Naruto Immersive Replay, The Curse of the Sharingan

Your breathing became labored, and tears welled up in your eyes, yet you stubbornly stared at Ban. "Kill me...or...I'll...try again..."

For a fleeting moment, you thought he was really going to strangle you.

But unexpectedly, Madara suddenly let go of his hand, bent down and picked up the kunai, the blade gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

You cough violently, thinking he's going to end his life with a kunai, but then Madara does something you never expected.

He slashed his palm with a kunai, and blood gushed out, dripping onto your chains.

The complex runes faded upon contact with Ban's blood, and with a soft "click," the chains unlocked automatically.

"Why?" You shrank back warily, rubbing your aching wrist.

Madara tossed the kunai aside, tore off a piece of his shirt, and roughly bandaged his bleeding hand. "Because I'm tired of talking to you while you're in shackles."

His voice carried a weariness you'd never heard before. Under the moonlight, Madara's face appeared exceptionally pale, and at the point where she had torn his collar, more old scars were faintly visible—scars he'd sustained while fighting for the Uchiha clan.

“Tomorrow is our wedding day,” Madara suddenly said, his dark eyes looking directly at you. “Don’t make me regret this decision, Nagi.”

You look up abruptly, unable to believe your ears. "A wedding?"

"It's been three months of preparation." Madara's lips curled into a cold smile. "The Uchiha clan head's wife shouldn't be attending a ceremony wearing chains, should she?"

You sit up, a sense of absurdity washing over you. "You think I'll be grateful to you for removing these chains?"

Ban stood up, looking down at you, his shadow completely enveloping your body. "I expect nothing from you except for fulfilling your duties as a wife."

“You—” Anger flared in your eyes.

"Go to sleep," Ban interrupted you, his voice suddenly softening. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

After saying that, he turned and left, this time without looking back or locking the door again.

As you watch his departing figure, you notice that Ban's hand is still dripping blood, leaving a trail of dark red marks on the floor.

The moonlight filled the Japanese-style room again, and you sat alone in that silvery light, looking at the bloodstains on the floor, as if possessed.

Reaching out to touch the still-dry red liquid, a slight warmth emanated from my fingertips.

At this moment, you can't tell whether the emotions surging in your heart are hatred or something more complex.

The blood of the freckles clung to my fingertips, thick and warm, carrying the breath of life, just like the man himself, both cruel and vibrant.

In the distance came the heavy, drawn-out tolling of the Uchiha Night Patrol Bell, like some kind of ominous prophecy.

You know, starting tomorrow, you will be forced to play a role you never imagined: the wife of the Uchiha clan chief.

And Ban... he seems to want to punish you, but he can't really hurt you.

This contradictory tenderness is more suffocating than pure hatred.

You stare at yourself in the mirror: a pure white kimono, a scarlet waist cord, pale skin, and half of your face stained with incantations.

The maids are carefully styling your hair, each strand meticulously combed, just like your life is about to be arranged.

"Clan Chief!" The maids suddenly knelt down in unison.

The paper door was roughly pulled open, and Ban's tall figure stood in the doorway.

He was dressed in a formal black wedding suit, with the dark red Uchiha clan crest embroidered on the lapel. His usually disheveled long hair was neatly tied up today, revealing a sharp, knife-like profile.

These spots, surprisingly, possess a rare allure that makes you want to take a second look.

"Get out, everyone." Madara's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable command.

The maids, as if granted a pardon, quickly withdrew from the Japanese-style room with their heads bowed. The last one even gently closed the door behind her, leaving only the two figures reflected in the mirror inside.

"On your wedding day, why aren't you in the council chamber presiding over the proceedings? What are you doing here?"

You frowned slightly and looked at the man behind you through the bronze mirror. Ban walked straight in front of you, leaned over and supported himself on both sides of the dressing table, trapping you between his arms.

"Can't I come see my wife?"

His breath brushed against your ear, warm yet dangerous.

"Liangying is presiding over the meeting in the council chamber, while I..."

"I just want to witness the whole process of you becoming my wife."

You turned your face away, avoiding his touch. "You dismissed the maids, but what about my makeup?"

Ban's gaze lingered on your face, unusually gentle. "I'll do the painting."

"..." You turned your head sharply, thinking you had misheard, but Ban had already picked up the eyebrow pencil from the dressing table, his expression as focused as if he were performing some sacred ritual.

"Are you sure?" Your voice carried a hint of genuine panic. "I don't want to be painted like a cat at my wedding with such a wicked taste."

Ban chuckled softly, his laughter carrying a hint of tenderness. "Don't worry, as your husband, I care about everything that happened to you today more than anyone else."

He pinches your chin, the pressure just right—between control and caress—and says, "Look up."

The sensation of the eyebrow pencil landing on the brow bone sends a shiver down your spine. Ban's movements are surprisingly skilled, each stroke so precise it's breathtaking.

His breath sprayed onto your face, carrying a faint scent of sandalwood and rust—a unique aroma of Ban, both elegant and bloody.

You don't understand why your heart is beating so fast. Madara is acting so strangely today. His Sharingan, which is always burning with anger, is now as calm as water, reflecting your bewildered face.

"When did you learn that?" you couldn't help but ask, your voice drier than you expected.

Ban paused for a moment, then continued to draw your lip line, "...A long time ago."

This answer inexplicably ignites a nameless anger within you. Long ago? On whose face was Ban practicing this intimate act? Your brows furrow unconsciously in the mirror, only to be smoothed out by Ban's thumb.

"Don't move." Madara seemed to have read your mind and explained, "Ahem... I was just practicing on Izuna and Inori."

"???" The absurd scene of Ban forcibly putting on makeup for his two younger brothers immediately flashed into your mind, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

A crisp laugh broke the heavy atmosphere, even causing Ban's lips to curl into a slight smile.

But soon, your smile faded as Ban suddenly wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. The mirror reflected the two of them cuddling together, creating an eerie harmony.

"Now it's your turn," Ban whispered in your ear, his warm breath making your ear tips burn.

"Oh? You need to get your makeup done too?" You remember that the groom at the wedding doesn't need to get his makeup done.

Ban released you, took a delicate wooden comb from his sleeve, and placed it in your palm. "It's not for makeup, it's for tying up your hair."

You stare at the comb, engraved with the Uchiha clan crest. "Aren't there maids already? Why do we need more..."

Your question was gently silenced by Ban's index finger. The calluses on Ban's fingertip, formed from years of gripping hardship, brushed against your lips with a rough touch, sending a subtle shiver down your spine.

There are rumors circulating among the people.

"On the wedding day, the couple will do everything together, so that they can grow old together and never be separated."

As he spoke, he took your hand and intertwined your fingers.

Your heart skipped a beat. "You still believe in this?"

You don't understand why Madara, as the head of the Uchiha clan, would believe such nonsense from the common people.

"No, I only believe that I will be obsessed with you until I die." He leaned down, his lips almost touching your earlobe. "No matter how many times we are reincarnated, you will always be mine."

These words should have sent chills down your spine, but for some reason they made your heart skip a beat. While you were still in a daze, Madara was already sitting on the low stool in front of you, his back to you, his black hair cascading down like a waterfall.

"Let's begin, madam." Madara's tone carried an undeniable command, yet strangely mixed with anticipation.

You hesitantly lift the comb, your fingers trembling slightly, and when you actually touch Ban's long hair, a strange calm suddenly descends upon you.

The hair was softer than you expected, with a faint sandalwood scent. As you mechanically combed it, you noticed an old scar on the back of Ban's neck. Your fingertips unconsciously touched the scar, and you immediately felt Ban's muscles tense up.

"Focus." Madara's voice was already a bit hoarse.

You quickly continued with your work, tying Ban's long hair into a formal groom's hairstyle. During the process, her fingers would occasionally brush against Ban's earlobes or the back of his neck, each touch eliciting a subtle reaction from him.

This kind of secret interaction is more heart-pounding than any intimate contact.

Ban stood up and turned to the mirror to check your results. The two people in the mirror, one black and one white, were like the two poles of yin and yang, both opposing and complementary.

"Not bad," Ban commented briefly, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. He suddenly reached out and pulled you up. "It's time to attend the wedding, my dear wife."

You were half-embraced by him, the wide sleeves of your white kimono intertwined with the black sleeves of your blouse.

Looking up at Madara's profile, I noticed that the man had an undisguised joy about him today. That pure emotion made him look much younger, almost like the boy by the Naka River back then.

This realization sends a shiver down your spine, making you suddenly realize that no matter how much you resist, this wedding has already bound your fates together.

What's even more terrifying is that, in the deepest, most secret corner of your heart, you actually feel a secret anticipation for it.

Ban seemed to notice your gaze, and looked down to meet your eyes. In that moment, you saw a kind of almost fragile emotion in his eyes, fleeting yet real.

Inside the wedding hall, red candles burned brightly, but they couldn't illuminate the lowered eyelids of the Uchiha clan members. You were held in Madara's arms, feeling the gazes coming from all directions and then quickly averting.

No one dared to speak, or even glance at the clan leader's wife, as if she were the embodiment of some taboo, and that a single look would bring the curse of the Sharingan.

"A toast to the clan leader and his wife." The Fifth Elder raised his wine cup tremblingly, his cloudy eyes fixed on the ground.

Ban chuckled, took the glass with one hand, and drank it all in one gulp. "How many glasses is this tonight? You can't remember."

You only noticed that Ban's pupils were still as clear as ever, showing no signs of drunkenness.

This realization suddenly reminds you of Izuna's birthday party many years ago, when Madara only drank three cups of sake before collapsing into your arms, his burning forehead pressed against your neck, his breath so hot it felt like it was burning through your skin.

Your fingers crept up Ban's waist and pinched him hard.

Ban grunted softly, then leaned close to your ear, "Madam, what's wrong?"

You turned your face away and ignored them.

The wedding process was so complicated it was suffocating: toasts, vows, family registration... During this time, Ban even noticed your exhaustion and generously allowed you to rest in his arms for a moment.

This kind of thoughtfulness might be heartwarming on others, but when it comes from Madara Uchiha, it only sends chills down your spine, like a beast temporarily sheathing its claws just to prolong the pleasure of toying with its prey.

As the last elder left the wedding hall, Ban picked you up by the waist, and the clansmen all knelt on the ground, no one daring to look up and watch the clan leader's departing figure.

You are enveloped by Ban's body heat, and you can hear his strong and steady heartbeat, which is not like that of someone who has just drunk dozens of glasses of strong liquor.

The patriarch's bedroom is a hundred times more luxurious than the Japanese-style room where you were imprisoned. The sandalwood bed is covered with a scarlet brocade quilt embroidered with the Uchiha clan's fan crest.

Ban placed you on the tatami mat, and the click of the door locking itself was particularly jarring in the quiet room.

"I didn't marry you because of love," you suddenly said, your voice drier than you had imagined.

Ban paused for a moment, then slowly turned around, the candlelight casting flickering shadows on his sharply defined face. "Is that so?" he asked softly.

The next second, he picked you up again, and in a dizzying moment, you were thrown into the soft brocade quilt, where the rich fragrance of sandalwood and the smell of gunpowder on Ban's body overwhelmed you.

Ban tore off the ribbon binding your hair, and your long black hair cascaded down like a waterfall onto the scarlet sheets, creating a breathtaking contrast.

"Then tell me," Madara leaned down and bit your earlobe, "why does your heart race every time I get close?"

Your fingernails dug into the muscles of his back, but you couldn't tell whether you wanted to push him away or hold on tighter.

The spotted kisses traveled down your neck, lingered for a moment on the brand on your collarbone, and finally stopped above your chest.

He raised his eyes, his dark pupils staring directly at you, as if waiting for a final resistance.

You know, as long as you say "Don't do that," he will definitely stop.

Ban never uses drugs or illusions to force you; what he wants is for you to consciously submit and watch yourself sink into depravity.

A sudden clap of thunder boomed outside the window, and a pale flash of lightning pierced through the windowpane, casting flickering light on Ban's face.

Your refusal circled on the tip of your tongue, finally turning into a silent gasp.

“Anagi, admit it.” Madara gripped your waist and pressed down even deeper, his voice, mingled with the sudden sound of rain, was seductively low and husky, “You and I are both terminally ill.”

Another thunderclap struck, rattling the windowpanes, and a torrential downpour began, the sound of rain like a thousand horses galloping.

When Ban's lips covered yours again, you finally gave up resisting. Your hands climbed up his neck, leaving red marks on the back of his neck with your nails, making it hard to tell whether it was hate or love.

Chapter 66 - Imprisoned Love (9)

Ban chuckled softly, the sound drowned out by the rain. His fingers ran through your black hair as he pressed you against him. "Look, your heart is racing again."

His lips pressed against your heart, his tongue licking your rapidly beating pulse, "It's saying it loves me."

You wanted to argue, but Ban sealed your words with a kiss. This kiss was gentler than any before, yet it was also more deadly.

You respond unconsciously, and then feel ashamed of your compliance.

The sound of rain intensified, masking the gasps and sobs inside. Ban's movements were sometimes as gentle as water, sometimes as fierce as fire, as if he were showing you the duality of love in this way.

It can be as gentle as a spring breeze, or as cruel as a harsh winter.

"Say you love me," Ban commanded, biting your shoulder.