This should be straightforward, Renjiro thought. Root agents are difficult to interrogate normally, but my Mangekyō genjutsu bypasses most conventional resistance. I only need one memory. One mission order. One command chain. One mention of Danzo's objectives.
He rose from his seat and moved to the first operative—a lean man with sharp features and a scar across his jaw. His hands were calloused, his posture that of someone who had spent years in combat. The seal on his tongue was visible—a dark, intricate pattern that marked him as Root. Renjiro placed a hand on the man's forehead, channelling a pulse of chakra to rouse him from unconsciousness.
"Wake up."
The agent's eyes snapped open. His gaze darted around the room, assessing, calculating, searching for an escape that did not exist. His hands twitched, reaching for weapons that were no longer there.
"Look at me," Renjiro said, his voice calm, commanding.
The agent's eyes met his. The tri-wheel Mangekyō spun, the pattern ancient and terrible, and the genjutsu took hold. The agent's body went rigid, his consciousness trapped in the illusion.
But then—the agent convulsed.
Black markings spread across his skin, dark veins pulsing beneath the surface like living things. His body arched, his mouth opening in a silent scream, and then—stillness. His eyes, wide and terrified, stared at nothing. His chest stopped rising. His heart stopped beating.
Renjiro released the genjutsu immediately, but it was too late. The agent was dead, his body still warm, his expression frozen in agony. The black markings had spread across his entire body, a lattice of curse-marked patterns that seemed to writhe even in death.
What the hell? Renjiro thought. This is not self-inflicted suicide. An automatic trigger.
He studied the body, his Sharingan tracing the black markings that had spread across the agent's skin. The pattern was familiar—similar to the tongue curse seal that Root agents traditionally carried, but different. The tongue seal silenced; this one executed. The markings were denser, more intricate, designed to react to specific stimuli. Genjutsu. Memory extraction. Certain chakra signatures.
Danzo prepared for this, Renjiro realised. He expected mind-reading attempts. He built a seal that kills the agent before they can reveal anything.
He moved to the second agent; a woman with sharp features and a cold, calculating gaze. Her hands were bound behind her back, her equipment removed, her mask still in place. Renjiro placed a hand on her forehead, channelling a pulse of chakra to rouse her.
"Wake up."
Her eyes opened. The Mangekyō spun. The same reaction—convulsions, black markings, death. Her body arched, her mouth opening in a scream that never came, and then she was still. The markings spread across her skin, pulsing once, twice, then fading into stillness.
The third agent. The same result. His eyes opened, filled with defiance. The Mangekyō spun. He convulsed, black markings spreading across his skin, and then he was dead.
The fourth. The same. Her eyes opened, and for a moment, there was fear. The Mangekyō spun. She convulsed, black markings spreading across her skin, and then she was dead.
The fifth. The same. His eyes opened, filled with resignation. The Mangekyō spun. He convulsed, black markings spreading across his skin, and then he was dead.
Five corpses. Five failures. No information.
Renjiro sat back, his expression unreadable.
He was not angry, not frustrated, simply analytical. The seal was sophisticated, designed to trigger on specific conditions. Genjutsu. Memory extraction. Certain chakra signatures. Whatever the mechanism, Danzo had prepared for Sharingan interrogation.
He studied the bodies, his Sharingan tracing the patterns of the curse marks. The markings were intricate, layered, designed to activate on contact with foreign chakra or mental intrusion. The trigger mechanism was precise—a specific threshold of chakra or intent that caused the seal to activate and execute the host.
This is more potent than the tongue seal, Renjiro thought.
He reached for his research notebook—a leather-bound journal filled with observations, theories, and experimental notes. He flipped to a fresh page and began to write, his brush moving with precise, careful strokes.
Root Operative – New Curse Mark Variation.
Trigger conditions: Genjutsu (specifically Mangekyō-based interrogation). Memory extraction techniques. Unknown chakra signatures.
Mechanism: Suspected automatic activation upon detection of unauthorised mental intrusion. Pattern spreads from the core outward. Death within seconds. No known countermeasure.
Further study is required.
He closed the notebook and sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of his discovery pressing against him. The bodies lay before him, their eyes still open, their expressions frozen in agony. He had learned nothing from them—except that Danzo was more prepared than he had anticipated.
I've neglected learning cursed seals, he mused, the thought settling into his consciousness with uncomfortable clarity. My expertise is in fuinjutsu, barrier techniques, Mangekyō abilities. But specialized curse-mark systems—jūinjutsu—are a weakness.
Renjiro could create seals that stored chakra, barriers that repelled attacks, techniques that drained and purified. But he did not understand the mechanisms that had killed five Root agents in front of him. The curse marks were a blind spot, a vulnerability that Danzo had exploited.
I need to learn jūinjutsu, he concluded. But the Eternal Mangekyō comes first. Without EMS, my Mangekyō usage remains limited. I can't afford to burn through my sharingans on every engagement.
He prioritized: EMS first. Jūinjutsu study second. Danzo third.
But that doesn't mean I can't send a message.
He looked at the corpses—five Root agents, killed by their own curse seals, their bodies still warm. They had been watching his house, spying on him, reporting to Danzo. And he had no way of knowing how much they had already shared. The uncertainty was a blade hanging over his head, a threat that could fall at any moment.
If they reported anything, I need to assume the worst. And if Danzo sent spies, Danzo deserves a response.
Danzo had underestimated him, had assumed he could be watched without retaliation. That assumption needed to be corrected.
He rose from his seat, his eyes calm, his movements deliberate. His body still ached, his chakra still low. But he moved anyway, his muscles protesting, his mind already planning the delivery.
"My turn to return the courtesy."
He gathered the bodies, slinging them over his shoulder, and began to move.
=====
The Shimura clan compound was a quiet, imposing structure on the eastern edge of the village. Its walls were high, its gates strong, its guards alert. But Renjiro had been ANBU. He had infiltrated compounds far more secure than this one.
He found a blind spot in the patrol pattern—a gap between rotations that lasted exactly forty-seven seconds. He moved through it, silent as a ghost, his body flickering between positions, his chakra suppressed to near nothing. The guards did not see him. They did not hear him. They simply turned, and there they were—five corpses, arranged in a neat row, their Root masks still in place.
"What the—" one guard began, his voice sharp with alarm.
"Who are they?" another asked, his hand already moving toward his weapon.
"They're dead," a third said, his voice flat with shock.
They approached cautiously, their eyes fixed on the bodies. One of them knelt, examining the corpse closest to him, and his face paled. His hands trembled as he touched the mask, recognising the markings and the equipment, the seal that marked the dead man as Root.
"ANBU," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "These are ANBU operatives."
"ANBU?" The first guard's voice rose. "What are ANBU operatives doing—"
"They're dead," the third repeated, his voice urgent. "They were delivered here. Someone—"
"We need to wake the clan head," the second guard said, his voice suddenly sharp with urgency. "Now. Immediately. This is not something we can handle alone."
No one debated. No one hesitated. Messengers were dispatched, alarms were raised, and the compound began to stir with the particular energy of a place that had just realised it was under threat. The five corpses lay before the Shimura compound, their bodies still, their masks still in place. A message had been delivered; not a threat, not a warning, but proof.
=====
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