The house settled into late-night silence, but he couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the same thought pressed against the inside of his skull:
Six days left.
Not for him — for everyone with the Uchiha crest hanging outside their doors.
He stepped back outside, careful not to wake his wife or the children. The night air was cool, brushing against his skin with a chill that felt sharper than the daylight tension. The Uchiha district after dark had its own rhythm — muffled footsteps of patrol units, the distant clink of armor, a soft hum of chakra from sentries stationed on the rooftops.
But tonight… something was off.
The air felt thicker.
Heavier.
Like the world was waiting for something to snap.
He walked toward the clan's northern boundary, pretending he knew exactly where he was heading. But the truth was simpler — his instincts were dragging him toward movement he wasn't consciously tracking.
And then he saw them.
Two silhouettes perched above the tiled roofs, too still to be Uchiha patrols. Uchiha shinobi moved with silent arrogance, shoulders loose, confident. These figures had rigid postures, masked, their presence leaving a faint metallic scent in the air.
ANBU.
Again.
Watching the district as if it were an animal that might bolt from its cage.
He kept walking, posture straight, casual but collected. Drawing attention would only raise questions. The Uchiha were proud; they didn't flinch under surveillance.
But the body's pulse betrayed the calm his face showed.
As he passed under a lantern's light, one ANBU shifted slightly — following him with their gaze.
And that was enough.
He turned the corner into another street, waited a breath, then leapt upward, landing silently on the nearest rooftop. His body reacted with a smoothness that made his mind stumble — this was Shin Uchiha's athleticism, not his.
From the rooftop, he crouched low, scanning the district with eyes that weren't Sharingan but still unnaturally sharp.
That was when he noticed the second thing wrong tonight.
Uchiha patrols were… thin.
Too thin.
Usually, pairs moved like mirror images along the walls, their routes predictable but thorough. Yet tonight, he spotted only one pair in the distance, and their formation was sloppy — one distracted, glancing over his shoulder too often.
Unease spread through him.
Something had happened.
Something the clan wasn't saying aloud.
He had no memories, but he had knowledge — and Naruto canon painted a clear enough picture.
The night patrols shouldn't be thinning.
Not unless…
Unless Itachi had made another move today.
The kind no one would notice until it was too late.
He dropped silently back onto the ground, landing behind a storage shed near the training yard. As he stepped out, a voice called from behind him:
"You walk like you're hunting something."
He turned sharply.
A young woman — Uchiha police uniform, long hair tied back, eyes sharp. She couldn't have been more than twenty, but she carried herself with the confidence of a veteran.
"Captain," she greeted him with a crisp bow. "Didn't expect to see you off-duty."
He nodded. "Couldn't sleep."
She crossed her arms. "No one can. The clan's been tense ever since yesterday."
He kept his expression neutral. "Something happened?"
Her jaw tightened. "Two clan members were questioned for entering the village archives. Nothing serious — or so they claim."
That was close to canon.
Suspicious activity.
Excuses.
The clan investigating their own marginalization.
The woman leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Shin-taichō, between us… something's wrong. The ANBU are everywhere, and the clan head hasn't told us why."
He forced a calm reply. "Fugaku is handling it."
She didn't look convinced.
"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself," she muttered.
He turned to leave — but she grabbed his sleeve.
"Captain… if you know something, you should tell us. You're respected. The clan listens to you."
He met her eyes.
He didn't know anything from this life.
He only knew the ending.
"I'll tell you when I understand it myself," he said quietly.
She let go but didn't hide her disappointment.
"Don't take too long," she warned. "We might not have time."
He returned home when the moon was high. The house was dark, the faint sound of his daughter breathing through the paper walls.
As he stepped inside, he noticed something immediately.
A small folded note on the floor, slipped under the door.
He knelt, unfolding it carefully. The handwriting was sharp, efficient, unmistakably shinobi.
You're being watched more than usual.
Act normal.
Don't make sudden moves.
Naoki.
His brother.
Someone he couldn't remember…
but who apparently remembered him well enough to send a warning.
He closed the note slowly.
So the real Shin Uchiha had been involved in something before he died.
Something dangerous.
Something worth watching.
And now he was stuck playing a role in a life where one wrong gesture could trigger suspicion from both sides —
The clan.
And the village.
He slipped the note into the inner pocket of his jonin jacket, fingers brushing the torn seam again.
Something had definitely been there.
Something connected to all this.
He lay down beside his sleeping wife, body exhausted but mind wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
Every second ticking by felt like another step toward the night of red moonlight and betrayal.
And he wasn't sure yet whether he'd be able to save anyone — including himself.