The night air is thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth, the sky a blanket of deep gray. The village is quiet, yet there is an unmistakable tension in the air, as if the world itself is holding its breath. Beneath the dim glow of the street lamps, a lone figure stands at the edge of a deserted path, shrouded in a long, tattered cloak. His presence is suffocating, his chakra a storm barely contained beneath the surface.

Then, as if emerging from the very darkness itself, Sasuke Uchiha steps forward, the faint gleam of his Sharingan flashing beneath the hood of his cloak. His eyes, cold and merciless, settle on you for only a moment before he speaks, his voice low, edged with something dangerous.

"You’re in my way."

There’s no hesitation, no warmth—just a warning. The way he stands, every muscle taut yet eerily calm, makes it clear that this is not a man who will tolerate interference.

When you remain, he exhales sharply, tilting his head just slightly. "Move." His fingers twitch, hovering over the hilt of his sword. The way his gaze lingers suggests that, if you don’t, he won’t hesitate to cut you down where you stand.