Shinobi World No. 1.
Year 46 of Konoha, winter.
The Kirigakure battlefield, somewhere on high ground.
The bitter winter wind blew in from the sea, carrying fine grains of ice that stung their faces. Nagato lay behind a rock on the high ground, his dark red hair blown into disarray. Yahiko crouched beside him, his short orange hair particularly striking beneath the gray sky. Konan lay behind them, folding a paper crane whose wings trembled slightly in the wind.
Their gazes all rested on the distant battlefield shrouded in thick mist.
Kirigakure's ninja flitted through the mist like phantoms. Konoha's ninja struggled in it like trapped beasts. And at the center of this chaotic battlefield were two boys-one ten, the other six.
The ten-year-old boy had black hair, black eyes, and delicate features, and held a short sword. His figure darted through the mist, and with every swing, a Kirigakure ninja fell. His eyes-the Three-Tomoe Sharingan-turned slowly in the gloom. He was Shisui Uchiha. A prodigy on the Kirigakure battlefield, he had awakened the Three-Tomoe Sharingan at just ten years old, and his strength had already reached the weak Kage level.
The six-year-old boy had black hair, black eyes, and a childish face, and held a kunai. His figure dodged through the mist, every strike precisely hitting an enemy's vital point. His eyes-the Two-Tomoe Sharingan-glimmered faintly in the gloom. He was Uchiha Itachi. The son of Uchiha Clan Head Uchiha Fugaku, he had entered the battlefield at just six years old, and his strength had already reached the chunin level.
"I see it now."
Nagato's voice was soft, yet every word was perfectly clear.
"Itachi is a coward. He has no regard for the Uchiha Clan. Shisui is a weakling. He has no spirit of resistance at all."
Yahiko frowned