Most people saw it as an atrocity, something that never should have happened. They pitied the family and the poor young boy, orphaned so suddenly; and even now, some ten years after the fact, when the boy had grown up and committed atrocities of his own, they still pitied the fate of the Uchiha clan. Though now, they whispered behind their hands that it was that precise fate of the Uchiha clan that had driven the elder son to madness (it was said) and the younger son to obsession (or so they thought).
“They know nothing in Konoha,” Uchiha Itachi said. It was one of those small back-street teahouses that didn’t ask questions, the kind of place a meeting like this ought to be set in. They didn’t question coin when it came to them, even when confronted with two known criminals, and they certainly didn’t question the telltale white eyes of the Hyuuga clan.
Hyuuga Neji sat across from him, sipping the tea that was surprisingly good, listening. Itachi had awaked him, knocking on the window as though he wasn’t an outcast and nothing ever happened, and they’d gone one town over to have tea in the godawful hours of the morning. At this point, whatever was said, he would agree with.
Itachi studied him. “You’re not listening,” he said flatly.
White eyes flicked over and held the Uchiha’s steady gaze. “It wasn’t madness,” he said slowly. Each word was thought out. “It was a release.”
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