The moon hung high above Konoha, its silver light bleeding across the rooftops like spilled ink over a scroll. A low mist drifted between buildings, catching the moonlight and blurring the boundaries between shadow and substance. Muzan stood upon the branch of a towering cedar, arms crossed, his crimson eyes surveying the village he now called home.
Two weeks had passed since his clandestine experiments in the forest laboratory, and already the subtle ripples of his influence could be felt. In hushed tones, the villagers whispered of fleeting shadows in the night. Livestock had gone missing. A chuunin patrol had disappeared without a trace on the outskirts. Fear crept through Konoha like a slow poison—and Muzan relished it.
But he knew he had to be cautious. Hashirama Senju's leadership was far from weak. The man was not only powerful, but beloved by the people. Any misstep could bring scrutiny Muzan couldn't afford. He had to build from the shadows, like roots beneath the soil.
Still, a seed of irritation flickered within him.
"These shinobi are too unified," he murmured to himself. "Too stable. If Konoha thrives, I will have no cracks to slip through."
That night, he had a destination. Kenshiro had been assigned to a small genin squad under a minor jounin commander. Muzan had arranged this through subtle influence, bribery, and the occasional genjutsu slip—nothing traceable, nothing overt. He wanted Kenshiro tempered in combat, but kept close.
He needed loyalty.
He needed a blade sharpened in blood and flame.
---
Elsewhere – The Uchiha District
Though Muzan avoided the district when possible, tonight he slithered through its boundaries like smoke. Hidden by an aura of suppressed chakra and a transformation jutsu that altered his face, he infiltrated the small outer sector of the clan's domain.
A certain member had drawn his attention—Uchiha Kazan, a minor talent, but an orphaned genin with a fragile will. Muzan had observed him from afar, seen the resentment in his gaze as he trained alone, ignored by his superiors. Perfect soil for planting seeds.
Muzan found Kazan near the river, practicing shuriken throws with clenched teeth and cracked palms. When Muzan stepped from the shadows, the boy turned instantly, kunai in hand.
"Who are you?!"
Muzan held up a gloved hand. "Not your enemy. I'm someone who sees the potential in you that your clan refuses to acknowledge."
Kazan's grip tightened. "What do you know about my clan?"
"I know they revere the powerful and discard the weak. I know you've struggled to awaken your Sharingan. And I know... that you would do anything to prove yourself worthy."
Kazan's eyes narrowed. "And what do you want from me?"
"Only to help you grow," Muzan said, stepping forward. "Drink this." He held out a small vial filled with dark, shimmering fluid.
Kazan hesitated, suspicious. "What is it?"
"Power. Or perhaps... a spark. Nothing more. If you truly have the will, you'll survive it. If not—then you never deserved the Sharingan to begin with."
The boy's pride burned hot. He snatched the vial, sniffed it once, then drank.
Moments passed.
His body convulsed violently. He collapsed to his knees, screaming as his chakra twisted within him like a serpent devouring its tail. Blood ran from his nose. His left eye bled. And then—
It ignited.
A single tomoe spun in his left eye.
Muzan's smile was slow and predatory. "Good," he whispered. "Very good."
---
Sayuri's Residence – Later That Night
Sayuri stirred as Muzan entered quietly. She'd grown pale lately, her health slowly failing from a mysterious fatigue that no healer could explain. Muzan, of course, knew the truth. The slow poisoning he administered via his own blood ensured she would remain bedridden. Controlled. Dependent.
"Muzan... you're home late," she said with a weak smile.
"I had business to attend to," he replied, gently brushing a hand across her forehead.
"You've grown stronger lately," she said. "I can feel it in your chakra. It's... colder."
Muzan chuckled, masking his malice with affection. "The world forces us to grow cold, mother."
She studied him with a flicker of unease. "Promise me something, Muzan. Promise me that no matter how strong you become, you'll never lose yourself."
He knelt beside her, smiling softly. "I promise."
It was a lie, of course. The part of him that once cared had died long ago, devoured by centuries of hatred and ambition from a different world.
---
Hokage's Office
Hashirama stood with arms crossed, frowning at a scroll just delivered by a scout team. Tobirama paced nearby, radiating suspicion.
"More disappearances," Tobirama said flatly. "The fourth one this week. All in the northern sector."
Hashirama tapped the table. "The people are starting to worry. Rumors of demons and monsters. We need to investigate."
"I already assigned a team to look into it. If it continues, we may have to expand the search."
"And if it's sabotage?" Hashirama asked.
Tobirama's eyes narrowed. "Then we root it out and burn it down."
They both knew the foundation of Konoha was still fragile. Any internal threat could tear it apart before it truly became a village.
---
Forest Laboratory – Secret Cavern
Back in his lab, Muzan stood over a new test subject. The man had been a rogue shinobi, captured by Kenshiro's squad and "lost" in transport due to a few strings Muzan had pulled.
The man now screamed under the influence of Muzan's blood.
"Still unstable," Muzan muttered. The demon serum didn't bind well to everyone. Only a rare few could survive the transformation. Kenshiro had shown signs of mild mutation—heightened strength, faster healing—but no monstrous traits yet.
Muzan adjusted the mixture again, noting down changes in blood viscosity and chakra reaction.
He was close.
So very close.
The moon outside shifted, casting light through the cave's single crack. Muzan's silhouette stretched across the wall, tall and inhuman.
"A village of peace," he muttered. "Built on blood and ignorance. I'll show them a better truth... a perfected existence."
As the man's screams faded into wet, gurgling silence, Muzan smiled.
And above, the mist thickened.