Seven Hundred and Twenty Hours, Not One Second Less

Tsukuyomi Space.

Or rather— the Tsukuyomi Space that once belonged to Itachi Uchiha.

The blood-red sky was mostly shattered.

Golden light poured in from the crack, like magma flowing into an ice cave, gradually swallowing up the false crimson layer.

Itachi remained standing in the same spot.

His Ninja Blade was raised in mid-air, the tip less than three centimeters from Naruto's chest—but those three centimeters had become an insurmountable chasm.

A golden light enveloped Naruto's entire body, calm and gentle, like the midday sun.

But under the sunlight, there is no shadow to hide in.

Let me teach you a piece of common sense.

Naruto's index finger was still pressed against Itachi's forehead.

The distance was excessively close.

He could even see the curve of Itachi's eyelashes and the rapidly contracting pupils deep within those Mangekyo Sharingan eyes.

"In the spiritual world—"

The golden light on his fingertips surged.

"Whoever has the stronger willpower is a god."

Scene flip.

There was no transition.

There was no warning.

It's like someone suddenly flipped a canvas over.

The blood-red color disappeared.

Instead, there was an endless golden wilderness.

The sky is golden, the earth is golden, and every wisp of wind in the air carries the scorching heat of the sun.

And in the very center of the wilderness—

A cross.

Itachi Uchiha was pinned to it.

Six Paths golden chains extended from the cross, securing his limbs and torso to his wrists, ankles, and shoulder blades.

The chains are not made of metal, but of pure, tangible spiritual energy.

Every link in the chain is glowing.

Every ray of light was burning his consciousness.

Itachi's Mangekyo Sharingan spun wildly.

One lap.

Two laps.

Three laps.

The patterns rotated to their limit, attempting to tear the space apart from within and regain control.

It's useless.

It's like someone trying to light a match inside the core of the sun.

The match did indeed light.

Then, faced with temperatures of tens of millions of degrees, not even ash remained.

"That's impossible."

The eagle's voice finally cracked.

It wasn't a drastic fluctuation.

The first ripple appeared on the previously perfectly calm water.

But for Itachi Uchiha, this ripple itself was an earthquake.

"Tsukuyomi is an absolute Dōjutsu... space, time, mass... all are under the control of the caster... it cannot be reversed--"

"Shut up."

Naruto walked to the cross and looked up at Itachi, who was nailed to the cross.

There were only the two of them in the golden wilderness.

Naruto's shadow stretched long, falling on Itachi's pale face.

"What did you just say?"

He tilted his head, his tone as if recalling a small incident from long ago.

"Oh right—seventy-two hours. Piercing my body. Over and over again."

He raised his right hand.

Golden light gathered, extended, and solidified from the palm of the hand.

A sword.

It's not Ninja Blade, and it's not Kunai.

It is a complete longsword formed entirely from the spiritual power of the Great Evolution Divine Soul Art.

The sword is entirely golden, with fine patterns flowing across its surface, resembling some kind of ancient sealing script.

The sword tip was pointed at the itachi's abdomen.

"Seventy-two hours is too short."

Naruto's lips curled into a smile.

"I'll give you 1720 hours."

Push the sword tip forward one inch.

Not a second less.

Pfft.

The golden sword pierced through Itachi's abdomen.

There was no blood.

This is a spiritual space, blood without a physical form.

But the pain is real—more real than reality itself.

Because in the spiritual world, all senses are magnified infinitely.

Itachi's body suddenly stiffened.

A muffled groan, extremely suppressed, escaped from his clenched teeth.

His face turned from pale to ashen, the veins on his forehead stood out, and the Mangekyo Sharingan was spinning so fast it was almost blurry.

But the chains remained completely still.

Naruto draws his sword.

Stab again.

The second sword strike.

Shoulder.

The third sword strike.

Thigh.

The fourth sword strike.

He paused for a moment.

It's not that I'm soft-hearted.

It's just a different perspective.

"Do you know, Itachi Uchiha?"

Naruto gripped his sword, turning his head to look at Itachi's face, which was slightly contorted with pain.

The voice was very soft, like someone chatting with a friend.

"I know all about your dirty secrets."

The itachi's pupils contracted.

This time, it wasn't because of pain.

"The order to exterminate the clan was given by Danzo and those two old geezers' advisors. You've been framed. Sasuke as a vessel for hatred, so he can kill you in the future and become a hero of Hidden Leaf."

Naruto spoke each word clearly, his tone as calm as if he were reading a menu.

"Isn't it great? Isn't it incredibly forbearing? Bearing the blood of his entire clan on his shoulders, walking alone in the darkness—what a moving story."

The fifth sword strike.

It pierces through the right palm.

The weasel's finger twitched.

He gritted his teeth, not uttering a single word.

But his eyes changed.

What began as initial shock transformed into something deeper—fear.

It's not the fear of pain.

It is the fear of being "seen through".

This twelve-year-old child not only crushed his Tsukuyomi, but also casually unearthed his deepest secrets as if flipping through an old book.

How did you know?

Does it matter?

Naruto pulled the sword from Itachi's palm, casually flicked it in the air, and shook off non-existent blood.

The important thing is --

He took a step closer.

They were so close that Itachi could see every detail of the golden light patterns in his pupils.

"--You killed your own parents."

Itachi's breath hitched.

"You slaughtered every single one of your own people, from the oldest to the youngest."

"Then you infiltrate a missing-nin organization as an undercover agent, returning every few days to cast Tsukuyomi on your only remaining brother, making him repeatedly witness the massacre of his clan in his mental world."

"You call this protection?"

Naruto's voice suddenly turned cold.

I call this -- perverted.

The sixth sword strike.

The sword did not pierce the body.

It stabbed towards Itachi's left eye.

The golden sword tip stopped three millimeters from the Mangekyo Sharingan.

"How many times have you shown Sasuke the video of the massacre of his clan? Five times? Ten times?"

The weasel's body was trembling.

It wasn't acted.

In this absolute space constructed by Naruto's mental power, all his disguises, all his masks, and all the carefully crafted "cold-blooded missing-nin" personas he had cultivated for eight years—

They were all stripped naked.

He was a naked sinner, nailed to the cross.

The person before them was both the judge and the executioner.

I'll say it again.

Naruto sheathed his sword, turned around, and faced away from Itachi.

"Sasuke is mine."

"If you ever want to use Tsukuyomi to play horror movies in his head again—"

He turned his head and glanced at Itachi over his shoulder.

There was no anger, no murderous intent in his golden eyes.

There is only one pure and unquestionable declaration.

"I'll nail you here, you'll never get out."

The remaining 719 hours have begun.

The real world.

One second.

From the Naruto and Itachi locked eyes until this moment—

Less than a second.

"Ah--!"

An extremely suppressed scream, as if it had been torn from the depths of his soul, burst from Itachi Uchiha's throat.

His Mangekyō Sharingan suddenly lost its luster.

Two lines of bloody tears slid down from the corners of his eyes, down his pale cheeks, and dripped onto the gravel at his feet.

Then--

Both knees touched the ground.

With a muffled "plop," the sound echoed on the riverbank in the early morning.

Itachi Uchiha, the strongest Genjutsu user in the Akatsuki, and the holder of the Mangekyō Sharingan.

He knelt before Naruto Uzumaki.

The entire hall fell silent.

The sound of the river stopped.

The wind has stopped.

Even the water droplets suspended in the air solidified.

Kisame's hand, which was holding Samehada, froze in mid-air.

His shark-like pupils shrank to slits, and he could no longer muster a smile between his sharp teeth.

What did he see?

His partner— Itachi Uchiha, who never showed a second expression—made eye contact with a twelve-year-old child—

I was completely defeated in a second.

Kakashi's Sharingan almost popped out of its socket.

His mind was still reeling from the fear of almost falling into Tsukuyomi, and now an even more intense shock was added on top of that.

He wanted to say something.

The mouth opened.

There was no sound.

Red stood behind Asuma, covering her mouth.

Asuma's cigarette finally fell out.

This time he didn't pick it up.

On the riverbank, Naruto looked down at Itachi kneeling before him.

Blood and tears are still flowing.

Itachi's body was trembling, his hands bracing against the ground, his nails digging into the gravel.

Naruto put his hands back in his pockets.

His expression was very calm.

It felt like I had just finished doing something trivial.

"Got it?"

Itachi did not answer.

Or rather, he no longer had the strength to answer.

What he experienced in that one second in the spiritual realm—only he himself knows.

Naruto walked past him, his gaze passing over the kneeling Itachi and landing on Kisame, who was carrying Samehada three meters away.

"Now you."

Kisame gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

The Samehada made a crunching sound on his back—not from excitement.

It's shrinking back.

A living sword whose instinct is to "devour Chakra"—instinctively trying to get away from what's in front of it.

Naruto looked into Kisame's eyes, and a slow smile spread across his face.

"How?"

He tilted his neck slightly, and his joints made a crisp clicking sound.

"Is your fish trembling?"