Of Blood and Duty

​I hail from a quaint town nestled along the southern coast of California. In that little slice of paradise, the tallest landmark wasn't the church steeple but rather a majestic cedar tree atop a hill fondly known as Bunny's Ledge, owing to its abundance of hares. And of course, as any coastal Californian knows, the endless Pacific marked our furthest horizon.

Growing up next to the great blue expanse, I had long learned to cherish the clammy feeling of cold water on my skin. Every morning, I'd wake to the tang of salt upon my lips and the obnoxious caw of seagulls calling out over the waves. My childhood was a symphony of crashing surf and creaking piers. It was mostly peaceful, and I loved it for that.

I loved, even more, the tranquillity of seclusion. Solitude was my sanctuary, especially during my walks home from school, where I relished the absence of obligatory social interactions. This, of course, inevitably meant I had few friends for the majority of my high school life. Only two, to be exact. Their names, Jeremy Fisher and Lola Brooks.

Miss Brooks and I shared a penchant for introversion and a distaste for social affairs. Fisher, on the other hand, was our antithesis—a troublemaker with a knack for stirring up trouble. He was the one who started fights with the name-calling halfwits on the baseball team. He was the problem child. The one least liked by most self-respecting adults and regarded by all as a bad influence. Still, despite our differences, Jeremy served as the linchpin of our friendship.

Almost like clockwork, we would gather every weekend to do something fun, usually at his behest. Sometimes we would play games on the console my dad got me immediately after the divorce, back when things were still hopeful. Other times, we would binge anime at his place, enjoying our pick of the pile from the extensive collection in his library. Brooks, at the time, had somewhat of an obsession with miniatures, so we would, on occasion, stop by her place to fawn over her latest acquisitions.

We were best of friends, who spent almost every waking day together...

At least we did until the pair became a thing.

It ... it was a very awkward break. Brooks and Fisher were understandably perplexed and disheartened by my sudden departure from the clique. At the time, even I didn't truly understand why I had suddenly grown to detest them.

It wasn't all bad though. We were about to graduate from high school at the time of our falling out so the incident thankfully ended up being a short-lived affair. My mother was at first concerned about my very sudden decision to switch to another university in an entirely different state, but being the sort of person she was, that ended up also not being that much of a big deal.

Life, to an extent, regained some semblance of normality. I lost my affection for anime and miniatures and took up modding games as a hobby instead. Into my second year, I took up a remote software development gig to supplement my and Mother's bills when the child support suddenly stopped flowing in. I was seventeen at the time, so Mother tried to contest it, but it was hard to bring a man to court when he and all his assets had been relocated to another country on the other side of the world.

With my social circle dwindling, Chris emerged as my sole confidant—a friendly bunkmate and fellow student. Still, despite our shared interests and daily interactions, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease around him, perhaps due to his uncanny resemblance to Jeremy in that he was earnest, outgoing and sociable almost to a fault.

It's been a few years now since then though, and sometimes, I cannot help but wonder whether I was too harsh on Chris. And Jeremy.

And Lola too.

Perhaps I was.

"Itachi-kun."

I blinked, suddenly realising I had been standing in place, blocking the entrance into the house. Exhaling, I moved aside to place the box in my arms on a stack outside by the sliding doors. Behind me, Mikoto stood with one arm curled under Sasuke and the other propped up on her waist. Internally wincing as her disapproving gaze met mine, I replied, "Yes, Mother?"

"You're daydreaming again," Mikoto scolded, turning back into the room to pace, attempting to burp the drowsy toddler slung across her chest. "Hurry up with those boxes and come help me with your father's clothes. Yakumi-san will be here to help with the luggage in fifteen minutes. Let's not keep him waiting."

"Yes, Mother."

I cherished our home, so it came as no surprise that I was unwilling to relocate. Unfortunately, Lord Danzo had decreed we be pushed to the fringes of society, leaving us no choice but to leave. The Hokage seemed powerless in the presence of his puppet master, and Father couldn't resist without seeming mutinous. It was vexing, but ultimately, I had to accept it as another harsh reality of the life I was now forced to live.

In moments like this, I tried not to think too much about the future. Of course, I was well aware of what was coming. Once, I believed my actions and existence would have some butterfly effect that would throw the plot off its rails. No such luck there. Father showed me what a real war looked like, Sasuke was born, and Obito's actions inevitably led to Minato's demise. The details varied, but everything truly important—the broad strokes—remained unchanged.

I placed the final box outside, mindful not to let myself become too absorbed again, then returned to my parents' room to gather the last of Father's kimonos. The delicate silks warranted careful handling to prevent any wrinkles, so I took my time folding and wrapping them for transport. Surveying the now-empty room, a faint frown creased my brow. Anger, once rare in my demeanour, now seemed to surface all too frequently.

Despite being hailed as a genius, I felt foolish and inadequate, trapped in a state of stagnation. Each day seemed to inexorably lead me closer to that dreaded night. It felt as though all my efforts were futile—frustration boiled within me.

"...what's wrong, Itachi?" Mother's voice interrupted my thoughts from outside the room. I turned to face her, smoothing my expression. Sasuke had drifted off to sleep, his serene face offering a brief respite to my troubled mind... until the reality of our situation flooded back.

"It's nothing, Mother," I lied, gathering the folded kimonos and stepping outside. Yakumi had arrived, busily sealing our belongings within storage scrolls.

"Good evening, Itachi-san," the shinobi greeted as I added the final items to the collection.

"Good evening, Yakumi-san," I responded with a nod. "Is my father back yet?"

The shinobi shook his head; the topknot crowning his dark hair, swaying with the motion. "He is still at the station. Something important came up, so he instructed me to inform Mikoto-san that he would be coming home late."

"Understood," Mother interjected as she emerged with Sasuke, casting me a hesitant glance before addressing the shinobi. "Thank you, Yakumi-san."

"It's no trouble, Madam."

Mother glanced at me once more before departing with my brother. "I'll go ahead," she said, "please assist Yakumi-san with the luggage, Itachi."

I nodded before reaching for one of the unused scrolls from the pile atop a nearby box, swiftly sealing away the suitcases scattered at my feet. Though mundane, the task proved straightforward, and within five minutes, we were ready to depart for the clan's new territory. The new residence, while marginally larger than our previous abode, still exuded the aroma of freshly assembled fixtures. Outside, a small group of sparrows, preparing to roost, chirped energetically atop the fence. In the back garden, the rhythmic clack of the shishi-odoshi's bamboo arm against a rock filled the air, accompanied by the soothing trickle of water filling the decorative feature.

Stepping onto the recently varnished wooden pathway, my attention was drawn to the sliding shoji screens framed by intricate wooden lattices, offering a glimpse of the softly lit interior. Translucent rice paper diffused the gentle light, casting enchanting patterns onto the tatami mats within.

Mother had already settled in, gently rocking Sasuke on her knees as she gazed out the window. Father had gone to great lengths to ensure the transition felt seamless for Mother and me, yet despite his efforts, there lingered an intangible sense of longing for our old home that this new one couldn't quite fulfil.

Even I struggled to articulate what exactly was missing. Perhaps it was just sentimentality, rooted in the memories of my childhood home.

A sigh escaped me as I deposited the box of storage scrolls onto a nearby table. Yakumi entered behind me, setting down his own box.

"Do you require assistance with rearranging, Mikoto-sama?" he inquired. Mother turned to him, a smile gracing her features.

"Thank you, Yakumi, but Itachi and I can manage from here. You should attend to my husband; I'm sure he could use your assistance more."

The shinobi offered a bow before taking his leave. Absentmindedly, I echoed his farewell, my focus shifting to unsealing and rearranging our belongings. Mother settled Sasuke into a small wooden cradle, a relic from my own infancy, before joining me. Together, we worked in comfortable silence until Mother had to excuse herself to begin preparing dinner.

I completed my task just moments before the sun dipped fully below the horizon. Stepping onto the Engawa outside, the scene before me was surreal. The sky was awash in crimson hues, while the greens of the surrounding forest deepened into a sombre blue. It was undeniably beautiful, yet tinged with a hint of foreboding.

紅の夜明け Crimson dawn unfolds,

暗青影消えて Dark-blue shadows fade away,

感覚目覚め Senses come alive.

"It's nice, isn't it?"

I nodded, not tearing my sight away from the scene until I was sure it was seared into my memories. Sharingan fading back into the obscure depths of my eyes, I finally turned to face Father.

"Father," I greeted.

"Son," came his reply.

"...I thought you had some work to do?"

Fugaku stoically joined me at my side, his demeanour stern as ever, even as he relaxed into a Tatehiza with one knee raised and the other folded underneath his body. "It's not so important that I cannot postpone it for another few hours."

I nodded before turning my gaze back to the darkening sky.

"...Itachi."

"Yes, Father?"

"Your Mother says you have been acting unusual lately," Fugaku ventured, his voice dull and face seemingly carved from granite.

"It's nothing, Father," I lied.

The older shinobi did not react much, his onyx eyes still fixed on the last sliver of dawn tinting the horizon. "I am your father," he said. "You are my heir. The Uchiha's hope and future. If you ever need guidance, do not hesitate to seek it."

Fugaku rose and began to make his way back into the house. At that moment, something arose in me.

"Wait."

Father paused.

The question bubbled in my mind, pulsing like a malignant tumour in my chest. I swallowed, my throat suddenly feeling dry.

"...It's nothing," I said finally, unsure if I truly wanted the answer to the question haunting me.

Fugaku said nothing for a few moments before finally nodding. "It is alright, son," he said. "All in due time. Just remember, Itachi, we are here for you. the clan, your mother, your brother ... myself."

"We'll always be."

I stared at Fugaku's broad back as he walked away, before turning back with a sigh.

"I know, Father," I breathed.

"That's what makes it so hard."