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The fire had settled into a steady, patient burn, the kind that didn’t crackle so much as breathe. Embers pulsed orange, throwing shadows that stretched and shrank like living things against the trees. Night pressed in from all sides, thick with insects and the distant hush of wind through leaves.
Itachi sat on a fallen log, posture immaculate even after a full day of movement. His ANBU mask rested beside him, angled just so, its blank expression somehow more unsettling in the firelight than when worn. He had finished cleaning his weapons ten minutes ago. Checked the perimeter twice since. There was nothing left for the night to offer him but rest. Sleep, if it decided to come.
It didn’t.
So he stayed where he was, unmoving, letting his attention drift into the empty space between thoughts. Not boredom. Not vigilance. Just the absence of both.
The mission had required little from them. A single missing-nin, former Konoha, carrying partial intelligence on the village’s infrastructure. The target was eliminated. The information secured. No losses. No complications.
Itachi found little justification in assigning an elite unit like theirs to something so unremarkable. Still, he kept the thought to himself. Some missions were meant to be easy. Some teams had earned that much.
Across from him, their captain leaned against a tree with all the discipline of someone actively disrespecting it.
Kakashi had one boot propped up, the other lazily scraping patterns into the dirt. His forehead protector was tilted, as always, over his left eye. His right eye was half-lidded in what could generously be called vigilance.
In his hand was…
The book.
It was always the book. Small, orange, dog-eared beyond mercy. Its spine was cracked in a way that suggested long-term emotional dependence.
Itachi had noticed it weeks ago. Maybe months.
He noticed everything.
At first, he’d assumed it was a mission log. Or a cipher manual. Something dense and technical, the kind of text you pretended to read casually so no one would ask questions. Then he’d noticed the cover illustrations. Abstract shapes. Curves that didn’t correspond to maps or seals or battle formations.
Then he’d noticed the way Kakashi flipped pages, not to specific sections, but wherever his thumb landed.
Then he’d noticed the timing.
Always during lulls. Always when nothing was actively trying to kill them.
Always when Kakashi thought no one was watching.
Itachi hadn’t asked. Observation came before inquiry. Pattern before conclusion.
Which was how he ended up in the public library three days before this mission.
He selected books methodically. One after another. Shelves emptied in quiet increments. History. Medical theory. Engineering manuals. Obscure treatises no one had touched in years. A stack became two. Two became several. By the time he approached the circulation desk, the pile was less a selection and more an accusation.
The librarian stared.
Technically, she was supposed to say something. Something about limits. About policies. About how one person couldn’t, in fact, check out half the library in a single evening. She might’ve scolded anyone else. Might’ve raised an eyebrow. Might’ve enforced the rules.
But then Uchiha Itachi stood in front of her: Polite, quiet, eyes wide and deceptively innocent (They weren’t, in fact, innocent at all. She knew this. Everyone knew this.) The words died in her throat. The rules followed shortly after.
Somewhere between his calm nod and that unbearably sincere “Thank you,” the librarian lost her argument, and possibly a year off her life.
By that logic, Itachi spent the entire day inside the library, buried beneath his spoils. Hours passed. Morning bled into afternoon. Afternoon gave up and became evening. The pile of books around him shifted constantly, opened, closed, stacked, restacked, like something alive, something nesting.
And the worst part?
He didn’t even activate his Sharingan.
Not once.
No crimson eyes. No accelerated reading. No supernatural efficiency. Just page after page, turned at a steady, unhurried pace. As if time itself had agreed not to argue with him.
Which was, frankly, disturbing.
The librarian noticed first.
At the beginning of the day, she had been nervous. Alert. Hyper-aware of the Uchiha seated two tables away with a huge mountain of books. By midday, nervousness had curdled into something else entirely. A low, constant dread. The kind you feel when a predator is perfectly still and you’re not sure whether it has noticed you yet.
He didn’t move much. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t stretch.
He just… read.
People came in. People froze.
Conversations died the moment they spotted him.
A civilian shinobi took one look at the scene: Itachi, surrounded by texts on anatomy, architecture, psychology, and chakra theory, and quietly backed out without checking anything out. Another patron tried to sit two tables away, lasted three minutes, then left under the pretense of remembering an urgent appointment that absolutely didn’t exist.
Someone dropped a book. It sounded like a kunai hitting stone.
Itachi didn’t look up.
By late afternoon, a silent rule had formed among the library’s visitors: Do not sit near him. Do not interrupt him. Do not acknowledge him.
The librarian watched him the way one watches a natural disaster that has inexplicably decided to read quietly instead of destroying anything. She kept waiting for something, red eyes, sudden violence, a dramatic revelation.
Nothing happened.
He simply turned another page.
At some point, she stopped worrying about library rules entirely and started wondering whether she was witnessing something forbidden. Something no one was meant to see. Uchiha Itachi, unsupervised, consuming information at a human pace.
That, somehow, was worse.
When the sun began to set and the lamps flickered on, Itachi was still there. Calm. Focused. Surrounded by knowledge like a shrine built to obsession.
The librarian would later describe the day as “uneventful,” while gripping her tea cup with both hands and staring into the middle distance.
No one who entered the library that day ever forgot it.
And no one, absolutely no one, felt brave enough to ask what, exactly, he had been looking for.
But tonight, the fire was low, the forest quiet, and the mission had settled into that uneasy calm that came after danger but before sleep. The kind of moment that invited questions whether you liked it or not.
Kakashi turned a page.
Itachi spoke. “Captain.”
Kakashi didn’t look up. “Mm?”
Itachi’s voice was even. Polite. The same tone he used to announce enemy movement or confirm kill counts.
“That book you’re reading,” he said.
Kakashi’s page-turn paused, just for a fraction of a second.
Itachi continued, gaze steady on the flames. “You’ve carried it on every mission since we were assigned together.”
“Have I?” Kakashi said lightly. “Must be fate.”
Another page flipped.
Itachi tilted his head, a subtle angle that meant analysis. “You never reference it during briefings.”
“Shocking.”
“You don’t take notes.”
“I’m more of a vibes learner.”
“You read it only during downtime.”
“Self-care is important, Itachi.”
A beat.
Then, calmly, almost gently, Itachi asked:
“…Is it porn?”
The word landed between them like a kunai dropped point-first into dirt.
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Kakashi stared at the page.
Stared.
Then, very slowly, he closed the book. The silence stretched.
A night bird called somewhere far off, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.
Kakashi exhaled through his mask. “Wow.”
Itachi didn’t move. “I didn’t intend offense.”
“Oh, no,” Kakashi said, finally glancing up. His visible eye was curved in something dangerously close to amusement. “This is actually the highlight of my week.”
Itachi waited.
Kakashi tapped the book against his palm. “You’re asking this now? After two years? Multiple near-death experiences?”
“You seemed… attached to it.”
“Wow,” Kakashi repeated. “Judgmental.”
“I’m curious.”
“That’s worse.”
Another pause.
Kakashi looked at the fire, then at Itachi. “Hypothetically.”
“Yes.”
“If it were porn,” Kakashi continued, “what would you do with that information?”
Itachi considered this seriously. “I would recalibrate my understanding of your risk assessment priorities.”
Kakashi snorted. “Ouch.”
“And possibly request a different captain.”
“Wow. Harsh.”
“It would raise concerns.”
“About my leadership?”
“About your focus.”
Kakashi held the book up. “This,” he said, “has never compromised a mission.”
Itachi’s eyes flicked to it. “Then what is it?”
Kakashi smiled beneath the mask. You could hear it in his voice. “It’s literature.”
Itachi blinked once.
“Romantic,” Kakashi added.
Another blink.
“Educational,” Kakashi said. “In its own way.”
That… didn’t help.
Itachi frowned slightly. “It has no visible academic markings.”
“Not all learning is sanctioned by the Academy.”
The fire popped.
Itachi folded his hands in his lap. “The cover suggests fictional scenarios.”
“Correct.”
“Intimate ones.”
“Allegedly.”
“You read it repeatedly.”
“Some people reread classics.”
Itachi’s gaze sharpened. “Is it written by someone we know?”
Kakashi froze. Just a hair. Then he laughed. “Oh, that would be terrible, wouldn’t it?”
That wasn’t an answer.
Itachi processed. Eliminated possibilities. Cross-referenced rumors.
“…Jiraiya-sama.”
Kakashi stared at him.
“You’re very observant.” he sighed.
“It’s my job.”
“So is not traumatizing your subordinates,” Kakashi said. “Which means we’re done talking about this.”
Itachi nodded once.
A second later, “Is it accurate?”
Kakashi choked. Coughed. Hard.
“Absolutely not,” he said immediately. “Wildly exaggerated.”
“…You speak from experience?”
Kakashi pointed at him. “Bed. Now.”
Itachi stood without protest, retrieving his mask.
As he turned away, he added, thoughtfully: “You read surprisingly fast for someone multitasking.”
Kakashi reopened the book. “Good night, Itachi.”
“Good night, Captain.”
The fire crackled on.
And Kakashi, alone with the embers and his terrible life choices, turned the page, wondering, not for the first time, how he’d lost control of his reputation so completely.
***
It turned out that once Itachi fixated on something, he didn't let it go easily.
Kakashi couldn’t help but wonder, was this some void in his life? (Highly unlikely, considering he’s an Uchiha heir, an active ANBU, basically a walking legend, and all that jazz.) Or maybe… was it just his autism?
Yeah, probably that “autism” angle.
These were the exact thoughts bouncing around Kakashi’s head as he walked into the bookstore, casual enough to seem normal, yet hyper-aware enough to feel like he’d just walked into a den of vipers disguised as librarians. His mission was simple: locate the latest Jiraiya-sensei release, and get the hell out before someone saw him.
Simple, yes. But the universe had other plans.
There, under a shelf labeled “Not Suitable for Minors,” stood a figure that could freeze the sun. Small, quiet, perfectly still. An Uchiha in full traditional garb. Fingers brushing lightly over the spines of manga volumes, eyes locked somewhere far away, expression so blank it suggested entire continents of thought he’d never share.
Kakashi’s mind flipped. He froze mid-step. The bookstore air turned thick. Every heartbeat seemed to echo. The mere act of Itachi’s finger tracing the covers was an event. A cold, deliberate event.
Kakashi turned, slowly, considering the impossibility of his next move. The logical part of him said: leave. Retreat. Pretend he never saw this. The irrational part, the part that just experienced what could only be described as a panic attack in retail form, screamed: run.
And so he did. Twisting on his heel, he fled.
As he hit the street outside, heart hammering, he wondered, had he irreparably traumatized the child-genius prodigy Uchiha for life?
The terrifying part wasn’t that Itachi was hunting through some… questionable manga. It was the expression on his face.
Pure, clinical curiosity.
***
The forest was quiet in the way that suggested it was lying. Fog hugged the ground like it had something to hide.
Itachi moved ahead of the formation, steps soundless, senses stretched outward. His mask was on, professional and impenetrable.
Behind him, their captain followed with the lazy confidence of someone who trusted reflexes more than plans.
They were three kilometers from the rendezvous point. Enemy territory. Reports of missing-nin activity. Probability of ambush: high.
Which made it..
The worst possible moment.
“Captain,” Itachi said quietly, without turning.
Kakashi hummed. “If this is about pace, we’re fine.”
“It’s not.”
“Oh good. I love surprises.”
They continued moving. Branches parted. Fog curled around their legs.
Itachi spoke again.
“Last mission,” he said, “you stated that the content of your book was exaggerated.”
Kakashi’s step faltered. Just barely.
“…Did I?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
Kakashi closed his eye in desperation “We are absolutely not continuing this conversation.”
“I have a follow-up question.”
“No.”
“It pertains to battlefield realism.”
Kakashi stopped. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head.
“You’re wearing a mask,” he said. “Which tells me you’re about to say something that will haunt me forever.”
Itachi faced him at last. The mask reflected Kakashi’s eye back at him, wide, suspicious.
“Does exaggerated anatomy,” Itachi asked calmly, “impede practical application?”
The forest exploded. Kunai tore through the fog from three directions. Steel rang. Bark shredded. Kakashi vanished in a blur of motion, body reappearing mid-air as he deflected, twisted and countered.
“CONTACT!” Kakashi barked.
Itachi moved like a shadow unbound, one enemy down before they hit the ground, another frozen mid-strike by a genjutsu so clean it felt surgical.
Smoke bombs burst.
Chaos.
And still…
Between one parry and the next, Itachi added:
“Because certain descriptions seem structurally implausible.”
Kakashi slammed a fist into an attacker’s jaw, spun, ducked under a blade.
“WHY,” he shouted, “ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT THIS NOW?”
“It’s relevant,” Itachi replied, incapacitating someone with a nerve strike. “You claimed educational value.”
A third enemy lunged, only to be met with a swift, precise kick from Yamato, sending them flying out of existence.
“What in hell are you two yelling about?” Yamato didn’t catch the words, but he saw the tension practically radiating off Kakashi, who looked like he was about to verbally decapitate Itachi. And Itachi, as always, wore a face colder than freshly fallen snow.
Kakashi pointed at Itachi. “He asked me if porn was realistic.”
“Huh?” Yamato said, looking utterly dumbfounded.
Beside him, Kuro laughed aloud, spinning a kunai into an enemy’s throat “Depends on the stamina.”
Kakashi made a noise of profound regret.
Itachi turned to Kuro. “In your experience, does narrative exaggeration serve motivational purposes?”
Kuro gave a solemn nod. “Absolutely. Abilities burn brightest when inspired.”
Kakashi dragged a hand down his face. “I hate both of you.”
The enemies were eliminated without a single casualty, or, more accurately, without a single real threat, for the second mission in a row. Once again, the task had been far beneath their capabilities.
And once again, Itachi didn’t bother to grumble about the sheer incompetence of his teammates.
The squad pressed on after the enemies were dealt with.
“…Captain,” Itachi said.
Kakashi didn’t slow down. “No.”
“If you’re reading for stress relief—”
“No.”
“—then perhaps tactical manuals with fictional framing would be more appropriate.”
“I’m not taking reading recommendations from a twelve-year-old.”
“I’m thirteen.”
“That makes it worse.”
They reached the rendezvous point.
Kakashi finally stopped, turned, and fixed Itachi with a long look.
“You are never,” he said carefully, “ever bringing this up again.”
Itachi considered.
“…Understood.”
Kakashi exhaled.
Then Itachi added, softly: “However, if you ever wish to discuss character consistency—”
Kakashi vanished.
Kuro laughed so hard he nearly cried.
And somewhere deep in the shinobi world, Jiraiya sneezed, unaware that his work had just caused irreversible psychological damage.