On the other side, Adult Sasuke once again arrived near the familiar courtyard.
Through the window, he watched his mother feeding his younger self, while his father sat nearby, picking up food with chopsticks.
The family was harmonious, enjoying a kind of affection he had never received in his childhood.
Adult Sasuke's left eye was half-hidden by his long, drooping black hair, concealing the Six Tomoe Rinnegan.
The right eye, exposed to the outside, seemed ordinary, but in truth, it contained the power of the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan.
He had once suspected that the so-called "Karasuki," the treasure said to be able to travel through time, might not be a Divine Artifact at all, but a meticulously woven genjutsu trap aimed directly at his deepest inner desires.
He had tried countless times.
Using the ocular power of the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan to analyze, the perception of the Rinnegan to insight, and his own incredibly resilient will to break through.
He formed the seals to release genjutsu over and over again, the fluctuations of Chakra disturbing and then calming.
In the Ninja World, there shouldn't exist a genjutsu capable of controlling him.
Even the "Infinite Tsukuyomi" that enveloped the entire world failed to truly drag him into a dream.
His eyes, his power, should have been able to see through all falsehoods.
So, the remaining explanation... besides Karasuki being a genjutsu treasure aimed at the Rinnegan level.
Perhaps, only the possibility of a "Parallel World," which transcends a single timeline and escapes the Karma of fate, could barely explain everything before him.
Here was another "possibility."
A world where his parents were alive and well, and the young Uchiha Sasuke grew up surrounded by complete love.
Adult Sasuke lowered the brim of his hat with his remaining right hand.
Complex emotions surged slowly in his chest, like a small stone thrown into a deep, stagnant pond; the ripples were subtle, yet they reached the depths.
Intense hatred, bone-chilling loneliness, the long pursuit... those themes that composed the main melody of the first half of his life seemed to temporarily lose their sharp colors before this warm, almost blinding window scene.
There was no anger, no resentment, not even much sadness.
To be able to see his parents again.
Even if it was just through a window, seeing their lifelike forms and hearing their faint conversation.
To be able to see them doting so much on the young "self."
Even if that doted-on boy was already a completely different existence from the self in his memories.
This was... enough.
Wasn't this the smallest and most extravagant thought deep in his heart that he himself rarely admitted?
Now that it was presented before him in such an incredible way, even if it was a mere Mirror Flower, Water Moon, a gift or a mockery from a Parallel World, he had already become attached and was willing to stop here for a moment.
He watched quietly, branding this scene deep into his memory.
The wind blew through the courtyard, leaves rustling, making the warmth inside the window seem even more tranquil, and him outside the window seem even more lonely, yet... strangely peaceful.
Mikoto was sitting at the dining table, holding a bowl of steaming Miso Soup, carefully blowing it cool before offering it to the lips of Young Sasuke sitting opposite her.
The boy wore a clean indoor kimono; he subconsciously leaned back slightly, his face carrying a hint of resistance and embarrassment unique to this age regarding overly intimate care.
"Mom, I'll do it myself..."
He muttered softly, the tips of his ears turning a bit red, but in the end, he didn't firmly push his mother's hand away.
Having regained what was lost made him reluctant to refuse his mother.
Although he was temporarily unable to see, he could still manage to eat by himself.
Mikoto's eyes were filled with a gentle smile.
She loved seeing her son like this, loved the way she could naturally take care of his daily life after having regained him.
Even if it was just feeding him a spoonful of soup, it was enough to make the softest part of her heart feel full.
Her husband, Uchiha Fugaku, sat in the head seat with a morning newspaper spread out before him.
He wasn't reading very intently; his gaze would occasionally lift from the edge of the newspaper to rest on his wife and son.
He didn't speak, just silently placed another piece of Tamagoyaki onto the plate in front of the boy.
The lines of his serious profile seemed to soften a bit in the morning light.
Just then, as Mikoto was about to hand over the next spoonful of soup, her fingertips suddenly paused almost imperceptibly.
An extremely faint, fleeting... feeling passed through her heart without warning.
It wasn't a sound, nor was it a visual disturbance; it was more like a drop of cold dew silently falling into the center of a calm lake, stirring an almost invisible ripple.
This feeling carried an indescribable familiarity, yet it was permeated with a deep loneliness and a sense of being... watched, like the morning mist on a distant mountain.
Her gaze instinctively turned toward the window.
In the courtyard, the morning light was just right.
The dwarf pines, which had been carefully pruned over the last two days, stood quietly, with crystal-clear dewdrops rolling on their leaves.
In the distance, the chirping of early birds came clearly.
Everything was as usual—peaceful and full of life.
There was nothing.
No figure of an uninvited guest, no abnormal Chakra fluctuations, even the wind seemed to have paused for a moment.
"How's something?"
Fugaku's deep voice sounded; he put down the newspaper, his sharp gaze sweeping out the window before returning to his wife's face.
Young Sasuke also stopped chewing and looked at his mother in confusion.
Mikoto blinked, suppressing that moment of strange palpitation back into her heart.
The courtyard outside was bathed in clear morning light, so serene that there was nothing out of the ordinary.
Perhaps it was an illusion of light and shadow?
Perhaps it was a groundless sensitivity born from treasuring this peaceful life too much lately?
"It's nothing."
She withdrew her gaze, shook her head gently at her husband, and looked back at her son, her smile as gentle as ever, as if the momentary pause just now had never happened.
"The morning light was probably a bit dazzling."
She offered the warm soup to her son's lips again, her voice soft: "Come, have a little more."
The warm daily routine inside the house began to flow again.
Fugaku picked up the newspaper once more, and Young Sasuke continued to eat the food his parents fed him.
Adult Sasuke stepped silently out from the shadows of the porch of the long-vacant house next door.
There was a smile on his lips.
It was a smile that was almost like a sigh after laying down some heavy burden.
He was already satisfied.
Adult Sasuke tilted his head slightly, his gaze falling one last time toward the familiar courtyard.
Although the eyes of the boy in this world were wrapped in bandages, suggesting he was blind, he could feel that the self in this world was happy.
He let it go.
He let go of a matter that had been lodged in his heart for many years, a concern he hadn't even clearly articulated to himself.
That unsolvable hypothesis about "what if," that cold and empty regret about family and love.
Now, in another possibility, he saw a projection approaching Perfection.
Because Itachi did not exist here.
This wasn't his own Perfection, yet it strangely comforted that secret longing for warmth belonging to "Uchiha Sasuke."
Then, it was time to keep moving forward.
Sasuke's figure, like a shadow merging into the morning light, silently disappeared at the end of the gradually awakening streets of Konoha Village, his steps firm.