The morning began like any other.
The classroom slowly filled with chatter, boots scuffing the floor, chairs scraping into place. Light spilled in through the high windows, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. But something was… off.
Shikamaru leaned back in his seat, frowning faintly. "Feels weird today. Like something's pressing on the air."
Choji nodded. "My mom said the clan heads were all summoned late last night. Even dad left in a rush."
"Mine too," Kiba muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn't say why. Just told me to stay inside."
A beat passed.
"Where are Tamamo and Sasuke?" Shino asked, quietly.
"They're usually the first ones here," Hinata murmured, eyes flicking toward the door.
No one had an answer. A hollow silence followed.
Then the door slid open.
Iruka stepped in — slower than usual. His posture was tight, shoulders stiff. His headband seemed to glint with something duller than sunlight. When he reached the front of the classroom, he didn't greet them with his usual smile.
He didn't speak right away.
And when he did, his voice wasn't loud — just steady. Careful.
"I need everyone to listen."
The room went still.
Iruka's hands were clasped in front of him. His gaze swept the room once before dropping slightly, jaw tensing.
"There was… an incident last night involving the Uchiha clan."
The air changed.
He continued, his voice tightening.
"There was an attack. Details are still unclear, but…" He hesitated, as if trying to find words that didn't exist. "Only two people survived."
The words struck like a crack in glass.
"Sasuke and Tamamo made it out."
A beat of silence.
"Sasuke woke up early this morning at the hospital. He's alive."
That sentence offered a fragile breath of relief—until he added:
"But Tamamo…" Iruka paused again. His throat worked around the words. "She's unconscious. The med-nin say she's in a chakra-induced coma. She hasn't woken up since she carried Sasuke in."
His voice cracked at the edges.
"They are the only ones left."
Silence fell again — heavier this time. Thicker.
Hinata's hand flew to her mouth. Choji lowered his eyes, clutching crumbs in a fist. Naruto stared forward, unmoving, like the words hadn't landed yet. Like they didn't make sense.
Shikamaru sat straighter, his usual slouch gone. Even Shino's stoicism wavered — a sharp intake of breath behind dark glasses.
Kiba's voice broke the stillness, low and stunned. "All of them? Gone…?"
Iruka didn't answer. Not directly.
"I wanted you to hear it from me," he said quietly, eyes on the floor now. "I know they were your friends. Your classmates."
He stepped back, slowly. Like he didn't know how to stand in front of them anymore.
"If you need to be excused, or if you want to talk to someone — the Hokage has arranged for support. You don't have to stay."
He turned to the blackboard but didn't raise the chalk. Didn't speak again.
And behind him, the room sat in silence — full of children suddenly learning what it meant to grieve.
—
Tamamo drifted in a sea of black.
No breath. No sound. No warmth.
She wasn't falling or floating — just existing, suspended in something heavier than air. Time didn't pass here. It circled, pressed in. Her body didn't hurt anymore, which only made it worse.
Was this death?
She couldn't tell.
For a long time, there was nothing. And in that nothing, she remembered.
The blood. The compound. The bodies. Her mother's hand still curled over her father's chest like she could protect him, even in death.
And Itachi—his back to them, standing over their parents like a monument to betrayal.
At first, the pain was quiet. A dull throb where her heart used to be.
Then it deepened. Grew teeth.
She remembered Konoha — not as a village, but as moments.
Warm afternoons with dust in the air and laughter echoing off academy walls.
Rice balls traded like currency during lunch breaks, peace always lasting until someone launched one across the bench and chaos followed.
Hinata, flinching at her own voice but smiling anyway when Tamamo teased her gently.
Mikoto humming in the kitchen as she cooked too much food for too few people — smiling when Tamamo and Sasuke stole dumplings off the plate and pretended it was stealth training.
Fugaku sitting nearby with a rare, small smile, pretending to read a scroll while secretly watching them with tired, fond eyes.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was theirs.
It was all real. And it was all gone.
Stolen…
By him.
The ache twisted into something sour.
She tried to breathe, but there was no air. Only that hollow weight pressing in, curling around her lungs like frost.
Her hands trembled.
Then clenched.
At first, it felt like sorrow.
But it wasn't.
It coiled lower. Heavier. Thicker.
'Itachi… He did this.'
Her teeth ground together.
The pain sharpened.
'He murdered them.'
Her fists closed tighter — until her nails cut into skin she couldn't even feel.
'He looked at us like strangers when we found him. Like we were nothing!!'
Her throat burned with a scream she couldn't release.
And still, the weight pressed down.
Like it was watching.
Like it was listening.
Something stirred around her.
Red eyes blinked open in the dark — one pair, then many. Watching. Whispering. They glowed like embers, circling like carrion.
Not hers. Not Itachi's. Older.
'You know this feeling…'
'You are Uchiha…'
'This is what's left when the light goes out…'
Their words weren't spoken. Just imposed, like pressure in her veins.
Tamamo flinched.
But the feeling didn't leave.
It intensified.
Anger like static. Grief like fire.
Hurt sharpened into rage.
And that rage began to echo.
Hate.
The word cracked like glass in her skull.
Hate… hate…
The eyes grew closer. Pressed tighter.
Hate.
It filled her lungs like ash.
HATE. HATE.
Each repetition louder than the last.
HATE! HATE! HATE!!!
She felt it in her bones now. In her marrow.
Crawling up her spine.
Filling her hollow chest like it had always belonged there.
A bitter warmth.
A terrible clarity.
She didn't want to scream anymore.
She wanted to burn.
Let the world rot. Let it all collapse. She would bring it down with her bare hands, if that's what it took.
Her Sharingan spun — slow, furious, unrelenting.
She was ready.
To let go.
To fall deeper.
To never come back.
But then—
"Please wake up already…"
A whisper — small, broken, real.
It pierced through the dark like a thread of light.
Her heart stuttered.
"You can't leave me too."
Sasuke.
"You're all I've got left."
The hate faltered.
"I need you."
Tamamo turned.
The red eyes flinched away.
For the first time, she saw them — not just as watchers, but as reflections. Of her. Of what she could become. Would become. If she let this in fully.
Her hands loosened.
The screaming in her blood dulled.
A single heartbeat later, the red eyes shattered like mirrors struck by light.
She was falling.
No — rising.
The hatred didn't vanish. It remained, curled deep beneath her skin, patient and quiet. A ghost that would never leave her.
But Sasuke's voice was louder.
And for now, that was enough.
She wouldn't leave him.
Not ever.
If she had to claw her way back from death with fury in her chest and ash in her throat — so be it.
Because he was waiting.
Because he called for her.
Because he needed her.
And she would never let him be alone.