Naruto : Blazing Legend

Chapter 37: Three Shots

The world had always been a lie—that much Rei understood now, though the understanding came too late.

He'd entered this genjutsu with such confidence, believing four episodes would be enough to evolve his Sharingan. The irony wasn't lost on him: a genius of the Uchiha clan, brought low by his own ambition. He knew the hand seals to break free, had intentionally suppressed his chakra to make the illusion more convincing. In his arrogance, he'd planned to remember everything at the final moment—the ninja world, the technique to shatter this false reality.

But the mind, he learned, was a fragile thing. The longer he remained trapped, the more this mundane existence felt real. The weight of an ordinary life pressed down on him: bills to pay, a boss who delighted in petty cruelties, the grinding monotony of survival. The memories of jutsu and clan politics began to feel like the fantasies of a child who'd read too many stories.

The corporate world had its own kind of violence. When his supervisor—a man whose only qualification was knowing when to bow to those above him—docked his pay again, Rei snapped. The fight was brief and brutal. Fists connected with flesh, security guards swarmed him, and when the dust settled, he did what any cornered animal would do: he called the authorities.

The police car's siren wailed through the streets like a death knell. Through the reinforced window, Rei caught sight of a figure that stirred something deep in his consciousness—a blonde man in unusual clothing, asking questions of passersby. The officer driving muttered about "cosplay freaks" and "Naruto fans," but Rei felt a chill of recognition he couldn't place.

The detention center reeked of desperation and broken dreams. Eight men crammed into a space meant for four, each carrying their own particular brand of misery. The supervisor's face was a canvas of bruises, but his mouth still worked fine.

"You piece of shit," he slurred through swollen lips, "starting fights and then crying to the cops. Have you no shame?"

Rei's own face was a mirror of damage, but he managed a bitter laugh. "Who told you to steal my wages? Just because you can't get laid doesn't mean the rest of us should suffer."

In the corner, a man writhed in withdrawal, his body betraying him in the most visceral way. Sweat and tears mixed with the snot running down his face as he begged for a fix—any fix. The others watched his suffering with the detached interest of people who'd seen too much already.

"Entertainment for the day," someone chuckled, and the cruel laughter that followed was perhaps the most human sound in that concrete box.

This was the real world, Rei thought dimly. Not the grand battles between ninja villages or the noble pursuit of power, but this—people ground down by systems designed to break them, seeking escape in whatever poison would numb the pain.

Then he appeared.

Yamanaka Inoichi materialized outside the cell like a ghost from another life. The man looked directly at Rei, and in his eyes, Rei saw not the broken corporate drone he'd become, but something else—something that wore the face of an Uchiha.

"Rei, can you hear me?"

The words came in a language that shouldn't exist in this world, yet flowed as naturally as breathing. The other prisoners recoiled, fear replacing their casual cruelty.

"Who are you?" Rei asked, though part of him already knew. "Do we know each other?"

"It's me—Yamanaka Inoichi! Have you forgotten?"

The name hit him like a physical blow. Memories tried to surface, but the illusion fought back, drowning truth in waves of manufactured doubt.

"Impossible," Rei said, though his voice lacked conviction. "He's just a character from a manga. An imaginary person. Are you insane?"

The false world around them reacted like an immune system rejecting a foreign body. The prisoners began shouting about spies and intruders, their voices shrill with programmed panic.

"This world is a lie," Inoichi said urgently. "You're Uchiha Rei, a genius of your clan. How could you let yourself be trapped by an illusion?"

"Prove it," Rei whispered, though every fiber of his being wanted to believe.

Inoichi's hands moved in patterns that should have been meaningless—yet weren't. The clone technique manifested two perfect duplicates, and reality cracked around the edges.

"Remember the Wind Country mission," Inoichi began, his voice carrying the weight of shared experiences. "Remember who you really are—"

The gunshots came without warning.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three bullets found their mark, and Yamanaka Inoichi—teacher, friend, lifeline—crumpled to the concrete floor. Blood pooled beneath him, impossibly red in the harsh fluorescent light.

"Damn," he gasped, his form already beginning to dissolve. "The weapons here... they're more dangerous than I thought. Rei, you must—"

The words died with him as he scattered into points of light, leaving only the echo of his sacrifice.

"Sensei Inoichi!" The name tore from Rei's throat as memory flooded back—not the sanitized version from stories, but the brutal reality of ninja life. The missions that left them all a little more broken. The friends who never came home. The weight of expectations that crushed as often as they elevated.

He understood now. This wasn't just training—something had gone catastrophically wrong. Inoichi wouldn't have risked entering his mindscape unless...

In the real world, his body was failing.

---

Yamanaka Inoichi's scream cut through the medical bay like a blade. The bullets had been illusion, but the mind made them real enough. Pain radiated from wounds that didn't exist, yet somehow did.

"What happened?" The medic's voice seemed to come from very far away.

Tsunade's assessment was clinical, professional—and damning. "He's been attacked through the genjutsu. How's the boy?"

"I... I don't know if I reached him," Inoichi admitted through gritted teeth.

The Future Fifth Hokage's expression darkened as she examined her patient. Two hours had passed since the chakra consumption had doubled. Rei's body was consuming itself, the three-tomoe Sharingan drawing life force like a parasite. The external chakra they'd been feeding him was no longer enough.

"It's over," she said quietly. "If he doesn't wake up soon—"

"Who said it's over?"

The voice came from the supposedly comatose patient, whose eyes now blazed with the crimson fire of the Sharingan. Rei tried to sit up, but his body—weakened by hours of chakra drain—betrayed him. He collapsed back onto the bed, the defiant gesture ending in exhaustion.

"Damn brat," Tsunade muttered, her hand pressed to her racing heart. "Scared me half to death."

But she was smiling as she said it, and in that smile was relief—and perhaps something that might have been pride. The boy had survived his own mind, though what he'd learned in there would likely haunt him for years to come.

Some victories, after all, came at the cost of innocence. And in the world of shinobi, that was often the only kind of victory available.

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