Naruto: Faint Smile - CH 76

[Third Person - POV.]

Takeshi’s body trembled, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. Mr. Yamato was down. Bleeding. This bastard was going to kill those he cared about again. He would lose people again. He couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t run, knowing he was letting someone he cared about die a pointless death.

He also knew he couldn’t fight the masked man. Not now, not yet.

But he refused to take either option. He refused to be a coward and a piece of trash who abandoned those he cared about the moment things got out of his control.

A cold fire ignited in his gut. It was reckless, foolish even. Takeshi knew that very well. But foolish as it might be, his hands gripped the hilt of his Claymore, and something stirred deep inside him—his Yoki, dark and heavy, slithering through his veins. He didn’t care what it cost or if it was foolish of him. He was going to save his sensei.

They had a medic in their group. All she needed was the patient to heal.

Itachi caught his eye. There were no words between them, not like they needed them. Itachi’s gaze was sharp, steady—he understood. Takeshi nodded once. That was all they needed.

In a single, fluid motion, Takeshi tossed a smoke bomb at the ground. Thick clouds billowed up, obscuring the battlefield, much to Mukai’s protests. The masked man wouldn’t lose sight of him for long, but it gave Takeshi the cover he needed.

His Yoki flared, flowing through him, and in that moment, he focused everything—every fiber of his being—on the masked man’s chakra. ‘I don’t need to hit him. I just need to distract him.’

His body blurred into motion.

He surged forward with blinding speed, the Phantom Mirage technique splitting his form into multiple flickers of himself, each one attacking from a different angle as his Claymore sang through the air, vibrating with the Quicksword, turning the massive blade into a blur of deadly slashes.

Takeshi’s strikes phased through the masked man, cutting only empty air, but he’d anticipated it. He wasn’t attacking to kill. Every swing left him room to dodge, to retreat, to stay mobile in case it was needed. His sensei hadn’t known what to expect and had been caught in a bad spot, but Takeshi knew what to expect now. He didn’t know what technique the masked man was using, but he knew enough to go by for now. He watched the masked man’s chakra closely, reading the moment it shifted, the way it flickered just before the man became tangible again.

Each time, Takeshi moved just in time, twisting away from the masked man’s counterattacks.

The masked man’s lone visible eye tracked him calmly, almost as if amused. "Remarkable. You might very well be the best sensor in the world. Or at least the one with the most talent. But know this, child: there are things even the best sensors can’t detect until it’s too late."

Takeshi didn’t respond. His entire focus was on the rhythm of his attacks, on dodging just before the masked man could land a blow. He could feel the man was playing with him, perhaps to satisfy his sick, twisted mind, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care if the reason the man hadn’t fully attacked yet, killing him, was just because he was far too weak to be a threat, even if all of this was a show of pity. Every second counted.

Behind him, he sensed Itachi move. It was quick—barely a flicker of chakra—but Takeshi knew exactly what Itachi was doing. His friend darted through the smoke, silent as a shadow, making his way toward Mr. Yamato’s crumpled form.

‘Just a little more time.’

Takeshi felt the air shift, a subtle movement behind him. He spun, dodging another strike from the masked man, but something in the man’s chakra flickered again. ‘How can someone deal with a jutsu like this?’

Suddenly, a single kunai with an explosive tag flew through the air, aimed directly at the masked man’s chest. Takeshi didn’t flinch; he knew it wasn’t meant to hit or to aid him. The kunai was the signal. The explosion a hopeful distraction.

Itachi had their sensei.

Takeshi exhaled, relief rushing through him. ‘Time to go.’ He flickered backward, his form blurring again as he prepared to retreat. His mission was complete. Mr. Yamato could still be saved. Now all that remained was surviving long enough to reach the village, and this would be just another story to tell.

But then, just as he moved, something caught his foot.

A root—thick, gnarled—twisted around his ankle, yanking him off balance. His eyes widened, the ground rushing up toward him. ‘What—?’ He hadn’t sensed it. He hadn’t seen it coming. The root had chakra; he should’ve seen it coming. Panic surged through him as he hit the ground hard, his Claymore skidding from his grip as his body tumbled.

Before he could react, a cold, sharp pain exploded in his throat.

The masked man was on him in an instant, his movements faster than Takeshi could recover. The sickening sound of flesh being cut filled the air. Takeshi gasped, his hands flying to his neck, warm blood spilling between his fingers. He choked, his vision blurring, the taste of iron flooding his mouth.

He could hear Itachi shout something in the distance, but the words didn’t reach him.

The masked man stood over him. "You fought well for a child," he said softly, his voice distant, as though Takeshi were already fading away. "But in the end, you were just a nuisance."

Takeshi’s world spun, the edges of his vision growing darker. He tried to move, tried to stand, but his body wouldn’t obey. His senses were slipping away, the world growing quieter, duller. He felt the weight of his own blood pooling beneath him.

————————————————————————

Itachi froze the moment Takeshi hit the ground. He saw it—every horrifying detail, burned into his mind through his Sharingan like a scar that would never fade. His best friend, his brother, had just fallen.

Blood poured from Takeshi’s throat, pooling beneath him, and his body lay still, lifeless. The unique blade, the Claymore he had always wielded with such passion, was now motionless beside him, coated in his own blood. The smoke from the battlefield still hung in the air, but none of it mattered anymore. The world felt distant, the sounds of battle muffled in Itachi's ears.

It was as if everything had slowed.

"Takeshi..." The name slipped from his lips, barely a whisper, but the weight of his name alone crushed him. Takeshi was more than a teammate. More than a friend. He was his brother—a bond forged through training, laughter, and hardship. The two of them had always understood each other in ways others didn’t, their connection almost unspoken.

Itachi’s vision blurred, but not from tears. No, this was something far deeper, far darker. His chest tightened with something he had never felt so intensely before—a searing pain that cut through him, so raw and primal that it burned him from the inside out. Grief, yes, but also rage—an overwhelming, all-consuming rage that threatened to tear him apart.

And then, he screamed.

It was a sound ripped from the deepest part of him, a cry of anguish and fury that echoed through the trees. His Sharingan, already activated, began to spin faster, the two tomoe swirling violently in his eyes. His body trembled, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood.

He hated himself for being weak.

He hated this man for killing his brother.

His Sharingan twisted, reshaping itself, the pain in his heart pushing him beyond his limits. The familiar pattern of two tomoe gave way to something more—something darker. His pupils shifted, a third tomoe forming, the lines warping until the shape of the Mangekyo Sharingan burned into his eyes, searing with power he had never felt before.

Blood trickled from the corners of his eyes, the pain sharp, but Itachi didn’t care. He couldn’t care. His gaze locked onto the masked man, the murderer who stood over Takeshi’s body like it meant nothing.

"You... you took him from me..." Itachi's voice was low, barely controlled. "You’ll pay."

And then, "Amaterasu!" the black flames erupted.

With a single thought, dark, oily fire burst to life around the masked man. The flames of Itachi’s wrath took shape, devouring everything in their path. The flames were different from any ordinary fire, moving with a life of their own, inescapable and unquenchable. They surged toward the masked man, hungry and relentless.

The masked man’s eye widened ever so slightly. He moved quickly, his body phasing out of existence just as the flames would have consumed him. The black fire roared as it devoured the earth, trees, and anything in its way, leaving nothing but charred remains in its wake.

Itachi’s breath was ragged, his body trembling with the weight of his new power, his vision tinged with red from the blood leaking from his eyes. The masked man reappeared a few feet away, seemingly unharmed, but even he had hesitated for a moment, acknowledging the deadly force of the flames.

"Amaterasu," the  masked man said softly, almost in awe. "I didn’t expect this. You’ve awakened the Mangekyo Sharingan. And so… young. Impressive… however, you are at your limit after that."

Itachi’s chest heaved, his mind a storm of grief and fury. His Sharingan blazed, blood continuing to drip down his face, but he didn’t flinch. His body screamed in pain from the strain of using this new power, but none of that mattered. He didn’t care about the consequences. All that mattered was one thing:

Killing that man.

However, with each passing moment, his breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his chest heaving as the world around him seemed to blur and darken. The black flames of Amaterasu continued to rage, but his vision was fading, the edges tinged with red from the blood streaming down his face. ‘No… I can’t stop now, I need… to...’

His knees buckled.

Despite fighting against his body, his legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the cold, hard ground, his hands barely catching him before his face hit the dirt. He could feel the blood still dripping from his eyes, warm and wet against his skin, but it felt distant, as if it were happening to someone else.

‘Takeshi…’  

His hands shook violently as he struggled to push himself up, but his body wouldn't listen. The world around him tilted, spinning. His chakra reserves were completely drained, his body screaming in pain, too weak to stand, too weak to fight. That was always the case, wasn’t it? Too weak to make a difference.

He could hear Mukai shouting, his voice distant, muffled by the ringing in Itachi’s ears. "Shuri, get the brat! You need to get up! We have to move!"

The last thing he saw before the darkness closed in was the masked man, standing tall and unflinching as the black flames of Amaterasu continued to burn the forest around him. And Takeshi… motionless, lifeless, his body lying in the dirt.

With that, everything went black, and Itachi’s consciousness slipped away.