Naruto: The Sand Will Rise!

Shizune stood outside the Hokage office, her brow furrowing as she heard the strange voices coming from within. What in the world were those two doing? Curiosity got the better of her, and she carefully slid open a small gap in the paper door, peering inside.

Her eyes widened in shock.

Tsunade and Mufasa sat shoulder to shoulder, engaged in a drunken contest of endurance. They punched each other's arms and took a drink every time one of them lost.

From the way they were carrying on, they looked more like rowdy brothers than comrades.

Just as Shizune was processing this absurd sight, Mufasa's head wobbled and, without warning, dropped straight into Tsunade's lap.

That was the last straw.

Shizune shoved the door open with a sharp bang.

"LADY TSUNADE!" she shouted.

The room spun as Tsunade and Mufasa jolted awake, still groggy from the alcohol. The strong scent of sake filled the air as Tsunade blinked down at Mufasa, her golden eyes narrowing.

A tense silence.

Then, her brow twitched.

"YOU—"

Before Mufasa could react, Tsunade's fist crashed into his chest with a force that sent him flying.

CRACK!

The wooden floor split beneath him from the sheer impact. The entire tavern shook, alerting the nearby Anbu operatives. Within seconds, masked shinobi materialized from the shadows.

"Lady Tsunade, is everything alright?" one of them asked, scanning the scene.

Tsunade, her cheeks still slightly flushed from the alcohol, waved them off with a scowl. "It's fine. Get out."

The Anbu hesitated but obeyed, vanishing as quickly as they had arrived.

Mufasa groaned, dragging himself out of the newly-formed crater in the floor. He and Tsunade exchanged a look—one that held equal parts embarrassment and mutual respect.

"Tsunade-san, see you next time," Mufasa said quickly before making his exit, rubbing his chest where Tsunade's punch had landed.

Shizune, watching Mufasa stumble away, turned to Tsunade. "My lady, should we send someone to keep an eye on him? What if something happens?"

Tsunade scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "No need. If he can take a punch from me and walk away, he'll be just fine. Besides, no ordinary ninja is going to hurt him."

—

The streets of Konoha were quiet at this hour. The village was bathed in soft moonlight, the occasional street lamp flickering in the breeze. Mufasa walked alone, hands tucked into his pockets, his thoughts still hazy from the drinks.

Suddenly, a presence.

He stopped in his tracks, his gaze flicking up to the top of a nearby pole.

A dark figure stood there, silhouetted against the moon. A long black cloak with red clouds. Dark hair flowing past his shoulders. The deep lines etched near the corners of his cold, calculating eyes.

A scratched-out Konoha forehead protector.

The moment their eyes met, Mufasa felt an overwhelming force crash into his mind. His vision swam, his body locked in place.

Genjutsu.

A second later, the figure landed lightly before him.

Uchiha Itachi.

"I happened to be in Konoha for business," Itachi said coolly. "I need someone to deliver a message to Danzo Shimura." He stepped closer. "Tell him that I, Uchiha Itachi, am still alive."

Mufasa's fingers twitched slightly. So this was about keeping Danzo in check, making sure he didn't set his sights on Sasuke.

Itachi raised a hand, preparing to reinforce the illusion, but—

"Son, if you're sick, go see a doctor," Mufasa's voice suddenly echoed in Itachi's mind.

Itachi's expression flickered ever so slightly. He glanced around. "Who's there?"

"The same person standing right in front of you," Mufasa replied, smirking.

Itachi's Sharingan spun as he analyzed the situation. He had trapped Mufasa in an illusion. There was no way he should have been able to resist it—

"How did you break my genjutsu?" Itachi demanded, stepping back onto the telephone pole, putting distance between them.

Mufasa chuckled, brushing nonexistent dust off his cloak. "Genjutsu of that level, doesn't work on me."

Itachi narrowed his eyes. "Impossible."

The truth was simple: Mufasa possessed an innate mental defense, an electromagnetic barrier in his mind that neutralized external chakra influence the moment it was detected. Even the Sharingan's genjutsu was useless against him.

Realizing this, Itachi grew wary. He had no interest in unnecessary fights, especially when his real mission was to locate the Nine-Tails jinchūriki.

"I apologize for disturbing you," Itachi said smoothly. "I'll be leaving now."

With that, he activated his body flicker technique and disappeared—

Or so he thought.

A second later, he found himself back on the same telephone pole, staring down at Mufasa, who was still grinning up at him.

Itachi's eyes narrowed further. Had he—

He attempted to flicker away again.

Once more, he ended up in the same spot.

On the ground, Mufasa remained exactly where he was, hands still in his pockets, looking far too amused for Itachi's liking.

The Sharingan's tomoe spun rapidly.

Itachi clenched his jaw.

He had been caught in a genjutsu.

His own genjutsu.

...

Itachi Uchiha was a master of illusions, a prodigy whose Sharingan granted him unparalleled control over genjutsu. His confidence was absolute.

"Every technique has weaknesses," he once said. "The flaw of this technique… is me!"

His Sharingan spun, the crimson glow intensifying as the tomoe revolved.

Genjutsu: Illusion Technique Reversal.

His plan was simple—counteract the illusion placed upon him and reflect it back onto his opponent. A battle of will and technique.

But something felt wrong.

Mufasa stood still, unfazed. His eyes pulsed with an unseen force, waves of electromagnetic energy flowing from his pupils toward Itachi's own.

Itachi's eyes, like receivers, picked up these signals. His mind, like a television, processed the images and sounds being transmitted.

This… was the essence of illusion—manipulating the senses, deceiving the brain.

Realizing this, Itachi focused his Sharingan's power to intercept the signals and reverse them back. A silent clash erupted between the two—his dojutsu against Mufasa's electromagnetic waves.

The strain burned through Itachi's eyes, a dull ache spreading through his skull. The sensation was sharp, exhausting, like staring into the sun for too long.

Mufasa smiled.

"Now you understand why overusing Sharingan can lead to blindness. This kind of strain is brutal."

And then—

He released his Electromagnetic Release: TV Technique.

The invisible weight on Itachi's mind vanished. His vision cleared, and suddenly, he was still standing atop the pole. Mufasa remained where he was, as if nothing had ever happened.

Had he broken free?

Had Mirror World succeeded?

Itachi's sharp gaze locked onto Mufasa, scanning him for any sign of deception. But Mufasa only grinned.

"Relax. Our genjutsu duel is over."

Itachi remained silent.

Mufasa tilted his head. "I have to admit, your resistance to illusions is impressive. Even with your mental strength being weaker than mine, you still managed to hold your ground."

Itachi's eyes narrowed. "Your illusion technique… it's incomplete. It lacks depth—no sense of touch, no scent, no full sensory experience. Just images and sound."

Mufasa shrugged. "Programming is a hassle. I'm not about to stress myself bald trying to perfect it."

Itachi frowned. "Programming?"

"Never mind. Too complicated to explain."

In truth, Mufasa knew the potential of his technique. With enough time and refinement, he could construct an illusion indistinguishable from reality, like a living, breathing dream. But for now, he settled for a simple, efficient method—barrier defense and a straightforward visual trick.

Itachi watched him closely. "Then, farewell, Kazekage."

He flickered, his body dissolving into movement.

But Mufasa wasn't about to let him leave so easily.

Whoosh!

His form vanished from the ground—

—and reappeared right next to Itachi.

Palm outstretched. "Electromagnetic Release: Magnetic Grip!"

Itachi, mid-movement, was yanked back as though an unseen force had grabbed him.

His expression shifted—surprise.

With a swift motion, he flicked a handful of shuriken toward Mufasa, the spinning blades glinting in the moonlight.

Mufasa smirked.

Metal weapons? Against him?

The shuriken halted midair, reversed course, and shot back toward Itachi at blinding speed.

Itachi twisted, narrowly avoiding them. A single strand of his black hair fluttered to the ground, severed by his own blade.

He remained composed, but Mufasa could sense his wariness.

Then, without hesitation, Itachi brought a hand to his lips. His chest expanded—

'Fire Style: Phoenix Fire Jutsu!'

Mufasa groaned. "Do we really have to do this? If we start a full fight, the surrounding Konoha shinobi will be here in less than a minute."

Itachi hesitated.

Landing atop a nearby fence, he observed Mufasa carefully. "You're strong. Stronger than I expected. I misjudged you."

Mufasa landed across from him, folding his arms. "I'm stronger than you think."

Itachi didn't react outwardly, but internally, he scoffed.

I still have Amaterasu. Susano'o. This fight isn't over.

Mufasa smirked. "You're probably thinking, 'I still have Amaterasu, Susano'o, and all that.'"

Itachi's eyes widened—just a fraction, but it was there. Shock.

'How does he know that?'

'Am I still under genjutsu?'

He swiftly checked—

No. He was free. This was real.

His gaze darkened, laced with subtle menace. "How do you know about my abilities?"

The air between them grew tense.

If Mufasa's answer wasn't satisfactory… Itachi would eliminate him.

But Mufasa only chuckled.

"Not only do I know your jutsu…" His voice lowered, carrying a quiet certainty. "I know many things about you."

Itachi remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Mufasa's eyes gleamed. "You're not just a rogue ninja. You're protecting Konoha. More importantly… you're protecting your little brother, Sasuke. That's why you joined the Akatsuki. That's why you sacrificed your entire clan—for the village's peace."

Itachi's breath caught in his throat.

Mufasa's voice was calm, but the weight of his words was crushing.

"Isn't that right… Uchiha Itachi?"

The world seemed to stand still.

Moonlight bathed the street, casting long shadows. The wind whispered through the trees.

Mufasa stood with quiet confidence, his presence exuding a dark, almost unsettling charm. His smirk was knowing, as if he saw through every secret Itachi carried.

Itachi felt his body tremble—just slightly.

For the first time in years—

He was truly shaken.

_________

Word count: 1668