In the scarlet depths of his pupils, the three black tomoe twisted, reshaping into three sickle-like crescents that interlocked around a hollow center.
The pattern radiated a subtle yet crushing pressure, a power that seemed to weigh on the very air itself.
Staring at the reflection in the mirror, Uchiha Gen allowed himself a faint smile.
Not the most elegant design… but not ugly either. More importantly, it's mine.
He closed his eyes and focused, letting the new flood of information from his Mangekyō Sharingan settle into his mind. The joy that flickered across his face quickly shifted into bemusement.
His Mangekyō abilities were… unusual.
The left eye had awakened Izanagi, the legendary genjutsu that rewrites reality itself.
But unlike the version recorded in the clan's scrolls, his Izanagi required neither hand seals nor the permanent sacrifice of a Sharingan.
All it demanded was pupil strength. The drawback was that its duration was halved, thirty seconds of absolute invincibility, and only usable once every twenty-four hours.
Half a minute.
Not long at all. Yet in battle, thirty seconds could be everything. A trump card strong enough to overturn the battlefield, escape death, or guarantee survival.
Gen exhaled slowly, satisfied. "A life-saving technique… just what I wanted."
Then his brow furrowed. His right eye's power was… stranger.
The name that surfaced in his mind was Uzume.
Gen recalled bits of mythology from his past life, legends of the gods Izanagi and Izanami, their children Amaterasu, Tsukuyomi, and Susanoo… and the tale of a goddess whose dance lured Amaterasu out of the heavenly cave to restore light to the world.
Ame-no-Uzume-no-Mikoto, or Uzume for short, was The Goddess of Dance.
Gen's lips twitched. "Don't tell me my Mangekyō makes me the strongest dancer in the ninja world. Am I supposed to moonwalk enemies into submission? If Madara saw this, he'd never say 'Dance' again…"
But no, it wasn't about dancing. As he sifted deeper through the eye's essence, the truth revealed itself.
The goddess had tricked Amaterasu out of the cave not with force, but with deception, making her believe a lie so convincing she stepped into the light herself.
That was Ame-no-Uzume-no-Mikoto's gift.
It allowed Gen to speak and be believed. His words would slip past suspicion, planting conviction directly into the target's will. Truth, half-truth, or blatant falsehood; it didn't matter.
The listener would accept it as reality.
The effect wasn't permanent, nor absolute. Outrageous lies unraveled faster once the victim thought it through, while truths or close-to-truths could last far longer.
Its cooldown was tied to believability; the more grounded the words, the quicker the eye could be used again.
Gen leaned back, stunned, then began to chuckle. "So… a Sharingan technique that lets me talk my way out of anything. A liar's Mangekyō."
Yet the implications thrilled him. With it, he could escape danger, smooth over suspicion, bend negotiations, gain trust, or even turn enemies against each other.
In politics, in war, even in… relationships, this ability was terrifyingly versatile.
And in combat? Influence an opponent's judgment at a critical moment, trick them into lowering their guard, or bait them into a trap, victory won without them even realizing why.
Gen laughed outright now, eyes gleaming. "Yes… this is every bit as dangerous as Shisui's Kotoamatsukami. Maybe more insidious."
Of course, there were limits.
Against Mangekyō users, Eternal Mangekyō, Rinnegan, or simply those with unshakable wills, the eye's effect weakened drastically. And the stronger the target, the more chakra it drained to sway them.
But even so, what a weapon.
He let his laughter fade into a smirk. "No one must know of this. Not a word. Just like Shisui hid Kotoamatsukami, I'll bury Uzume behind another mask."
Fortunately, with his Soul-Soul Fruit powers, he had an easy cover. Any strange effects could be attributed to his soul techniques. The perfect disguise.
Gen stretched, feeling the last traces of fatigue slip away.
The Sharingan faded back to black.
"…It's already evening." He stood, humming a careless tune as he walked from his room toward the kitchen. "Time to cook."