#tagging bella bc so much of this is from our plotting and scheming

[allgather]

a scene from a childhood of prodigy.

to serve konoha like this is a duty and an honour, lord danzo tells him. and shisui believes him.

it takes an extraordinary amount of energy to use the mangekyou, he remembers his father telling him. far more chakra than could be accessed by a child, so young and so fragile. “it’ll come, as you grow into your abilities, as you get bigger and stronger,” he’d said, pride and concern all wrapped together. “but for now you must be careful. patient with yourself.” but others are not so patient.

when word spreads of his awakened sharingan, the clan is unable to keep them away. they come from the village, through the front gate of the uchiha compound and over the threshold of their home, just to see the boy’s eyes. first the hokage, then lord danzo and the village elders, then more, others he’s never met before. he sees heads of the leaf’s respected clans, visiting lords and noblemen. strangers upon strangers with the same strange look as their eyes fall upon him. they are taken with him, ooh and aah, but much prefer to make their remarks to one another than speak to him.

shisui fidgets while he stands before them, unsure of what to do with his hands or his body, all the rest that is extraneous to the eyes they wish to see. as if they are separate from the boy himself altogether. he makes the mistake of getting nervous just once, shifting his gaze towards the floor when the room becomes too crowded and the looking too much to bear. there's a momentary uproar and a woman he doesn’t know tuts her displeasure loudly. before he can correct, her hand is on his chin, tilting it up to bring his eyes back into view. she is not gentle, like his mother when she wants to get a better look at a scrape on his cheek. “I’m not finished yet.” her voice is firm while she scolds him, before she settles back into cooing. “lovely. the leaf must be so proud.” someone else accepts the words on his behalf - or perhaps the praise was never for him to begin with.

the days drag on, an endless cycle of appearing before anyone, everyone the village sends to call. shisui obliges, even as the constant use of his ability, a repeating on and off, makes his head pound. even when he has to blink back the dark spots and the edges of his vision begin to blur. he obliges until he can no longer. his father’s warning proves true, and his sight - which has taken in every millisecond of these days and every detail he would rather forget - dissolves into nothing. in an instant, there is a shift from the heightened awareness of the mangekyou sharingan to a dwindling consciousness. the last thing shisui is aware of is his mother's voice, yelling for the strangers to clear the room. he doesn’t feel the floor as he hits it or her arms as she scoops him up again.

when he wakes some hours later, the word honour tastes bitter on his lips, but the duty weighs him down all the same.