Naruto Immersive Replay, The Curse of the Sharingan

A very faint rustling sound came from the other side of the wall; it was the girl unconsciously turning over in her sleep.

Your eyes remain open in the darkness, staring unblinkingly in the direction from which the sound comes, a cold, sticky focus beginning to spread silently.

The dark cave, entangled by the pipes of the Outer Path Golem, was filled with dust, decay, and an almost tangible obsession, so heavy it was suffocating.

Obito Uchiha struggles in a chaotic dream.

It was the same dream again, repeating itself countless times, with every detail unchanged, like the most precise torture, repeatedly branding itself onto his mind.

The scene focuses on the dying Uchiha Madara, the former Asura of the ninja world, now curled up on the cold stone ground, like a withered shell whose flesh and blood have been drained by time.

Life was rapidly slipping away from his shattered body, but his Rinnegan eyes burned with a final, almost manic intensity, tightly gripping the wrist of Obito, who was disguised as Madara.

His fingers were dry and withered like eagle claws, yet they possessed astonishing strength, carrying a chilling aura emanating from the underworld.

“Remember…find her…” Madara’s voice was hoarse and cracked, yet it carried a chilling weight, “Collar…bone…”

He coughed violently, dark blood foam spilling from the corner of his mouth, but the light of his Rinnegan grew even more terrifying, as if he were to transform his last breath into this single command.

“There must be… a cursed seal… on her collarbone…” Madara’s pupils dilated and then focused, seemingly piercing through Obito to see a phantom from a distant time and space. “Find her… we must…!”

Even in his dreams, Obito could feel that burning, undeniable madness.

He didn't understand that the Eye of the Moon Project, creating a perfect world with Rin, was the 'mission' Madara had given him, the only foundation that supported him as he walked through the darkness.

This inexplicable woman? A curse mark on her collarbone? Her near-paranoid ramblings before death seemed so out of place with the grand Eye of the Moon plan, appearing so...private, even...humble.

Madara's face was contorted with extreme emotions before his death, which was not only a resistance to death, but also a heart-wrenching attachment to some unfulfilled obsession.

This attachment was so strong that it transcended life and death, becoming a recurring nightmare for Obito.

"If it's forgotten... or... neglected..." Madara's voice suddenly turned shrill. In his final moments, he jerked his head up, his Rinnegan unleashing its last venomous rage, piercing deep into Obito's soul. "You... will never... get your way..."

Obito abruptly sat up on the cold stone bed, breathing heavily.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his single Sharingan spun wildly and erratically in the darkness, reflecting the water droplets dripping from the cave ceiling and refracting a chaotic light.

The cave was deathly silent, save for his rapid breathing and the pounding of his heart. The Outer Path Golem lay dormant in the shadows like a silent, ancient behemoth.

It's that dream again.

Madara's dying gaze, like the coldest kunai, pierced through the years and struck him once again with pinpoint accuracy.

The meaning in his eyes was complex and hard to discern; there was a threat, a warning, and also... a kind of understanding that Obito was unwilling to admit.

It was as if Madara had already seen through his deep-seated belief that the Eye of the Moon plan was not entirely pure.

Obito irritably wiped his face. All these years, he had never really searched for that Uchiha woman with the cursed mark on her collarbone. It sounded like nonsense.

In his view, Madara's obsession was more like the delirious ramblings of a powerful being on the verge of death, a morbid longing for something unattainable, insignificant compared to the great achievements of the Eye of the Moon.

He attributed these recurring nightmares to his own guilty conscience.

Was it guilt for using Ban's name? A subconscious worry that the plan might go astray? Or perhaps... a deep-seated doubt about whether the world with Rin was truly as perfect as imagined?

He was unwilling to delve deeper.

Only by focusing all one's energy on the Eye of the Moon and covering the entire reality with the radiance of Infinite Tsukuyomi can one suppress these unsettling murmurs from the spirits of the past.

"Completing the Eye of the Moon Project as soon as possible is the most important thing," Obito said to himself in a low voice, his voice sounding unusually dry in the empty cave, as if trying to convince himself.

He lay back down, forcing himself to close his eyes and drive the crazed look in Ban's eyes and the words about the strange woman out of his mind.

The mornings in the Uchiha clan compound are different from the rising smoke and bustling sounds of other neighborhoods. Here, it feels like a corner forgotten by time, where even the sound of the wind passing through the towering clan emblem is exceptionally clear, carrying an inescapable heaviness and reserve.

You walk alone on the empty cobblestone path, your footsteps so light they are almost inaudible, like a wandering ghost, strangely blending into the increasingly oppressive atmosphere of this tribal land.

Pushing open the wooden door bearing the family crest of a round fan, the aroma of old paper and ink wafts out.

Itachi Uchiha was standing in front of a towering bookshelf, looking up at an old scroll. He heard the door open but did not turn around, as if he had already expected your arrival.

You didn't respond, but silently walked to another row of bookshelves, your gaze sweeping over the densely packed scroll labels. Your fingertips traced the rough edges of the scrolls, the movement carrying an almost instinctive caution.

Only the faint sounds of scrolls opening and closing, and the barely audible breathing of the two people, remained in the library.

Suddenly, a suppressed, violent cough broke the silence.

You lift your eyes from the scroll and look toward the source of the sound.

The weasel had its back to you, its shoulders trembling slightly from a violent cough.

He raised his hand and tightly covered his mouth and lips with a pure white silk handkerchief, trying to suppress the heart-wrenching sound, but the cough came on fiercely, as if it would shake his internal organs.

It took a while for the cough to gradually subside.

Itachi slowly lowered his hand and subconsciously looked at the silk handkerchief in his hand.

A striking and vivid red color suddenly appeared on the snow-white silk.

Just then, he felt a gaze upon him.

He turned his head and met your gaze. His eyes showed no panic or concern that one would normally feel upon seeing bloodstains, only a pure, almost cold curiosity.

Those dark eyes stared unblinkingly at him and the blood-stained silk handkerchief in his hand, as if observing something interesting.

Itachi instinctively tried to put the handkerchief away, but it was too late.

You have already stepped forward, your movements slow and deliberate. Without a word, you reach out and your icy fingers grip the wrist that Itachi had just used to cover his lips with with unusual firmness.

Itachi was slightly taken aback, but did not break free.

He can feel the cool touch of your fingertips, almost seeping into his bloodstream through his skin.

You closed your eyes briefly, as if trying to perceive something carefully.

Chakra probed into Itachi's body, quickly circulating and sensing his chaotic meridians.

A moment later, you opened your eyes, released your grip, and narrowed your dark eyes, as if reassessing a precious artifact that was about to be destroyed.

"Are you overdrawing your Sharingan?" Your voice was flat and straightforward, without any questioning, simply stating a fact that had already been established.

Then, you delivered an even crueler verdict: "With the continued deterioration of vitality and bodily functions, there is no hope of a cure."

Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating your expressionless profile and the words that uttered from your mouth, words powerful enough to freeze hearts.

Itachi looked at you silently, his face showing no surprise, as if he had already accepted this ending.

He didn't even look at the blood-stained handkerchief; he just slightly curled up his wrist, which you had just grabbed tightly.

The touch of cold fingertips seemed to linger on it, as well as the subtle shivering sensation brought by the chakra probing into his depleted body.

He quietly savored that brief yet vivid encounter.

"I know," he replied calmly, his voice still a little hoarse from coughing earlier.

Your gaze remained fixed on his pale face, and deep within his eyes, a rare emotion slowly surfaced—not sympathy, not sadness, but a compassion akin to that of a god looking down upon an ant.

It's as if it's saying: I see your inevitable destruction, I know your pain, but I cannot, and do not need to, truly empathize with you.

You uttered two words softly, "...What a pity."

These two words, as light as a sigh, were like the most precise kunai, piercing the deepest part of the weasel's heart unexpectedly, causing a violent and silent spasm.

What a pity? What a pity for this genius whose talent was about to fade away?

Is it a pity about his unchangeable fate? Or... is it merely stating an objective fact, like lamenting the breakage of a fine piece of porcelain?

Regardless of the type, it gave the ferret a feeling that was a mixture of stinging and strange warmth.

No one had ever looked at him with such eyes, nor used such words to describe his impending doom.

It wasn't fear, it wasn't regret, but... compassion.

This superior yet pure emotion, emanating from the enigmatic girl before him, stirred ripples in his stagnant heart that he had never felt before.

Chapter 256 Scroll

Itachi lowered his eyes, avoiding those piercing black eyes, and put the wrist that had been touched behind his back, as if to treasure that fleeting, icy touch.

Then, he raised his head again, looking directly at you. The boy's gaze was complex and unfathomable, yet it carried an unusual clarity and... a certain resoluteness.

“No,” he said softly, but his voice was unusually clear, “at least now… it’s not a pity anymore.”

His words held deeper meaning, concealing a weight and a choice that only he himself understood.

The path we took before, and our current situation, may have been given different meanings due to the emergence of a certain variable.

But you don't care anymore.

His words, his profound meaning, failed to arouse your desire to explore.

The brief moment of pity had dissipated, replaced by a strange restlessness.

He turned around and faced the vast sea of ​​scrolls again, but his gaze did not focus on them.

Witnessing firsthand the inevitable downfall of a genius...

This is like a silent curse to you.

It reminds you of certain vague, fragmented pieces from the distant past, those fragments of memories about loss, destruction, and irretrievable loss, and you instinctively feel disgust and resistance.

You don't even know what you're thinking. Saving him? Why? What's the point?

These chaotic thoughts surged like a tide, only to be quickly swallowed up by the greater coldness and emptiness deep within your heart.

But one thing emerged with exceptional clarity, like the only definitive beacon on a dark sea—

You want to save the ferret.

It wasn't out of sympathy, it wasn't out of goodwill, and it might not even be out of any positive emotion.

Perhaps it's simply because his demise is seen by you as an "imperfect" destruction, a provocation against some unspoken principle of yours.

Perhaps it's just because behind the word "regret" lies a deep-seated stubbornness that you yourself were unaware of.

Even though we have no clue what to do now and the future seems uncertain.

But we will eventually succeed.

This is your absolute self-affirmation, an almost arrogant certainty rooted deep in your soul.

It was as if what was said was not a wish, but a future that was about to happen.

You reach out again, your fingertips landing on an ancient scroll about forbidden arts and life contracts. Your gaze is calm as water, yet carries a chillingly obsessive light.

Just then, Itachi Uchiha, who had been standing not far away, suddenly appeared in front of you.

The approaching presence was impossible to ignore, and you subconsciously raised your eyes, a faint hint of doubt flashing across your dark pupils.

Before you could ask any questions, Itachi had already reached out, his warm, slightly calloused fingers firmly grasping your cold wrist.

His touch startled you slightly. Unlike the forceful grip you had just used to probe your meridians, Itachi's touch was guided yet restrained.

He didn't explain, but silently took your hand and turned to walk deeper into the library, where a narrow staircase hidden in the shadows led to the basement.

You didn't struggle or ask any questions; you simply let him lead you step by step into the even deeper darkness.

His gaze fell on Itachi's back, with a calm scrutiny.

The basement was damp and cold, filled with a stronger smell of mold and dust.

The only light source was the faint skylight filtering through the stairwell above, barely outlining their blurred silhouettes.

Itachi stopped in the darkness and let go of her hand.

You could feel him turning towards you, and even if you couldn't see his expression, you could sense his unusual seriousness.

“From here,” Itachi’s voice was particularly clear in the enclosed basement as he pointed to a natural rock tunnel that seemed to lead deeper into the darkness.

"Follow the sound of the water, and at the end lies the Forbidden Pavilion, the former site of the Uchiha clan. I think... perhaps you'll find what you're looking for there."

After a moment of silence, in the darkness, their senses became more acute, and they could hear the sound of dripping water from a great distance, as well as each other's barely audible breathing.

You countered with a calm yet subtly inquisitive voice, "Why are you telling me this?"

Leading someone like you, whose identity is unknown and full of suspicion, to the most secret forbidden area of ​​the clan? This is by no means a rash move that Itachi Uchiha would make.

Itachi seemed to be staring at you in the darkness. After a brief silence, he spoke, using only four words: "I believe in you."

"..."

Your expression, which seemed perpetually frozen, finally showed an extremely subtle crack.

Her eyelashes trembled slightly, and in the thick darkness, her dark eyes seemed to catch a trace of sincerity, determination, and an indescribable...entrustment coming from Itachi's direction.

You never expected that this genius, burdened with such a heavy secret, would so easily utter those two words to you.