The room was dimly lit, and despite the mess surrounding them, there was a strange sense of quiet anticipation in the air. Naori stood by the window, her fingers nervously tracing the edges of the curtain, her thoughts a whirlwind of uncertainty. She had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to undergo the procedure. The hope of regaining her sight, something she hadn't dared to dream about for years, was enough to push her past her skepticism. Yet, the fear of what might happen still lingered in the back of her mind. What if the eyes rejected her? What if she was left worse off than before?
Itachi, ever calm, stood with the small vial in his hand. The green liquid inside shimmered faintly in the low light, and Naori's gaze fell upon it. The mangekyō sharingan, Shisui's mangekyō sharingan, safely preserved in the vial, a gift and a burden all in one.
He motioned for Yuki and Mikoto to follow him, and the three of them moved into the bedroom, which, like the rest of the house, was in a state of disarray. The furniture was mostly broken, and the room smelled faintly of old wood and dust. It was clear that Naori had long since given up trying to care for it, consumed by her own isolation and resentment.
Yuki immediately took charge, grabbing towels and cleaning supplies, while Mikoto silently moved to the corner of the room, her eyes lingering on the mess but refraining from comment. Naori, uncomfortable in the sudden bustle of activity, stood at the window and glanced back every now and then, but didn't speak.
Mikoto, ever the considerate mother, approached her son, speaking quietly as she helped clean. "Itachi," she said, a soft reproach in her tone, "You're pushing her into something she might not be ready for. Do you really think she's prepared for this? The Mangekyō is dangerous, especially to someone who hasn't had it for years."
Itachi, without turning to look at his mother, nodded. "I know what I'm doing, Mother. It's not just for the clan—it's for her. For what she deserves."
Mikoto let out a small sigh, but didn't argue. She had seen the changes in her son over the years, and though she didn't always agree with him, she knew his heart was in the right place.
Mikoto continued her cleaning, humming a soft tune as she wiped down surfaces, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as a thought crossed her mind. Turning to her son, who was busy adjusting some of the equipment for the procedure, she couldn't resist.
"So, Itachi," Mikoto began innocently, wiping a countertop with a little more attention than necessary. "Do you like this woman?"
Itachi froze for a moment, his usual composed demeanor faltering as his eyes widened. He turned to his mother, his voice suddenly lacking its usual confidence. "What do you mean, Mother?" He couldn't help but try to keep his usual tone but failed, the question clearly catching him off guard.
For the first time in what felt like ages, Mikoto felt a bit of triumph in her teasing. She leaned against the counter, her smile turning into a sly grin. "My, my. I never knew my little Itachi was interested in older women."
Itachi's face instantly flushed. He found the wall across the room suddenly the most interesting thing in the entire room. His hands fidgeted uncomfortably. "Mother..." he mumbled, unable to formulate a proper response.
Mikoto, sensing her son's discomfort, leaned in a little closer, her teasing growing more playful. "What is she, 25? 28? 30? That's quite an age difference you're shooting for." She raised an eyebrow, enjoying how flustered Itachi was becoming. "And although she pointed her sword at you, she didn't seem repulsed by you." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "And what was it that you said to her again? Something about how you'd never let her be alone again, right? 'Even if you can't see anymore, I'll make sure you're cared for. To make sure you feel loved. Because now I'm here. And I want to help.'"
Itachi's face turned even redder as his mother's words sank in. He was now completely caught in the embarrassing spotlight. Mikoto smiled, her teasing becoming more affectionate. "You sounded like one of those big heroes from the fancy movie screens. My little Itachi, ever the hero."
Itachi, his face almost completely hidden in his hands, could only manage to mutter one word, "Mother..." He stumbled backward, unable to stand it anymore, and practically dove into a corner of the room, where he began banging his head against the wall.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He was doing this with such force, it might've been mistaken for an impromptu training session. Mikoto watched him with a mix of amusement and affection, laughing as the sound of Itachi's head hitting the wall echoed through the room.
"Thud! I'm an idiot. Thud! Why did I say that?! Thud!" Itachi groaned to himself, his voice muffled and full of frustration. The scene was so absurd it was almost as if the Third Hokage himself were watching this, with the way Itachi was punishing himself.
Mikoto could hardly keep herself together. She collapsed onto the floor, clutching her sides as laughter bubbled out of her. "Oh, Itachi! You're just like your father! So serious and yet so—so... clueless!"
Yuki, who had been quietly watching from the side, raised an eyebrow. She couldn't believe what she was witnessing. The young, stoic clan head, reduced to this by his own mother. She had always thought of Itachi as an unshakable pillar of strength, but now, she could only stand there, trying to suppress her own amusement.
Meanwhile, just outside the door, Naori, having heard the commotion, stood frozen in the hallway. Her cheeks were flushed, and she found herself replaying the earlier moments in her mind. The unexpected touch of Itachi's hand on her breast, his heartfelt words about making sure she was cared for—it had all caught her off guard.
Could this... be a proposal? Naori thought, her heart pounding in her chest. The idea sent her into a spiral of thoughts. She wasn't even sure what to make of it.
As a 28-year-old woman who had never been with a man, she had nothing but her brief, past encounters with men to go on when it came to romance. The way Itachi had looked at her, the warmth of his words—it almost felt like something out of one of those cheesy romance novels she used to read in secret. She couldn't believe it was happening to her, of all people.
Her mind wandered back to the interaction, to the brief but intimate contact that had sent a shock through her body, and her face turned an even deeper shade of red. Did I misunderstand? Could this actually be something more than just... his duty to me as clan head?
Just the thought of it made her flush even harder.
On the other side of the door, Itachi's self-inflicted punishment continued, but Naori couldn't help but wonder. Was that really a proposal?
Once the cleaning was done, Naori's room was more presentable, though still far from perfect. It was a start. Mikoto turned to Itachi, standing by his side now as he prepared to explain the next steps.
"These aren't just regular eyes, Naori," Itachi began, his voice firm but gentle. "They're Shisui's Mangekyō Sharingan. What you're about to undergo will allow you to unlock the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan—an upgrade that grants new, immeasurable power. It's not just the return of your sight—it's the beginning of something far greater. You'd currently become the strongest in the clan."
Naori's eyes, still blind, seemed to narrow, skeptical. "The Eternal Mangekyō? And what if my eyes reject them? I've heard the stories. If the connection isn't strong enough... I'll end up blind again. And worse, I could even lose my mind."
Itachi shook his head. "No, Naori. I wouldn't let that happen to you. These eyes have been preserved for this exact purpose. They're meant to be used by someone who understands their weight. You're strong enough to handle them. You'll be fine."
Her breath hitched slightly, but she nodded, still apprehensive. "And if you're wrong?"
Itachi's eyes softened. "I'm not wrong."
well at least I don't think I'm wrong, Itachi thought. But he damn sure would say that out loud or show it on his face at this moment. With him suddenly happy Itachi had such an impressive poker face. Magic city here I come. After all this Uchiha nonsense was behind him he'd take a trip to the casino's, bars , and brothels to relax. As that shit sounds like some easy money and good times.
The tension in the room was palpable, but before anything else could be said, Yuki moved forward with the anesthesia. The nurse, calm and practiced, prepared a small syringe with a sedative. She gently injected it into Naori's arm, and within moments, Naori's body slackened as sleep claimed her.
With the room quiet again, Itachi turned to Yuki, his expression focused. "Prepare the procedure. We'll need to separate the eye cortex and make the implant."
Yuki nodded and set to work, carefully and methodically. She had done this many times before, but each time felt just as delicate. As she worked, Itachi turned to his mother.
"Mikoto," he began, his voice still steady. "I need you to go to the store. Get groceries. We'll need food for the next few days."
Mikoto's brow furrowed in annoyance. "Groceries? You're asking me to do this now, after everything we've just done?"
Itachi didn't flinch. "I have a lot to do, and I need you to take care of that. I'll manage things here. It's important."
Mikoto huffed, but after a moment, she sighed and nodded. "Fine. Your becoming just like your father. Making me do all the housework."
Itachi blinked not knowing how to respond to that, but then said. " That lucky bastard Fugaku." The man literally lives like a king and still screws up. Where's the justice in this world.
Mikoto exited the room, still muttering under her breath, leaving Itachi alone with Yuki and Naori. The procedure had begun.
As Yuki worked, Itachi couldn't help but think of the long road ahead. There was much work to do—more than he had originally anticipated. The burden of leadership, of changing the fate of the Uchiha clan, weighed heavily on him. But for now, he focused solely on the woman before him, the woman who had long been left behind. He would see her through this, and he would help her see again.
It wasn't just about restoring her sight; it was about restoring her hope.