Obito knows that he's not the first choice.
He knows that with a clarity he doesn't for most things, ever since young.
He's not the first choice for someone to take a look into a brand new classroom and goI want to be that kid's friend.He's not the first choice for a teacher to look at their new students and goI think that one has the most potential.He knows that he's not the first choice for a new team to look at and goI know he has my back.
Obito knows, with more clarity than he does for most things, that he's not anyone's first choice.
But he had swore to be their last.
It wasn't the 'last' of being the worst.
Rather, it was 'last' in the kind of it being final. Of it being the only choice you'd need to make from therein onwards.
He knows he isn't Rin's first love, just like how he knows the sky is blue and the moon is always out of your reach. He knows that he isn't her first love, and he might not even get to be her second. But by god, had he wanted to be her last. It was a childish kind of love, the kind of a boy who wanted to prove himself and a girl that was just the perfect first love. It was the kind of love that he thought could last a lifetime because he didn't know how long a lifetime was.
He knows he isn't Team 7's first pick for a teammate. He knows that if they could've gotten better, they would've picked them. But they didn't and they were stuck with him.
God, he knows he isn't their first choice, but he had wanted to be their last.This time, it wasn't driven by a childish desire to love and be loved, but rather just pure and simple yearning to be a part of the shinobi world that was out of reach before. To measure up to his team, to measure up to Kakashi- the genius that's been saddled with them- Minato- another genius saddled with all of them. And Rin, wonderful Rin, who was stuck in between.
He thought they were going somewhere. The moment he awakened his Sharingan and managed to be a somewhat competent duo with Kakashi. The moment that Kakashi had started to actually open up and give a shit-
And then, just as always-
Nothing chooses Obito first, not even death.
Because it was Kakashi that had tripped. Stupid, arrogant Kakashi. With more issues packed into his small body than the amount of Hiraishin kunai Minato-sensei carries in his sealing scroll-
Stupid, arrogant Kakashi who was always chosen first. The one you look at first in the middle of a crowd because he just happens to have bright hair and that look about him that makes you want to goI want to be close to him,the ones teachers first look at upon looking at their new students and gohe's my pick for the most potential of the generation.The one a new team look at and go-
I know he has my back.
Fucking Hatake Kakashi. Always the first choice. Even by death. Even by the stupid boulders and the fucking rocks. That small trip felt fateful, somehow. It felt like, once more, Kakashi was chosen and by god-
Obito isn't anyone's first choice, and apparently isn't even death's first choice.
It was on par for his life, really.
But at that moment-
He wanted to be its last.
It was maybe childish and definitely stupid. But he decided that he wasn't going to let Kakashi have this one final win over him. Or maybe just that Kakashi was just starting to be less of an asshole and Obito decided that his journey wasn't going to end here. Or maybe it was just that Rin would be sadder if Kakashi died. Or maybe it was just the pure shinobi pragmatism of Kakashi being much more valuable than Obito is.
In the end, Obito doesn't quite know, either. But all he knows is that his body acted and suddenly he really was the last choice.
And then-
And then he wasn't.
And then he was chosen by Madara.
He also knows, with more clarity than he does for most things, that he wasn't Madara's first choice, either.
They don't talk about it, but Obito just knows it. Just knows it like how he knows the sky is blue and the sun is scorching. He just knows within his marrow that he wasn't Madara's first choice. That Madara had probably picked some other Uchiha before him. An Uchiha that was smarter, stronger, more talented, better.
He knows that he wasn't Madara's first choice.
But, just like he had always wanted-
He was the last choice. The final choice. The choice that stuck.
The factor 'why' is something Obito had thought about, at times. When the days spent hiding gets too long and too windling and too quiet. Had thought about, whimsically, in an effort to detract himself from the anger at Kiri, at Konoha, at the world-
At himself.
In the end, he had narrowed it down to a simple factor of 'luck.'
'Luck'.
Not talent nor skill nor anything else at all.
Just pure luck.
But now-
Now he wonders-
Was it really luck?
Or is it-
Obito isn't anyone's first choice.
And yet.
Here he is-
Wondering if perhaps it wasn't all luck, after all.
That he was Madara's first choice.
And he can't even dwell on it for long because-
There's another pressing thought that comes. Surging up, like a terrible tidal wave that only makes you nauseous at the end.
Father?
There's a beast with gaping maws. There's something like fire in his veins, something like a grave dug up and a memorial that was spat upon.
Don't joke with me.
It wants to swallow him whole.
There's a flash of something in the curse's expression. A crack in the armor, a stain in the mirror. It's brief, barely noticeable at all. Nothing beyond a small widening of the eyes, a quiet parting of the lips, a soft sound barely kept back within a dry throat. Something like a crooning exhale. Maybe for a word like father or what, somewhere in between that. But Kenjaku doesn't know because the sound is swallowed down, quickly, painfully.
The curse is stitched back together again. Slowly.
Painfully.
For a curse, it is plenty human, Kenjaku thinks.
But then again, that tends to be the case with curses that were once sorcerers. Something about their human nature sticking to their hollow shell. Something like a remnant of something that should've long died but can't pass on because its vessel is still walking upon the earth.
It all becomes twisted, eventually. That bit of human eventually becoming something remarkably worse. Becoming something crazed, tainted by curses and their new nature.
It's not a question of 'when' those sorcerers turned curses truly become curses. But rather a question of 'if.'
And for the curse in front of him, Kenjaku thinks that it has been an awfully long time.
He wonders how much sand is left in the hourglass. How much longer it is before the human becomes inhuman and all these regrets and humanness twist and become an obsession instead.
He wonders how much longer it is until the curse in front of him grows and fills into its true nature.
He wonders how long it lasted like so in the first place.
It is a passing question, a passing moment of confusion. One of an idle mind and something that shouldn't exist.
But then again, perhaps it being Tengen's child had something to do with it retaining its human nature for so long. Or perhaps not.
It is a mystery for another day. One of many.
"I don't believe you," the curse says. Slowly, articulately, as though to hammer home the point. Its stare is a dispassionate thing. Lacking in heat but is practically boiling. It's overflowing with emotions, in a way, Kenjaku can tell. Its cursed energy is muted but there's the faint tinge of crazed mania in the atmosphere. Something insidious that crawls into your skin and peels it out from the inside.
I got you for a moment there, didn't I,Kenjaku thinks, amused. Though he doesn't say as much. It's somewhat entertaining to see how far he can draw this farce out. And perhaps, whether he can catch himself another cursed child by the end of it all.
Perhaps not, but there's something awfully delightful in trying to plunder Tengen's child from him and Kenjaku is not one to back down from such a challenge.
"That's a shame," Kenjaku says instead, lightly. The curse turns its gaze to him, it's something more heated now, though it still retains that quiet, analytical edge. Burying beneath it any semblance of the vulnerability it displayed earlier.
"You don't know my name," the curse states plainly, there's something decisive to its words, as though this were a decisive, final move atop a chessboard.
And perhaps that is true enough.
"I don't," Kenjaku admits easily. Because, well, Mahito has missed that bit of information. Not that Kenjaku expects any better of him, really. Mahito is an awfully flighty child like that, only focusing on the things that he fancies rather than anything of substance.
Maybe he'll live long enough to learn, or maybe he'll die before he even realizes his own ignorance.
It doesn't really matter to Kenjaku.
"A real shitty father you're being," the curse drawls, clearly sarcastic.
His own children would probably call him that.
Would they be right?
Probably.
Goodness knows he hadn't seen any of them in a long, long time. Nor had he acknowledged their existence.
It builds character, Kenjaku would say. But then again, what doesn't?
The concept of children is fascinating, Kenjaku would admit. But raising them is a hassle in and of itself. And Kenjaku knows enough about the growth and development of newborn humans and curses to be decidedly bored of the idea of actually watching them grow. What use would that be?
It's just more time and resources wasted on something that may or may not be a useful ally in the long run.
Yuuji might be worth it, though. But Kenjaku isn't keen on playing favorites. He hears that it's an awful way to parent.
And again, Tengen didn't even know he had a child and still doesn't know, so that's also awfully terrible parenting.
At least Kenjaku knows his children's names, isn't that sweet of him?
He feels some relish in that, in some odd way, as though he's beating Tengen in a competition that never even existed because Tengen never knew he even had a child.
"That comes with abandoning you since birth," Kenjaku replies smoothly.
Something in the curse's face twists. Its mood souring with the briefest hint of its downturned lips, pronounced more by the scars etched on one side of its face. Harsh and painful, making Kenjaku wonder whether that was one of its deaths or whether it was the sharp scar upon its neck that did it in.
The scars look like it at least came from extended time with the curse, but that thin scar is far from that.
It's thin and sharp enough to be something calculated, something measured, something done with a clean, tip of a crafted tool-
Something human.
And oh, isn't that a thought.
Once, twice, and thrice.
Kenjaku has an inkling that there's a third scar somewhere upon the curse's body. Something that's heinous and lethal in equal measures.
Or maybe not.
Maybe it was already a curse by that time, if it's 'thrice' is being sealed.
And curses don't scar.
He wonders if the 'once' was from the brutality of a curse, and the 'twice' was from the heinous hands of another human.
He hopes that is the case.
The more brutal it is. The more it hurts, and not just in the physical sense. But in the sense of a heartbreak and a betrayal-
The more human the death was-
The better.
Curses built from just regrets are no fun, after all. And Kenjaku can tell that the curse in front of him has that brewing anger within it. Something that's snappish and biting, but veiled beneath a veneer of regret and guilt.
Whatever for, Kenjaku doesn't know. But he hopes that it continues to fester. Grow and grow until the hourglass has emptied and there's nothing left of the sorcerer and everything left of the curse.
Kenjaku is always on the lookout for allies, after all. And there's nothing quite as fine as another special grade within his palm. Ready to be used against its once peers. Used against the sorcerers that it once stood within the ranks of.
Especially if it's Tengen spawn. Especially if he can bring it to face its own father.
There's something awfully delightful about that. Something that makes Kenjaku wants to laugh and applaud the universe for having such a pleasant surprise.
He wonders if it'll be more fun to have Tengen faced against his own child not knowing, or whether the reveal will be more entertaining to drop before it all.
"That doesn't make me believe you any further than I had earlier," the curse states derisively.
And that's fair enough.
It's been years, after all. And even if the desire for a father may clog at the curse's throat and makes it vulnerable-
It's clearly defensive and Kenjaku doesn't have proof of its parentage. He is not its father, in the end. And whatever records that he could fabricate or even glance at to piece together what life it led has long been buried or turned into dust by now. And whatever secrets its mother kept, it, too, has been buried with the woman.
There's no evidence to prove that he was its father. And nothing beyond a miracle will have it believe him, and it isn't quite the naive newborn that Mahito is, either. And it's not quite desperate enough to take his words at face value.
It is fair enough, Kenjaku wouldn't expect any less of a curse born of Tengen.
They're at a stalemate, it seems. And it can't quite prove that he isn't it's father, either. Because it can't quite be sure where the story between its own mother and father started, it only knows the ending and that is its mother died and kept her secrets with her to the grave.
Everything could've been fabricated from that point onwards. Nothing is concrete other than the fact that it is born and now someone claiming to be its father is knocking on its doors and there's a hint of hesitation there, something like a small sliver of doubt.
And that is what Kenjaku wants.
He doesn't need it to believe him. He doesn't need it to call him father, though that would've been nice, too.
He wants it to doubt.
He wants to tip its world off kilter, just a bit.
Because then, even if Tengen somehow finds out, even if he somehow knows.
Well, it would certainly be doubtful of Tengen, too, wouldn't it.
Not that Tengen is likely to find out anytime soon, of course. And the possibility of that is even lower than the possibility of Tengen stopping his reclusive behavior.
But still, it can't hurt to think ahead. Not to mention the fact that its highly entertaining to try to acquire children and the added benefit of certainly ruining someone's day.
Just how far can you make someone doubt their existence?
Kenjaku wants to find out.
"I suppose so," Kenjaku answers calmly.
There's nothing else to be said on the topic. The curse most likely wouldn't be receptive to anything, and Kenjaku doesn't have the necessary fodder to add onto the fuel. But it's enough, for now. To throw something into doubt.
The conversation stagnates, almost, and Kenjaku can tell that it's weighing heavily on the curse's mind. Which is fascinating all on its own, since it implies that the revelation that its parentage might have something to do with its survival is something important. Something that it had never considered before and something that is perhaps almost integral to its very being.
Kenjaku doesn't know why, just yet. But he thinks of the scars upon his body and wonders how exactly it had rationalized being alive. A latent technique? Perhaps, but if that were so, the revelation that its father would have passed that onto it is something that could be easily accepted. Not to mention, it would certainly link back to Tengen, and Kenjaku doesn't think that the curse in front of him realizes that yet.
So what is it?
How did it survive and what was the logic behind that survival? What did it think when taking upon its first breath?
How did it avoid being labeled as a successor of Tengen?
And how exactly did it escape notice until now?
Again, all questions. No answer. Which is a bit frustrating, but also a bit fun.
It's like trying to piece together a puzzle, with the pieces having long been scattered over time. And with the frame itself having not known the final picture in the first place.
There's no jigsaw puzzle quite as frustrating and impossible as one that revolves the history of one that has no one to remember them by.
But a challenge is something Kenjaku has always been ready to rise up to.
"You didn't just come here for a reunion, did you?" it asks, its voice a quiet thing within the dilapidated frames of the complex they find themselves in. Most regular humans would label Kenjaku odd for stepping into such a place, but Kenjaku would rather find that the label matches the curse in front of him more.
It had chosen to stay here, of all places. Kenjaku can still feel the tinge of its cursed energy around the complex. Left unconsciously or not, but it's a warning siren to all curses around to stay out and away.
It's a deathly warning. There's something almost primal about it. Something like the old ages. Of old folk legends and older, still, monsters. Something like the yokai of old, haunting the streets of Heian-Kyo.
It feels like a trace of the fabled Night Parade of One Hundred Demons.
A sight it was, back in the past. A night parade like none other. Wherein curses roamed and wreaked havoc. Wherein sorcerers had prayed and had fought. With the withering lantern light and Heian-Kyo being the backdrop to it all.
It was a night of glory. A night wherein curses were forged and sorcerers were made.
But there's just one monster, now.
But that one monster is enough to be a parade in and of itself. Even if it lurks beneath a veneer of humanity. Even if it does not show itself. Even if it's contained behind a steadily dwindling hourglass.
And oh, isn't that a terrifying thing.
Tengen would be proud.
Or maybe ashamed.
In the end, it's his blood that created such a monster.
The great sorcerer and the great curse.
Both a remnant of the old ages of jujutsu.
Both, family.
And yet, neither knows.
Neither had the chance to claim each other as family.
For Tengen has become a recluse, and his son died thrice without having known his father.
For Tengen is the almighty sorcerer, and his son is a wretched special grade.
Kenjaku wants them to know, out of a sense of twisted amusement.
"I just wanted to talk, really," Kenjaku says. His words sly and deliberately obtuse.
That isn't his true purpose, really. He was here to see the curse in person.
Although recruitment is an idea, Kenjaku knows better than to try his luck.
He knows of Mahito's fate. And knows that the curse isn't keen on Mahito, let alone contemplate joining a group with Mahito and another who claims to be its father with no proof to back it up.
That will come with time, perhaps. But the main thing for now is to make sure it'll be on guard against Tengen, as well. Against any claims that someone could make that Tengen was its father. For him to instill that seed of doubt and capitalize on it later.
Much later.
But for now. It is enough.
A door appears before him, just as expected.
The time of parting was nigh.
"If you wanted to recruit me," the curse drawls, just as it spies the door. Its eyes weary and its stance neutral, but oh-
Its cursed energy is almost manic.
Kenjaku can almost taste it.
Taste the hand at his throat and ready to-
The door opens.
"I believe I already told your friend the answer."
Kenjaku passes the threshold.
A hand doesn't plunge through his throat.
But it's a very near thing.
There's a hand through the curse that has replaced him where he once stood.
The sound that the curse makes is near guttural.
Kenjaku doesn't turn back.
Stepping atop the sandy beaches, Kenjaku resigns himself to another conversation with Mahito.
And oh, perhaps this one will have some answers yet.
Fast, Obito thinks, exorcising the curse writhing on his hand.
Fast and sly.
What a terrible combination.
He doesn't expect to kill the thing in the first place.
It's clearly strong and it's one of those that just makes you know you're going to be in one hell of a fight. The long, drawn out kind of fights wherein village leveling jutsus are tossed about as though they were kunai and your reflexes are drawn to the limit.
But it wouldn't hurt to at least harm it, Obito thinks.
Do you really want to harm our father, though?
"Shut up," Obito says derisively.
There's something terrible about those words.
Something sickening about it.
It makes Obito want to gnash his teeth together.
The Juubi just laugh.
It's a terribly familiar laugh.
Father.
In the end-
Tengen, oh Tengen.
They used your child as a vessel, did you know?
To fix the world.
Did you know?
As your dear friend-
I can't wait to tell you.
"Well, what I'm saying is, Yuta-kun-"
Yuta feels like sighing, he feels like a father of five despite being a father of none.
"I think it's time for an ancestor-teacher conference!"
Yuta feels like a father of six.
