Chapter 18
As Asakawa Naoki tugged Uchiha Mikoto through the winding alleys leading to Konoha's commercial street, another figure was stumbling out of the haze, breath ragged and heart pounding—Uchiha Setsuna.
The pounding of his feet slowed as realization crept in like a cold wind. He stopped, chest heaving, and narrowed his eyes. Something didn't feel right.
Even if Sarutobi Hiruzen hadn't immediately seen through his disguise, there was no reason the Third Hokage would let him go. Not someone like him. Not without a fight.
That old man was a cold-blooded strategist, revered and feared, more like a war god than a village leader. He never trusted the Uchiha, and certainly wouldn't have taken his words at face value. If anything, he would've sent the Anbu to shadow him, if not detain him outright.
Setsuna's lips curled in a sneer.
"That Sarutobi… was he fake?"
His heart thudded as the pieces clicked together. He'd been duped. Him—an elite of the Uchiha clan, wielder of the Sharingan—tricked by a transformation jutsu?
The fury in his chest boiled over. He clenched his fists, veins bulging in his temples.
"That brat… it was him," he hissed. "That little runt who blocked my strike."
His Sharingan spun furiously, pupils narrowing. He could see it now—Asakawa Naoki, calm in the chaos, buying time, luring him into retreat.
Setsuna's pride burned like a wildfire.
"I don't care if the mission fails. That kid—I'll tear him apart."
With a burst of chakra in his legs, Setsuna vanished from his spot, darting through the streets like a black shadow. Faster than before. Driven not by orders, but by rage.
"We're almost there!"
Naoki's voice was hoarse, but filled with urgency. His legs burned, and sweat clung to his forehead, but he didn't stop. Even after a year of hard training, this sprint was pushing his limits.
Mikoto stumbled beside him, gasping for breath. Though older than Naoki by two years, her smaller frame and lack of physical conditioning made it hard to keep up.
Still, she didn't complain.
Naoki kept her hand tightly in his, dragging her forward through the last stretch of street.
Just ahead, the crowd thickened. Konoha's commercial district was coming into view—shops, chatter, and villagers going about their business.
Once they reached the crowd, they'd be beyond the influence of the illusion cast earlier. The genjutsu had thinned the surrounding populace to allow Setsuna a quiet capture, but it wouldn't extend into the busy marketplace.
Naoki's plan was simple—get lost in the crowd. If they couldn't escape outright, at least they could hide. Blend in. Stall for time.
But Naoki underestimated just how fast a Uchiha driven by wrath could be.
Before they could step into the safety of the crowd, a figure in black robes appeared ahead, like a phantom materializing from the darkness.
Uchiha Setsuna stood alone, but it felt like an army blocked their path.
Chakra surged from his body in a violent wave, thick and suffocating. Naoki and Mikoto froze mid-step, an invisible pressure crushing down on them.
Even without his Sharingan, Setsuna's strength was jonin level. With it—especially with the three-tomoe Sharingan activated—he could overwhelm most high-ranking shinobi in the village.
But despite his strength, he remained a chuunin, his advancement deliberately withheld.
Why?
Because he bore the Uchiha name.
The Hokage's office had stalled his promotion repeatedly, and Setsuna had watched with bitter jealousy as lesser shinobi from the Sarutobi, Shimura, Hyuga, and Nara clans rose through the ranks.
Anger had festered in him like rot, until eventually, the Hawk faction within the Uchiha elders took him in. He became one of their strongest tools—sharp, silent, and seething.
And now, here he was, blocking their escape.
"I don't know why you're after me," Mikoto said, stepping forward with her arms spread, "but he's innocent."
Naoki's eyes widened. He hadn't expected her to shield him.
In this moment—scared, cornered—Uchiha Mikoto chose to stand in front of him.
She looked back at him, her expression calm but resolute.
"I still don't know your name," she said softly, "but thank you for saving me."
Naoki blinked.
"If I make it through this… I…" she trailed off.
Born into prestige, Uchiha Mikoto had lived a life of quiet privilege. As the beloved granddaughter of the clan's Great Elder, she never had to worry about money, training, or survival.
But her life wasn't hers.
She was destined to marry Uchiha Fugaku, the son of the clan head. A political match. A bloodline merger. Strong offspring, pure lineage.
Fugaku wasn't cruel, nor was he unworthy. He was talented, respected.
But Mikoto felt nothing for him.
And though she didn't resist, she also didn't dream.
Until a year ago.
She had watched, seated by a classroom window, when a scrawny boy charged into a fight where he had no chance of winning.
Uzumaki Kushina had been cornered by four bullies. Asakawa Naoki didn't hesitate—he rushed in fists first, no strategy, no plan.
It was reckless. Stupid, even.
But it moved her.
She had felt envy—not for Kushina being saved, but for the courage it must have taken to act without hesitation.
That moment, buried deep in her memory, had stayed with her.
She never tried to learn his name. Never sought him out.
Because it didn't matter. Their paths would never cross again.
Or so she thought.
Until now.
A year later, in another moment of crisis, that same boy stood before her again—only this time, he saved her.
And this time, she remembered his name.
Asakawa Naoki.
Running with him, gasping for air, legs aching and chest burning—these had been the freest moments of her life.
And now it was over.
Setsuna's arrival had ended it all. The illusion of choice, the sliver of rebellion—it was slipping from her fingers.
She regretted nothing more than not speaking to Naoki back then. Not knowing him sooner.
Because maybe, just maybe, she would have found the strength to resist the life laid out for her.
But it was too late.
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