this madness.

Itachi, thoughtful, voice maddeningly calm, continued, “You know I always drink that before going to bed.”

Kisame stared.

Oh, he knew. He knew.

The way she brewed it meticulously, the way she sipped it in silence, the way the faint scent always lingered on her whenever she finally rested for the night.

Before he could even think of a response—

She delivered the killing blow.

With an almost lazy glance, half-lidded eyes watching him as if this was nothing but a passing inconvenience, she murmured:

“And now I miss the opportunity to buy good tea—all because of your jealousy.”

Kisame short-circuited.

His brain flatlined.

Then—

“WHAT?!”

Itachi took another bite of dango. Calm. Effortless.

Kisame ran a hand down his face.

"But that guy was flirting with you."

Itachi, completely unbothered, tilted her head. "And?"

Kisame gawked. And? AND?!

"Itachi-san—" His voice pitched, somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. "Are you serious?"

She blinked at him. Cool. Indifferent. Effortlessly cruel.

Then—she sighed. As if he was the problem here.

"Why do you care?" she asked, smooth, casual—almost bored.

Kisame froze.

And then—before he could even recover—

She finished him.

Calm. Collected. Deadly.

"If anything, I could kill him myself."

Kisame exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to scoff.

"Tch. I don’t care. I know you can kill anyone yourself."

He folded his arms, shifting his weight back—pretending like this wasn’t getting to him. Like his blood wasn’t boiling.

"Anyway, about the mission—"

"We strike at night."

Kisame paused.

Itachi was already turning away, adjusting the sleeve of her kimono as she spoke. Smooth. Effortless. As if the conversation had already ended.

"Now we still have half the day, and I want jasmine tea."

Kisame stared.

"We meet at the hotel later." And just like that—she started walking.

Kisame’s eye twitched. The hell?

"Oi." He stepped forward, keeping pace beside her. "Where are you going now?"

She didn’t even look at him. Didn’t even hesitate.

"Perhaps finding someone who actually knows where to buy good jasmine tea."

Kisame's jaw clenched.

But then—she delivered the final hit.

"I should go alone. Since you’re scaring people off me."

Kisame twitched.

Itachi? Already walking away. Completely done with his existence.

And Kisame?

Standing there, absolutely fuming.

Kisame exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he caught up with her, falling into step beside her.

"Tch. And what, you think I’m just gonna let you wander off alone?"

Itachi didn’t stop. Didn’t even glance at him.

"I can handle myself."

Kisame grinned, sharp and humorless. "Yeah, I know. But I also know you. You’ll go off, find your damn tea, and somehow, I’ll blink, and you’ll have assassinated someone in broad daylight. So no, I’m coming with you."

Itachi tilted her head slightly. Finally, she looked at him. Calm. Measuring.

"Are you worried about me, Kisame?"

Kisame snorted, scoffing. "Worried? Please. I just don’t want to deal with cleaning up another one of your spontaneous executions."

She didn’t react. But he swore, for a split second—just a fraction of a moment—he caught the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes.

Then, as effortlessly as ever—she turned away.

"Suit yourself."

The moment they stepped inside the tea shop, Kisame already knew this was a bad idea.

The place was quiet, warm, carrying the scent of brewed herbs and polished wood. A few patrons sat at small tables, engaged in hushed conversation. The entire atmosphere was calm, peaceful.

But Kisame? Kisame was anything but calm.

Because the shopkeeper—some young guy, probably around Itachi’s age—looked up from behind the counter, and the moment his eyes landed on her, his expression shifted.

Not in fear. Not in wariness.

In interest.

"Welcome," the shopkeeper greeted smoothly, setting down a tea canister. "What can I get you?"

Itachi, unbothered, stepped forward. "I’m looking for jasmine tea."

The shopkeeper’s eyes flickered with recognition. "Good taste," he remarked. "We have a variety—imported from the eastern provinces. Subtle floral notes, smooth aftertaste. If you’d like, I can bring out a few selections for you to try."

Kisame exhaled sharply. "Tch. I don’t drink tea."

The shopkeeper glanced at him—just briefly. Then, turning back to Itachi, he tilted his head with a knowing smirk.

"Ah. So you just came to accompany your girlfriend?"

Kisame stiffened.

"What?"

Before he could even process it—

"He is not my boyfriend," Itachi stated smoothly.

And just like that—

That was all the green light the guy needed.

The smirk widened. The subtle shift in posture. The sudden casual confidence.

Oh, hell no.

"Then," the shopkeeper continued, sliding effortlessly back into his routine, "how about a personal selection? I'll bring out the best jasmine varieties—just for you."

He leaned down slightly, meeting her gaze.

"No charge, of course."

Kisame swore he felt a vein pop.

Itachi, as smooth as ever, inclined her head slightly.

"I accept."

And just like that, she moved toward the nearest low table, settling down effortlessly.

Kisame stared.

She just— accepted.

Like this wasn’t anything at all. Like this guy wasn’t blatantly trying to impress her.

"Kisame," she called calmly, placing her hands on the table. "Sit down."

Kisame did not sit.

Because Kisame was too busy burning holes into the back of this cocky bastard’s head.

The shopkeeper—way too confident for his own good—smiled and nodded, stepping away to prepare the tea.

Meanwhile, Itachi, completely composed, looked up at Kisame and—of all things—sighed.

"Calm down."

Kisame snapped his gaze to her, scoffing. "I am calm."

A slow blink. Unamused. Unimpressed.

"I am trying to buy jasmine tea, Kisame."

Silence.

Kisame suddenly realized he was fuming inside.

He didn’t even notice it at first.

But now? Now, with Itachi’s words settling in, it hit him like a goddamn brick.

Why?

Why did he hate this?

Why did it bother him when someone flirted with her?

Why did he hate the way they looked at her—like she was something to impress, something to win over?

It wasn’t like he cared.

He didn’t.

This was just—irritation.

That’s it.

He was irritated.

Because these idiots didn’t know who they were dealing with.

Because these guys—these fools—didn’t know that if Itachi Uchiha wanted, she could kill them in half a second.

That’s all this was.

Just frustration at their sheer ignorance.

That’s it.

He exhaled sharply.

Kisame sat down.

Reluctantly. Very reluctantly.

He promised himself—swore to himself—he wasn’t going to explode.

No matter how much this cocky little bastard smirked, no matter how he kept stealing glances at Itachi like he was evaluating his chances, Kisame wasn’t going to react.

He wasn’t going to care.

Because he didn’t.

And then—the guy came back, tea tray in hand.

“Here we are.” The shopkeeper settled down beside Itachi, setting out small ceramic cups. Too close.

Kisame felt a muscle in his jaw twitch.

Calm. He was calm.

Itachi, smooth as ever, reached for the first sample, lifting the cup with practiced ease.

A brief pause. Then, finally—for the love of all things holy—she spoke.

"I prefer to enjoy tea alone."

Kisame exhaled.

Finally.

Some damn peace.

The guy, to his credit, took it well. He simply smiled, hands raised in easy surrender.

“Of course. I’ll be here if you need anything, miss.”

And just as Kisame thought he could relax—

“Do you guys have dango here?”

Kisame’s breath stalled.

Oh, come the hell on.

The shopkeeper lit up immediately.
"Of course, miss. I'll bring some out shortly."

He turned away, disappearing toward the kitchen.

Kisame stared at Itachi. Hard.

She calmly lifted the tea to her lips, eyes half-lidded, utterly unbothered. A graceful sip. Then, quietly:

"What?"

Kisame's jaw tightened. "Seriously?"

She lowered the cup, gaze flicking to him with mild amusement.

"I love dango with tea."

Kisame buried his hands in his face, exhaling sharply.

"If only they knew you could kill them with a blink," he muttered. "They wouldn’t be looking at you like some damn princess."

Itachi, ever calm, ever composed, took another sip of her tea. Then—without missing a beat—

"You know how I can kill," she murmured, voice smooth, effortless.

A pause.

"And you still treat me like a princess."

Kisame's fingers twitched against his face.

Damn her.

With that, the shopkeeper returned, setting down a neatly arranged plate of dango.

"Here you go, beautiful. Freshly made."

Itachi gave a slight nod, reaching for a skewer. "Thank you."

The guy leaned against the counter, watching her with a lazy, confident grin. "So, what brings you to this town?"

She didn’t even hesitate. Casual. Completely unfazed.

"To kidnap a certain someone."

Kisame stiffened.

The guy blinked, then chuckled. "Oh, so you’re looking for someone special?" He leaned in slightly, grin widening. "Maybe you should kidnap me instead."

Kisame died inside.

His grip on his knee tightened. He stared straight ahead, teeth grinding.

Itachi simply picked up her tea again. "I should get back to the samples."

The guy chuckled again, utterly oblivious to the fact that he had just brushed against death itself. "Right, right. Let me know if you need anything else."

Kisame didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare look at her.

Because if he did, he might actually explode.

Itachi set her empty teacup down with quiet precision.

“I think I know which one,” she murmured, standing up smoothly. Kisame followed, tense but silent, his patience stretched to its absolute limit.

She walked to the counter, her expression composed as ever, placing the selected tea canister in front of the shopkeeper.

“I’ll take this one.”

The guy smiled, pleased. “Good choice.” He rang up the purchase, then—like he just couldn’t help himself—leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the counter. “So… have you decided who to kidnap yet?”

Kisame’s patience?

Gone.

Before Itachi could even think of responding, Kisame slammed a handful of ryo onto the counter with a sharp, deliberate force.

The shopkeeper startled, eyes flicking up to him in confusion.

Kisame, deadpan, voice low and dangerous:

"I want to be kidnapped by her tonight."

Silence.

The shopkeeper blinked.

Itachi blinked.

Kisame stood there, tall and looming, jaw tight, positively seething beneath the weight of his own words.

And then—finally—she turned to him.

Calm. Unreadable.

And smirking.

“Oh?” Her voice was smooth, teasing. Too amused. “You’re volunteering?”

Kisame?

Kisame wanted to disappear into the void.

Itachi picked up the tea canister, tucking it neatly into her sleeve. Then, with an infuriating calmness, she turned on her heel and strode toward the exit.

Kisame still stood there, rooted in place, realizing what the hell he just said.

The shopkeeper looked between them, utterly baffled.

And then—just as she reached the door—Itachi paused. Without looking back, she spoke.

“Thank you for buying my tea, Kisame.”

Then she stepped outside.

Kisame?

Kisame wanted to throw himself into the nearest body of water.

The shopkeeper gave him a slow, impressed nod. “Damn, man.”

Kisame exhaled sharply, dragged a hand down his face, and followed her out, mentally preparing for whatever fresh hell awaited him next.

As they walked through the dimly lit streets, the weight of the night settled between them. The brief chaos of the tea shop lingered, but only as a passing memory—now, the mission took precedence. Kisame exhaled, rolling his shoulders as they approached the designated vantage point.

Without a word, Itachi stepped ahead, her movements effortlessly silent, and leaned against the wooden railing overlooking the bustling streets below.

Kisame followed, settling beside her. His arms crossed, his gaze shifting to the entrance of the hotel they had scouted earlier.

“You sure about this?” he muttered.

Itachi didn’t answer immediately. She stood beside him, watching the hotel entrance, silent, calculating.

“No large-scale ninjutsu,” she reminded. “No civilian casualties.”

Kisame scoffed. “Tch. You’re taking the fun out of this.”

“They’re not just hiding behind civilians,” she continued, ignoring him. “They chose this hotel because of its structure. A direct assault will force us into a defensive position. Our best chance is infiltration.”

Kisame rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Or—I trap the whole damn place in a Water Dome, drown the bastards, and we grab the guy before he stops breathing.”

Itachi gave him a flat look.

He shrugged. “What? Civilians? Who doesn't hold breath long enough, not my fault.”

“No.”

“Tch.” He exhaled through his nose. “Figured.”

“Stealth is the best approach. My Temple of nirvana genjutsu should put all civilians in the hotel to sleep without shinobi noticing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kisame muttered. “And what happens when we get spotted anyway?”

This time, Itachi hesitated.

That was a bad sign.

They barely made it past the main hall before everything went to hell.

The moment Itachi crossed the threshold, she realized the situation. All civilians were asleep, however…

Itachi softly: “My ephemeral genjutsu doesn't work.”

Kisame: “Hmm?!”

Guard 1: “Nice try! Our kekkei genkai makes us immune to any type of genjutsu.”

Guard 2: “And you are Itachi Uchiha, correct? We won't look into your eyes either, we are trained to fight without eye contact”

Kisame, eyebrows raising, letting out a low whistle. “Well, well. So there are people in this world who don’t drop dead the moment she blinks. Guess you all must feel real special, huh?”

Guard 3 (gripping his sword): “And you—Kisame Hoshigaki. The Monster of the Hidden Mist. We’ve been waiting for this.”

He chuckled, shark-like grin widening. “Guess this won’t be a total snooze fest after all.”

Kisame titled his head towards Itachi: “But Itachi-san, its not too late to switch to my plan B”

Then—Itachi did something he had never seen before.

With a flick of her wrist, steel shimmered in the dim light—thin, elegant, deadly.

For the first time in years, Kisame actually hesitated.

Then—he grinned.

“Well, well,” he mused “Didn’t know you were the sword-wielding type. Should I be jealous?”

Itachi didn’t respond. Just shifted her grip—testing the weight, as if remembering something long forgotten.

Itachi, steady as ever: “No deviations. No mistakes. Follow the rules.”

A flicker of motion—then the entire hotel erupted into chaos.

Kisame barely had time to smirk before the first wave of elite shinobi lunged, a blur of cloaks and steel. Their blades gleamed under the dim lantern light, each strike precise, each movement sharpened by years of discipline.

He sidestepped, a sword cutting the air where his throat had been a moment ago. Fast. They weren’t just guards. They were killers.

He liked that.

He met the next attacker with a brutal punch, feeling bones crack beneath his knuckles. But a flash of silver—not from the enemy—caught his attention.

Kisame’s eyes snapped sideways.

And there she was.

Itachi.

Moving like water, flowing through the battlefield with a katana in hand.

Not her usual finesse of kunai and genjutsu. Not the distant, methodical style of her illusions.

This was raw. Direct. Deadly.

And Kisame—Kisame couldn’t look away.

The way she fought with a sword was different. Calculated, but fluid. Precise, but elegant. Her blade whispered through the air, sharp, efficient, deadly.

And hell—if it wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

His lips curled.

“Oh, now this—”

A blade came for his ribs.

Kisame barely twisted in time, grin vanishing as he blocked at the last second. The force sent a shockwave up his arm, the guard snarling as he pressed forward.

But before Kisame could retaliate—a flash of steel.

Itachi’s katana pierced through the man’s chest.

Clean. Silent.

The guard barely had time to choke before his body collapsed.

Kisame blinked, glancing at her.

She didn’t even look at him. Just pulled the blade free, shaking off the blood, and murmured:

“No time for distractions.”

His grin returned.

Damn.

They pushed further into the hotel, corridors lined with sleeping civilians.

Itachi moved with surgical precision. Not a single kunai. Not a single shuriken.

She refused to risk it.

Kisame noticed.

Her blade was an extension of herself. The sound of steel rang sharp against enemy swords, each block and counterstrike flawless. But as the battle stretched into hours, something shifted.

It was subtle.

Her movements—still perfect—but slightly slower.

Her breathing—still steady—but a fraction heavier.

Her grip—still firm—but tense.

She was tiring.

And Kisame—Kisame didn’t like that one damn bit.

By the time the last guard fell, Kisame had lost track of time.

Blood slicked the floors, the scent of sweat and steel thick in the air.

He glanced at her.

She wasn’t looking at him. Just watching the final body hit the ground, katana still gripped in her fingers.

Without a word, she turned—stepping toward the target’s room. Kisame followed, gaze lingering.

She fought through all of that. Without a single wasted movement. Without a single wasted weapon.

And yet—

She looked exhausted.

A flick of red, a whisper of Sharingan, and the target collapsed unconscious.

The mission was complete.

But Kisame couldn’t shake the feeling.

Something wasn’t right.

And he was about to find out just how badly Itachi had been pushing herself.

The client left.

Itachi stayed standing.

Barely.

Kisame caught the twitch in her fingers first—a small, nearly imperceptible tremor.

Then—her knees buckled.

Kisame moved before he could think.

One second, she was upright—the next, she was in his arms.

And she felt—wrong.

Too light. Too fragile. Like a blade worn thin from overuse.

“Damn it,” he muttered, jaw clenching. “Of all the times to play dead, Itachi-san.”

His hand ghosted over her forehead—burning.

Her pulse—too weak.

She wasn’t just tired. Wasn’t just drained.

She had been pushing through something far worse.

And that—that pissed him off.

When Itachi woke, she was back at their hideout.

She sat up slowly, movements precise but weary.

A glance at Kisame.

He was already watching her.

Kisame snorted, arms crossed. “Oh yeah.” His voice was light—mocking, even—but his gaze wasn’t.

It was sharp. Too sharp.

“As a bonus mission, I got to carry you all the way back here. You’re surprisingly light, you know.”

Itachi closed her eyes for a moment.

Tired. So tired.

But Kisame’s stare didn’t let up. It was heavier than before. Waiting.

Then—

“You’re sick, aren’t you?”

Her eyes snapped open.

There it was.

She should have expected it. Kisame was no fool. He saw things others didn’t. And he had been watching her for too long not to notice.

Itachi exhaled slowly, expression unreadable. Then—

“You should mind your own business, Kisame.”

Kisame leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You can brush it off if you want. Doesn’t change anything. But don’t think for a second that I haven’t noticed.”

Itachi didn’t react. Didn’t argue. Didn’t deny it.

She just turned her gaze to the exit.

Outside, the sun hung high in the sky. She had been unconscious all night and most of the morning.

She closed her eyes—just for a second.

Then—she moved.

Silent as always, she stood, posture composed, untouched, unshaken.

If he hadn’t carried her back himself, if he hadn’t felt the unnatural heat of her skin, he might have believed she was fine.

But Kisame knew better.

And something—something—made him follow her.

The cold air hit his skin the moment he stepped outside.

It was one of those crisp, brittle days where the wind cut sharp against exposed skin.

Itachi stood just ahead, still as a statue, a hand pressed to her mouth.

Then—

He heard it.

A cough.

Wet. Hollow. The kind that rattled in the lungs.

Kisame stilled.

Itachi pulled her hand away—and he saw red.

Blood.

His eyes widened. Just for a second.

Kisame had seen suffering before. Too much of it.

He had watched comrades bleed out, heard the last dying breaths of countless enemies, had caused it himself.

And not once—not once—had it ever made him feel anything.

So why did this feel different?

Why did the sight of her standing there, staring at her own blood like it didn’t matter, sit in his gut like a stone?

Kisame exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. Tch. He was overthinking.

He had always respected strength. And she was strong—one of the strongest.

Maybe that’s all this was.

Maybe he just… hated the idea of her being anything less.

Maybe.

He almost convinced himself of that.

Almost.

Itachi didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

Then—finally—she spoke.

Cold. Distant.

“Are you planning to stand there all day?”

It should have annoyed him.

The way she brushed off everything. The way she made herself so untouchable.

But right now?

Kisame wasn’t annoyed.

He was furious.

Not at her—at himself.

Because in that moment, he finally understood.

Somewhere along the way, she had become more than a comrade. More than a partner, a fellow shinobi, a name in the Akatsuki roster.

She had turned into something else.

Something dangerous.

Something that made him care.

Was this what it meant to feel human?

Kisame clenched his jaw. Dammit.

This wasn’t good.

Not at all.

Without a word, he shrugged off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders.

She hadn’t taken hers. And the air was biting.

He expected her to brush it off, to scoff, to give him one of her usual detached responses.

But instead—

A pause.

A breath.

A soft hum.

Not quite gratitude. Not the way normal people expressed it.

But it was enough.

Something settled in him at that moment.

A strange, quiet satisfaction.

He wasn’t the sentimental type—never had been.

He had killed too many, seen too much, lost too much to care about things like comfort. Like kindness.

But something about her made him feel—

And that alone should have disturbed him more than it did.

His thoughts cut short.

A dense, unnatural mist coiled around them.

Itachi tensed beside him, Sharingan spinning to life instantly.

Kisame sighed. Of course.

That was the life of criminals.

No allies. No safe places. No rest.

They never slept deeply, never let their guard down—because sooner or later, someone would come to collect their heads.

And bounty hunters? They were the worst of them all.

Not shinobi. Not loyal to any village—just scavengers preying on the system’s filth.

They weren’t better than mercenaries either; they just hid behind the excuse of “justice” and “law” while cashing in on black-market prices. It didn’t matter if their targets were guilty or innocent. The only thing that mattered was the reward.

And lately? Itachi and Kisame’s bounties had been growing.

Too many successful missions.

Too many survivors left behind to tell the tale.

Too many powerful clients who suddenly decided that hiring the Akatsuki was one thing—but letting them live afterward? Another matter entirely.

This wasn’t the first time.

And it wouldn’t be the last.

A flicker of chakra.

Then another.

Kisame already knew what this was before the shadows emerged from the fog.

Bounty hunters. Forty of them.

Armed. Ready. Circling like wolves.

Tch. This might be multiple groups working together. Probably thought they’d have a better chance if they pooled their resources.

What a joke.

Kisame rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck lazily.

“You know,” he muttered, dragging Samehada off his back with a slow, deliberate movement, “this mist is my territory.”

His grin widened, though there was no amusement in it today.

“Normally, I’d be thrilled to cut you guys into ribbons. But today?” He sighed, shaking his head.

“I’m not in the mood.”

A pause.

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Kisame exhaled slowly. What a damn joke.

These bounty hunters—these pathetic leeches—thinking they could take him and Itachi down?

Thinking they were just another target on a list?

He cracked his neck, then grinned, sharp and ruthless.

Fine.

If they wanted a fight—he’d give them one.

Kisame turned to Itachi. “Itachi-san. Go back to the cave.”

She didn’t move. Just gave him that same, unreadable look. “I don’t need protection, Kisame.”

“This ain’t about you needing protection.” Kisame flexed his fingers, Samehada humming in his grasp. “I just feel like stretching my muscles today. Yesterday, you didn’t let me flex my Water Dome.”

Before she could respond—

He was already moving.

A monstrous wave of water erupted from the ground, swallowing the battlefield whole.

Kisame moved like a shark in the ocean.

Faster. Stronger. Untouchable.

He didn’t just kill them—he hunted them.

Toyed with them.

Tore them apart like prey.

It was merciless. Efficient. Overwhelming.

By the time the mist cleared, the sunset stretched beautifully across the sky—painting the horizon in soft reds and oranges.

As if nothing had happened.

As if the blood in the water wasn’t still dripping from his blade.

Kisame stretched, popping his shoulders back into place.

Then, he turned to Itachi—who was casually sipping tea, completely unbothered.

Kisame blinked.

Then grinned.

“Itachi-san,” he said, as if they had just gone on an evening stroll instead of a massacre,

“Do you feel like having some dango today?”

——-

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. The field stretched before them, quiet and untouched, swaying gently in the evening breeze. Itachi sat with her legs tucked beneath her, posture as composed as ever, while Kisame leaned back on his elbows, one knee bent, watching the sky.

Between them, a small tray of dango rested on a rock. Itachi plucked a skewer, taking a slow, deliberate bite. Kisame, for once, wasn’t talking. Just watching.

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the only sound the rustling of grass and the distant chirping of crickets.

Then—Kisame smirked, his teeth glinting under the last light of day.

“You know, Itachi-san,” he mused, tilting his head, “I gotta admit, I’m impressed.”

She didn’t look up. “About?”

“You and that katana,” he continued, plucking a dango from the skewer with his teeth. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Itachi’s chewing slowed—just slightly. She swallowed, then lifted her gaze to him, eyes calm as ever. “You doubt my ability?”

Kisame chuckled, waving a hand. “Nah, not what I meant. Just never figured you for the sword-wielding type. You’ve got this whole ‘refined assassin’ thing going on, y’know? Tactical. Precise.” He jabbed a thumb at himself. “Not the ‘big guy who swings around a giant murder blade’ like me.”

Itachi didn’t react immediately. She reached for another skewer, her fingers light against the wooden stick. The silence stretched.

Then—so softly Kisame almost missed it—she said,

“My best friend—my older brother figure—taught me.”

Kisame paused.

It wasn’t the words themselves—it was the weight behind them.

She never talked about her past. Not her mentors. Not her upbringing. Not the people who shaped her.

And yet, here she was, casually mentioning a piece of a past she had long buried.

Kisame tapped the skewer against his knee. Tch.

“Well, he sure taught you well. How come I’ve never seen you use it in the entire damn two years we’ve been partners?”

Itachi exhaled.

And for just a second—just a flicker of a moment—something passed through her expression. Something unreadable. Something almost… sad.

Kisame caught it. The barest shift in her gaze before she shut her eyes completely, shutting him out, too.

Then—when she opened them again, her face was cold. Blank. Empty.

Like she had put on a mask, slipping into a role as easily as breathing.

“The last time I used it was that night.”

Kisame stilled.

Then, after a brief pause, her voice was smooth, deliberate, like a calculated script.

“I stopped using it because I had already reached the limit of that ability.”

Liar.

Kisame clenched his jaw. Liar.

That was a rehearsed answer. One meant to shut down conversation. A statement, not an admission. A truth twisted into a weapon to keep people from digging deeper.

Did she even realize she was doing it? Did she even realize she was still trying to convince herself?

Did she even realize how much that pissed him off?

Kisame’s grip tightened around the skewer, wood cracking under his fingers. His voice dropped, low and sharp.

“Itachi-san.”

She didn’t look at him.

“You know I hate liars.”

Nothing.

He let the silence stretch, dragging it out, forcing her to hear the weight behind his words. Then—

“You still think I’d buy that bullshit?”

Finally, she turned her head slightly, but he wasn’t finished.

“You think I stopped digging because I actually believed it?” His voice wasn’t amused anymore. No teasing. No grinning. Just something close to anger. Close to frustration.

“You think I don’t see it?” Kisame leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing. “That you’re still lying—to me? To yourself?”

Another pause. Another long, unbearable silence.

Then—Itachi lowered her gaze.

Not in submission. Not in guilt.

But in exhaustion.

She knew he wouldn’t buy it. She knew he saw through her. She knew—and she still said it anyway.

Because it wasn’t about convincing him.

It was about convincing herself.

Kisame let out a sharp breath through his nose, shaking his head.

“You really are a piece of work, huh?”

He wasn’t sure who he was more frustrated with—her, for refusing to be honest, or himself, for still caring enough to want the truth.

Either way—he was tired of the lies.

Itachi didn’t respond. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t deflect.

For once—she didn’t try to play it off as indifference.

Instead, she just sat there, her gaze fixed on the horizon, dango skewer loose between her fingers.

Kisame watched her carefully.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke.

Low. Steady. Honest.

“I didn’t take pleasure in it.”

Kisame didn’t move.

The words were simple. Barely above a whisper. But they cracked something open.

She wasn’t saying what happened. She wasn’t giving him the whole truth. She couldn’t.

But for the first time—she admitted that she didn’t want to lie to him anymore.

And that was enough.

Kisame exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Tch. Figures,” he muttered. Then, after a moment—he chuckled, shaking his head. “You know… we’re not so different, you and me.”

Itachi glanced at him, quiet, listening.

Kisame leaned back, staring at the sky, rolling the dango skewer between his fingers.

“They told me to do it,” he started, voice casual—but not careless. “My own comrades. My own sensei. Said I had to protect the intel at all costs.”

He twirled the skewer, clicking it against his knee. “So I did. I cut down my own team, just like they ordered. Every last one.”

Itachi’s gaze sharpened.

Kisame smirked humorlessly. “And then, I find out—same bastard who gave the order? Yeah, he was selling intel to the highest bidder.”

His voice dropped lower. “So I killed him, too.”

Silence.

The breeze rustled through the grass.

Kisame exhaled slowly. “I thought maybe—maybe—that was it. But the more I saw, the worse it got. The Bloody Mist wasn’t just rotten—it was designed that way. Built on backstabbing, betrayals, power plays.”

He shook his head. “So I joined the coup. Thought if we took down Yagura, if we won, we could change things.”

He huffed out a laugh—dry, bitter. “The worst part? If we’d succeeded, we would’ve been heroes. But we didn’t.”

A pause.

“And because we didn’t… I became a traitor.”

He leaned back on his hands, staring at the fading sky. “Exiled. Hunted. Branded a criminal by the same people who taught me to kill in the first place.”

Another pause.

Then, quietly—too quietly—

“You get it, don’t you, Itachi-san?”

Itachi’s grip on the skewer tightened just slightly.

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t speak.

But she didn’t deny it.

Kisame sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “So, yeah,” he muttered. “You don’t have to tell me what really happened. You don’t have to.”

Then, after a beat—

“…You finally stopped lying to me. That’s all I need.”

The silence stretched between them. Not heavy, not suffocating—just there. A shared weight, no longer carried alone.

And then—

Itachi shifted.

Her gaze lifted to the horizon, eyes reflecting the last traces of fading sunlight. And when she spoke, her voice was quieter than before.

“…I used to think that if I could bear all the hatred, all the sins, I could protect what mattered.”

A pause.

“Maybe that was my mistake.”

Her voice was flat, but Kisame could hear it.

Something fragile beneath the surface. Something close to exhaustion.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

Then—

“Heh. You really think you’re the only one who thought that way?” Kisame muttered.

“Guess I was an idiot too, then.”

Kisame tapped the skewer against his knee. A soft click, rhythmic, thoughtful.

Then—his voice shifted.

“You know how we graduated in the Bloody Mist?”

Itachi’s gaze flickered toward him.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “They made us kill our own classmates. Friends. Everyone we’d trained with. Only one got to survive.”

His grip on the skewer tightened slightly. “I thought I could save them.” His tone was even—too even. “I thought if I was strong enough, I could stop it. Change things.”

A hollow chuckle. “I was wrong.”

And Itachi—Itachi understood.

Because she had once thought the same.

When I was eleven,” she murmured, voice distant, “I was sent on an ANBU mission.”

Kisame didn’t move.

“We were ordered to eliminate a group of shinobi from the Land of Frost who had killed Leaf ninja. But not all of them were responsible. Some were just caught up in it.”

A pause.

“I thought I could spare them. I thought if I put them under genjutsu, knocked them out, no one would know.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the fabric of Kisame’s cloak.

“But my teammates noticed.” Her voice grew quieter. “And that was not allowed.”

The wind shifted, rustling through the grass.

“There was a child. Younger than me.”

Kisame didn’t interrupt. Didn’t ask. Just listened.

“I hesitated.” Her tone was steady, but Kisame caught it—the flicker in her eyes, the way her breath was just a little too measured. The memory still raw beneath the surface.

“He was trembling. I could see it—his hands, his whole body.”

Another pause.

“Then he attacked me.”

Kisame’s grip on the skewer stilled.

“A kunai to my stomach.” She inhaled softly. “I let him.”

Kisame exhaled slowly.

“And then?”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed her face. “I ended him.”

A beat.

“Painlessly. And that was the moment I realized—”

Her lips parted. But she didn’t finish.

She didn’t have to.

Kisame exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “That no matter what you did, you couldn’t save everyone?”

Her silence was answer enough.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

A heavy pause. Then, finally—

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s when I learned, too.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The moon rose up midsky.

The wind moved through the grass, rustling softly against the quiet. The dango between them remained untouched.

Kisame glanced at her—at the way her fingers lingered near the skewer but didn’t quite reach for it. At the distant look in her eyes, as if she was still lost in the past, still staring at the ghosts only she could see.

He watched as her fingers curled slightly. Not reaching. Just hovering. Hesitant.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she finally picked up the skewer.

Kisame raised an eyebrow. “See, that’s how I know you’re still human, Itachi-san.”

She gave him a sidelong glance.

He smirked. “Even the dead have to eat.”

Itachi huffed softly. Not quite a laugh. Not quite amusement. But something close.

She took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then, at last, quiet, unimpressed, but undeniably dry:

“I am a shinobi.”

Kisame barked out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, stretching his arms behind his head, letting the quiet settle again.

Then—without looking at her, almost absentmindedly—

“Still a damn shame about the katana.”

Itachi exhaled, shaking her head slightly.

But she didn’t deny it.

Kisame smirked, tilting his head toward her, voice as casual as ever—

“You looked pretty sexy with it.”

This time, she didn’t even huff. Just rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

But Kisame? Kisame grinned.

Because he knew—if she truly didn’t care, she would’ve ignored him completely.

And that—more than anything—was progress.

Chapter Text

The night had been cruel lately.

Endless rain drummed against the cave’s entrance, a steady rhythm of nature’s indifference. The air inside was thick with the scent of damp stone and dying embers, the fire’s warmth struggling to keep the cold at bay. But no matter how high the flames flickered, she still trembled.

Itachi curled into herself, her body hunched as if trying to disappear, arms wrapped around her frame in a self-embrace. Fever had painted her pale skin even paler, her breath coming slow, uneven. Half-conscious, half-not, caught in the fragile space between sleep and suffering.

Kisame watched. He had never seen her like this.

For all the years he had known her, she had been an unshakable force—unmovable, unreadable, untouchable. But now? She looked impossibly small. Human.

And he hated it.

Not because she was weak, no. He had admired her strength, hadn’t he? So why didn’t his opinion change now that she was fragile? Was it pity? No, he never pitied anyone. So then… what was this uncomfortable, heavy feeling sitting in his chest?

Silently, he dipped the cloth into warm water and wrung it out before pressing it to her forehead. She flinched at first, resisting even in sleep, but exhaustion won in the end. He brought the cup of water to her lips when she stirred, and this time, she didn’t fight him.

And for some reason, that made it worse.

The woman who never asked for help, who never accepted kindness—letting him take care of her without a word.

Her lashes fluttered slightly, her fevered mind caught between worlds. Then, just as he pulled back, he heard it.

A whisper.

“Sasuke…”

Kisame’s chest tightened, something sharp pressing beneath his ribs. His mind drifted back—to the moment she lied to him why she had spared her brother, why she had left him alive.

She could kill anyone with a single glance. And yet, she couldn’t kill him. This is the truth, and he knows she would never admit it, but he doesn't care.

The Itachi he knew, the Itachi the world feared—was lying here now, all frail, all quiet, whispering her brother’s name in sleep.

And Kisame?

He didn’t know what this feeling was, only that he hated it.

——

The morning sun had finally claimed the sky.

The rain had washed the world clean, leaving behind the scent of damp earth and the soft glisten of water pooled in the uneven dips of the landscape. For the first time in days, it was a sunny morning.

Kisame sat on the ground, arms resting lazily on his knees, his gaze wandering back toward the cave where Itachi still slept.

She looked better now. Her breathing was even, and the fever had passed.

That should have been enough for him to move on. But he didn’t.

Instead, his eyes lingered.

The sunlight filtered through the mouth of the cave, painting soft gold over her skin, giving her an almost otherworldly glow. Pale, ethereal, untouched by time. Her lips, no longer dry from fever, looked softer, the natural pink standing out against her porcelain complexion.

For a moment, he forgot who she was.

Forgot the name, the reputation, the endless weight she carried.

In that fleeting second, she was just a girl bathed in morning light.

Kisame didn’t even realize how close he had leaned in. His mind had drifted, and his body had followed, drawn in by something he couldn’t name, something foreign, something dangerous.

Then—her eyelashes fluttered.

His breath caught.

And suddenly, as if snapping out of a genjutsu, Kisame jerked back, standing too fast for it to be casual. He turned on his heel and strode out of the cave, trying not to look like he was escaping.

What the hell was that?

He raked a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. That wasn’t normal. He had seen countless beautiful women in his life, but never had he felt—whatever the hell that was.

Before he could even try to rationalize it, her voice floated out from behind him.

“Thank you for last night.”

Kisame froze. Slowly, he turned back.

There she was, sitting on a rock, long black hair cascading over her shoulders as she combed through it with the kind of grace and precision one might expect from a deadly assassin, because of course, even rogue shinobi had self-care routines. Kakuzu, for all his stinginess, never skimped on the “keep the Akatsuki looking menacingly attractive” budget.

She looked alive again. No more deathly pallor, no more fevered trembling. Just Itachi—composed, elegant, and unbothered. As if she hadn’t spent the night at death’s doorstep. 

And yet… his mind still refused to settle. Kisame exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. He needed to get a grip.

Just as he was about to say something, anything, to move on, her voice cut through the crisp morning air.

“You were staring.”

His brain short-circuited for a second.

She was looking right at him.

Calm. Unbothered as she continued combing her hair. Kisame narrowed his eyes. “What?”

She didn’t stop combing. “You were staring at me.”

Kisame scoffed. “Tch. Like hell I was.”

Itachi raised a single, delicate brow. “For a moment, I thought you were considering kissing me awake.”

Kisame choked on air.

“What—” He coughed. “Are you insane?”

She blinked, deadpan. “Are you?”

Kisame groaned, turning away aggressively. “I’m not dealing with this.”

Itachi hummed, still combing. “Good. Because I don’t intend to deal with it either.”

What the hell did that even mean?!

She just continued with her morning routine, completely unbothered, while Kisame tried to ignore the burning in his ears.

“Anyway,” he grumbled, desperate for a distraction, “we’re leaving soon. We should go. I know an underground doctor who won’t ask questions. You need to see him.”

Itachi didn’t protest. Just gave a small nod, still combing her hair.

Kisame sighed in relief. Finally, a change of topic.

…And yet, even as they left, he was still trying to shake off her damn words.

——

The dirt path turned to cobblestone as they neared the village. The warm scent of grilled skewers, sweet rice cakes, and fresh fruit filled the air, mingling with the laughter of children and the rhythmic sound of taiko drums. Lanterns were strung up between wooden posts, their glow painting the bustling streets in hues of gold and crimson.

Kisame inhaled deeply. “Ahh, now this is a nice change of pace.”

Beside him, Itachi walked with measured steps, her cloak concealing most of her figure. Her posture remained as composed as ever, but Kisame knew she didn’t like this. Too many people, too much exposure.

“We should take another route,” she said flatly. “Too many eyes.”

Kisame waved a hand. “Relax. It’s a festival. No one’s looking for criminals tonight.”

Itachi didn’t argue, but she didn’t relax either. Still, she followed him as they wove through the crowd, past stalls selling colorful masks, fried dumplings, and glimmering trinkets.

It was only by chance that Kisame noticed it.

The flicker of her gaze.

A glance—subtle, almost imperceptible—toward a small vendor displaying delicate silver and gold jewelry. It was gone in an instant, so quick that anyone else wouldn’t have caught it.

But Kisame wasn’t anyone else.

He stopped walking. Itachi continued for a few steps before noticing and turned back. “Kisame?”

Without a word, he stepped into the jewelry shop.

Itachi didn’t follow at first. She stayed by the entrance, arching a brow as he casually browsed the selection, running his fingers over delicate chains and gemstone pendants.

“I didn’t take you for the accessory type,” she commented dryly.

Kisame chuckled. “What, you think I wouldn’t look good with a little flair?”

Her silence was answer enough.

Then, his eyes landed on it.

A simple necklace—three silver jewels arranged in a circular pattern, their shape eerily reminiscent of a three-tomoe Sharingan.

Kisame picked it up, rolling it between his fingers before turning back to her.

“I think this will look good on you, Itachi-san.”

For the first time in a long while, he saw her hesitate.

Not out of fear. Not out of calculation.

Just pure, human hesitation.

Itachi’s gaze flickered to the necklace in Kisame’s palm. A second too long.

She should have ignored it. Should have told him it was unnecessary, or that shinobi had no use for frivolous decorations. But she didn’t.

Instead, she studied it.

The three silver jewels gleamed under the festival lights, shaped like the tomoe of her Sharingan. A coincidence, most likely. But an unsettling one.

Kisame watched her with a lopsided grin, waiting.

“Didn’t think you were sentimental,” she said finally, voice smooth, detached.

Kisame shrugged. “Didn’t think you were, either.”

She should have left it at that. But something in her—something tired, something unbearably human—made her reach out.

She plucked the necklace from his hand with precise fingers, weighing it, turning it between her thumb and index. The chain was thin, delicate. Too fragile for a kunoichi. Too fragile for her.

And yet…

She secured it around her neck.

The weight settled against her collarbone, foreign yet strangely unintrusive. It was meaningless. Just a trinket. A festival souvenir. That was all.

She told herself that.

Kisame tilted his head, studying her like he had just witnessed something rare. “Huh,” he mused. “Thought you’d refuse.”

Itachi adjusted the necklace slightly beneath her cloak, hiding it from view. “It would be a waste to decline something you already paid for.”

Kisame laughed, loud and unbothered. “That’s your excuse?”

Itachi didn’t answer.

But as they turned away from the shop, moving back into the festival crowd, Kisame noticed something.

She still hadn’t taken it off.

They stop at a small food stall, the smell of grilled fish and freshly steamed rice filling the air. Kisame, ever the foodie, orders a ridiculous amount of food, while Itachi, ever the minimalist, just gets something small—because of course, she would.

Kisame watches her eat, amused by the way she picks at her food like it’s some kind of meditative practice instead of just eating. He shovels down his own meal in huge bites, but something about today feels… different. Lighter.

Then—it happens.

As Kisame is mid-bite, a stray cat jumps onto the table, its paws landing directly on his plate, knocking over his entire tray of food. He barely has time to react before the little beast grabs a piece of his fish and runs off.

Kisame freezes, chopsticks still in his mouth. Did that cat just rob him?

Then—he hears it.

A soft laugh.

His gaze snaps up.

Itachi is laughing.

Not a smirk. Not an amused huff.

A real laugh—quiet, restrained, but genuine. Her shoulders shake slightly, her lips curved, and for the first time… she looks her age.

And Kisame? He’s stunned.

He forgets about the stolen food. Forget the cat, forget the festival. He just stares. Because in all the time he’s known her, through all the battles, through all the late-night conversations and quiet moments—he has never seen this.

He wants to memorize it, burn it into his mind forever. Because this? This was something no one else in the world had seen.

Then, as if catching herself, Itachi clears her throat and looks away, the laughter fading, her composure snapping back into place like it was never there.

Kisame leans back, grinning wide. “Hah. So you do have emotions, Itachi-san.”

She doesn’t look at him, but she picks up her cup of tea, hiding her face behind it.

Kisame’s grin only widens.

Yeah, she can pretend all she wants. But he saw it. And he’ll never forget.

Kisame leaned back, watching as she reached for her food, her left hand slipping out from the opening of her cloak instead of through the sleeves, hanging. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed it. In fact, she did this all the time.

A small, deliberate habit. One most people wouldn’t think twice about.

But Kisame wasn’t most people.

And now, after two years at her side, it was bugging the hell out of him.

“Alright, I gotta ask,” he said, setting his chopsticks down. “What’s with that?”

Itachi looked up, brow lifting in silent question.

Kisame gestured toward her arm. “The whole thing with your cloak. You never use the sleeves properly—you always keep your left hand free like that. What, do the sleeves annoy you or somethin’?”

For a moment, she didn’t answer.

Then—slowly, she set down her chopsticks. Her fingers rested lightly against the table, the faintest motion of her thumb brushing against her palm.

“…It’s a habit,” she said finally.

Kisame raised a brow. “From what?”

Itachi tilted her head slightly, as if debating whether or not to actually answer. But then, after a moment—she did.

“When I was young, my father always told me that a shinobi should never be caught unarmed.” She lifted her left hand slightly, flexing her fingers. “But my mother…” A pause. Just a flicker of hesitation. “She told me a shinobi should also never forget they are human.”

Kisame blinked. That—he hadn’t expected.

Itachi’s gaze remained distant, her voice smooth but quieter now. “She always left her left hand free when she wore a haori. She said that as long as one hand was unburdened, she could still reach for something warm.” Her fingers twitched slightly, as if recalling the memory. “A teacup. A child’s hand. A loved one’s sleeve.”

Kisame exhaled slowly, leaning back. “Tch. So, what? You do it because it reminds you of her?”

Itachi didn’t answer right away. Then—her lips parted slightly. A breath. A whisper.

“No.”

Kisame frowned.

“I do it so I don’t forget.”

Kisame stares at her, then down at the hand she’s talking about.

He expected something practical. A reason tied to battle efficiency, maybe muscle memory. Something that fit the Itachi he knew—the one who planned five steps ahead, the one who always had a strategy, a calculation.

But this?

He wasn’t sure what to do with this.

His stomach twisted. Not forgetting.

It wasn’t about preparation. It wasn’t about efficiency. It was about holding onto something. A habit burned so deeply into her that even after everything—even after the massacre, after Akatsuki, after years of running—she still did it.

Like muscle memory. Like a prayer. Like a wound that never fully healed.

Kisame exhaled through his nose. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like the way it settled under his skin, heavy, uncomfortable.

So, instead, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Tch. Thought you just wanted to show off your manicure."

Itachi didn’t even blink. “That too.”

Kisame choked on his food.

What—

His brain lagged. He had expected some cryptic, depressing answer—maybe something about honoring the dead, about carrying the past, about the damn weight of it all.

Not that.

But before he could recover, she struck again.

She picked up her tea, casually taking a sip as she added, “And from now on, I can show off the necklace you gave me as well.”

BOOM. DIRECT HIT.

Kisame froze.

For a solid three seconds, his brain fully short-circuited.

Did she just—

No. There’s no way.

This was Itachi.

She didn’t just… say things like that.

And yet—she had.

Worse?

She didn’t even look at him when she said it.

Just calmly sipped her tea, unbothered, like she hadn’t just casually thrown a kunai straight into his damn chest.

Kisame stared at her.

Then at the necklace.

Then back at her.

Then at his own drink, seriously wondering if someone had slipped genjutsu into it.

“…Huh.” He rubbed his jaw, leaning back, eyes narrowing at her with suspicion. “Y’know, Itachi-san… sometimes, you really mess with my head.”

She set her cup down, finally glancing at him. “Do I?”

Kisame huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he picked up his drink. “Tch. Forget it.”

But he didn’t forget.

Not the joke.

Not the way she had said it.

Not the way it made his chest feel uncomfortably tight for some damn reason.

And as much as he tried to brush it off—

That moment would stay with him for a long, long time.

——-

The underground clinic was dimly lit, the air thick with the sharp scent of antiseptic herbs and old parchment.

The doctor—a middle-aged man with graying hair and weary eyes—didn’t ask questions. He never did. That was why Kisame trusted him. As long as you had the money, he would treat you, no matter who you were.

Itachi sat on the examination table, silent as the man placed his hands over her chest, green chakra flickering to life beneath his fingertips.

A long pause.

Kisame watched, arms crossed, waiting for the usual routine—‘Just some fatigue, get some rest, eat more.’ He had taken enough beatings in his life to know that most things could be fixed with time.

But then, the doctor’s face darkened.

“…I see.”

Kisame’s stomach twisted.

The doctor stepped back, exhaling heavily. “You’re dying.”

Silence.

The words hung in the air, thick, heavy, suffocating.

Kisame almost laughed, because there was no way in hell he just heard that right.

But before he could even react—

“I see.”

Itachi’s voice was calm. Too calm.

Kisame whipped his head toward her. “The hell do you mean, ‘I see’?”

The doctor continued, carefully neutral. “There’s nothing I can do to stop it. The most I can offer is medicine to ease the symptoms—special eye drops. They’ll buy you time, but…” He hesitated. “If you strain your body, the disease will ravage you faster.”

Kisame couldn’t breathe.

His fingers twitched at his side, the instinctive urge to laugh off the absurdity of it all clawing at his throat. But Itachi?

She just nodded.

No shock. No anger. No fear.

Just—acceptance.

Like she had already known.

“Thank you,” she said simply, standing up and half-bowed to the doctor. As if this was just another fact, another mission, another duty.

Kisame’s head was spinning.

She was thanking him? Thanking the man who just told her she was dying?

She turned toward the door, cloak shifting as she moved.

But then—

Almost as an afterthought, the doctor spoke again.

“…One more thing.”

She stopped.

The doctor hesitated, as if debating whether to say it at all. Then, finally—

“The root of this…” His voice was quieter this time, softer. “It’s your guilt.”

Silence.

“If you don’t have the will to live,” he said, “then your body will simply respond to it.”

Itachi didn’t move.

Kisame didn’t breathe.

For the first time since he met her, he saw something almost imperceptible—a tiny, fleeting flicker in her expression.

Then—

“…Thank you again.”

And with that, she walked out.

Kisame followed, but his mind was a storm.

She had accepted it too fast. Too easily. 

Like she wasn’t surprised.

Like she had already made peace with dying.

Like she had never planned on surviving to begin with.

And that? That thought terrified him.

The street was silent as he walked behind her. Neither of them spoke. Not because there was nothing to say. But because there was too much.

The doctor’s words still echoed in Kisame’s head, circling like sharks in bloodied water. If you don’t have the will to live, then your body will simply respond to it.

She’s been dying for a long time, hasn’t she?

He should say something. Anything. But just as he parted his lips—

A voice cut through the air.

“Itachi Uchiha?!”

Kisame’s gaze snapped forward.

A man stood in front of them, a half-empty sake bottle clutched tightly in one hand. His face was twisted in rage and disbelief, eyes burning with recognition as they flicked between her Akatsuki cloak and her ninja headband.

“You—” He took a step closer, his grip tightening around the bottle, knuckles white. “You’re really Itachi Uchiha, aren’t you?”

Itachi stopped. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

The moment their eyes locked, he spat at her feet.

Kisame’s fingers twitched.

“I don’t care if you’re a wanted criminal,” the man hissed. The scent of sake clung to him, sharp and heavy. “I don’t care if you kill me where I stand. But you—You are a disgrace to humanity.”

His voice trembled—not with fear, but with hatred.

“He was my best friend.” His breath hitched, the bottle shaking slightly in his grasp. “We studied together, spent summers raising hell as kids. I knew his family—I watched his children grow up. My kids played with his kids.”

His voice turned raw, thick with grief. His eyes—glassy, not just from alcohol but from something deeper, something broken.

“And you—you butchered them.”

Itachi didn’t blink. Didn’t react. Didn’t even breathe.

The man took another step closer.

His grip on the bottle tightened.

“What? Nothing to say?” His voice dripped with venom. A harsh, bitter laugh followed.

“What, are you not even going to kill me? Heh. Or should I expect you to kneel down and beg for forgiveness?”

The words hung in the air.

And then—

Itachi dropped to her knees.

Kisame’s breath caught.

A deep bow—

Forehead pressed to the dirt.

Not a warrior’s bow. Not one of honor.

A bow of submission. Of pleading. Of begging.

“You don’t ever have to forgive me.”

Her voice was steady. Empty.

Kisame’s mouth fell open.

What—

What the hell is she doing?

The man froze.

For a long moment, he just stared at her—as if his brain couldn’t process what he was seeing.

Then—laughter. Sharp. Bitter. Manic.

His jaw clenched. His breath turned ragged. The bottle trembled in his grip.

“This—” His voice cracked. “This is some kind of joke, isn’t it?”

Itachi didn’t move. Didn’t lift her head.

And that—that broke something in him.

His hand shot forward—fingers tangling in her hair, twisting, yanking.

With a vicious pull, he wrenched her head up—

And then—

Glass shattered.

The bottle cracked against the side of her face, breaking on impact. Shards rained down, catching the dim light, glinting as they scattered into the dirt.

A sickening thud followed as her head snapped to the side, the force sending a trail of blood trickling from her temple.

Kisame moved before he even thought about it.

Instinct—his body reacting faster than his mind. His grip on Samehada tightened, his muscles coiled, ready to tear the bastard apart—

But then—her eyes met his.

Narrow. Cautioning.

A silent command—

“Don’t butt in.”

Kisame stopped.

His blood boiled. His hands curled into fists. His teeth ground together so hard it hurt. Every part of him screamed to act—to step in, to break this man into pieces and end this ridiculous farce.

But she had ordered him not to.

And that—that pissed him off more than anything.

The man staggered slightly, the remnants of the broken bottle slipping from his grip, falling uselessly into the dirt. His chest heaved, his own knuckles shaking—whether from rage, adrenaline, or sheer disbelief at what he had just done.

And still—she didn’t move.

Didn’t wipe the blood. Didn’t lift her head. Didn’t so much as blink.

She just knelt there. Unmoving. Silent. As if she hadn’t even felt it.

For a moment—just a moment— doubt flickered across his face.

Then—rage swallowed it whole.

With a guttural growl, he kicked her.

Hard.

Her body jerked violently, breath leaving her in a sharp exhale as she collapsed onto the ground.

But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for his grief.

Not for the lives she had stolen, for the families she had ripped apart, for the bloodstained name Uchiha Itachi carved into history.

A monster. A murderer. And murderers don’t deserve to kneel.

They deserve to be beaten into the dirt. His rage—unrelenting. His fists crashed down.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Each strike landing with the wet, sickening sound of flesh meeting flesh.

Still—she didn’t resist. Didn’t block. Didn’t push him away. Didn’t even try to protect herself. She just—took it.

The only movement—her fingers curling weakly into the dirt.

Her body—limp, fragile, weightless beneath the blows.

Kisame’s breath came in short, sharp bursts. His mind screamed at him to do something. But she—she wouldn’t let him. And for the first time in his life—Kisame felt helpless.

A single, black crow, perched on the rooftop, its beady red eyes glinting. It tilted its head. Watching in silent.

And far, far below—where blood dripped into the dust—so did Kisame’s sanity.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Not at the violence—but at the fact that she wasn’t stopping it.

Not at the blood—but at the fact that she didn’t even flinch.

Not at the man—but at her.

Because the monster they had feared for years—was letting herself be beaten like she was nothing.

And that? That terrified them.

People whispered, murmured, watched in shock.

Because they knew.

They knew what the Akatsuki cloak meant. They knew what that clouded red symbol represented. Terror. Power. Death.

No one—no one—would ever dare lay a hand on an Akatsuki member.

And yet—

Here was a civilian, ruthlessly beating down one of the most feared criminals in history.

And she wasn’t stopping him. Wasn’t fighting back. Wasn’t doing anything at all.

And for the first time—Kisame barely comprehend what he was witnessing.

Finally—after what felt like an eternity—he stopped.

Chest heaving, breath ragged, his fists trembled at his sides, knuckles split and bloodied—some from his own skin, most from hers.

The rage should’ve settled by now. Should’ve burned out.

But it hadn’t.

Not entirely.

Because something was wrong.

Itachi hadn’t fought back. Hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t tried to stop him.

Not once.

She just—took it.

The realization chilled him.

His knuckles throbbed. His breath came fast, hot, uneven. The weight of everything—the grief, the rage—should have crushed her by now.

And yet—She pushed herself up from the ground and was still kneeling.

Bruised, bloodied, beaten down, but kneeling.

How?

His lips curled in frustration. No. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t enough.

His eyes flickered.

The cloak.

That damn cloak.

It still hung around her, torn, dirtied, but still there. Still draped over her like armor.

That was it, wasn’t it?

That’s why she still looked like she hadn’t lost. Because she was still wearing it.

He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. Then—slowly, deliberately—

He crouched down.

Itachi didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

His fingers found the zipper.

And in one slow, fluid motion—he pulled it down.

Metal slid against fabric.

The cloak loosened.

With a firm tug, he ripped the cloak off her shoulders. And then—he tossed it aside.

The gasps came instantly.

Because now—they saw.

No Akatsuki. No bloodstained symbol. No monstrous reputation draped over her like a shield.

Just a girl.

Small. Fragile. Human.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Uncertainty. Confusion. Disbelief.

This wasn’t what they had imagined.

This wasn’t the nightmare they had feared.

They had expected a demon. A killer. A force of nature cloaked in darkness.

But without the Akatsuki cloak, she looked… painfully ordinary.

Not a legend. Not a monster. Just a battered, kneeling girl.

And then—he laughed. A cruel, disbelieving, contemptuous laugh.

"You?" he spat. "You’re Itachi Uchiha?"

His voice was filled with something between mockery and disgust.

"Tch. Thought you’d be taller."

He crouched down, eyes narrowing as he studied her face.

"They say you were the strongest in your clan," he muttered, voice dipping into something sharp. "The brightest. The prodigy."

He crouched down, getting level with her face, voice dipping lower—mocking, taunting.

"Tell me, Itachi." His voice was quieter now. "Did they beg?"

A pause. A breath.

"When they realized it wasn’t an enemy invading their home—but you?"

The crowd stiffened.

Because the words weren’t just for her.

They were for them.

For every onlooker who had whispered about that night.

For every survivor who had heard the stories, who had grown up fearing the name Uchiha Itachi.

For every bystander who had only ever known her as a legend.

The man’s grin stretched wider.

"You were their pride, weren’t you?" he continued, relentless. "Their genius. Their future."

A pause.

"And you crushed them."

He crouched lower, voice dropping into something almost soft.

"Itachi—"

"When your father realized what was happening—"

Kisame’s breath stopped.

The man smiled. Slow. Cruel.

"Did he call you his daughter?"

A beat.

"Or just a traitor?"

Silence.

Dead, suffocating silence.

Itachi’s face remained blank. Empty. A perfect void.

But Kisame—Kisame felt something deep in his chest fracture.

The man reached forward, grabbed a fistful of her hair—and yanked.

Itachi didn’t resist. Didn’t even blink. Her face, bloodied. Battered. Unmoving.

His grip trembled. His breath hitched.

For the first time—uncertainty flickered across his face.

Had she really been powerless this whole time?

Or had he?

His fingers twitched. Brushed against something on the ground.

Glass.

The shattered remains of the bottle.

Slowly—hesitantly—he crouched down, pressing the edge against her throat.

Not fast. Not a warning. Not a threat.

A promise.

The jagged edge dug in—just slightly.

A thin line of red bloomed beneath the pressure.

And that’s when Kisame snapped.

“Itachi-san, are you insane?!”

His voice was sharp. Raw. A mix of fury, disbelief—something dangerously close to panic.

Because this time—this time—he knew.

She didn’t deserve this. Not this.

But she was choosing it anyway.

Kisame moved before he even thought about it—instinct roaring through his veins. His blood was boiling, screaming—

And then—

A hand.

Shaking. Bloodied. Weak. But firm.

She stopped him.

Not to shield herself.

Not to fight back.

Just to stop him.

Kisame froze.

His breath caught.

That hand—it wasn’t a warrior’s defense.

It wasn’t a kunoichi’s counterattack.

It was a choice.

A quiet, deliberate choice to accept this punishment.

Her own personal atonement.

Atonement for a crime she never wanted to commit.

His pulse thundered in his ears. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

No.

No, she wasn’t just letting this happen.

She was making sure no one stopped it.

And Kisame—for the first time in his life—felt something dangerously close to fear.

Silent. Empty.

Like she wasn’t even there anymore.

And then—

“…No.”

His voice wavered.

His fingers twitched against the glass.

He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

“No, that’d be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

His grip slackened, the tension snapping like a frayed thread.

Kisame’s eyes narrowed. He recognized that tone.

This wasn’t mercy.

This was spite.

This was a man who wanted her to suffer.

Because killing her?

That wasn’t enough.

That was an escape.

And he wasn’t about to let her have it.

“If I kill you now,” he murmured, his eyes burning with something between hatred and grief—

“That’d be merciful.”

His grip tightened.

His lips curled in disgust.

“But you don’t deserve mercy.”

Her gaze remained calm. Unshaken.

Like she agreed.

And then—

He pressed the shard against her thigh.

Not fast.

Not brutal.

Slow.

Deliberate.

A cruel, steady pressure.

At first—it was just a sting. A small, sharp bite against her skin.

Then—it sank deeper.

Tearing through muscle.

Slicing through tendon.

Blood beaded around the wound.

A single drop.

Then another.

Then—a slow, steady trickle, sliding down pale skin, staining the dirt below.

Her body twitched. Muscles locking tight against the pain.

Her lips parted—just slightly.

A slow inhale. Through her nose.

A slow exhale. Through her lips.

Soft. Controlled.

But Kisame saw it.

The tiniest tremor in her breath.

The barest quiver in her lips.

The only proof that she still felt.

And still—she didn’t look away.

She met his eyes. Calm. Unwavering. Strong. Too strong.

Something flickered across his face—not just anger.

Not just grief.

Fear.

She should have screamed by now. She should have pleaded. Begged. Should have broken. But she didn’t.

His breath hitched. His grip trembled around the shard.

Why wouldn’t she break?

He twisted the glass.

Drove it deeper.

Dragged it down, expecting a gasp, a flinch—something.

But all he got was a slow, shallow exhale.

Her fingers twitched—just barely.

He had beaten her. Humiliated her. Left her battered and broken on the ground. And yet—she still looked untouchable. Her gaze never wavered.

That—that was when he understood.

No matter what he did, those eyes wouldn’t change.

No pain. No humiliation. No torment.

Nothing would ever steal that quiet, unshakable strength.

"You..." His voice wavered. His fingers trembled.

"You are insane. Why... Why won’t you say anything?"

Itachi’s expression remain calm as ever, her voice slightly trembling out of pain: "Would that make it easier for you?"

That’s it. That’s the final straw. He snaps.

The man’s fingers tightened in her hair. And with a vicious yank—

He shoved her head down.

Into the dirt.

Like he couldn’t stand to look at her anymore.

A monster, ground into the earth. A murderer, forced to kneel.

Kisame saw red. He can handle pain. He can handle mind games. But humiliation? No.

"Enough is enough." His voice is dark, quiet, lethal.

Samehada swings.

The man barely jerks back in time, stumbling in fear—the alcohol haze evaporating instantly.

He looks up—finally realizing he should be afraid.

A blur of motion.

Steel meets Samehada.

A kunai, gripped in one hand, halts Samehada’s swing.

One hand.

Her hand is shaking.

But she still stopped it.

The man sees her bruises. Sees the blood dripping down her face. Sees the wound in her leg.

And he realizes—she was never weak.

It was him who had been powerless the whole time.

His breath hitches.

He staggers back, hand shaking.

His breath came fast. Shaky. He turned—trembling—before he even realized his feet were moving.

And then—

He walked away.

Before Kisame ripped him apart.

Kisame, exhaling through his nose, eyes still locked on Itachi: "Tch. Lucky bastard."

Itachi moved up. Slowly. Methodically.

Her fingers wrapped around the shard—coated in her own blood—and pulled.

A slow, deliberate movement. Not hesitant. Not hurried. A quiet acceptance of pain.

The glass slid free. Blood welled up instantly, thick and dark, rolling down her skin in slow rivulets.

She didn’t react.

Not to the wound. Not to the fire burning beneath her flesh.

Instead—she exhaled. A steady breath, controlled.

Then, without a word, she reached into her ninja pouch, fingers steady despite the blood staining them. A roll of bandages.

Kisame’s eyes flicked to her hands, expecting a struggle—but there was none.

With practiced precision, she wrapped the bandage around her thigh, tight, secure.

A movement she had done a hundred times before. A wound tended to out of necessity, not care.

She pressed her palm against her thigh to steady herself.

And then—she stood. Straight. Unshaken.

No hesitation. No limp.

Like nothing had happened.

The crowd stilled. Eyes wide, breaths caught in their throats.

She turned toward the discarded cloak.

The fabric was still where he had thrown it.

Bloodied. Dirtied. Trampled.

But not forgotten.

She walked. Unhurried. Unbothered.

And then—she crouched.

A gentle motion, slow and precise.

Then—she dusted it off.

As if she had merely dropped it, not had it ripped from her by force.

And then—

She pulled it back over her shoulders.

The red clouds settled against her frame once more.

The monster was back.

The crowd visibly recoiled.

Their expressions twisted—disbelief, fear, something dangerously close to awe.

Kisame exhaled slowly, something dark curling in his chest.

She was insane.

Absolutely insane.

Without a single glance at anyone, without a single word, Itachi turned—and walked away.

Her stride smooth, her posture undisturbed.

Like she had never been on the ground at all.

Not a word.

Not a look back.

Not even a goddamn flinch.

She just—left.

And Kisame—Kisame had never been more furious in his life.

Not because she had let the man go.

Not because she had taken the beating without a fight.

Not because she had let her own blood soak into the dirt like it meant nothing.

But because—she had been in control the whole time.

She had chosen to endure it.

She hadn’t broken.

Not once.

Not for a single second.

And that—that terrified him.

Something sharp, something ugly, something unfamiliar coiled in his chest—a feeling he had no name for.

And this—this was the moment Kisame broke.

Not the first time she had confused him.

Not the first time she had drawn him in.

Not the first time he had wanted to understand her.

But this—this was different.

Because this was the first time he truly understood her.

Not as a prodigy.

Not as a killer.

Not as a comrade.

But as someone who refused to let anyone dictate her suffering except herself.

Someone who accepted pain like it was her birthright.

Someone who didn’t beg, didn’t resist, didn’t fight back—because she had already accepted her fate.

Someone so strong—it terrified him.

And that’s what shattered him.

Because he cares.

More than he should.

More than he ever meant to.

More than is safe.

And he doesn’t know what the hell to do with it.

And the worst part?

She just keeps walking.

Like nothing happened.

Like she had already accepted it long before it even began.

Like she had already decided how this was going to end.

And Kisame—Kisame can’t let that go.

Because for the first time—

He wants her to live.

And that’s going to ruin him.

—---

The silence stretched between them, heavy, suffocating. Neither spoke as they walked out of the village. Neither had to.

The weight of what had just happened clung to them like a second skin.

Kisame followed her, his steps unnaturally light for someone his size.

She wasn’t walking with purpose anymore—just moving forward because that’s what she always did.

And then, the lake appeared.

A quiet, undisturbed body of water, rippling slightly under the gentle brush of the wind.

The grass swayed, the sun glowed soft against the surface, turning the water into liquid gold.

Itachi walked toward it.

She sank to the ground with a slow, effortless motion, as if gravity had finally caught up with her.

She didn’t sigh. She didn’t wince. She just sat there, staring at the lake, unmoving.

Kisame stood behind her for a long moment, arms crossed.

Then—without a word—he sat beside her.

She didn’t react. Didn’t glance his way. Didn’t tell him to leave.

And this—this was what made it worse.

Not the blood. Not the bruises. Not even the wound in her leg.

No.

It was the silence.

The wind tugged at her hair, strands slipping free from her ponytail, her normally sleek appearance ruined by the earlier struggle.

Her hair was never this messy.

Not even after battle.

Not even after fighting the strongest enemies.

But now—now she looked defeated.

Kisame’s jaw clenched.

No.

No, he wasn’t letting this be.

His hands moved before he could stop them.

Slow. Careful.

Not because she was fragile—but because she never let anyone do this.

Ever.

And yet—she let him.

She didn’t stop him.

She didn’t ask what he was doing.

She just let him.

And for some reason—
That broke him more than anything else.

She just sat there, staring at the water, empty, lifeless.

They sat like that for a long time.

Neither spoke.

The only sound was the wind moving through the grass, the distant rustling of leaves, the quiet ripple of the lake.

Then—Kisame’s eyes flicked downward.

Her posture—perfect.
Back straight.
Legs tucked neatly beneath her.

But—

Her right hand gripped her left wrist.

Tight. Too tight.

Kisame stilled.

He had seen this before. Over and over again.

That stiff, controlled pose. That iron grip.

But now—now he finally understood why.

His breath hitched.

Because she told him.

"I do it so I don’t forget."

Not just a habit. Not just control.

A reminder. A tether.

Her left hand—the hand that meant humanity.

And now—she was holding it down.

Suppressing it.

Kisame’s chest tightened, something cold pressing into his ribs.

She had taken the beating without resisting.
Had let herself be dragged through the dirt, through the pain, through every ounce of punishment like she had always intended to.

And now, as she sat here—silent, unmoving—she was holding it back.

Holding herself back.

Not trembling.
Not breaking.
Not allowing even a sliver of weakness.

Because she didn’t believe she deserved to feel it.

Kisame’s throat felt tight.

A slow inhale.
A slow exhale.

And then—

Before he could stop himself, his fingers uncurled.

Without thinking, without permission, he reached forward.

Gently—carefully—he pried her right hand from her left wrist.

Just enough.

Enough to make her let go.

Enough to remind her—

She didn’t have to keep burying herself alive.

She didn’t react.
Didn’t push him away.
Didn’t look at him.

But she let him.

And that—that made it worse.

Because she wasn’t fighting it anymore.

The silence stretched.

The wind stirred.

Then—Kisame saw it.

A flicker.

The barest twitch of her fingers.

A slight movement in her grip.

And then—her lashes fluttered.

Kisame almost didn’t notice at first.

But then—her eyes twitched.

Just slightly.

And before she could stop it—before she could even try—

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

Kisame stilled.

He had seen her in battle—against shinobi stronger than him.
He had seen her stand against monsters, against entire armies—and never once waver.
He had seen her walk through fire and blood and war—without hesitation.

But he had never seen her cry.

Not once.

Not when she was sick.
Not when she was wounded.
Not when her body was breaking beneath the weight of a thousand burdens.

But now—

Now, as she sat in the sunlight, bruised, bloodied, barely breathing—one tear slipped free.

And that—

That was what broke him.

Because this was Itachi.

The strongest person he had ever known.

The one person he thought was untouchable.
The one person who never cracked.
The one person who never let anything shake her.

And yet—here she was.

Silent. Small. Falling apart right in front of him.

She exhaled sharply.
A slow blink, her eyes fluttering closed, as if trying to will it back in.

But it was already there.
Already fallen.

And then—finally—she broke the silence.

“This was never meant for you to see.”

Kisame froze.

The words were soft, but they hit like a blade to the gut.

Not a whisper.
Not a lament.
A fact.

He turned to look at her, but she was still staring at the water.

The wind shifted, brushing a strand of hair against her cheek.

She didn’t move it away.

She meant it.

She was saying she shouldn’t have let him see her like this.
She was saying she shouldn’t have let him in.
She was saying—

She didn’t want to be saved.

And Kisame—

Kisame wanted to fight that.

But how the hell do you fight someone who’s already surrendered?

His fists clenched.
His stomach turned.
His mouth felt dry.

And for the first time in his life—

Kisame was furious.

Furious at her, for accepting this.
Furious at himself, for caring.
Furious because—for the first time—he didn’t know how to fix this.

And that?

That terrified him more than anything.

Chapter Text

A few months have passed.

Since the doctor’s visit.

Since the reminder of what she was.

And Kisame?

Kisame was pissed.

Not at her. Not entirely.

At that drunken bastard who had beaten her into the dirt.

At the doctor who had spoken the truth so damn casually.

At himself—for not stopping it.

But mostly—

At her.

Because she believed them.

She might have won physically. She had endured every hit, every humiliation, without flinching.

Might have walked away without breaking.

But mentally?

She lost.

She believed it. Every damn word.

That she deserved to live. In disgrace. In suffering. Without mercy.

She had accepted it.

That was what burned through him.

Because now—she was exactly like when they first met. 

Hollow. Silent. Untouchable. The same composed mask that had unnerved Kisame when they first met.

And Kisame? Kisame hated it.

Hated the way she let herself sink back into that nothingness.

Hated the way she pretended it didn’t happen.

Hated the way he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Time passed.

Missions came and went.

Blood spilled and bodies fell.

Akatsuki moved forward.

And Itachi? Itachi simply existed.

He caught himself watching her too often. Noticing.

Every little thing. Every little detail.

The way she moved—the same deliberate control.

The way she spoke—calm, measured, always detached.

The way she sat by the fire now, eating—slow, mechanical, empty.

And then—

She stood.

Deliberate as always. Precise as always.

But he knew.

Knew exactly where she was going.

Away.

To cough.

To suffer.

Alone.

And the worst part?

She knew that he knew.

And that—that only made his rage burn hotter.

Because she wasn’t just choosing to suffer.

She was making sure no one stopped her.

Kisame exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders before following. Not loud. Not rushing. Just there. Like a shadow at her heels.

He had done this before. Countless times. Watching. Waiting. Making sure she didn’t collapse when no one was looking.

It was pathetic.

Because she knew.

She knew he followed. Knew he always made sure she was still breathing. Knew he wouldn’t stop.

And yet—she still walked away.

Fine.

Let her pretend.

Let her pretend she could just leave the damage behind.

Let her pretend—until the moment she turned back and—

Kisame stepped in front of her.

Blocked her path.

Didn’t move.

Itachi’s expression didn’t change. Not a flicker.

Of course not.

She simply tilted her head, unreadable as ever.

"You’re in my way."

Kisame scoffed, arms crossing over his chest.

"Tch. You sure about that?"

Her silence was answer enough.

And then—

She stepped forward.

Or tried to.

Because the second she shifted her weight—

Her knees gave out.

She hit the ground, hard, bracing herself with trembling arms—then the coughing started.

Rough, ragged, something deep tearing through her lungs. Blood splattered against the dirt, staining her sleeve as she clenched a fist against her mouth.

Kisame froze.

Then—

Then his stomach dropped.

Because in that instant—he knew.

She wasn’t taking her damn medicine.

The eyedrops. The ones that were supposed to slow it down. Ease the symptoms. 

She had never started using them.

And that—

That broke him.

Kisame didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t give her a chance to argue.

Didn’t give a damn about what she wanted.

He moved.

Strong arms lifted her off the ground, effortless, like she weighed nothing. Like she wasn’t slipping further and further into something he couldn’t fix.

She sucked in a weak breath, a faint protest on her lips, but he wasn’t listening.

Not this time.

Kisame’s grip tightened. His jaw clenched.

He carried her back inside.

Back to the hideout. Back where she couldn’t just pretend she was fine.

Where she had nowhere to run.

Where, for once, she would have to face the fact that she wasn’t alone.

Kisame lowered her onto the bed.
Not gently. Not roughly. Just firm. Decisive. Uncompromising.

She sat up immediately.
Because of course she did.

She was always composed. In control. Untouchable.

Even now—
With dried blood at the corner of her lips.
With her body shaking from exhaustion.
With him standing there, looming over her, rage barely leashed—

She still tried to act like nothing happened.

Kisame exhaled sharply.
Then—without a word—he turned.

Rifled through her belongings.

She didn’t stop him.
Didn’t move.

Didn’t react at all.

It didn’t take long.

The bottle of untouched eyedrops sat neatly among her things.

Exactly where he thought it would be.
Exactly where it shouldn’t have been.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He gripped the bottle tightly.

Then—he turned back to her.

And finally—finally— her eyes flickered to him.

Dark. Unreadable.

Like she was already calculating the best way to talk her way out of this.

Kisame’s grip tightened.
And in one swift move—

He pinned her down.

Her breath hitched.

Not in fear.
Not in pain.

Just shock.

Because for once—
He wasn’t letting her run.

He lifted the bottle.

“You never took them.”

His voice was low. Dangerous.

Itachi didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t deny things.

She just let the silence answer for her.

Kisame’s eyes burned into her.

“They wouldn’t have stopped the inevitable,” she finally said.

Flat. Distant. Detached.

Like she was talking about the weather.

Kisame’s hand slammed down next to her head.

The bed shook from the impact.

His voice was rough. Frustrated. Furious.
“You think I give a damn about ‘the inevitable’? You think I want to sit here and watch you break faster than you have to?!”

Itachi stared at him.
Still calm. Still unshaken.

Like he was wasting his breath.

And that—that was what finally made something in him snap.

Kisame uncapped the bottle.

Tilted her chin up.
His grip firm. Not cruel. Just unrelenting.

Itachi’s lips parted slightly.

A soundless protest.

But she didn’t stop him.

Because deep down—

She knew.

She knew he wasn’t going to let her win this time.

A drop.
Then another.

Each one searing into her eyes.

She flinched slightly.

Kisame watched her.

Watched the way she didn’t fight back.

Watched the way she just let it happen.

And that—that was what made him soften.

“…Damn you.”

His voice was quieter now.

Still angry. Still frustrated.

But softer.

“You’re gonna take these drops.”
His grip eased slightly.
“Every. Damn. Day.”

A pause.

A breath.

“Got that, Itachi-san?”

A long silence.

Then—finally—

She closed her eyes.

Let out a slow, exhausted exhale.

Kisame pulled away.

Sat there for a moment, hands still clenched.
Still seething.
Still frustrated.

But beneath it—something else.

Something heavier.

The tension still thick in the air, but the fight was over.
For now.

He let out a long, slow exhale.

Then—without a word—he stood.

When he stepped back inside, she was exactly as he left her.

Lying there. Still. Silent.
The only difference?

Her eyes were closed.

Not in exhaustion.
Not in sleep.

Just existing.

He set the jasmine tea cup down on the small table beside her.

Didn’t say anything.
Didn’t ask if she wanted it.

Because he knew.

She would take it.
Maybe not now.
Maybe later, when she thought he wasn’t looking.

But she would take it.

And that was enough.

Kisame turned away.

Ready to leave her be.
Ready to give her space.

Then—

“…Thank you.”

Soft.
Quiet.
Barely audible.

But real.

Kisame paused.

A flicker of something in his chest—something he didn’t want to name.

He scoffed lightly, shaking his head.

Then—without turning around—he muttered:

“Tch. Don’t make me force the damn tea down your throat too.”

A pause.

Then—

A breath. A small exhale.

And the quietest, most familiar sound—

“Hn.”

——

Kisame expects nothing new tonight, another mission: The client asks to assassinate the rival politic figure. The man is hiring both mercenaries and shinobi guards to secure him. 

The night stretched wide, vast, and indifferent. A silver moon loomed high, casting its cold glow over the rooftops and empty streets. Shadows stretched long beneath the lanterns lining the district—thin, flickering things, barely holding back the darkness.

Kisame and Itachi stood at the edge of it all, cloaked in silence. Watching. Waiting.

The compound was fortified, just as expected. Armed shinobi lined the perimeter, sharp-eyed and alert. Among them, hired mercenaries stood stiff-backed, hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. Professionals. The kind who knew what they were doing. The kind who wouldn’t hesitate.

Kisame exhaled slowly, tilting his head back to the sky.

The moon was bright tonight. Too bright. A perfect, pearlescent white.

Soon, it would change.

He turned to Itachi. She hadn’t moved, her gaze fixed on the figures below. The wind brushed against her cloak, stirring loose strands of raven-dark hair.

Then—voices.

Low, casual, carried on the breeze.

Kisame stilled. So did she.

The guards, gathered near the northern wall, spoke in hushed tones, their words edged with amusement.

“One of the families tried to buy their brat back today. They didn’t have enough.”

“Tch. Stupid bastards. They really think the boss gives a damn?”

“He told them to bring the rest by next week. Or else.”

Laughter.

Kisame’s fingers twitched. His grip on Samehada tightened, the bandages shifting under his palm.

“Doesn’t matter, anyway. We’ll get our payment either way—through gold or through bodies.”

“As long as they pay before we kill them, right?”

More laughter. Louder this time.

Itachi didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t stop listening.

Kisame turned to her. The moonlight carved sharp angles across her face, washing her skin in silver and shadow.

She hadn’t put them in genjutsu.

She could have.

Should have.

But she didn’t.

She wanted to hear this, to get more information.

Something slow, something dangerous, curled inside Kisame’s chest.

A long, thin breath slipped past Itachi’s lips. Then, finally—her voice. Low. Measured.

“We go in quiet. Finish the job. Then get the mercenaries on our way out.”

Kisame didn’t answer.

His gaze flicked back to the moon—still pale, still full.

For now.

A shift in movement below. One of the guards turned, eyes narrowing into the shadows—toward them.

Kisame exhaled through his nose, grinning as he rolled his shoulders.

“Well,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, “so much for quiet.”

The first mercenary stepped forward. Then another. And another.

Within seconds, the streets were no longer empty.

Dozens of them—mercenaries in mismatched armor, some bearing shinobi headbands from forgotten villages, others draped in leathers and steel. Some stood with the ease of seasoned killers, others with the sharp-edged energy of men who had learned to survive by the skin of their teeth.

The guards, once stiff and wary, relaxed at the sight of them.

This was no ambush.

This was a hunt.

“Well, well,” one of them drawled, stepping into the moonlight. His hair was silver-streaked, his face lined from years of war, but his grip on the blade at his hip was steady. “What do we have here?”

His gaze flicked over the two of them, lingering on their cloaks—the unmistakable red clouds, the deep black that marked them as something above mere hired killers.

“Looks like a bounty just walked right up to our door.”

Laughter rippled through the ranks.

Kisame, amused: “I hope they pay you in advance. Because none of you are leaving.”

Another mercenary, younger but just as arrogant, stepped forward beside him. He ran a gloved hand through his beard, his lips quirking up as his eyes swept over Itachi.

Well, damn,” he muttered, whistling low. “Didn’t expect Akatsuki to be carrying something this delicate.”

Kisame’s grin widened, but he said nothing.

The bearded mercenary smirked, eyes still locked on her. “All this time, you haven’t said a word.” He cocked an eyebrow. “What, cat got your tongue?”

More laughter.

The guard that first noticed them, saw the opportunity to weave in, stepped forward, arms crossed. “Nah. Look at her. That’s just the type she is.” His voice dropped into something low, mockingly thoughtful. “Cold. Detached. Beautiful.”

His lips curled into something close to admiration, or maybe hunger.

“That face of yours—” His gaze flicked to her eyes, and he let out a slow exhale. “Damn. Those red eyes are something else. Charming, even.”

Then, his breath hitched.

His body locked up.

The smirk died on his lips.

Silence.

Then—

His knees buckled. His body twisted as if being crushed by invisible hands. His mouth fell open, as if trying to scream—

And he collapsed.

The laughter stopped.

The smirks faded.

Kisame grinned.

“Well,” he mused, rolling his shoulders, voice thick with amusement. “Guess that means we’re done talking.”

The first mercenary swore under his breath, reaching for his blade—

Steel flashed under the moonlight. Blood sprayed across the cobblestones, dark and gleaming. The mercenaries, once grinning with confidence, now moved with desperate, frantic speed—fighting to survive against monsters they had never been meant to face.

Kisame tore through them.

Samehada roared in his grip, devouring chakra, rending flesh. The blade’s bandages unraveled, revealing its jagged, hungry maw. It carved through bodies like paper, raking through muscle and bone, drinking deep.

The mercenaries screamed. Some tried to stand their ground. Some ran.

None survived.

The battlefield fell into eerie silence.

The guards trembled. They understood now.

The mercenaries were gone.

Which meant—they were next.

Itachi continued walking, unbothered, controlled. The silver light of the moon washed over her as if she were untouchable.

She didn’t even look at the guards as she passed.

“Let’s go to the target.”

The tension cracked.

The guards exhaled, bodies loosening. They thought they were spared.

But Kisame?

Kisame wasn’t done.

His grip on Samehada tightened, knuckles flexing.

He needed more. He needed to vent.

His muscles coiled, and the grin that stretched across his face was feral.

“Hah… look at that.” His voice was a low, dark chuckle, vibrating in his chest. “You actually thought you’d live?”

The guards stiffened.

The ease they had felt was ripped away in an instant.

Kisame rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. “See, that’s the problem with you people.” He took a step forward, slow, deliberate, watching as their faces twisted in pure, sinking dread.

“You think you deserve mercy.”

Kisame moved like a force of nature, an unstoppable tide of destruction. Limbs flew. Blood soaked into the dirt. The scent of iron thickened in the air.

A body slammed into the wall, lifeless. Another hit the ground, throat gurgling with its final breath.

Kisame grinned through it all.

And Itachi—

Itachi leaned against the wall, hands crossed, unmoving. Watching. Her cloak barely stirred in the wind, her crimson gaze cold and unreadable. 

She disapproved.

But she did nothing.

The last body hit the ground.

The building was quiet now, save for the dripping of blood onto the stone.

Kisame exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He turned his head, gaze flicking up to meet hers.

She was still. Expression blank.

Finally, she spoke.

“This is unnecessary.”

Kisame’s grin stretched, teeth bared. He tilted his head, blood dripping from the edge of Samehada.

“Is it?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t stop him.

And Kisame? Kisame took that as permission.

The mansion doors groaned as Kisame pushed them open.

Inside, the air was thick with incense—rich, suffocating, an artificial attempt to mask the rot beneath. Ornate rugs stretched across the marble floor, polished to a gleam. Heavy golden chandeliers flickered overhead, their glow casting deep shadows against the high walls.

And at the far end of the room—

Their target.

The man sat in a grand chair, draped in fine silks, posture relaxed. A glass of red wine rested in his fingers, swirling lazily as if the massacre outside was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

A smirk curled at his lips as his gaze flicked between them, unconcerned.

“I wondered how long it would take you to reach me,” he mused. His voice was smooth, practiced—someone used to playing the game of politics, of power. His eyes flicked toward Kisame, then rested on Itachi with interest.

“Ah,” he murmured. “And here I thought the Akatsuki were nothing but savages. But you—” his smirk deepened “—you have the look of something much more refined.”

Kisame’s fingers twitched against Samehada’s hilt.

He didn’t like the way this bastard was looking at her.

But Itachi?

She didn’t react.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t speak.

She stepped forward, slow, deliberate.

“Where are the slaves?”

The man chuckled, shaking his head as if amused by the question. He took another slow sip of his wine, savoring it.

“You know,” he mused, “I regret not hiring you first. If only I had put in the request before my rival did—then you would have been my lap dogs instead of his.”

Kisame exhaled sharply through his nose, barely holding back a laugh.

Itachi didn’t flinch. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” she said, her voice smooth, even. “Where are the slaves?”

The man sighed theatrically. “You care about them?” He swirled his glass, watching the crimson liquid dance against the rim. “I must say, I didn’t expect Itachi Uchiha to have such a tender heart.”

Kisame’s grip on Samehada tightened.

His body tensed, muscles coiling, the sharp edge of his patience finally snapping.

But before he could move—

A hand.

Small. Pale. Blocking his path.

“Kisame.”

A single word. Low. Steady.

Kisame froze.

Not because he wanted to. Not because he agreed.

But because it was her.

And the man saw it.

The moment. The hesitation. The way Kisame, the Monster of the Hidden Mist, had stopped at the command of someone so much smaller, so much quieter.

A slow, delighted smirk curled at his lips.

“Oh,” he murmured. “Now that is interesting.”

Kisame’s fingers twitched against the hilt of his sword, his breath coming heavier.

The man tilted his head. “Such a strong, ruthless warrior,” he mused, eyes glinting with amusement. “And yet, all it takes is a whisper from a delicate woman to make you sit.”

The man leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand, studying her the way a scientist might observe something fascinating in a jar.

The man sighed, swirling the last remnants of his wine. “You’re so cold,” he murmured, tilting his head. “That face of yours—so emotionless, so unreadable.” His lips curled into something like admiration. “You must fool a lot of people with that, huh? They look into those dead eyes and see nothing.”

His smirk sharpened.

“But me?” He leaned forward slightly. “I see everything.”

Kisame stilled.

And in the next breath—

Red.

The air shifted. The flickering light stretched, distorted.

A single flick of movement—her eyes bleeding into crimson.

The man's smirk faltered, just for a second. Just long enough.

Tsukuyomi.

The world twisted.

A sudden collapse of time.

His glass shattered against the floor, but the sound barely reached his ears. The room darkened, the walls stretched, elongated into an endless void. The ground beneath him crumbled into nothing.

And then—

Pain.

Days. Weeks.

Endless, unrelenting agony.

The weight of blades, slicing into his flesh. The feeling of his bones breaking, over and over and over. The sound of his own screams echoing through eternity, raw and torn apart.

His breath hitched. His body trembled.

And then—it ended.

The agony ceased. The world snapped back into focus.

He was back in his chair.

Panting. Drenched in sweat.

The wine glass lay shattered at his feet, its contents spilled like fresh blood across the floor.

And crouched before him—was her.

Itachi knelt at his level, eyes still red, expression eerily calm. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft. Dangerous.

"Now you see what's in my eyes."

A pause.

The air between them thickened, suffocating.

Itachi’s gaze didn’t waver.

"Tell me what I need to know."

The man sucked in a breath, his body trembling from the aftershocks of the illusion. But he was still smiling.

Because he understood something now.

They wouldn’t kill him. Not yet.

Not until they got what they wanted.

And since he was already dead—

Why not have a little fun?

His lips parted, breathless, weak.

And then—he grinned. A slow, broken thing, lips trembling from exhaustion but stretching wide, mocking.

“Everyone calls you a prodigy. A genius. A disciplined warrior with nerves of steel.” He chuckled. “But I know the truth.”

Kisame’s heart pounded in his ears.

The air around them felt different now.

Because this wasn’t defiance. This was something worse.

The man wasn’t fighting for his life.

He was enjoying this.

The man let out a breathless chuckle, his voice hoarse from the aftershocks of pain. But there was amusement there, twisted and cruel.

“When you slaughtered your clan—when you cut them down, one by one—”

His voice dropped, thick with amusement.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Silence.

A sharp, ringing silence.

Itachi didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t react.

But Kisame felt it.

The smallest flicker in her eyes. The faintest shift in her breath.

And suddenly—he wasn’t smiling anymore.

The man leaned back, smug, victorious.

“That’s what I thought.”

The man exhaled, breath ragged, but his smirk didn’t fade.

Instead, it widened.

“Now I see.” His voice was weak now, hoarse from the aftershocks of Tsukuyomi, but dripping with satisfaction. “That’s why you keep him so close.”

His gaze flicked lazily toward Kisame. “That’s why he follows you.”

Kisame stilled.

The man chuckled. “You had me fooled for a moment. I almost believed the stories—the heartless Itachi Uchiha, the cold prodigy, the untouchable ghost of the Akatsuki.” His bloodied fingers twitched against the armrest, the wine glass still shattered at his feet.

“But you’re not untouchable, are you?” His smirk sharpened. “You feel. You regret.” His voice dropped, rich with mockery. “You’re not a ghost.”

A pause. A beat. The room felt like a tightening noose.

Then—he turned to Kisame.

“And now I see why you worship her.”

Kisame’s fingers curled around Samehada.

“Someone like you—a beast who knows only blood—must have found it fascinating, huh?” His lips curled, smug. “A monster pretending to be human.”

He let out a breathless, giddy chuckle, licking the dryness from his lips.

“But that’s the thing about pretending,” he mused. “It doesn’t make her any less of a monster.”

Silence.

His head tilted slightly, something close to pity in his eyes.

“And you—you follow her, defend her, kill for her—” he exhaled sharply through his teeth, as if the thought amused him. “But for what?”

Kisame’s grip tightened.

“You worship a ghost,” the man murmured. “A hollow, worthless thing that died long ago.”

Then, his gaze flicked back to her.

And suddenly—his amusement faded.

His voice turned low, sharp, cruel.

“You think if you play hero by saving those innocents, it’ll redeem you.”

The room felt colder.

The candlelight flickered, stretching their shadows long against the marble walls.

Itachi didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t breathe.

The man’s smirk widened, triumphant.

“But no.” His voice was almost gentle. Soft. Final.

He leaned in, his bloody lips parting in something almost like sympathy.

"You don’t deserve to walk this earth, my girl."

Kisame felt it.

The words slithered through the air, slow and deliberate, thick with mock pity.

The man’s voice dropped even lower, turning to a whisper.

"You deserve to live in disgrace.
You deserve to suffer.
You deserve to burn in hell.”

Then—

Then, he laughed.

Low. Amused. Final.

Then—

He spit.

And that—

That was when Kisame snapped.

Samehada swung. Hard.

It was Itachi’s kunai that caught it, steel shrieking against Samehada.

A clash of raw force against quiet precision.

Kisame’s breath came heavy, rough, his grip white-knuckled on the hilt of his blade. His eyes burned as he stared her down.

Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Unshaken.

“What’s wrong with you?”

And Kisame—Kisame broke.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

The walls seemed to press inward, suffocating. The candlelight flickered, shadows stretching like specters, waiting for blood.

For the first time since they met—

He wasn’t just following.
He wasn’t just defying.

He was yelling at her.

He was challenging her.

His grip on Samehada tightened until his knuckles turned white.
His teeth bared, sharp and furious.

"Do you even feel anything?!"

His voice was raw, edged with something uglier than anger.

"Or do you just want to sit there and let the whole damn world spit on you?"

He pushed forward. Hard.

Their weapons slid—her kunai skidded against the massive weight of Samehada—

Kisame’s swing landed.

Not a clean kill.

Not instant.

A deep, brutal cut, tearing across the man’s ribs. Blood poured, pooling fast, soaking into the floor.

He gasped—choking, gurgling, but still alive.

Still bleeding.

Still suffering.

Unable to say a word.

And Kisame—Kisame had made sure of it.

He turned back to Itachi, voice lower now. Sharper. Final.

“No one should keep breathing after they spit on Itachi Uchiha.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

And Itachi—She stood up, dusting her cloak.

Unblinking.

Unreadable.

And Kisame?

Kisame realized—he had just crossed a line.

The air was thick with the stench of blood.

Their boots echoed against the marble floor, quiet against the symphony of death they left behind.

Neither spoke.

Kisame’s breath was still heavy, still edged with lingering anger, but he didn’t say a word. Not yet.

Itachi walked ahead, silent as a ghost, her expression unreadable.

They reached the exit. Almost.

Then—She stilled.

A shift so subtle Kisame barely noticed at first.

But something about it—the way her shoulders stiffened as if realizing something, the way her fingers curled just slightly at her sides—made the air in the room feel colder.

Then—she turned.

Without a word, she walked back.

Kisame watched as she moved past the corpses, stepping over the pools of blood that stretched like ink across the floor.

Her steps were slow. Deliberate. Unforgiving.

And then—she stopped.

The first guard.

The one who had commented on her looks.

The one she had put under genjutsu before the fight even began.

He was still slumped against the wall, his body limp, trapped in the horror of the illusion she had woven into his mind.

Until now.

She knelt beside him, fingers brushing lightly against his forehead.

His breath hitched.

His eyes snapped open.

For a second, he looked lost. Confused. His gaze darted wildly around the room—only to land on the bodies.

The corpses of his comrades.

The blood. The carnage.

Realization crashed into him.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his body trembling.

“N-No—” he choked out, hands scrambling against the floor.

Itachi said nothing.

She simply watched him.

Expression blank.

Unmoving.

Cold.

His breath came in quick, shallow gasps. “Wait—please—” He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “I’ll tell you anything—anything you want to know—”

Itachi tilted her head slightly, her crimson gaze locked onto his.

“The slaves.”

The man nodded frantically.

“They—they’re in the underground cellars—beneath the eastern courtyard—hidden behind the storage rooms—”

His words tumbled out in a desperate rush.

Then—silence.

His gaze darted back to her face, searching.

Begging.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I told you. I— I helped you. I don’t want to die. Please.”

Itachi stared at him for a moment.

Long enough for hope to flicker in his eyes.

Then—

She stood.

Her eyes lowered to him, unreadable.

And then—she smiled.

A small, empty thing.

“Charming, am I?”

The man's breath hitched.

His face drained of color.

Then—before he could speak—before he could even scream—

The kunai flashed.

A clean, precise cut.

His throat opened in a single, fluid motion.

Blood spilled onto the marble, mixing with the rest of the slaughter.

He choked. Gurgled.

Fell.

And then—Itachi turned away.

She didn’t look back.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t acknowledge the life she had just taken.

She simply walked past Kisame, stepping out into the night air.

Still silent.

Still unreadable.

And Kisame—Kisame said nothing.

Because for the first time in a long time—

He could tell.

She was in a bad mood.

—-

The fire pit burned low and slow, embers pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the charred wood.

Outside, the night was warm and quiet.

Soft.

A light rain dripped from the heavens, gentle, rhythmic, painting the world in silver streaks. It wasn’t a storm—just a slow, steady drizzle, enough to cool the air, enough to fill the silence.

Inside the hideout, Kisame stirred.

He blinked up at the stone ceiling, his mind drifting, slipping.

Back to that night.

The scent of blood. The hum of his own anger in his veins. The sharp clash of steel against steel—the first time he had ever turned his blade against her.

It had been days since then.

Days, and neither of them had spoken about it.

Not about how he defied her.
Not about how he raised his voice at her.
Not about how she looked that night—pissed, unreadable, radiating something colder than he had ever seen before.

He had seen Itachi kill before.

But that?

That had been different.

That had been something else.

Because she had planned to spare him, even after that mock commentary.

Kisame knew it.

But then—Something changed.

Instead of leaving him to live—she made a choice.

Kisame didn’t know if he should be concerned…

Or impressed.

Kisame exhaled through his nose, running a hand over his face before sitting up. His body ached, but not from battle.

Something else sat heavy in his chest.

He blinked, looking toward the other side of the fire pit.

Empty.

His gaze flicked toward the entrance.

He already knew where she was.

Kisame pushed himself to his feet, stepping outside.

The rain greeted him softly, whispering against his skin.

And there—just beyond the firelight—stood her.

Itachi.

Soaking. Still. Silent.

She stood beneath the open sky, her long hair darkened with rain, strands sticking to the curve of her jaw. Droplets ran down her skin, catching against the high collar of her cloak.

She wasn’t shivering. Wasn’t moving.

Just standing.

Drenched.

Kisame leaned against the doorway, arms folding across his chest.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, casual, cutting through the rain,

“Looking from here, it almost looks like you’re crying, Itachi-san.”

She didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

Didn’t answer.

The rain filled the silence between them, slow and unhurried.

Kisame watched her for a moment, then sighed.

Fine.

He stepped forward, crossing the short distance between them. The earth was damp beneath his feet, the scent of wet soil thick in the air.

Reaching her side, he shrugged his cloak off his shoulders.

And then—He held it above her head.

Like an umbrella.

Like he was shielding her from something she refused to step away from.

The rain pattered softly against the fabric.

Itachi didn’t react.

Didn’t move.

But Kisame noticed—her fingers twitched.

Just barely.

Just enough.

And then—She spoke.

Quiet. Barely above the rain.

"You know we’re damned, don’t you?"

Kisame blinked.

Her voice was quiet, like the words weren’t meant for him. Like she was just saying them to the rain, to the empty night.

And then—

“When it happens, I won’t be burning alone.”

A slow exhale left Kisame’s lips.

The words hung there, suspended in the rain.

Not a question. Not a plea.

Just a truth.

Kisame let the silence sit for a beat, for two.

Then—he huffed out a laugh.

Low. Amused. Maybe even a little resigned.

He shook his head, the rain sliding down his face, dripping off his chin.

“Hah. That so?”

Another pause. Another beat.

Then—he adjusted his grip on the cloak.

Holding it just a little steadier over her head.

“Well. Guess I’ll see you there, then.”

And just like that—just like always—he didn’t ask for anything more.

No questions. No pushing.

Just acceptance.

Because if they were already damned—

Then what was one more night standing in the rain?

——

New mission, they are sent to the border of the Land of Water—to the sea.

Kisame was looking forward to this one.

Something about the ocean always made him feel lighter.

The sea stretched infinitely before them, vast and endless, the waves rolling in a rhythmic lull. The salty air clung to their cloaks, the crisp breeze cutting through the warmth of the sun. The sound of crashing waves filled the silence between them.

Kisame inhaled deeply, his chest expanding as he took in the scent of salt and water. The ocean. His ocean.

“You seem to really miss this place.”

Her voice was quiet. Not a question, not quite a statement—just an observation. But coming from her, it was enough to make Kisame pause.

He glanced at her. She noticed.

Most people never paid attention to things like that. But Itachi… she had.

Kisame exhaled, resting Samehada against his shoulder. “Yeah, well. It’s home. Or—” he scoffed, “—as close as it gets.”

Itachi stood motionless, her dark eyes locked on the horizon. The wind tousled her hair, lifting strands and letting them fall across her face. Her expression was unreadable, but Kisame caught the faintest flicker in her gaze.

She had seen countless landscapes before. The misty valleys of Kiri, the scorched deserts of Wind Country, the snow-capped peaks of Iron. Yet, as she stood there, something in her posture felt… different.

Itachi was silent for a moment. Then—“I’ve never seen the ocean before.”

Kisame blinked.

He turned fully toward her. Never?

No way. That couldn’t be right. She had traveled across the continent, had been everywhere from the Land of Fire to the Land of Rain—

But then, as he really thought about it, the realization hit him.

She was a child soldier. She had spent her entire life training, fighting, killing. Her world had been mission after mission, war after war. When would she have ever had the time to stop and just… see?

She’s seeing the ocean for the first time.

The smell of grilled seafood drifted through the air, mixing with the salty breeze rolling in from the ocean. The sun was beginning to dip lower, casting long golden streaks across the coastline.

Kisame had dragged Itachi to a small coastal food stall along the boardwalk, despite her initial protests about staying discreet.

“Come on,” he had grinned, tossing a few coins onto the counter. “We’ve got time.”

Now, they sat on a wooden bench overlooking the water, the waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. Kisame bit into his grilled seafood skewer, savoring the smoky, seasoned flavor. Beside him, Itachi picked at her dango, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she were still absorbing the newness of the sea.

It was peaceful.

Until the seagulls arrived.

At first, it was just one. Then another. Then an entire flock.

Kisame noticed too late—the second he looked up, one of the damn birds swooped dangerously close to his food.

“Oi—back off!” Kisame barked, jerking his skewer out of reach. Another gull swooped in, beady eyes fixed on his meal. “I swear, if one of you pecks me, I’m turning you into grilled skewers instead!”

Beside him, Itachi was completely unbothered.

Then, without a word, she broke off a piece of dango and held it out.

Immediately, the seagulls abandoned Kisame, redirecting their assault toward her instead. One snatched the offering mid-air before flapping away, the others quickly following in pursuit.

Kisame blinked.

Did she just—?

He turned to her.

Itachi, as composed as ever, took another bite of her dango.

“…Are you making friends?” Kisame asked, still processing what he just saw.

She swallowed, then responded, calm and matter-of-fact:

“They are not after me.”

Kisame stared.

Then looked at his food.

Then at the birds.

Then back at her.

A slow realization settled over him.

“…You set me up.” His eye twitched.

Itachi didn’t confirm or deny it.

She simply took another bite of dango, watching as the last seagull disappeared over the waves.

Kisame exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “Of course you did.”

Itachi finally turned to him, her gaze unreadable. “Would you have preferred they attacked you instead?”

Kisame deadpanned. “I’d prefer not to be collateral damage at all, thanks.”

“Hm.” She took another bite.

Kisame shook his head. “Tch. Unbelievable.”

But then—he caught something.

It was small. Almost imperceptible.

But for the briefest moment, as she turned back toward the ocean…

She smiled.

Not a smirk. Not the subtle curve of amusement she sometimes gave when humoring him.

A real, quiet, fleeting smile.

And then—it was gone.

But Kisame saw it.

And for reasons he didn’t quite understand, it stayed with him long after.

After their meal, they headed to the shores.

The waves crashed lazily against the shore, the golden glow of the afternoon sun reflecting off the water’s surface. Kisame stretched his arms, inhaling deeply as the sea breeze rolled over them.

“Man, it’s been too long,” he sighed contentedly, rolling his shoulders. “Feels good to be home.”

Beside him, Itachi stood at the water’s edge, her gaze fixed on the endless horizon. The ocean was vast, stretching beyond sight, beyond boundaries. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

Kisame let out a low whistle. “You coming in?”

Itachi glanced down at the waves lapping at her feet, then back at him. She tilted her head.

“I don’t know how to swim.”

Kisame stopped.

Then turned to look at her.

Slowly, a grin spread across his face.

“You’re telling me—the Uchiha prodigy, the genius who mastered jutsu at age of four, the same Itachi Uchiha who can kill people just by looking at them—doesn’t know how to swim?”

Itachi blinked, her face as unreadable as ever. “Correct.”

Kisame burst out laughing.

“Oh, that’s rich.” He ran a hand down his face, still chuckling. “Damn. All this time I thought there wasn’t a single thing you couldn’t do.”

Itachi hummed lightly, then—without a word—began unfastening her cloak.

Kisame’s laughter faltered.

She shrugged off the Akatsuki cloak, letting it slip from her shoulders and pool into a dark heap on the sand. Beneath it, she wore her usual fitted attire—a short, above-the-knee purple robe layered over a mesh dress. She removed her shoes and unfastened her ninja tool pouch, setting them aside with quiet precision. Somehow, without the weight of the cloak draped over her, she looked… different.

Lighter.

Less like a walking death sentence, and more like a person.

Itachi stepped forward, the waves rushing around her ankles as she moved deeper into the water.

Then, she looked over her shoulder, amusement flickering in her usually blank gaze.

“I hope you’ll save me if I drown.”

Kisame stared.

Then—he grinned, sharp and full of teeth.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret saying that.”

And with that, the ocean became their playground.

With a flick of his hands, Kisame weaved a quick series of signs—chakra rippled through the water, and suddenly, a large, rolling wave rose beneath Itachi, lifting her up as if the ocean itself had decided to carry her.

For a split second, she almost panicked. But then, as the wave steadied, her stance adjusted, and she—laughed.

A genuine, unrestrained laugh.

It was quiet, breathy, but it was real.

Kisame had never heard it before.

And it was beautiful.

They spent hours there, losing themselves in the sea.

It was reckless. It was meaningless. It was everything they never had before.

At some point, their cloaks had been left forgotten on the shore, their criminal identities discarded, if only for the moment. They weren’t Itachi Uchiha and Kisame Hoshigaki, members of a terrorist organization.

They were just two people, living.

For once.

By the time they finally settled back onto the sand, the sky had begun shifting into warm hues of orange and violet.

Kisame exhaled deeply, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Damn, I needed that.”

Itachi sat beside him, her wet hair clinging to her back. Her eyes followed the movement of the waves, their endless push and pull against the shore.

Kisame glanced down and picked up a small seashell. Wordlessly, he handed it to her.

Itachi raised a brow. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Put it to your ear.”

She gave him a skeptical look but did as he said.

A faint whisper of the ocean echoed inside.

Itachi closed her eyes. For the first time in a long time, she just listened.

A peaceful silence settled between them.

Then, after a while, she spoke.

“…Do you ever regret joining Akatsuki?”

Kisame stared at the horizon, his expression unreadable. He thought about that for a long moment.

Then, finally, he shook his head.

“Not a bit.”

Itachi turned to him, slightly surprised.

Kisame let out a small, breathy chuckle. “Because if I hadn’t joined… I wouldn’t have met you.”

Itachi blinked, her gaze flickering toward him, but she said nothing.

Kisame didn’t look at her. He just stared ahead, watching the way the waves curled and retreated, endlessly repeating, never stopping.

He exhaled. “Y’know… not all of us get to choose how we live.” His voice was quieter now, the usual rough edge dulled. “But maybe we can still choose how we keep going.”

Itachi didn’t respond, but he knew she was listening.

He leaned back on his palms, stretching his legs out. “This whole shinobi world is rotten. Always has been. No matter where you go, it’s the same story—people kill for power, people die for power. We were just unlucky enough to be caught in the worst of it.”

His gaze drifted to her hands, resting lightly in her lap. The same hands that had painted his nails. The same hands that had cut down men without hesitation. The same hands that had trembled ever so slightly when she thought no one was looking.

Kisame sighed. “I dunno. Maybe… if someone like you could walk a different path, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

It was subtle. A thought spoken into existence, lingering in the space between them.

Not a plea. Not a request. Just a possibility.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Then, finally, she looked at the sea.

Her expression didn’t change. Her posture remained the same. But something about her felt different.

Like she was considering it.

Not the life Akatsuki had given her. Not the path she had resigned herself to.

Just this.

The endless stretch of ocean before her. The wind, the salt in the air, the sound of the waves crashing and retreating.

Just this moment.

And him.

Kisame didn’t say anything else. He just watched her, wondering if she had ever really looked at the horizon before. If she had ever really thought about a world beyond what she was forced to know.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t turn away.

Didn’t deny it.

She let out a quiet hum, barely audible over the rolling waves. Then, without a word, she dropped back onto the sand, lying flat, staring up at the sky.

Her lips—soft, barely noticeable—were curved upward. Not a smile. Not quite. But something close.

Kisame blinked.

His gaze trailed over her, drawn in before he could stop himself.

Her wet clothes clung to her frame, outlining the subtle contours of her body. Strands of damp black hair fanned out around her, tousled from the ocean breeze, mixing with the fine grains of sand. There was something about this contrast—the untouchable, ethereal Itachi Uchiha, draped in something so natural, so human.

She looked… charming.

Beautiful, even.

And that was dangerous.

Kisame barely had time to check himself before her voice, smooth as ever, cut through the moment.

“Keep looking at me like this, and I might think you have inappropriate intentions.”

Kisame choked.

“What—” His entire brain short-circuited. “The hell are you—”

Itachi, completely unbothered, closed her eyes.

Kisame clenched his jaw, dragging a hand down his face. “Tch. You’re doin’ this on purpose.”

“Am I?”

“You are.”

She hummed again. Smug. Amused. At ease.

Kisame groaned, flopping back onto the sand beside her. “You’re a menace, Itachi-san.”

“Mm.” She exhaled slowly, voice softer now. “Maybe.”

Kisame turned his head slightly, watching the way her chest rose and fell, slow and steady, like she wasn’t thinking of war, of death, of anything beyond this moment.

That night, the stars burned bright against the endless stretch of sky, the moon casting its soft glow upon the sand, upon them.

For once, they weren’t criminals. Not Akatsuki. Not ghosts walking a path of blood.

Just them.

Two souls adrift in a world that had never given them a place. The ocean whispered its lullaby, waves lapping gently at the shore, as if time itself had stilled—just for them.

Maybe, in another life, things could have been different.

Maybe, just maybe, this moment was enough.

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—

Chapter Text

The morning was fresh. Crisp air, cool breeze. Unforgivingly normal.

Kisame’s head still ached—a dull, lingering after-effect from the sake. Or maybe it wasn’t just the sake. Maybe it was the sheer weight of everything else, but—he did not look at her.

Nope.

Not a glance.

Not when she moved effortlessly through her morning routine. Not when she tucked her hair behind her ear. Not when she adjusted the sleeves of her cloak with careful precision.

Nothing.

Because if he did look at her, he might actually have to acknowledge—

Nope. Nope.

Kisame cleared his throat, pushing himself up.

“Itachi-san,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go buy us some breakfast.”

A pause.

Then—Itachi turned toward him.

Slow. Measured.

A flicker of amusement—just barely—before she lowered her lashes.

“…Running away so soon?”

Kisame choked on air.

His brain short-circuited.

She did NOT just say that.

His fingers twitched. His pride flared.

Alright. Fine.

Kisame, for the first time in his life, attempted to tease back.

He smirked. “Tch. What, you miss me already?”

Silence.

Then—Itachi tilted her head.

Kisame’s smirk faltered.

Oh, no.

She wasn’t backing down.

She wasn’t brushing it off.

She was leaning into it .

“Hm.” She exhaled, voice dipping just enough—soft, lazy, unreadable.

“…Should I?”

Kisame’s soul ascended.

ABORT.

This was a mistake. A critical failure.

He was not winning this.

Itachi turned away, utterly unbothered, as if she hadn’t just ended his entire bloodline.

She adjusted the sleeve of her cloak, completely calm, and murmured—

“Don’t get lost, Kisame.”

Kisame stormed out.

And behind him—Itachi chuckled.

The village square was already awake. Shops opening, vendors setting up, the scent of fresh rice and roasted fish drifting through the morning air.

Kisame took his time.

Not because he needed to—but because he wasn’t ready to go back yet.

But eventually—he did.

Eventually—he sat across from her, plates between them, tea steeping in their cups.

And he still didn’t look at her.

Nope.

Not even once.

Not even when she took slow sips of tea, when the quiet clink of her cup against the table filled the air.

Not even when he could feel her gaze flicker to him, just slightly.

He was not falling for that again.

So, naturally—he did the only thing a man could do after being destroyed at dawn.

He changed the subject.

“So,” he muttered, swirling his tea. “What do you think? What’s so important that Pein summoned us so abruptly—abandoning our next mission?”

Itachi took a slow sip.

Unbothered.

As if last night and this morning hadn’t left Kisame’s entire existence in flames.

“Hm.” She placed the cup down gently.

Then—her lashes lowered slightly.

“…I imagine we’ll find out soon.”

Kisame stared.

Then exhaled sharply.

Of course she gave a cryptic answer.

Of course this morning wasn’t going to be normal.

He wasn’t surviving today, was he?

The road stretched long beneath them. Kisame rolled his shoulders, still feeling the slight stiffness from the battle before. They had eaten. They had walked. They hadn’t spoken about anything that mattered.

The teasing was over. Now, it was just silence.

It wasn’t uncomfortable. But it wasn’t calm, either.

It was… something else.

Then—they saw it.

A lone estate.

Bloodied.

The windows shattered. The door barely hanging onto its frame. The surrounding walls were stained with dark, dried streaks.

A massacre.

Political assassination, most likely. A rival faction, a personal vendetta—it didn’t matter.

Kisame barely spared it a glance, stepping around a body slumped against the threshold. He’d seen it before. He’d done it before.

They should’ve just kept walking.

But—Itachi stopped.

Kisame frowned, glancing over his shoulder.

She stood still—staring.

Her gaze followed the destruction too long.

Then—she turned, stepping inside.

Kisame let out a quiet breath, muttered a curse, and followed.

It smelled like death.

The stench of blood clung to the air, thick and iron-strong, lingering like a ghost.

Kisame walked over the bodies without a second thought, scanning the scene out of habit. It was sloppy. Amateur. Too much damage, too much destruction for a professional hit.

Whoever did this wanted to send a message.

His foot nudged a body—he glanced down.

Slashed throat.

A quick death. At least they didn’t suffer.

And then—

Itachi stopped again.

Her gaze locked on something.

Kisame followed it.

And there it was.

A man—likely the target—his throat cut clean through.

But next to him—

Kisame’s breath hitched.

A child.

Small. Barely six, maybe seven. A fresh wound cut across his stomach, the blood long dried, his tiny body curled up—as if he’d died reaching for his father.

A beat.

A silence that rang too loud.

Itachi knelt.

Slow. Controlled.

Kisame swallowed.

The air was too still.

Something about the way she lowered herself, settled into the position, didn’t move—

It twisted something deep in his chest.

She wasn’t just looking at the bodies.

She was seeing them.

Kisame exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking between the dead father, the dead son, and the still, too-quiet figure beside them.

“Hm.” His voice was casual. Too casual. “I’d have done a cleaner job.”

No response.

He forced a smirk.

“Well. At least, that was before I met you, Itachi-san.” He glanced back at the child. “If this job was ours, I’m sure the kiddo would’ve survived.”

Still—nothing.

His smirk faded.

His chest tightened.

“…Right?”

The silence stretched.

Finally—she spoke.

“Would he?”

Kisame frowned.

Itachi still staring at the child.

“Would he have survived?” she murmured.

Kisame exhaled sharply, crossing his arms.

“Tch. What, are we really doing this?” His voice dipped, just slightly, irritation lacing the edges. “Itachi-san—how many times are we gonna have this conversation?”

No response.

Just her staring.

Kisame’s jaw clenched.

“It doesn’t matter how many you spare,” he said, voice rougher now. “There will always be someone else who won’t.”

Still—she didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Kisame stepped closer, staring down at her.

“You risked yourself too many times for this, Itachi-san,” he muttered. “Your job. Your life.” A pause. “For what?”

Finally—she turned.

Her gaze lifted.

Something cold.

Something dangerous.

“You’ve already decided this world is cruel,” she said, voice smooth. “So why should you care if I decide otherwise?”

Kisame stilled.

Something in his chest coiled.

Because this—

This was different.

She had never—

She always brushed it off. Always let it go. Always let the silence win.

But now?

She was fighting him.

Not with blades.

Not with jutsu.

But with words.

And for the first time—Kisame didn’t know how to block.

His fingers curled at his sides.

“Because it’s pointless,” he snapped, sharper than he meant. “You really think sparing one life makes a damn difference?”

A pause.

Then—Itachi’s lashes lowered.

And then—

Soft.

Quiet.

Final.

“…I think it made a difference to them.”

A sharp twist in his chest.

Something ugly.

Something painful.

Kisame inhaled, his jaw tight.

A long silence.

Then—he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“…Tch. That’s a foolish dream, Itachi-san.”

He knew what was coming. He felt it.

It wasn’t the first time she stopped like this. Wasn’t the first time he had to watch her stare at the dead like she was seeing herself in them.

And normally—normally—she would say nothing.

She would stand up, brush the dust off her cloak, and walk forward.

But today—she didn’t move.

Itachi’s lips parted.

A slow inhale.

Then—she looked at him.

Really looked at him.

And asked the one thing that shattered him.

“Then why did you offer it to me?”

The world stopped.

Kisame’s stomach dropped.

His breath hitched.

No.

No, don’t do this, Itachi-san.

Not here. Not now.

Not after last night.

His jaw clenched, the memory of what he had said—of what he had admitted—slamming into him at full force.

“If you ever wanted to walk away… you wouldn’t have to do it alone.”

He had said that. He had meant it.

But now?

Now, in the light of day, with her staring at him like that—like she was actually considering it—

He wanted to take it back.

So he did.

A scoff. Dismissive. Sharp.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Itachi-san. I was drunk.”

The lie slid off his tongue smoothly. Too smoothly.

Like he had done it a thousand times before.

Like he hadn’t meant every damn word.

Itachi’s head tilted slightly. Her gaze sharpened—not accusing. Not angry.

Just… knowing.

Like she could see right through him.

Like she already knew the truth.

And then—she said it.

“You hate liars, don’t you?”

Kisame stopped breathing.

His entire body tensed, heat flashing through his chest too fast, too much, too painful.

She was right.

And he hated that she was right.

She wasn’t pushing. Wasn’t demanding an answer.

She didn’t have to.

Because they both knew.

Kisame exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, forcing a smirk. Fake. Forced.

Then—he turned.

Started walking.

And didn’t look back.

“Don’t push this, Itachi-san.”

Because if she did—if she made him admit it—

Then he couldn’t pretend anymore.

Couldn’t pretend that being with her wasn’t changing him.

Couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t the only person left who made him feel human.

Couldn’t pretend that he didn’t mean it.

That he didn’t want her to take his offer.

That if she ever did decide to walk away…

He would follow.

And that?

That was too much.

So he walked.

Because if he stopped—

If he turned back—

If he saw her face one more time…

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep lying.

Kisame walked.

Didn’t look back. Didn’t slow down.

Just kept moving.

Footsteps followed.

Soft. Steady. Controlled.

Itachi.

She had stood up. Had fallen into step beside him without a word.

Like always.

Like nothing had changed.

But Kisame knew better.

Something had.

The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.

And then—finally—she spoke.

“Kisame.”

His jaw tightened.

Her voice was smooth, steady, almost indifferent—almost.

“We are damned.”

She wasn’t asking.

She wasn’t wondering.

She was stating a fact.

A simple truth, laid bare between them.

He huffed, shaking his head.

“Tch. Always so dramatic, Itachi-san.”

But she didn’t react. Didn’t tease back.

Just kept walking.

Then—softly—

“You know it, too.”

Kisame’s smirk faltered.

His fingers twitched.

Because she was right.

They had done too much. Seen too much. Left too many bodies behind.

If hell was real, it was waiting for them with open arms.

And yet—

“We’re not going to fight for a spot in heaven.”

It wasn’t a question.

Kisame let out a low chuckle.

“You got that right.”

Another pause.

Then—

“Then why not savor this life while we have it?”

Kisame turned his head, finally looking at her.

And Itachi—Itachi was watching the road ahead, her face calm, unreadable, her purple nails tapping idly against her sleeve.

Like she wasn’t casually rebranding their entire existence.

His brows raised slightly.

“That so?”

“Hn.” She nodded. “If we are devils, then let us be devils with purpose.”

Kisame’s smirk widened, curiosity flickering in his sharp eyes.

“You got a plan, Itachi-san?”

She glanced at him then, a slow, deliberate look.

“You said it yourself once, didn’t you? The strong devour the weak. The world is cruel.”

Kisame hummed. He did say that.

She tilted her head slightly.

“Then let’s decide who gets devoured.”

The air around them shifted.

Kisame stopped walking.

Turned. Looked at her fully.

Because that—that was something new.

For the first time, she wasn’t just brushing things off with cryptic words.

For the first time—she was choosing.

Deciding.

Giving them a purpose, a reason to be the devils they already were.

And the worst part?

It made sense. Too much sense.

Kisame exhaled slowly, running a hand over his jaw.

“So, what? We only take the scumbags now?” His voice was light, almost teasing.

Itachi’s lashes lowered slightly.

“Yes.”

Silence.

Kisame chuckled, rolling his shoulders.

“Tch. Never thought you’d start preaching morality to me, Itachi-san.”

She blinked at him, expression still calm.

“Morality is a construct. Justice is a choice.”

Kisame grinned.

There it was.

That was the Itachi he knew.

He let out a slow, deep breath, stretching his arms behind his head as he started walking again.

“Alright then,” he mused, voice thoughtful. “Devils with a cause. Sounds like fun.”

Itachi hummed in agreement, following beside him.

And for the first time in years—

Kisame felt like they were walking toward something, instead of just running from their sins.

The sun hung high, burning away the mist.

Two figures walked side by side.

One—tall, broad, a beast of a man, sword slung over his back.

The other—smaller, poised, deadly quiet, crimson eyes unreadable.

They didn’t look back.

The past was set in blood.

And ahead?

Their future was theirs to decide.

——-

The dim glow of torches flickered along the stone walls as two figures strolled into the hideout—side by side.

Kisame rolled his shoulders, arms behind his head, Samehada slung lazily over his back. Itachi walked beside him, silent, composed, her posture as effortless as ever.

And yet—

The second they entered—every single pair of eyes turned to them.

A slow, synchronized shift.

A pause.

And then—

💥 Deidara smirked, the first to break the silence. “Ohhh, look who finally decided to show up, yeah.”

🎭 Sasori, barely looking up from repairing one of his puppets. “Took your time. What, had a late night?”

🔪 Hidan, grinning way too wide: “Or an early morning?”

💰 Kakuzu, barely even glancing up from counting his ryo: “If this is going where I think it’s going, I want in on the betting pool.”

Before Kisame could even react—

👺 Tobi shot up from his seat, throwing his hands in the air. “OH, TOBI KNOWS THIS ONE!”

👺 Tobi, clapping excitedly: “KISAME-SENPAI, DID YOU BRING BACK SOUVENIRS?!”

💥 Deidara, wheezing: “Tobi, what the hell are you—”

👺 Tobi, nodding sagely: “LIKE A MAGNET OR A LITTLE KEYCHAIN! SOMETHING TO REMEMBER YOUR TRIP!”

🔪 Hidan, smirking: “Tch. Pretty sure the only souvenir they brought back was each other.”

💥 Deidara, cackling: “Wait, wait—so what was it, yeah? A romantic getaway? A second honeymoon?”

🎭 Sasori, smirking. “Oh, please. We all know Kisame spent half the time carrying her bags.”

Kisame twitched.

Itachi—without breaking stride—tilted her head slightly. Cool, collected, completely unbothered.

🐦‍⬛“Hmm. We did stay in an inn.”

Silence.

A pause.

Then—absolute chaos.

💥 Deidara whistled. “Shit, I should’ve put more on last night, yeah.”

🔪 Hidan, gleeful: “HAH! I KNEW IT!”

💰 Kakuzu, sighing: “Looks like I’m collecting from Sasori.”

🎭 Sasori, narrowing his eyes. “Tch. No way. No proof.”

💥 Deidara, cackling: “Oh, come on, yeah. Look at ‘em! They’re practically glowing.”

🦈 Kisame froze. Glowing?!

👺 Tobi, dramatically clutching his chest. “OH NO, SENPAI, YOU DIDN’T EVEN BRING ME A POSTCARD?!”

Hidan threw an arm around Kisame’s shoulders, laughing like a lunatic.

🔪 Hidan: “So, tell me, how was she? Was she—”

A sword swung.

Samehada sliced through the air, missing Hidan’s neck by a hair’s breadth.

Or—so it seemed.

Because his head was already flying off his shoulders.

🔪 Hidan’s head, hitting the ground with a dull thud: “OH YOU BASTARD—”

💰 Kakuzu, pinching the bridge of his nose. “For f*ck’s sake.”

🔪 Hidan’s head, rolling slightly: “DAMN IT, KAKUZU, PUT ME BACK TOGETHER—”

💰 Kakuzu, completely deadpan: “No.”

🔪 Hidan, incredulous: “WHAT?!”

💰 Kakuzu, staring at Kisame. “If you’re going to keep cutting him apart, I’m going to start charging you for the stitches.”

Laughter erupted.

Deidara was wiping away actual tears.

Sasori was smirking, shaking his head.

Even Zetsu’s white half was cackling.

And then—

The real kicker.

🔥 Pein, rubbing his temples: “…At least pretend to be professionals.”

Silence.

Then—

💥 Deidara: “Boss, you’re grinning.”

🔥 Pein, deadpan: “No, I’m not.”

💥 Deidara, laughing: “Yeah, you are, yeah.”

🔥 Pein, sighing. “Let’s… just start the meeting.”

And just like that—Kisame’s patience was officially dead.

As the laughter died down, Itachi moved smoothly across the room and sat down beside Konan, who had been silently observing the chaos.

Konan tilted her head slightly, a hint of amusement flickering in her golden eyes.

☁️“You know, Itachi,” she said quietly, just for her ears. “You’re taking this joke too far.”

Because of course. Konan didn’t believe it.

She knew these idiots too well. The others were just harassing Kisame for sport.

Itachi was just playing along.

Right?

Right?

Konan expected a simple response. Maybe a dismissive Hn.

Instead—

Itachi took a slow sip of her tea.

Then—she murmured, just loud enough for Kisame to hear:

🐦‍⬛“Hmm. Wasn’t much of a joke at the time.”

Silence.

Kisame choked.

On absolutely nothing.

Dead. He was dead.

And then—chaos.

🔪 Hidan, practically convulsing: “OH—HOLY SH*T—DID YOU HEAR THAT?!”

💥 Deidara, banging the table: “THAT’S IT, I’M RAISING THE BET, YEAH.”

🎭 Sasori, smug as hell: “I told you. He was doomed the second she agreed to dinner.”

💰 Kakuzu, already writing in a ledger: “I don’t know who’s worse, you degenerates betting on this or Itachi for making it happen.”

🔪 Hidan, wheezing: “SHE DIDN’T EVEN DENY IT, BRO.”

💥 Deidara, gesturing wildly: “LOOK AT HIM—HE CAN’T EVEN TALK, YEAH.”

🦈 Kisame, eyes twitching: “I CAN AND I’M ABOUT TO KILL ALL OF YOU.”

💰 Kakuzu, unbothered: “Not before I collect my winnings.”

🔪 Hidan, wiping tears of joy: “Damn, Itachi, was he good or what?”

Kisame lunged at Hidan.

Hidan cackled like a madman.

💰 Kakuzu, sighing, already reaching for his thread: “Oh, for f*ck’s sake, NOT AGAIN—”

🔥 Pein, finally losing patience: “Enough.”

Silence. Absolute silence.

And then—

👺 Tobi, very loudly, clapping his hands together: “SOOOO—WHEN’S THE WEDDING?!”

💥 Deidara wheezed: “TOBI—”

🔪 Hidan screamed: “HOLY SH*T—TOBI, I’M GONNA KISS YOU.”

💰 Kakuzu, flatly: “If you do, I will kill you.”

💥 Deidara, barely breathing: “Bro—BRO—WE GOTTA POOL TO SEE WHO’S THE BEST MAN, YEAH.”

🎭 Sasori, nodding sagely: “I nominate myself.”

🦈 Kisame, absolutely seething: “I HATE ALL OF YOU.”

👺Tobi, gasping dramatically: “DOES THIS MEAN KISAME-SENPAI IS MY DAD NOW?!”

Kisame lunged at him.

Tobi screeched.

Zetsu was physically shaking.

🔥 Pein, fully regretting his existence: “For the love of—” He exhaled sharply. Rubbed his temples. And, against all odds, muttered under his breath:

“At least we know they’re bonding.”

Konan. Snorted.

And just like that—the entire room collapsed.

Even Zetsu f*cking laughed.

Kisame was done. Finished. Itachi had doomed him forever.

And she?

Didn’t even blink. Just calmly lifted her tea to her lips. Completely. Unbothered.

Kisame buried his face in his hands.

He was going to strangle her. Right here. Right now.

Konan exhaled. Slowly. She closed her eyes.

☁️“…You enjoy making his life difficult, don’t you?”

Itachi sipped her tea, unfazed.

🐦‍⬛“Perhaps.”

And Pein—oh, Pein had officially lost control of the Akatsuki.

After a couple minutes.

🔥 Pein cleared his throat.

The murmurs, the laughter, the chaos—all of it died.

 Zetsu steps forward.

🌿 White Zetsu, grinning: “Well, we got some news.”

🌿 Black Zetsu, voice even: “We were considering a candidate to replace Orochimaru.”

A pause.

🌿 White Zetsu: “The target we found was a rogue shinobi. Strong. But when we arrived, we didn’t find him. We found his corpse. And a message.”

🌱 Zetsu (Black half, voice light but deadly): “A warning. Left behind for us.”

That caught their attention.

🎭 Sasori, voice sharpening: “And the message?”

🌿 Zetsu (Black half, darkly): “‘Not interested in recruitment. But if you’d like to negotiate, we’ll be seeing you soon.’”

The words sent a ripple through the group.

A challenge.

No—a provocation.

That got their attention.

A flicker of interest sparked in several pairs of eyes.

🌿 White Zetsu, voice steady: “They know about us.”

The words were calm. Controlled. But the weight behind them was anything but.

“Not just that we exist—but details.”

“Our structure. Our goals. Our pairs.”

“Enough to predict our movements—enough to strike first.”

Silence.

Then—

🔪 Hidan, snorting: “Pfft. So what? They wanna play games with us? Let’s just hunt the bastards down.”

💥 Deidara, smirking: “Yeah, yeah. Blow ‘em to hell. Problem solved.”

🎭 Sasori, calmly: “That’s reckless.”

💥 Deidara, shrugging: “So? Reckless works.”

🔥 Pein: “Until we understand the full extent of this threat, Akatsuki stays low and close to each other.”

Pein’s gaze swept over them.

“No unnecessary destruction.”

💥 Deidara, crossing arms: “You’re taking away all the fun, leader.”

🔥 Pein, coldly: “I don’t care.”

🔥 “No reckless kills.”

Hidan groaned dramatically.

🔥 “No side bounty jobs.”

Kakuzu sighed loudly.

A pause.

Pein closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if considering.

Then—he opened them.

🔥 “Zetsu will continue tracking this other organization. If they are as calculated as they seem, they will move again soon—and we will be ready.”

A pause.

🔥 “However—we cannot reject clients.”

A shift.

🔥 “We have a high-paying mission request. It’s not far from here. Routine work—political assassination, elimination of a high-value target. No large-scale destruction.”

His gaze flicked to one side of the room.

🔥 “And since we need this handled with efficiency—without collateral damage—”

A slight smirk curled his lips.

🔥 “Kisame. Itachi. You’re taking it.”

A beat.

Then—

🦈 Kisame exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Figured.”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, calm as ever: “Understood.”

The decision was made.

No further argument.

As Kisame and Itachi left the hideout, the air between them was quiet.

Then—

Kisame, smirking: “So, what do you think?”

Itachi, without looking at him: “About what?”

Kisame: “Oh, I dunno. The ‘new friends’ we apparently have.”

Itachi, voice unreadable: “I think we’ll meet them sooner than expected.”

Kisame chuckled. “Tch. And here I was hoping for a nice, peaceful mission.”

A slow exhale from Itachi: “…We don’t get those.”

The client is a high-ranking corrupt noble from a smaller, neutral nation. He has requested an assassination—but not just any. His own brother is leading a rebellion against him, trying to overthrow his rule and expose his dealings. The irony? He is as corrupt as his brother.

The client wants Akatsuki to eliminate his brother and the rebellion leaders before they gain traction.

The estate was quiet. Too quiet.

Kisame cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as they strolled through the grand double doors. The scent of incense and expensive wine lingered in the air. Velvet carpets. Golden chandeliers. A place built on blood money.

Itachi walked beside him, silent, measured, as always. Her fingers lightly trailed along the banister—elegant, deliberate. She already knew.

Kisame grinned, inhaling deeply. “Damn. Fancy place.” His hand settled lazily over Samehada’s hilt. “I wonder if they have private hot springs here.”

A shift in the air.

A flicker of movement.

Then—steel flashed.

Several dozen figures dropped from the balconies, blades gleaming, boots slamming against the marble floor.

Kisame sighed. “Right on time.”

And then—the killing began.

Blood sprayed against the pristine white columns.

Itachi moved like a ghost in the wind. Silent. Unstoppable. A single flick of her wrist—and three men fell.

Her kunai cut through a throat. A body slumped. She didn’t pause. Didn’t waste a movement. Shurikens spun through the air, embedding itself between multiple man’s ribs—perfect kills.

Another dozen turned to run—mistake.

Kisame was already there.

Samehada sang through the air, tearing into flesh. Blood sprayed as bodies hit the floor, one after another.

It wasn’t a battle.

It wasn’t even a challenge.

It was a massacre.

A desperate scream echoed from the far end of the hall—some guards trying to flee.

Itachi exhaled slowly, then lifted her hand—

A single, effortless seal.

A burst of flames erupted across the corridor.

Fire ball jutsu.

Their scream was swallowed by the fire before it could even finish.

Then their main target—didn’t have a chance to scream.

Silence followed. Not a single survivor. It was over in minutes.

They stepped outside.

Blood pooled across the marble floors, seeping into the cracks, soaking into the silk rugs. The scent of iron and burning flesh clung to the air.

And then—they walked.

Leaving only silence and death in their wake.

The night air was cool, crisp against the blood still drying on their skin. The faint scent of burning bodies lingered behind them. Kisame exhaled deeply, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they stepped out into the courtyard. “Ahhh, that was a damn workout.” 

Then—A slow clap.

A voice rang out through the open air.

“Disappointing. I betted on a faster time.”

They both stopped.

Across the courtyard, six figures lounged against the stone railing—completely unbothered. Relaxed. Too relaxed. Like they had been waiting.

Kisame’s gaze flickered between them, his grin stretching wider.

“Well, well.” He let out a low chuckle. “Looks like we’ve got fans.”

The second figure, a man with shaggy brown hair and a jagged scar running down his cheek, leaned forward, resting his chin against his knuckles.

“Well, at least they sent the duo we wanted.” His tone was casual, almost amused. “Predictable.”

Itachi’s fingers twitched slightly at her side. That was not a good sign.

Kisame, ever the social butterfly, grinned. “Tch. Well, now I’m curious. Who exactly are you bastards?”

The third one, the youngest-looking of the group—blonde hair, sharp green eyes—sighed dramatically.

“We’re the Blight.” He gestured lazily toward the others. “New management, new order. The future rulers of this little world.”

Kisame’s grin sharpened. “Oh, so you’re the idiots gunning for us.”

“Gunning for you?” The fourth one scoffed. He was older, broad-shouldered, a scarred-up veteran with a sword slung across his back. “Nah, man. We’re wiping you out. One pair at a time.”

“Starting with you.”

Kisame let out a sharp laugh. “Tch. Ambitious.”

The third one, the blonde, suddenly tilted his head, looking them over with something close to pity.

“Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Y’know, I always thought Akatsuki was overhyped. But seeing you two up close?” He snorted. “A group with your strength—and your resources—and the best you could come up with was matching cloaks?”

He gestured at their tattered, bloodstained Akatsuki cloaks with a slow shake of his head.

“Really. Why the hell did your boss waste money on fashion?”

Kisame let out a bark of laughter.

“I like the drip,” he shot back. “You got a problem with our aesthetic?”

The fifth one, a woman with dark eyes and long braided hair, smirked. “Well, it’s just funny, don’t you think? Fancy coats, cool little rings, some big, scary leader who acts like a god—” She exhaled. “And yet, here you are. Outnumbered.”

She leaned forward slightly, voice almost teasing.

“You Akatsuki pairs always work in twos. That’s your mistake.” She gestured behind her at her group. “See, we don’t do that. We move as a unit.”

The blonde chimed in, grinning. “And that’s why you’re about to get wiped off the damn map.”

Itachi tilted her head slightly. Finally, she spoke.

“Hm.” A slow blink. “Overconfident.”

The leader—a man with silver-streaked black hair and two mismatched eyes—finally stood, stretching. He was tall, effortlessly relaxed, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that marked him as dangerous.

“We’re not overconfident.” His voice was smooth. Even. “We just know how this ends.”

He took a step forward, and the others followed.

“Your leader wants world domination,” he continued. “We do, too. Difference is—” He tilted his head. “—we actually have a plan.”

He flicked his wrist. A blade slid into his hand.

“And that plan?” His smile widened. “Starts with making an example out of you two.”

The scarred swordsman smirked, dragging his own weapon from its sheath. “Your boss is gonna love what we send back.”

The blonde one grinned, sharp and wicked. “A bloodied Samehada for him to mourn…”

The woman with braids leaned forward, eyes glinting with amusement. “…and a fresh pair of Sharingan.”

She took a slow, deliberate step forward, her gaze dragging over Itachi like a predator sizing up prey.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head.

“A real kunoichi has her own style.” Her smirk deepened, voice turning sharp. “Her own mark. Her own presence.” A slow glance up and down. “Not just some oversized rag to hide behind.”

A slow grin. Taunting. Competitive.

Her fingers flexed over the hilt of her blade—long, sharp nails painted a deep, gleaming crimson.

“Shame, though.” She tilted her head, lazily dragging a slow glance over Itachi’s hands. “That purple looks good on you.” A smirk, dangerous. “Not that it’ll matter once I cut through you.”

Kisame raised a brow. Well. That was new.

Her smirk sharpened as she curled her fingers, tapping the hilt of her ninjatō.

“Hmph. But don’t worry—” she tilted her head, eyes glinting with something wicked, “I’ll tear through that cloak myself soon enough.”

Kisame choked.

On absolutely nothing.

Oh, Hidan would have lived for this.

He cleared his throat, dragging a hand down his face.

“Tch. The hell is this? Am I still drunk, or did this just turn into a damn kunoichi fashion debate and a strip threat?”

The woman grinned wider.

“Oh, come on.” She exhaled, smirking. “You sure you don’t wanna watch? Might be the last time you see your girlfriend before she’s stripped to nothing.”

Kisame twitched.

Ohhh, that was a challenge.

His sharp-toothed grin stretched wider. “Hah. Bold of you to assume you’ll live long enough to try.”

She laughed. Low. Dangerous.

“Oh, I know I will.” A pause.

Then—her grin turned sharp as steel.

“But you? Oof.” A mockingly slow shake of her head. “I’d love to see you mourn your little love.”

Kisame’s grip on Samehada flexed.

Then—he grinned: “Tch. Hidan would love this.”

The leader didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, don’t worry. We’ll be sending more soon enough.”

The scarred swordsman chuckled. “After this, next on the list? A head and five hearts.”

Kisame’s brow twitched.

Hidan and Kakuzu.

These bastards weren’t just talking. They were planning.

Itachi, meanwhile, didn’t react. Didn’t so much as shift her posture.

But—Kisame felt it.

That subtle shift in the air.

And so did everyone.

Because their grin—their taunting, overconfident amusement—faltered.

Just slightly.

And then—Itachi finally spoke.

Calm. Collected. Devoid of emotion.

“You talk too much.”

The air dropped.

The leader chuckled. “Oh? And what’s up with that?”

Itachi’s gaze flickered—deep red, spinning dangerously slow.

“…Fools who underestimate their opponents rarely live to regret it.”

Silence.

And then—They moved.

Not reckless. Not aggressive. Planned.

Kisame immediately shifted his stance, instincts flaring as the group fanned out.

A perfect, coordinated assault.

Their movements weren’t wild, weren’t testing—they knew exactly what they were doing.

Shit.

This wasn’t just some cocky mercenary group.

This was a team.

A real team. The kind that fought together for years.

A flicker of chakra behind him—

Kisame spun—Samehada rushed up to block—

But a shockwave tore through the air—not chakra, but pure force.

A blast—thunderous, concussive—sent him flying.

He barely had time to register the impact before his back slammed through a stone pillar—cracking it—before his body crashed into the next wall with a brutal crunch.

A seismic jutsu. An impact force-based technique, not unlike the destructive shockwaves of the Eight Gates.

His breath punched out of him—his grip on Samehada nearly slipped.

He could already tell.

That wasn’t just brute strength. That was a calculated technique.

The moment he staggered up, two figures flickered into his peripheral.

Shit.

He pushed off the rubble—Too late.

A second attacker was already moving—no chakra signatures.

But Kisame saw it too late—

A ripple of something twisted in the air—

A flash of metal—Then pain.

Something slammed through his shoulder—not a blade, not a kunai—something sharp, something light, something fast.

Kisame hissed through clenched teeth.

A f*cking sniper.

A second wound bloomed before he could react—a needle-thin blade tearing straight through his bicep, passing clean through.

The third figure landed smoothly a few meters away—casually adjusting a long-barreled crossbow.

A long-range combatant. A damn marksman.

Three against one.

Kisame barely had time to process before the third one rushed forward.

His instincts roared—Samehada came up to parry—

But this one didn’t dodge.

Didn’t block.

Instead—

His body twisted—a liquid, unpredictable shift—

Like water.

Kisame’s brain barely caught up before something cold and slick wrapped around his ankle.

A flicker of realization—

Shit.

Then—the third one yanked.

Kisame hit the ground.

Not hard—soft. Too soft.

Water.

A rapidly expanding pool of water beneath him.

Not a normal technique. Not just a water-style user.

Kisame’s eyes flickered up, scanning the fluid movement of the shinobi—his liquid shift, the way he barely had a physical form.

A seismic jutsu user, a long-range sniper , and— A water-form shinobi.

One of those rare bastards who could dissolve their own body into water.

No wonder they were so damn confident.

He grinned.

“Well, well,” he mused, blood dripping from his shoulder as he planted a foot down, forcing himself to stay upright.

“You guys actually know how to pick a fight.”

——

Meanwhile—

Itachi moved.

Her Sharingan flickered—taking in every movement, every shift in chakra, every flicker of intent.

The first opponent struck instantly.

Her blade—a razor-thin ninjatō—came down in an arc, fast, precise—

But Itachi was already moving.

A kunai deflected the strike, shifting the momentum—but the second enemy was already at her side.

A chakra-sealing jutsu.

Her Sharingan saw it before it activated—a specialized sealing array forming beneath her.

A trap seal.

Itachi’s muscles coiled—she moved in an instant, pivoting mid-air—

But the third enemy was waiting.

A vision-blocking jutsu.

A thick, unnatural black fog burst into the air—not just smoke.

This wasn’t ordinary mist.

Itachi’s Sharingan flickered, attempting to pierce through—but nothing.

Her vision snapped into total darkness.

A pure, chakra-based interference technique.

A genjutsu disruptor.

But then—footsteps. Movement. Coordination.

It wasn’t just a smokescreen.

They could see.

Her fingers twitched. Her mind calculated.

It only blinded her.

Not just her eyes. Her chakra perception. Her senses.

Her entire understanding of the battlefield was being suppressed.

And then—the blade came.

Fast. Precise. Unrelenting.

The weapon master was already on her again—this time, without her vision, without her precognition, she was relying purely on instinct.

A downward strike—She parried.

A twist—She barely sidestepped.

Then—A knee to her ribs.

Hard. Brutal.

She twisted mid-air, absorbing most of the impact, but still felt it.

Damn.

A chakra-sealing specialist.

A vision-blocking jutsu and genjutsu disruptor.

A taijutsu and weapons master.

They weren’t just skilled.

They were built to counter her.

Itachi landed smoothly, pivoting, adjusting.

Her Sharingan was useless against the black fog.

Her chakra control was worthless against a sealing master.

And her precision meant nothing against an opponent who thrived in pure taijutsu and swordsmanship, she doesn't stand a chance in this fog.

They had planned this.

They had studied her.

Her fingers twitched.

She had been playing defensively. Calculating. Analyzing.

But now—she understood.

Her Sharingan swirled.

Even if she couldn’t see them—

She could outthink them.

She lifted her hand.

And flicked her fingers.

And just like that—The real fight began.

—--

Kisame understood.

This wasn’t a simple ambush. They knew how to kill him.

His grip on Samehada tightened. Three versus one.
He had fought worse odds.

But these bastards—they were built for this.

They weren’t just strong.
They countered him. Perfectly.

He was a water-style monster—so they sent someone who could manipulate water better than him.

He was an unstoppable force on the ground—so they sent a seismic user to rip the battlefield out from under him.

He was a close-range combatant—so they sent a long-range sniper to keep him at bay.

Kisame gritted his teeth.

This was bad.

Kisame barely had time to react before the ground split apart beneath him. A seismic tremor ripped through the battlefield, a deliberate, calculated disruption meant to unbalance him. He pushed off, forcing himself airborne—only for a high-speed chakra bullet to slice past his cheek, missing his skull by mere inches. The sniper. His instincts screamed, urging him to move, to dodge, to counter—

But the moment his feet touched the ground, water surged up like tendrils, wrapping around his ankles with an iron grip. A sharp yank—he was dragged down. Kisame’s breath hitched. The third opponent—a water-form shinobi. The bastard wasn’t using water like him—he became the water itself. The realization was instant, but before he could even react, another shot tore into his ribs, sending shockwaves of pain through his torso.

The perfect counter.

He tried to twist free, but the water tightened around him like a living vice, pulling him under. The sniper had him locked from a distance. The seismic-user ensured there was no stable ground. And this water bastard—this bastard was actually trying to drown him.

For the first time in years, Kisame felt something cold crawl up his spine.

So that’s why they were so confident.

But if they thought this was enough to kill him—

They had no idea what they were dealing with.

A slow, dark grin spread across his face. He stopped fighting. Stopped struggling. Let himself sink. The water shinobi hesitated—a mistake. Kisame’s gills flared open. He inhaled deep, letting the water fill his lungs, and suddenly—he was not drowning.

He was feeding.

His chakra surged, monstrous and unrelenting, and then—he merged. 

His body expanded, transformed, fused with Samehada. His skin darkened to scales, his limbs elongated, his form twisted into something truly monstrous—a shark demon, massive and overwhelming. The moment he fully transformed, the ocean around him obeyed.

The water shinobi barely had time to react before Kisame’s clawed hand tore through him, shredding through liquid and flesh alike. A brutal, merciless execution. Blood bloomed in the water, dissolving in thick, crimson clouds. The sniper’s next shot was coming, Kisame could feel it, but he didn’t dodge—

He swallowed it whole.

The seismic-user panicked. His hands moved in a rapid flurry of signs, preparing another attack—but there was no ground left. No terrain to rip apart, no stability to anchor his jutsu. There was only ocean. And in the ocean—Kisame was God.

His tail whipped, sending a crushing wave barreling toward the sniper. The bastard tried to leap away, tried to find anything to grab onto, but there was nothing. Kisame was on him in an instant, jaws snapping around his torso, fangs piercing flesh and armor like paper. The sniper let out a strangled gasp before being ripped apart.

One left.

The seismic-user scrambled, clawing at the shifting waters, trying to form another hand seal—but it was too late. Kisame’s massive clawed hand swung down, grasping the man’s skull, dragging him beneath the surface. The last thing the bastard saw was glowing, inhuman eyes staring straight into his soul.

Then—darkness.

The ocean settled.

The bodies floated.

And Kisame rose.

The transformation faded, his body shrinking back into itself. His gills burned. His lungs ached. His muscles screamed. The strength that had surged through him moments ago had drained completely.

He stumbled. His knees buckled.

F*ck.

That was… too close.

He fell to all fours, Samehada digging into the dirt beside him. His breath was ragged, his vision blurred, his body trembling from the sheer exertion.

And it still wasn’t over.

Because as the blood mixed with the water, seeping into the battlefield—he could feel it.

More chakra. More movement.

More enemies.

And from the other side—Itachi.

Still fighting.

Still alive.

—--

A flick of her wrist—a sharp pulse of chakra—and a katana materialized in Itachi’s grasp. The steel gleamed under the faint moonlight, the air still, a breath before the storm.

Then—a blur.

The kunoichi was fast. The instant Itachi lunged, the woman met her blade-for-blade, her ninjatō clashing against the katana with a metallic screech. Sparks crackled between them as they twisted and weaved through the exchange, each strike precise, each movement calculated.

But Itachi’s vision blurred due to the black fog. Her Sharingan pulsed, straining against the thick, inky darkness that cloaked the battlefield. A presence—the disruptor. Blocking her sight, reducing her greatest advantage to nothing.

Then—pain.

A sharp, hot sting. Fabric tore.

She felt it. The kunoichi’s blade slicing through the loose folds of her Akatsuki cloak, cutting clean through the fabric, unraveling it like silk.

Itachi gritted her teeth, forcing her focus back to the blade-lock—

Shkk.

Another slice.

Another tear.

Then—a laugh. Low. Taunting.

The kunoichi was doing this on purpose.

"Ah, there it is,” the woman cooed. “Knew you had a body under there.”

Itachi’s cloak fell away. Her arms—exposed. The kunoichi grinned, taking a step back to admire her work.

“Tch. What a waste,” she hummed, tilting her head. “Hiding all that under a tasteless cloak.”

Itachi exhaled slowly. She was never competitive.

But this b*tch.

Fine. She would entertain her.

But only once.

Because the longer she stayed locked in this mockery of a duel, the more chakra the sealing specialist would drain from her.

No more playing. She ended it.

A surge of chakra. A shift in the air. And then—Susanoo erupted into existence.

The colossal ribcage of golden energy engulfed her in an instant, expanding outward—growing. Solidifying.

Panic.

The kunoichi’s mocking grin vanished.

The disruptor immediately began strengthening the vision block, thickening the darkness. Itachi narrowed her eyes—then lifted the Yata Mirror. The other two threw their best ninjutsu attacks towards her.

A shockwave rippled outward.

The kunoichi’s next attack bounced off the shield.

The disruptor released another pulse—thickening the black fog, trying to mask their movements—

Itachi inhaled.

And then—exhaled.

A massive fireball tore through the battlefield, its heat distorting the air.

Not to hit them. To make them move. To force them into visibility.

And they did.

The disruptor flickered into sight—just for a second.

A second was enough.

Itachi drove the Totsuka Blade forward.

A whisper of wind. A flash of steel. The disruptor’s body froze. His eyes widened.

The blade pierced his chest—and he was gone.

Sealed.

The black fog vanished.

The chakra-sealing specialist staggered into sight—wide-eyed, pale.

Itachi’s gaze flicked toward him.

He barely had time to blink before Amaterasu ignited him from head to toe.

He didn’t even scream.

And then—Only one remained.

The kunoichi—panting, gripping her ninjatō so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Itachi deactivated the Susanoo. The golden energy dispersed, fading into the night. She bent down, slowly picking up her katana from where it had fallen.

Then—her gaze lifted.

Cool. Collected. Unbothered.

"Now—" she murmured, rolling her shoulders slightly.

"Let’s see who the better kunoichi is."

The kunoichi growled. Then—they clashed.

Steel met steel in a deadly dance, katana against ninjatō, both relentless, both unforgiving. The kunoichi was strong, precise, deadly with a blade. But Itachi was faster. Sharper. More patient.

A feint. A shift. A perfectly timed parry.

And then—Itachi’s katana found its mark.

Straight through the kunoichi’s chest.

The woman choked, her body shuddering.

Itachi leaned in slightly.

Her voice—smooth. Quiet. Icy.

"Looks like I’ll be keeping my cloak on after all.”

The woman’s breath hitched, rage flickering in her eyes—desperate, furious, knowing she was about to die at the hands of the woman she mocked.

Itachi loomed over her—unbothered, unreadable, unstoppable.

Then—a slow blink.

“You really shouldn’t have taunted my boyfriend.”

A sharp inhale—realization, horror, disbelief—before the light flickered out in her eyes.

Itachi yanked her katana free, flicking the blood off the blade.

Itachi exhaled. 

Not competitive. Never competitive.

But this one?

This one had it coming.

Then—her own knees buckled.

The exhaustion crashed down all at once, her vision tilting.

Her katana slipped from her grip.

The world spun.

Her body swayed—And then—

She dropped.

The battlefield was silent.

The bodies lay motionless. The air—thick with smoke, the stench of blood, and the lingering heat of battle. Kisame, bruised, battered, and completely spent, forced his body forward. A limp. A stagger. A crawl.

His muscles screamed. His chakra—nearly gone. But his grin?
Still there.

He dragged himself forward, pushing past a slumped corpse, before his gaze finally landed on her.

Itachi.

Flat on her back, katana loose in her hand, chest rising and falling slowly.

Alive. Barely.

Kisame exhaled sharply. "Tch."

He collapsed onto his side next to her, resting his weight on his elbow, before rolling onto his back with a pained grunt.

A moment of silence.

A single breath.

Kisame mutters, “Damn… We should be dead.”

Itachi, still staring at the wreckage, replies, “We should.”

A pause. Then Kisame exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Tch. Guess that means we’re just too damn stubborn to die.”

Itachi tilts her head slightly, a small, knowing look, before she responds, “…Or we simply haven’t burned enough yet.”

Then—Kisame snorted.

"Y’know, these idiots died nameless."

Kisame smirked, breath still uneven. “Tch. At least when we die—” He tilted his head back, “We’ll be remembered as legends… with our cloaks.”

Itachi, still lying motionless, blinked up at the dark sky. Then, after a pause—

“Hm.”

Kisame turned his head slightly, watching as she flexed her fingers, still stained with blood.

“Maybe I should start using a katana more often,” she mused, voice as calm as ever. “Can’t die being famous for only the Devil’s Eyes.”

Kisame let out a hoarse, exhausted laugh. “Sh*t, Itachi-san. That’s the most egotistical thing you’ve ever said.”

Itachi tilted her head slightly, completely unbothered. “It’s called reputation management.”

A chuckle. Then—another.

Itachi rarely laughed. But when she did—when it was real— it was something dangerous.

They had survived.
And the reality of that should have sobered him.

But instead—

His blood was still running too damn hot.

Kisame turned his head. His gaze flickered.

It was still her.
But something was different.

The way her lips parted slightly, breath still unsteady. The way her torn, bloodstained clothes barely clung to her. The way her damn eyes watched him.

Not indifferent. Not cold.
Something else.

Something that understood—they could have died today.

Something that understood—they didn’t.

And now? What the hell else was there to do but burn?

He let out a slow, exhausted breath, a half-hearted smirk tugging at his lips.
“Well…” he muttered, voice ragged. “Guess we really are gonna burn in hell, huh?”

It was meant as a joke. A throwaway. A filler for the silence.

But then—

She moved.

Not slow. Not hesitant.

Itachi—bruised, battered, victorious—pushed herself up, slid onto her knees, and reached for him.

Not delicate. Not soft.
A claim. A choice. A fire set to the kindling of something they had never dared touch.

His breath was uneven—lungs still burning from the battle, from the sheer brutality of survival.

And yet—

That wasn’t why his pulse was slamming against his ribs.

Because in the next beat—he felt it.

Her presence.

Close. Too close.

A shift in weight. A shift in gravity.

Kisame’s breath hitched.

A slow, controlled pressure—her knees, bracketing his waist.

He stiffened.

His fingers twitched. His throat went dry.

This was different.

It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t a test. It wasn’t something to laugh off with a smirk and a witty remark.

No.

This was a line crossed.

And Itachi—cold, unreadable, untouchable—was the one stepping over it.

 “…Itachi-san—”

She didn’t let him finish.

A single, slender finger pressed against his lips.

The touch was barely there—but it commanded everything.

His words. His breath. His next move.

Her gaze burned through him—quiet, unreadable, knowing.

And then—She leaned in.

Her lips brushed against his ear, a whisper—dark, dangerous, final.

“Then let’s make sure it’s worth it.”

A beat.

Then—

Kisame grinned.

Slow. Sharp. Something lethal.

His hands moved.

And before she could react—

He grabbed her waist and flipped her beneath him.

Not soft. Not careful. Not anymore.

Itachi’s breath hitched.

And his voice?

Low, rough, edged in something raw.

“You’re gonna regret that, Itachi-san.”

And just like that—

Hell took them both.

The battlefield faded.

The bodies. The blood. The ruins of the dead estate.

None of it mattered.

Because this?

This was war.

Not of bloodshed. Not of steel and fire.

But of something far more ruthless.

Not warmth. Not light.

Not something meant to comfort.

Something meant to destroy.

And they let it.

Because devils didn’t fear the flames.

They became them.

—--

Silence.

Kisame rolled onto his back, wheezing.

His body was wrecked. His muscles screamed. His head spun.

And he wasn’t sure if it was from nearly dying in battle—Or from whatever the hell just happened between them.

Because that had not been fast.

He turned his head slightly—And she was still catching her breath.

Itachi Uchiha, stoic, untouchable, legendary—was wrecked.

Her shoulders rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, but control wasn’t enough to mask the raw exhaustion. Strands of dark hair clung to her skin, damp with sweat. Her fingers curled faintly against the ground—a small, involuntary motion.

She was completely, utterly spent.

And for the first time—so was he.

Kisame just stared.

His pulse was still not normal. His mind was not okay.

What the hell was that?

He blinked. Twice.

Then, slowly—
Painfully—
He dragged a hand over his face.

"Damn, Itachi-san." His voice was hoarse. "I dunno if I nearly died fighting those bastards—"
A sharp exhale.
"—or from you."

Then—Itachi, still catching her breath, voice low, steady—
"Yet you’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

Not soft. Not comforting. A fact. A challenge. A smirk without smiling.

Kisame twitched.
His brain short-circuited.

EXCUSE ME?

Oh. Oh, she was ruthless.

Because what the actual hell?

Just minutes ago—minutes—she had been completely out of her depth. She had barely been able to breathe, let alone speak.

And now she was suddenly playing it cool?

As if she hadn’t been gripping onto him like he was the only thing grounding her the whole time?
As if she hadn’t been gasping, trembling, biting her lip because it actually hurt earlier?

Now she was acting like she wasn’t affected?

Like she wasn’t still wrecked, still catching her breath, still visibly recovering?

He turned his head toward her, slowly, excruciatingly, trying to process the absolute whiplash of this situation.

"…That’s it?"

A pause.
A slow, deep inhale.

She tilted her head, cool, composed.

Like she hadn’t just—
Like they hadn’t just—

Kisame exhaled a sharp, incredulous laugh.

He let his head fall back against the ground, dragging a hand over his face.

“Unbelievable.”

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her again or shake her.

Then—movement.

Itachi sat up first. A slow, calculated motion. Not rushed. Not strained. Just… done.

She gathered what remained of her shredded clothes, stood, and without hesitation, began walking back toward the estate.

Kisame gawked.

Did she—?
Was she seriously—?!

"Oi, oi, wait a damn second—" Kisame pushed himself up too fast—
And immediately regretted it.

Pain slammed into every part of his existence. His entire body protested violently. His knees almost gave out.

Damn, she really did kill me.

"Tch—!" He groaned, pressing a palm to his forehead. "Where the hell are you going?"

Itachi didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around.

Her voice, calm as ever: "To the estate. The hot springs should still be intact."

A pause.

Then—She glanced over her shoulder.

And dropped the final nuke on his soul: "I need sake."

Kisame stared.

Absolutely, completely dead inside.

And then—she added, offhand, with a touch of amusement—
"And you should stretch more."

Kisame’s soul ascended to another plane of existence.

He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
No words came out.

He felt physically, emotionally, and spiritually defeated.
He was in love with a menace.

They walked right back inside.

Through the desecrated halls. Past the bodies. Through the carnage they left behind—until they reached the hot spring.

Kisame spotted something as they stepped inside.

A bottle.
A half-full bottle of sake—forgotten in the corner by some poor bastard.

He grabbed it without a word.

“Guess the gods aren’t totally against us after all.”

Steam curled around them as they stepped into the dimly lit bathhouse. Water still ran. Heat still radiated.

They stripped what was left of their ruined clothes.

And then—they sank in.

The water was scalding. Burning. It soaked into their wounds. Into their sins.

But they didn’t flinch. They just sat there. Sake bottle resting between them.

Kisame popped the cap. Poured two cups.

Silence.

Kisame exhaled. Leaned back.

“Tch. You ever think about what’s next, Itachi-san?”

Itachi hummed. Took another sip of sake.

“We burn.”

Kisame snorted.

“Damn right.”

Itachi lifted her cup. Took a sip. Let the burn slide down her throat.

Then—
A low, quiet murmur.

"Mm. Could use a better vintage."

Kisame snorted. Took a swig straight from the bottle.

"Tch. We’ll rob a richer bastard next time."

No regrets. No remorse. Just two devils, sipping sake in a bloodstained temple, knowing damn well they’re going straight to hell.

The bathhouse was silent. Steam curled through the air, the warmth settling into their exhausted bodies.

For once—blessed silence.

Until—the rings pulsed.

A sharp, sudden flicker of chakra.

And then—

Akatsuki’s holographic meeting blinked into existence.

Right there. Above the hot spring.

Kisame froze.

Itachi blinked, without hesitation—submerged deeper into the water.

Now, only her head was visible above the surface.

A long, agonizing silence.

🔥 Pein’s voice, cold and monotone: “You were expected back at the hideout hours ago.”

☁️ Beside him, Konan’s brows furrowed. “We assumed something happened. You encountered another enemy?”

A pause.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Then—realization.

Her head tilted.

☁️ “…Wait. Where are you?”

💥 Deidara, squinting: “Wait a damn second—”

💰Kakuzu, horrified: “Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

🎭 Sasori, unimpressed: “Of course.”

🔪 Hidan, eyes going wide, then—grinning: “YOU’RE IN A HOT SPRING?!”

👺 Tobi, innocent voice: “Senpai…! Is this your honeymoon?!”

🔪 Hidan, CACKLING: “WHAT THE HELL AM I LOOKING AT?!”

🔥 Pein, looking completely done. “…You’re bathing. With sake.”

Kisame SNAPPED.

🦈 “IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!”

💥 Deidara, tears streaming: “THEN STAND UP AND PROVE IT, YEAH.”

Kisame CHOKED.

He turned—and Itachi, the absolute menace, had not moved a single damn muscle.

Completely unbothered.

Only her head above the water.

🐦‍⬛ “…No.”

🌿 Zetsu (White half, laughing): “Well, well. Guess we have our answer.”

🔪 Hidan, losing his mind: “HAH. SHE DIDN’T EVEN DENY IT.”

💥 Deidara, wheezing: “HOLY SH*T, KISAME. YOU LUCKY, SHARKY BASTARD—”

☁️ Konan, clutching her forehead, absolutely DONE: “I—No. I refuse to be part of this conversation.”

🔥 Pein, expression blank: “Too late.”

☁️ Konan, glaring at Itachi: “You. You were supposed to be the responsible one.”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, still unmoved, sipping her sake: “Was I?”

💥 Deidara, still laughing his lungs out: “HOLY SH*T, EVEN KONAN’S LOSING IT, YEAH.”

🔪 Hidan, grinning ear to ear: “Nah, nah, I’m with Deidara. She won’t stand? That’s ADMISSION OF GUILT.”

💰 Kakuzu, rubbing his temples: “I can’t believe this is what my life has come to.”

🎭 Sasori, crossing his arms: “I believe my winnings are due.”

🔥 Pein, rubbing his temples: “You’re all insufferable.”

🔪 Hidan, cackling: “But seriously—Kisame, my man. Did ya have fun, huh? Or was it more like a religious experience?”

Kisame buried his face in his hands.

🦈 “I should have let the other terrorists live.”

A pause.

🦈 “They promised to deliver Hidan’s head.”

🔪 Hidan, offended: “HEY—”

💥 Deidara, dying: “I CAN’T—”

🎭 Sasori, shaking his head: “Tragic.”

👺 Tobi, suddenly perking up: “DOES THIS MEAN YOU’RE OFFICIALLY DATING NOW?!”

🔥 Pein, dangerously close to snapping: “ENOUGH.”

The laughter slowly died down, but the smug smirks remained.

🦈  Kisame, desperate. “Tch. Forget this—listen, we just wiped out that other terrorist group we talked about today. Six of them. They weren’t just mercenaries—they were organized. Well-trained. Knew how to counter us.”

Silence.

🦈  “We walked straight into their damn ambush. They knew we were coming. Separated us, countered our fighting styles perfectly.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Shit nearly went south.”

Another pause.

🦈  “But we took them out. All of them. Consider the threat cleared.”

☁️  Konan, sharp-eyed: “You’re sure?”

🔥  Pein, monotone: “No survivors?”

🦈  Kisame smirked. “Tch. None.”

A beat.

🌿 Zetsu’s black half, musing: “Impressive.”

🌿  Zetsu’s white half, whistling: “You’re sure they were strong? The ones I tracked weren’t pushovers.”

🦈 Kisame scoffed. “Oh, they weren’t weak.” He exhaled, stretching his shoulders. “Bastards nearly damn killed us.”

🔥 Pein, eyes narrowing slightly: “Elaborate.”

🦈  “Three were on me, three were on Itachi. They countered us perfectly.”

☁️  Konan, sharp-eyed: “How?”

🦈  “Mine? Seismic jutsu—bastard kept the ground shifting, made it impossible to get solid footing. Sniper—kept me pinned from a distance. And the last? A damn water-form user. Every time I landed a hit, he turned into water and reformed.” Kisame sighed. “Bastard nearly drowned me when I merged with Samehada.”

A slight pause.

🌑  Zetsu’s black half, intrigued: “A sniper, a terrain manipulator, and an intangible fighter?”

🔥  Pein, silent for a moment.

☁️  Konan, frowning slightly: “They knew who they were fighting.”

🦈  Kisame nodded, “Same with Itachi’s side. Chakra-sealing specialist, a disruptor that blocked vision, and a taijutsu weapons master.” His grin sharpened. “That last one? Precise as hell—shredded her cloak apart, every strike landing exactly where she wanted. I don’t think she missed a single damn hit.”

A pause.

💥 Deidara’s smirk faded slightly. “Wait… you’re saying she lost the cloak?”

🎭 Sasori, eyes narrowing slightly: “Tch. Then she was actually pushed.”

🌿 Zetsu’s black half, intrigued: “Hmph. That’s rare.”

🦈  Kisame immediately cut in. “Anyway—”

🔥  Pein: “You won!?”

🌿 Zetsu’s black half, approving: “Hmph. If they were that strong, that’s impressive.”

🔪 Hidan, snickering: “Or maybe Itachi fought harder once her clothes got torn.”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi finally looked up. Calm. Unimpressed.

A pause.

Then—

🐦‍⬛“Hidan.”

🔪 Hidan’s grin slightly faltered: “Yeah?”

Her voice was smooth. Steady. Absolute.

🐦‍⬛“Jashin might bless you with immortality…”

A slight tilt of her head. A soft blink.

🐦‍⬛“But in Tsukuyomi—”

A pause.

🐦‍⬛“I will be your God.”

Silence.

🔪 Hidan swallowed.

🦈 Kisame, instantly grinning: “Ohhh, shit.”

💥 Deidara, laughing: “HA! Hidan, you dumbass, you picked the wrong one!”

🎭 Sasori, deadpan: “Should’ve stuck to mocking Kisame.”

💰 Kakuzu, sighing: “And now I have to hear you whine about nightmares for the next week.”

☁️ Konan, monotone but vaguely amused: “I warned you all before: Do not test her.”

🔪 Hidan, coughing, looking away: “Tch. Whatever.” (Definitely sweating.)

🐦‍⬛ Itachi sipped her sake, unbothered.

💥 Deidara, still laughing: “Hah! Damn, yeah. That’s gotta be the first time I’ve seen you shut up.”

🦈 Kisame, still grinning: “Tch. Glad to see I’m not the only one getting bullied around here.”

A pause.

Then—he exhaled. His grin faded slightly.

🦈  Then—his voice turned dry. “Oh—and apparently, our organization’s aesthetic is a joke.”

💥  Deidara, suddenly interested: “Wait, what?”

🦈  “Yeah. They mocked the cloaks. The rings. The entire branding.” 

💥  Deidara, looking at his nails, insulted: “Tch. Artless bastards.”

🎭  Sasori, muttering: “Uncultured.”

💰 Kakuzu, unimpressed: “Fools. They clearly lacked vision.”

☁️ Konan, coolly adjusting her sleeve: “Hmph. A shame. If they had better taste…”

She took a slow sip of tea.

☁️ “…They might still be alive.”

Silence.

🌿 Zetsu’s white half, laughing: “Hah! She’s not wrong.”

🔪  Hidan, cackling: “HAHA! Oh, this is gold. What else did they say?”

🦈 Kisame scoffed. “They even called Pein ‘some big scary leader who acts like a god.’”

🔥  Pein, blank-faced: “…I am a god.”

🦈  Kisame sighed. “Right. But they didn’t think so.”

☁️ Konan, calmly setting down her tea: “And yet, they are dead, and he remains.”

A pause.

☁️ “Perhaps they should have reconsidered.”

🔥 Pein, mildly pleased: “Hmph.” He leaned back slightly. “A necessary correction.”

A beat.

🔥 Pein: “Anything else?”

🦈  “Tch. They planned to pick us off one pair at a time—sending back Samehada and a pair of Sharingan first.”

Silence.

🔥 Pein, exhaling: “…Seems I made the right choice sending you two.”

A pause.

🔥 Pein, deadpan: “Not that anyone here is paying attention to that.”

💥 Deidara, still wheezing: “Huh? Oh yeah, sure—good job, yeah.” waves a hand dismissively

🔪 Hidan, grinning: “Yeah, yeah, great work. Anyway, back to the real discussion—”

🎭 Sasori, waving a hand: “So, how long has this been going on?”

💰 Kakuzu, flipping through his notes: “Adjusting the betting pool for long-term relationships…”

🔪 Hidan, grinning: “Nah, that pool’s boring now. We gotta bet on the wedding date.”

🦈 Kisame, groaning, burying his face in his hands: “I hate this damn organization.”

🔥 Pein, officially at his limit: “This is the most embarrassing Akatsuki report in history.”

A pause.

Then—his voice dropped lower.

🔥 ”…And yet, somehow, I’m not surprised it was you two.”

And then—

💥 Deidara wheezed, clutching his stomach: “Boss, you’re killing me, yeah—”

🔪 Hidan, wiping an actual tear: “OH MY JASHIN, this is the best meeting we’ve ever had—”

💰 Kakuzu, sighing but smirking: “I can’t believe I lost money over this.”

🌱 Zetsu’s white half, chuckling: “This is better than actual missions.”

🌑 Zetsu’s black half: “Shame we can’t charge an entry fee.”

Konan, who had been silent through most of this, tilted her head slightly, glancing at Itachi.

☁️ Konan, voice genuinely curious: “Was it worth it?”

Silence.

Every head turned to Itachi.

She blinked. Calm. Composed. As unbothered as ever.

Then—she reached for the bottle of sake, took a slow sip—

And hummed.

💥 Deidara wheezed.

🔪 Hidan cackling on the floor.

🎭 Sasori muttered something about wasting his art on these fools.

💰 Kakuzu sighed like he had aged ten years.

🦈 Kisame, groaning: “I hate all of you.”

🔥 Pein, visibly restraining the urge to commit violence: “Meeting over. The next time we contact you, have your damn cloaks on.”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, sipping sake, deadpan: “They’re torn.”

🔥 Pein, staring at her.

🔥 Pein, closing his eyes, exhaling slowly.

🔥 Pein, visibly contemplating genocide.

☁️ Konan, still in emotional crisis: “And don’t drink during a briefing.”

🎭 Sasori: “Where’re my winnings?!”

💰 Kakuzu, flatly: “Tch. Worth it.”

And then—
🔥 Pein, voice flat, deadly unimpressed:
“…For the record, we called to confirm your survival.” A pause. A slow blink.
🔥 “Not your devils’ night special.”

Silence.

🐦‍⬛ Itachi blinked.
🦈 Kisame opened his mouth—then closed it.
💥 Deidara HOWLED.
🔪 Hidan SCREAMED.
☁️ Konan choked on tea.

And then—
🔥 Pein, as the hologram flickers, drops the killing blow:
“…At this rate, I expect wedding invitations.”

💀💀💀💀💀

🦈 Kisame buried his face in his hands: “Damn. Guess I am really doomed.”

💥 Deidara FELL OFF HIS CHAIR.
🔪 Hidan WHEEZED.
💰 Kakuzu, already calculating wedding costs.
👺 Tobi, CLAPPING EXCITEDLY: “TOBI WANTS CAKE!!!”

🎭 Sasori, deadpan: “Tch. If they do, we’ll probably get summoned to the wedding over hologram, too.”

👺 Tobi, gasping: “Nooo! They will invite us! Tobi wants cake!”

🔪 Hidan, howling: “I’d officiate! ‘Til death do you part’ would hit so different.”

💰 Kakuzu monotone: “Considering who they are, that part is inevitable.”

💥 Deidara, wheezing: “Oh, yeah. Imagine Pein giving a wedding speech.”

🔥 Pein, officially done: “Absolutely not.”

💥 Deidara snorted. “Oh, come on, yeah. It’d be fitting. We already got front-row seats to their honeymoon.”

🔪 Hidan, cackling: “HELL YEAH, I WANNA BE THE PRIEST.”

💰 Kakuzu, grumbling: “Over my dead body.”

🔪 Hidan, gleeful: “THAT CAN BE ARRANGED.”

☁️ Konan, deeply invested:
“…How about a black wedding dress with red clouds embroidered… and black paper flowers?”

👺 Tobi, DELIGHTED: “TOBI LOVES THAT IDEA!!!”

💥 Deidara, wheezing: “Holy sh*t, Konan. You’re really going all in, yeah—”

☁️ Konan, flatly: “As a bridesmaid, I’ll ensure the aesthetic is flawless.”

👺 Tobi, clapping excitedly:

“TOBI WANTS TO THROW BLACK PAPER CONFETTI!!!”

🔥 Pein, dead inside: “I have no control over my own organization anymore.”

💥 Deidara, wheezing:

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO SAID ‘WEDDING INVITATIONS,’ YEAH—”

More chaos. More absolute hell.

And then—

🎭 Sasori, deadpan: “Tch. I just need to know—”
A pause.
🎭 “…Will there be enough seats for all my puppets?”

Silence.

🐦‍⬛ Itachi took another sip of sake.
A pause.
She set down her cup.

Then—
🐦‍⬛ “Hm…I’ll make sure to seat you next to Deidara.”

💰 Kakuzu blinked.
💥 Deidara CHOKED.

☁️ Konan snorted.
🔪 Hidan LOST IT.
🎭 Sasori, smirking: “Tch. I accept.”

💥 Deidara, panting: “BOSS, SHE FLIPPED IT. SHE ACTUALLY FLIPPED IT.”

🔥 Pein, dead inside, rubbing his temples:
“…No, really.”
🔥 A sigh. An exhale. Then—defeat.
🔥 “Itachi wins. We’re all just living in her reality.”

☁️ Konan, tired: “Finally, he gets it.”

👺 Tobi, delighted: “TOBI KNEW IT ALL ALONG!”

💥 Deidara, collapsing onto the table: “I CAN’T BELIEVE ITACHI-SAN JUST BEAT PEIN, YEAH.”

🔪 Hidan, wiping an actual tear: “The f***ing Uchiha menace. You really pulled it off, huh?”

🔥 Pein, facepalming: “I am the leader of a goddamn criminal organization… and I have lost.”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, tilting her head, deadpan: “Hm. Took you long enough to realize.”

Akatsuki’s souls descended from their bodies 💀💀💀💀💀

A beat.

🐦‍⬛ Then, she dropped the final nuke: “Wanna switch nail polish color?” A pause. “Red fits my Sharingan better.” She glanced at Pein’s hand, then back up, eyes glinting.

🐦‍⬛ “And purple… suits your Rinnegan.”

SILENCE.

🔥 Pein, frozen. Processing. Absolute, earth-shattering defeat.

💥 Deidara wipes his literal tears.
🔪 Hidan dropped to the floor, laughing.
💰 Kakuzu actually broke the character, burst into laughter.
🎭 Sasori muttered something about wasted potential.
☁️ Konan gave up. Just… gave up.

🔥 Pein, staring at her, absolute defeat settling in: “…I hate you.”

🐦‍⬛ Itachi, cool, composed, sipping her sake: “No, you don’t.”

🔥 Pein, died inside, utterly done: disconnects.

💥 Deidara already thinking about grand firework finale.
🔪 Hidan is practicing “TIL DEATH DO YOU PART, B**CHES.”
💰 Kakuzu: Counting potential profits from wedding gifts.
🎭 Sasori invisions wedding entertainment (grand puppet hyper-realistic performance)
☁️ Konan is planning a veil made of reinforced origami.
👺 Tobi just wants cake and be the flower girl.
🌿 Zetsu dreaming about an ideal cursed-as-hell venue (dead battlefield, cracked earth, blackened trees, rivers of poison)
🦈 Kisame: A BROKEN, DEFEATED MAN.
🐦‍⬛ Itachi: Utterly victorious, sipping her sake, nails still flawless.

🔥 FINAL SCORE: Itachi Uchiha: Remains undefeated. 🔥🔥🔥

And with that—the holograms blinked out.

Silence.

Kisame exhaled, slumping deeper into the hot spring.

Steam curled lazily in the air.

Then—slowly—he turned to glare at Itachi.

She took another sip of sake.

Then—finally—

“Hmm. Wasn’t much of a joke at the time.”

Kisame DIED.

The final nail in his coffin. The execution of his remaining dignity. It was over.

Except—

Kisame wasn’t letting her get away with it this time.

Oh, no.

Not after what she just did to his life. 

Until today, he hasn’t won a single time.

Sparring match? Itachi outmaneuvered him.

Genjutsu? He never stood a damn chance.

Battle strategies? She was always five steps ahead.

Even verbal fights? She cut him down with one-liners like a damn executioner.

But for the first time in his life…He actually has something over Itachi.

He is gonna break her cold facade—he is gonna shatter it, piece by piece.

Kisame knows exactly what he’s doing now.

Slowly—dangerously slowly—his grin curled wider.

His eyes flicked to her.

Calm. Collected. As if nothing happened.

But something had happened.

And unlike every single time before—this time, Itachi couldn’t just ignore it.

Kisame, smoothly: “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you, Itachi-san?”

Silence.

Kisame tapped a clawed finger against the edge of the spring.

Kisame, voice too casual, too smooth: “Guess you’re not as cold as you think…”

She didn’t look at him.
She was ignoring him.

Ohhh.

For the first time in his miserable, suffering existence—Itachi Uchiha was actively avoiding a conversation.

Kisame bit back a laugh.

Oh, he was gonna destroy her.

He stretched lazily, rolling his shoulders.

Kisame, watching her too closely: “You know...” A pause. “You’re actually pretty cute when you’re catching your breath.”

Silence. Absolute silence.

She didn’t react.

But he saw it.

The way her lips parted just barely.

The way her breath hitched for half a second.

Oh.

Ohhh, this was gold.

Then—he leaned in and flicked her forehead.

Not hard. Just enough.

Itachi, barely tilting her head, flatly: “…Was that necessary?”

Kisame chuckled lowly. Dark. Smug. Deadly amused.

Kisame, lazily: “Never seen that look on you before, Itachi-san.”

And that’s when he sees it.

The faintest inhale.

Ohhh, she felt that.

Kisame leaned back, stretched lazily, a slow grin curling at his lips.

Kisame, exhaling: “Hmm. Wasn’t much of a joke at the time.”

Silence. Then—A flicker.

Before Kisame could react—A kunai flew past his head.

Sharp. Precise. Dangerously close.

It embedded itself into the wooden frame behind him with a heavy thunk.

Kisame froze. Then—his grin widened.

She’s cracking.

His eyes flicked back to her.

Calm. As ever.

As if she hadn’t just thrown a goddamn kunai at his head.

Kisame, casual, raising a brow: “Oh? Did I touch a nerve?”

Itachi, flatly, sipping sake: “You talk too much.”

Kisame’s grin sharpened.

Ohhh, she was fighting back now.

Good.

Let’s see how long that lasts.

Kisame, stretching, smug: “You know, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you clueless before.”

Itachi, lifting a brow, flatly: “I wasn’t—”

Kisame, cutting her off, leaning in, smirking: “No, no, you were.” His grin widened, “And I gotta say… It was kinda hot, actually.”

Silence.

Not denial.
Not dismissal.
Silence.

Kisame, tilting his head, voice slow, smooth, merciless: “Never thought I’d see the day where I’d be the one guiding you through something.”

Another pause.

Then—Itachi finally turned to look at him.

Her stare was sharp, unimpressed. Unamused.

But she still wasn’t denying it.

Kisame grinned like the devil himself.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

Itachi, sharp: “Drop it.”

Kisame, grinning, raising a brow: “Drop what?”

She exhaled sharply.
A controlled breath.

Oh, she was fuming inside.

And now? Kisame let out a slow, smug exhale.

Then—casually as hell—

Kisame, smooth as silk: “You were right, though.”

Itachi, glancing at him, suspiciously: “…About what?”

Kisame, smirking: “I do need to stretch more.”

Silence. Absolute. Dead. Silence.

Oh, ho ho. This was it.

The tiniest, faintest dusting of color crept up her neck.

That was it.

That was a victory.

Kisame grinned.

Kisame, absolutely reveling in it: “Ohhh,” he drawled, eyes glinting with mischief. “You thought I didn’t catch that, huh?”

Itachi, flatly: “I’m leaving.”

Kisame let out a slow, smug exhale.

Ohhh, now she was running?

For the first time in history—Itachi Uchiha was fleeing.

Kisame, grinning: “Not before your sake, you’re not.”

And before she could react—

He grabbed the bottle straight from her hand.

She blinked.

Once. Twice.

Then—her eyes narrowed.

Oh. That got her.

Kisame just grinned.

A low, slow chuckle rumbled in his chest.

He lifted the bottle—

But instead of drinking from it—

He tilted it slightly—toward her lips.

Just slightly.

A silent command.

A challenge.

Drink.

Itachi’s lashes lowered.

For a moment—she just stared at him.

Then—without a word—

She leaned forward.

Lips brushed the rim of the bottle.

And—she drank.

Slow. Controlled. A long, steady sip.

But Kisame wasn’t looking at the bottle anymore.

He was watching her.

Watching every second.

The slow tilt of her throat.
The way her lips parted.
The controlled, steady swallow.

His grip tightened slightly around the bottle.
His pulse—steady, even.
But inside?

Something shifted.
Something snapped.

And this time—

He didn’t need permission.

His hand lifted.
Fingers curled against her jaw.
A grip—firm, possessive.

Before she could even register—

He kissed her.

Not hesitant. Not questioning. Not uncertain.

Firm. Decisive. A claim.

Itachi didn’t stop him.
Didn’t move away. Didn’t resist.

She let him.