A moment later—
Mikoto's soft hand pressed down on Di Yan's wandering palm, stopping it before it could move any further.
The flush had not yet faded from her cheeks.
But her eyes held something else now—concern. Scrutiny.
"Your Majesty… did you… lay hands on Yuhi Kurenai?"
Her voice was quiet, carefully measured.
Though never formally titled, Mikoto had long since become the de facto steward of the inner palace. Every new arrival, every arrangement within those gilded halls, passed through her hands.
She had known the moment Kurenai was brought in.
In fact, it had been Mikoto herself who arranged for the unconscious Jonin to be placed in a lavish yet cold side chamber not far from the imperial quarters.
The memory stirred unease within her.
Di Yan's hand stilled.
His expression did not shift; if anything, he appeared entirely untroubled.
"Yes."
He did not deny it.
"She is important."
His tone was calm, almost clinical.
"This is only the first move."
He withdrew his hand and instead wrapped an arm around Mikoto's waist, drawing her close as he spoke in a low, deliberate voice.
"Kiba Inuzuka and Shino Aburame are heirs of their respective clans. Through them, we exert pressure."
"Through Kurenai, we draw out Sarutobi Asuma—and by extension, the Ino–Shika–Cho line."
"If the major clans hesitate, even neutrality serves our purpose."
His eyes sharpened.
"Konoha appears unified. It is not. Once divided, it will fall."
He paused.
"Then comes reckoning."
The word hung heavy between them.
Reckoning.
Something ignited in Mikoto's eyes.
For an instant, the gentle sorrow vanished—replaced by a blade-sharp fury long buried beneath restraint.
That night.
The night her world shattered.
She had watched her eldest son, Itachi Uchiha, drive a blade into Fugaku Uchiha's chest.
She had not fought.
She had not resisted.
She had only wished to follow her husband into death.
Di Yan had intervened before the final blow reached her.
When she awakened, she was already beyond Konoha's walls, among the scattered remnants of her clan.
Later, she learned the truth.
Danzo Shimura.
The manipulation.
The impossible choice forced upon Itachi—slaughter or civil war.
The Uchiha had not been rebels.
They had been sacrificed.
Her husband's death had meant nothing.
Her clan's destruction had served politics.
And her sons—
One branded a criminal.
The other consumed by hatred.
Hatred had kept her alive.
Hatred had kept her beside Di Yan.
When she spoke, her voice trembled—not with fear, but with iron.
"When Konoha falls… I will be there."
"I will witness the end of those who destroyed my family."
Her grip tightened around his sleeve.
"I am still a shinobi. I will fight."
Di Yan watched the fire burn within her.
Exactly as intended.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "Your place will be reserved."
His tone shifted.
"The path of vengeance requires strength."
He tilted her chin upward.
"And resolve."
Mikoto's gaze wavered—not from doubt, but from the weight of what she had already given.
Revenge demanded power.
Power demanded sacrifice.
She had long ago surrendered comfort, reputation, and peace.
Only purpose remained.
The chamber fell quiet save for the faint crackle of candlelight.
Later—
A cold mechanical voice echoed within Di Yan's mind.
[Exchange completed with Uchiha Mikoto. Mangekyo ocular power significantly enhanced.]
[Progress toward Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan: 4528 / 5000.]
Di Yan exhaled softly.
Four hundred seventy-two remaining.
His so-called system left him little room for complacency.
He sometimes wondered whether fate possessed a peculiar sense of humor.
Five thousand exchanges to evolve the Mangekyo Sharingan into the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan.
A steep price.
Still—
Power was never cheap.
"Enough," he said at last, smoothing his robe.
"Hikari will be here soon. I would rather not be mocked."
Mikoto had already composed herself, the earlier storm concealed once more beneath quiet dignity.
In the golden prison of the palace, she carried many roles.
Widow.
Mother.
Keeper of vengeance.
And willing accomplice to an empire yet to rise.