Orochimaru stood frozen, his pale eyes wide as he watched the faint outline of Akira disappear into the distance. The tremors of what had just occurred still echoed through the battlefield. Moments ago, Akira had unleashed a power that cleaved through Shukaku, the One-Tailed Beast, with a single devastating slash—an act so monumental that even Orochimaru, jaded and power-hungry, had faltered in awe.
Initially, Orochimaru's reaction had been impulsive. Seeing Akira—no, Uchiha Kawa, as he was now known—staggering, bleeding from his eyes and looking weakened, his mind was overtaken by one obsessive thought: the Sharingan. The Mangekyō Sharingan that gleamed in Akira's eyes possessed unfathomable power, and for Orochimaru, it was a treasure too tempting to resist. He had lunged forward, aiming to seize the power for himself.
But he had been wrong. Gravely wrong.
Akira's response was instantaneous. His illusion had ensnared Orochimaru in an instant, shattering the Sannin's pride in front of his comrades. For a brief moment, Orochimaru was nothing more than a puppet, dancing helplessly in Akira's trap. The humiliation stung. Yet, as he recovered and the spell was broken, he felt a creeping shame. His rashness had not only jeopardized the moment but had also earned the stern gaze of the Third Hokage. Sarutobi's eyes, ever calm and wise, now shimmered with disapproval.
That was enough to force Orochimaru to regain his composure.
Still smarting from the mental blow and the scrutiny of his peers, he tried to salvage his dignity. Crossing his arms, he narrowed his eyes at Akira and adopted an accusatory tone.
"Uchiha Kawa," Orochimaru began, emphasizing the name with cold precision. "As a shinobi of Konoha, it is your duty to report back after any mission. You vanished for an entire year—without word, without trace. Do you expect us to overlook that simply because you returned in glory?"
His voice was sharp, but beneath it ran a current of insecurity. The man before them was no ordinary shinobi.
"What have you been doing during that time? Explain yourself. If you cannot provide a satisfactory account, then you leave us no choice but to treat you as a potential traitor."
The accusation hung in the air like a blade.
Akira, still bearing the identity of Uchiha Kawa, didn't flinch. His lips curled into a half-smirk, his eyes glinting with scornful amusement. He let a beat of silence pass, then another, allowing tension to coil like a spring.
When he finally spoke, his voice was like a cold wind:
"Explain myself? To you? I don't think I need to justify anything to a man who grovels for power at every opportunity. With the strength I wield, I could destroy the three of you with but a glance. Think whatever you wish. I am not bound by your rules."
A hush fell over the clearing. The Konoha and Suna shinobi nearby shifted uneasily, caught between reverence and fear. To them, Akira had descended like a god—slaying a Tailed Beast with divine fury. And now, he was defying the most powerful figures of their villages.
Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage, watched the boy with narrowed eyes. There was immense power in Akira—too much, perhaps. The Mangekyō Sharingan was dangerous, even in the hands of a loyal Uchiha. In the hands of one who might walk his own path? Catastrophic.
Still, the Third was not quick to anger. Instead, he took a measured breath and offered something unexpected—understanding.
"Kawa..." he said, voice gentle despite the severity of the moment, "your family remains in Konoha. You may have been lost for a time, but if you return peacefully, and your actions have not harmed the village, we can welcome you back. No further questions will be asked."
His offer was sincere—but calculated. If Akira could be convinced to return, they could monitor him. Maybe even guide him. Letting him vanish again was too dangerous.
But Akira's expression darkened. He looked at the ground, then to the direction where Shukaku's sand had once risen like a monstrous tide. The mountain-sized pile of sand was gone now, leaving only memories of the battle.
"The village? The clan? They are just clusters of the weak—gathering together, pretending it makes them strong. I've outgrown them. I no longer walk among mortals. I wield the power of gods. Why should I shackle myself to them?"
His words, heavy with disdain and pride, made even Orochimaru wince. The silence that followed was punctuated only by the wind.
Then, Akira's gaze returned to them, his Sharingan spinning slowly.
"If you three wish to test me—then do so. But understand this: I will crush you like insects."
For a moment, no one moved. The tension was razor-thin. Sarutobi, Orochimaru, and Jiraiya—all elite among elites—were hesitant. They had seen what Akira could do.
And yet, beneath Akira's arrogant defiance, something flickered. Pain. His chakra was low. His body trembled slightly—masked well, but not perfectly.
He had pushed himself to the brink.
As if to confirm their suspicions, a sudden gasp escaped Akira's lips. His body doubled over, and from his eyes, fresh blood poured like tears. He dropped to one knee, gripping his face in agony.
"Tch... not now..." he hissed through clenched teeth. "Chakra... pupil power... completely drained... Damn it..."
He knelt there, vulnerable and human once more. It was clear—he couldn't fight. Not now.
But even this fall was not without its drama. His crimson eyes still glowed with a promise of death, and the illusion of omnipotence was only slightly diminished.
Sarutobi took a cautious step forward, exchanging a glance with his two students. All three of them understood what this meant. Akira—Uchiha Kawa—was too powerful to ignore. If he truly became an enemy of the village, the consequences could be devastating.
"Where do you think you're going?" Orochimaru snapped, sensing the shift.
But before they could act, Akira disappeared.
A puff of smoke. A swirl of chakra. And he was gone.
The three masters immediately recognized the jutsu.
"Reverse Summoning Technique," Jiraiya murmured. "He had a summoning contract prepared. Someone summoned him away. He has allies."
Orochimaru clenched his jaw. "Whoever summoned him is powerful... or clever. Perhaps both."
Sarutobi remained silent, thoughtful. Whoever Akira was now, he wasn't acting alone. And that fact disturbed him more than anything.
But unbeknownst to all of them, the deception was even deeper.
Not far from the battlefield, concealed behind a veil of trees and smoke, the real Akira stood watching.
He had already reverted from Uchiha Kawa's identity, cloaking himself in a mundane appearance. Two shadow clones had executed the deception flawlessly—one using medical ninjutsu to fake recovery, the other dispelling itself at the right time to create the perfect smokescreen.
Then, at the last moment, Akira had used the Flying Thunder God Technique, slipping into the spot left by his clone.
It was seamless. And now, he approached the three masters again, this time with anxious eyes and a breathless voice.
"Lord Hokage! Lord Orochimaru! Lord Jiraiya! Are you alright? I saw a figure... was that Uchiha Kawa?!"
Sarutobi turned, confused but not suspicious. The Akira before him was pale and covered in dust, as if he had been on the battlefield helping other shinobi.
"Mo—Akira," Jiraiya said, catching himself, "you were nearby?"
"Yes," Akira said quickly, feigning worry. "I was treating wounded when I saw you engage that man. He looked like Kawa—didn't you say he died in battle, Lord Orochimaru?"
Orochimaru stared at Akira, narrowing his eyes. But even he couldn't see through the ruse. The chakra signature was faint, humble. And the Mangekyō Sharingan was nowhere in sight.
Akira kept his head low, watching carefully for suspicion.
The Third Hokage sighed. "Yes, that was Uchiha Kawa. Or at least... someone claiming to be him. He's powerful. Dangerous. And he's not alone."
Akira nodded solemnly, but inside, he smiled.
Everything had gone according to plan. The world now knew the terror of Uchiha Kawa, the forgotten prodigy reborn with godlike power. The seeds of legend had been sown.
And no one—not even the greatest minds of Konoha—suspected that the legend was a mask.
A mask worn by a boy named Akira.