[NUT] Chapter : 01

On the night of the Uchiha Massacre, the protagonist's soul merges with Itachi just after killing his parents.

This is not the story you remember—this is the story that could have been.

"So you've aligned yourself with the other side…"

"Father... Mother… I Just…"

Itachi’s quiet, mournful voice echoed in my mind.

"We already know, Itachi…"

"Itachi, just promise me this… that you'll take care of Sasuke."

"I will…"

Itachi's hands began to tremble, unable to kill his own mother and father.

"Do not fear it; this is the path you've chosen. Compared to yours, our pain will be over in an instant."

"Our philosophies may differ, but I'm still proud of you."

"You are truly a kind child."

The scene shifted—Fugaku and Mikoto lay lifeless in a pool of blood.

There was no time for panic or nausea. I felt as if a hammer had struck my skull. Memories surged through me like a tidal wave.

From early childhood to his teenage years… Shisui’s tragic suicide… his parent’s final moments. He could still hear her gentle murmur as she tried to reach out and touch his face.

Somewhere in the midst of the sorrow, warm tears streamed down Itachi’s face and fell silently to the floor.

The overwhelming grief pulled him under, drowning him in memories not his own.

After a moment, Itachi wiped his tears away. He knelt beside Fugaku and Mikoto, his gaze steeled with resolve.

Fighting back the instinctive revulsion clawing at his heart, he extended two fingers and, with grim precision, removed Fugaku’s eyes.

He placed them carefully into a container. Then, drawing a kunai, he cut strands of hair from both Mikoto and Fugaku, preserving them with reverence.

"From this moment on, I am Uchiha Itachi. I will protect Sasuke… and I will bring retribution to the ones that have wronged us."

He stared solemnly at their bodies, knelt down, and pressed his forehead to the ground in silent vow.

Then, slowly, he rose and walked away.

Emerging from the doorway, Itachi paused, taking one last look at the lifeless forms behind him.

The wind, sharp and metallic with the scent of blood, lashed against him, pulling him back to clarity. Emotions warred within him—confusion, grief, and a reluctant farewell to everything he had known.

But in truth, he had been an orphan in his previous life. After struggling through six years of elementary school and three of junior high, he had dropped out to make ends meet.

Life had been far from glamorous—barely scraping by, with anime as his only escape.

He had once dreamed of living in a world like Naruto's. But now that he was here… he was terrified.

He knew the story. He knew that at just thirteen years old, Uchiha Itachi was destined to become a rogue ninja.

The storm was coming.

A swirling vortex tore through the air, and a masked figure emerged.

"Itachi, is it done?"

Itachi turned his gaze toward him, eyes deep with unspoken meaning.

'Uchiha Obito…'

He silently mouthed the name. In many ways, it was Obito’s design that had shaped this moment—the awakening of his Sharingan, the tragedy of today, and many more.

Obito, in league with Danzo, had played a critical role in orchestrating the massacre.

But now wasn’t the time for confrontation.

"It’s done." Itachi replied flatly, his expression unreadable.

Except for the faintest flicker in his eyes, he was a statue.

"I didn’t think you had it in you, Itachi. Cold-blooded indeed."

Obito narrowed his eyes behind the mask, watching the stoic prodigy in silence. Impressive, yes—but still just another pawn on the board.

Itachi said nothing, his gaze drifting upward, into the sky.

The stench of blood filled his lungs.

Finding no amusement in the moment, Obito turned, vanishing into a swirl of chakra using his Kamui.

There were other eyes to harvest. Other lives to snuff out.

"Tonight truly is a harvest," he muttered. "Poor, pitiful Uchiha clan…"

Reappearing behind another unsuspecting clan member, he ended their life in an instant.

His voice—eerily calm—whispered into the bloody night, torn between cruel joy and fleeting sorrow.

Outside the Uchiha clan compound, members of the Anbu and Root stood poised—ready to eliminate any survivors who might escape.

On a high rooftop in the distance, Sarutobi Hiruzen stood in silence, pipe clenched between his lips as tendrils of dry tobacco smoke curled into the night air. His eyes, heavy with conflict, gazed toward the Uchiha district.

Beside him stood Danzo, half his face and one arm wrapped in white bandages. His gaze lingered on the same horizon, then shifted toward Hiruzen.

Danzo wasn’t here just to observe—he was here to intervene if Hiruzen faltered. He feared Hiruzen's soft heart might fail him in a critical moment, and he was prepared to act if necessary.

They had stationed themselves here to provide last-minute support or suppression. After all, the Uchiha were not a clan to be underestimated. Their roots in Konoha ran deep, and Uchiha Fugaku, in particular, was a force not to be taken lightly.

As the massacre unfolded, the cries and screams gradually faded into silence.

Hiruzen let out a quiet sigh of relief. It was done.

Now, according to the plan, they would frame Uchiha Itachi for the massacre and brand him a traitor who had turned his blade against his own kin.

It was better to keep the affair quiet. Stirring public outrage or fear would only complicate matters. Most clans would understand the hidden truths beneath the surface—but the common villagers didn’t need to know. Better to handle it silently, to cut out the "cancer" of rebellion before it could spread.

Back within the clan grounds, Uchiha Itachi felt a pair of eyes watching him from the shadows.

Suppressing a wave of nausea, he forced himself to drive his blade across the throat of another clan member. He recognized the man vaguely from his memories—someone familiar, but not close.

He didn’t do it out of hatred. Part of him was trying to keep Obito from becoming suspicious. The masked man was dangerous—deeply paranoid and quick to distrust.

Even with Mangekyō Sharingan, the thirteen-year-old Itachi had no chance of defeating Obito. And now, with me—inhabiting this body—it was even weaker. While fighting Kage-level shinobi, there must not be even a moment of hesitation. His skills might be in his memory, but his muscle and instinct were dulled.

He had to leave the village soon. Even if it was just a cover to become a spy, he would be hunted. He needed strength—not just to escape, but to survive.

The blood on his skin reminded him of that grim truth.

He would need to tread carefully in a world teeming with danger and betrayal.

There was no reset button.

"We’ll meet at the usual place outside the village," Obito’s voice came from behind.

The sudden sound nearly caused Itachi to swing his blade in panic.

His nerves were raw, his senses frayed. He was still adapting to the battlefield, reacting half a beat too slow.

Thankfully, he held back just in time. A mistake like that would have shattered the cold, composed image he needed to maintain.

"Understood," he replied coolly.

But inside, his thoughts churned.

The fog of memory began to lift—Sasuke would be returning soon.

What then?

He fell silent, lost in thought.

The Itachi from the original timeline had made a mistake.

Taking Sasuke away from the village now would only put him in greater danger. He couldn't afford to carry such a burden while fleeing from both allies and enemies. One misstep could lead to tragedy.

And then, the deeper question arose: what if Sasuke didn’t hate him? What if he didn’t believe the lie?

What if Danzo or Hiruzen suspected the truth and decided to eliminate him out of caution?

Itachi clutched his head.

He had sworn to protect Sasuke.

And now, the first true crossroads of his new life was here.

Itachi, lost in thought, was brought back to reality by a cold gust of wind.

A sudden realization struck him—Sasuke is the second protagonist, he thought. Why am I worrying so much?

If anything happened to Sasuke—if Danzo or Sarutobi tried to kill him—he'd just bounce back with full health and some overpowered cheat. That’s how the story worked, wasn’t it?

At the thought, Itachi’s furrowed brow eased. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—wry and a little tired.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of emotion. Figuring things out didn’t make them any easier to accept.

Then, without another word, Itachi vanished into the night.

He’d been worrying like an older brother... how boring.
Still, there was a part of him—maybe the only part that still felt human—that needed to believe there was more to it.

"Good luck, my foolish little brother..." he muttered, his voice low and cool, lingering in the cold air.

The scene shifted.

Now, Itachi raced across rooftops and bounded through trees, his movements guided by the muscle memory of the body’s previous owner.

There was a certain joy in the freedom of it—the wind on his face, the power in each stride, the rhythm of flight and fall.

But the moment didn’t last.

A memory flickered into his mind: a girl’s face, her hands bound, her life taken by Obito without hesitation.

Izumi...

A quiet sadness stirred in his chest.

Images of her played in his mind like a film—fragments of warmth, abruptly ended.

Then, he remembered another task.

He needed to meet with the Third Hokage.

Partly for Sasuke.

And partly... for himself.

The truth was, he feared what might happen next.

Meeting with Hiruzen was a calculated move—to reaffirm that he was still loyal, still playing his part as a double agent.

If Hiruzen believed him, the pursuit teams sent after him would be weaker, less lethal. He wouldn’t have to worry about being hunted by both Danzo’s Root and Hiruzen’s Anbu at once.

It was a necessary risk.

And even though Sasuke had the protagonist’s luck, his sudden appearance in this world could easily shift fate. The so-called butterfly effect.

He couldn’t afford to leave Sasuke behind in this dangerous place without doing something.

Luck alone wasn’t enough.

"You're here, Itachi..."

Outside the Hokage’s office, Sarutobi Hiruzen stood looking at the village, his tone soft as he looked upon the thirteen-year-old before him.

His eyes held a complex mix of pity, regret, and something like admiration.

Then, without another word, they vanished.

"Yes, Lord Hokage."

Itachi responded evenly, though inside he was tense. Alert. Watching.

Silence settled between them.

After a long pause, Hiruzen picked up his pipe and took a slow draw. He looked again at the boy standing—not kneeling—before him.

He could feel the distance between them. A silent chasm.

This boy, once bright with the pure Will of Fire—so much like Kagami—had crossed a line he could never return from.

And that frightened him.

The Uchiha clan, once Konoha’s most powerful noble clan, had been eradicated in a single night by this child... and a masked man.

The mystery surrounding that figure gnawed at Hiruzen’s thoughts like a thorn in his side.

"Hokage-sama, I intend to infiltrate their organization and gather information. As for Sasuke... I leave him in your care."

Itachi kept his gaze on the floor. The weight of Hiruzen’s stare pressed down on him, and the silence was suffocating.

To break the tension, he spoke first—offering the reminder, the plea, and the warning all in one sentence.

Despite everything, he felt how fragile his position truly was.

He didn’t dare challenge Hiruzen—not now. He couldn’t afford to provoke a man whose mastery over ninjutsu was legendary.

Besides, Konoha wasn’t just about Hiruzen.

There were other forces at play.

Even if he could summon the Susanoo from memory, Itachi understood his body's limitations.

No matter how gifted a thirteen-year-old might be, chakra reserves were ultimately bound by the body’s age.

Besides, his fighting style had always leaned toward precision and agility—not brute force. Susanoo, on the other hand, demanded an overwhelming flood of chakra and a reckless, almost desperate fighting approach.

The contrast was obvious.

Finally, Hiruzen spoke.

"Understood, I'll not let any harm come to young Sasuke. Be careful, Itachi."

This time, there was no question about Itachi’s well-being—no warm words. But his tone carried a trace of concern. Whether it was genuine or calculated, Itachi couldn’t tell.

“Yes, Lord Hokage,” he replied quietly, exhaling a subtle breath of relief.

A moment later, his figure flickered and vanished from the Hokage’s office.

He reappeared atop Hokage Rock, standing against the cold wind.

Below, the village remained dark—untouched by the blood spilled in the shadows. Watching it, Itachi let out a long, weary breath.

His clothes were soaked with cold sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his back.

'Tch. So this is how fragile my composure is… How can I survive in this world like this?'

With that grim thought, Itachi turned away from the village and disappeared once more.

Within him, a quiet urgency stirred—he needed to adjust. To truly belong to this world, both in body and in mind.