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C: Lone survivor1-
R:Yeah thanks , for now I don't know where I'll be going but let's see I've got some ideas .
C: random bot that keeps attacking me with art commissions scam .
R:go fuck yourself
Obito stood , arms crossed, watching as more and more Uchiha glanced in his direction. He had just bought a house conveniently located a street away from the Uchiha compound, and the number of passing clan members was noticeably higher than anywhere else in the village. Normally, that wouldn't matter, but the way they kept looking at him made him uneasy.
Did they recognize him? That shouldn't be possible—his mask was on, and as far as anyone knew, Obito Uchiha had died years ago.
Before he could think too much about it, a nasal, oily voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Tobi-san? Are the terms agreeable for you, sir?"
Obito turned to face the former homeowner, barely concealing his disgust. The man was short, round, and sweating profusely, despite standing in the shade. What little hair remained on his head was slicked back, failing to hide the shine of his scalp.
"Yes, of course," Obito said, nodding curtly. "Let's finalize the paperwork."
As the documents were signed and exchanged, the Uchiha presence in the area seemed to grow. Some clan members stared openly, while others whispered among themselves. Even the ex-owner seemed uncomfortable under their scrutiny.
"Great, Tobi-san! Pleasure doing business with you," the man said hurriedly. Then, lowering his voice, he added, "Bit of advice—don't get on the Uchihas' bad side. They're… particular."
Obito hummed in amusement. "I can imagine. Just from their stares, I can tell something is unusual."
They shook hands, though Obito had to resist the urge to wipe his palm on his cloak after. The former homeowner wasted no time disappearing down the street, clearly eager to be anywhere else.
Obito sighed and stepped into his new house. The space was just what he needed—high ceilings, enough room to seat at least a dozen guests, and a front wall that, with a little work, could be removed to open the space up to the street. It would be perfect for what he had in mind.
After making a quick inspection, he stepped back outside and hammered up a freshly painted sign:
"Tobi's Chill Tea Lounge – Opening Soon"
Satisfied, he pulled a wooden chair to the side of the entrance and sat down, leaning back as he watched the village go about its day.
Soon enough, people began to notice. Civilians and shinobi alike slowed their pace to read the sign, their gazes flicking between it and the masked man sitting nearby. Some looked confused, others whispered among themselves, and a few simply walked away shaking their heads.
The Uchiha, however, lingered.
Obito frowned slightly, watching as yet another pair passed by, giving him a long, unreadable look before continuing on their way.
Something was definitely strange.
Obito drummed his fingers lazily on the armrest of his chair, watching the growing number of curious passersby. The village was alive with its usual midday energy—shinobi on patrol, merchants tending to their stalls, and civilians bustling about their day. Yet, more than a few had slowed their pace, sneaking glances at his newly placed sign. Some just shot it a passing look, mildly curious, before moving on. Others, particularly the Uchihas, lingered longer, their gazes flickering between him and the storefront he had claimed.
Yeah, that's not suspicious at all, Obito thought dryly, adjusting his mask slightly.
A pair of shinobi in standard Konoha uniforms finally decided to investigate further. They stopped a few feet away, whispering to each other while making no effort to hide their scrutiny. One of them, a man with short brown hair and a casual but authoritative posture, eventually stepped forward.
"You the owner?" he asked, arms crossed over his flak jacket.
Obito stretched exaggeratedly before nodding. "That's me. Tobi, at your service."
The shinobi glanced at the sign again, his brow furrowing slightly. "'Tobi's Chill Tea Lounge'?" He sounded half-amused, half-incredulous. "That's... different."
"That's the point," Obito replied, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. "People in this village are way too tense. I figured I'd try to fix that."
The second shinobi, younger with spiky black hair, scoffed. "Right. And you just happened to open up shop here? Near the Uchiha compound?"
Obito tilted his head, feigning innocent confusion. "Is that a problem?"
The two exchanged glances, their silent conversation obvious. The older one shrugged. "Not a problem, just… unusual. You're not an Uchiha, right?"
Obito let out a soft chuckle beneath his mask. "Nope. Just a guy who likes tea."
Before they could press further, a civilian woman approached, her curiosity outweighing whatever suspicion the shinobi still held. She was older, maybe in her sixties, carrying a basket of fresh produce. She squinted up at the sign before turning her sharp gaze on him.
"A tea lounge, huh?" she asked, shifting the weight of her basket on her hip. "What kind of tea?"
Obito immediately sat up straighter, his tone brightening. "All kinds! Green tea, black tea, herbal blends—you name it, I probably have it. I'm bringing in fresh supplies soon."
The woman hummed in approval. "About time someone opened something other than another dango or ramen shop. Young people these days have no taste."
The younger shinobi rolled his eyes at that, while the older one chuckled. "Well, good luck, Tobi. Let's see if your 'chill tea' plan actually works."
"Oh, it will," Obito assured them, leaning back in his chair with a grin hidden beneath his mask. "Believe it."
As they walked away, he let out a slow breath, glancing around again.
The sun had dipped lower in the sky by the time the first real conversation started.
An older man stopped in front of the sign, staring at it with narrowed eyes before shifting his gaze to Obito. He had the look of someone who had seen too much—deep lines etched into his face, a posture that was still upright but carried a weight to it.
"A tea lounge," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Haven't seen one of those in years."
Obito, still leaning back in his chair, exhaled slowly. "Figured it was time for one."
The old man gave a humorless chuckle. "People used to think that way before every war, too." He pulled up a crate, not bothering to ask, and sat down. "You new to the village?"
Obito tilted his head. "Something like that."
The man hummed, clearly not convinced but not pressing the matter either. "Tea lounges used to be common. Before the Second War, there was one right near the market. Shinobi, merchants, civilians—everyone stopped by. Then the war started, and it burned with everything else."
A woman approached then, sharp-eyed and steady despite her age. She carried a basket of dried herbs and sized up both of them before scoffing. "Daisuke boring you with his stories?"
Daisuke scowled. "You got a problem with history, Aiko?"
Aiko barely spared him a glance. "I got a problem with people acting like the past didn't chew them up and spit them out." Her gaze flicked to Obito. "And I don't trust people who open businesses out of nowhere."
Obito shrugged. "I don't trust people who ask too many questions."
She snorted but didn't argue. "Hmph. You actually know what you're doing, or is this some half-baked idea?"
Obito gestured to the sign. "I know my tea."
Aiko hummed in vague approval, but she didn't move on. Instead, she sat down beside Daisuke. Another man, this one missing two fingers, wandered up and joined in. Then a woman with old scars on her arms.
And suddenly, the conversation shifted.
Talk of tea became talk of war. Talk of war became talk of everything that had been lost. Not in a way that sought pity—just a simple recounting of facts. Who had died. Who had vanished. Who had never been found.
Obito listened, silent behind his mask. He had expected curiosity about the tea lounge, maybe some resistance to a new business in a place like this. He hadn't expected this.
And as he sat there, letting the conversation flow around him, he couldn't help but think: This place hasn't changed at all.
The evening air carried the scent of burning wood and the distant aroma of food being prepared. Lanterns flickered to life along the street, their soft glow casting long shadows as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. The street outside Obito's newly acquired tea lounge wasn't particularly crowded, but enough people passed by to notice the strange masked man sitting outside, watching the village as if it were something foreign.
Daisuke, the old man who had first stopped, leaned back on the crate he had claimed as a seat, his eyes reflecting the flickering lantern light. "You remind me of the merchants that used to pass through before the wars. They always had this look—like they didn't belong, but they wanted to. You a trader?"
Obito chuckled under his breath. "Something like that."
Aiko, the woman who had approached earlier, scoffed, adjusting the basket of dried herbs on her hip. "You're dodging questions like a shinobi. That mask isn't helping your case either."
Obito didn't react, merely tilting his head. "Would you prefer I took it off?"
She snorted. "Tch. You do what you want, boy. I've lived long enough to know that the ones who wear masks aren't the ones you should be worried about—it's the ones who smile at you with their whole face."
That earned a raspy chuckle from another man who had joined them. His hand, rough and scarred, lifted a small cup of sake. "Ain't that the truth? Last guy who smiled at me like that sold me a horse with a busted leg."
The group muttered in agreement, but the conversation quickly shifted back to what it always did when older villagers gathered—war.
"Third War was worse than the second," Daisuke muttered, his fingers tapping against the wood of his crate. "People like to argue, but I was there. I saw what happened to the border towns." His gaze darkened, clouded with memories that he didn't fully voice. "The Second War was hell, but at least we knew who we were fighting. The Third? Too many shadows, too many games."
A younger man, no older than his early twenties, had been lingering nearby, listening quietly. His forehead protector was tied around his upper arm instead of his head. "We were trained different because of it," he murmured. "We learned to strike first before asking questions. To think that peace would last was naive."
Aiko huffed, arms crossed. "Peace isn't meant to last. It's something people chase like fools, and then the moment they think they've caught it, war finds them again." She glanced at Obito. "You weren't here for it, huh? You don't carry yourself like someone who's seen what we have."
Obito let her assumption hang in the air.
No, he hadn't been here for it. He had been in it. He had bled for it. And in the end, he had torn apart everything they were mourning now.
The missing fingers man, who had been mostly quiet, exhaled through his nose. "That why you're setting up a tea lounge? Because you're one of those peace-chasers?"
Obito was silent for a moment before replying, "I just think people need a place to breathe."
A heavy silence followed, but this time, it wasn't filled with suspicion. Instead, it carried the weight of understanding.
Daisuke hummed, rubbing at his chin. "Tea shops used to be good places for that, back in the day." He glanced at the building. "You better make a damn good cup of tea, boy. People in this village don't trust easy. But if you serve something worth coming back for… well, even old men like me might stop by."
Obito, still leaning back in his chair, let out a slow exhale.
"I'll make sure it's worth it."
And just like that, the war talk faded. The evening stretched on, filled with more murmured conversations, the occasional dry joke, and passing glances at the strange masked man who had, for reasons still unknown, decided to settle in the graveyard called Konoha.
Obito shut the door behind him, tossing the sign and chair inside without a second thought. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension settle in.
"Kami, I forgot how damn exhausting people are," he muttered.
The night air was crisp, carrying the same scent he remembered from years ago. It was unsettling, how little had changed. He stepped back outside, taking a deep breath before climbing onto the roof. Lying down, arms folded behind his head, he stared at the sky.
'Never thought I'd be back here… Feels wrong. I probably killed half the people I spoke to today. And I've seen just as many Uchihas walking around.'
He let out a short, humorless laugh. "And now I'm selling tea. What the hell am I doing?"
He pulled off his mask and let it rest beside him, dragging a hand down his face. Old scars, old memories. He raised his left hand, blocking the moon with his palm, then slowly curled his fingers into a fist.
"The Infinite Tsukuyomi is still on track. I could make some changes this time… Maybe stop the Uchiha massacre. Not kill Minato-sensei."
The thought sat heavy in his chest. He exhaled sharply, shutting his eyes.
"But how? I don't want to be a weapon again. Did enough of that for a few lifetimes."
Silence. No answers, no revelations—just the quiet murmur of the village moving on, like it always had. Like he never existed in the first place.
He let himself relax—a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time, neither in his original timeline nor in the Pure Lands.
Lying on his back, he caught the faint presence of someone approaching. Obito sat up, grabbed his mask, and placed it on his face , but otherwise didn't react. A moment later, a blur stopped just behind him. Shinobi, obviously.
He stayed where he was, watching the village with one knee drawn up, arms resting on it. The presence didn't move. Just stood there, watching.
Alright, so we're playing the 'who acknowledges who first' game? He sighed. A few more minutes passed. Still nothing.
Obito stretched, rolling his shoulders before cracking his neck. Seriously? He was just trying to enjoy his own damn rooftop, and now he had some lurking weirdo ruining the moment?
Fine. If they wanted to loiter, he'd make it weird.
He leaned over the edge of the roof and, in the most obnoxious, high-pitched voice he could muster, wailed,
"Woooo!! It's so high up! What if I fall and break my leg?! Nooo, that would be so bad! If only—if only—there was a brave, strong hero to rescue this poor, helpless lady!"
If this idiot wanted to stare at him all night, they were gonna suffer for it.
He grabbed his head and shook it in every direction. "I am lost! I will die on this roof, all because no one here has the ability to help me! Woe is me!"
After a few seconds of exaggerated crying, the person who had been behind him this whole time finally moved and placed a hand on his shoulder. Obito, of course, had already noticed their approach.
"AAAHHHH!" A ridiculously high-pitched scream burst out of his mouth, the perfect reaction of a helpless civilian suddenly touched by an unknown presence.
Obito spun sharply to face whoever had the audacity to disturb his peace—only to freeze. His lone visible eye widened beneath the orange spiral mask, looking for all the world like he'd just realized he had food poisoning.
It was a kid.
A kid he knew.
Itachi.
And older than he should've been.
Itachi had that same air of superiority and boredom that Obito vaguely remembered, watching him with quiet scrutiny.
The way the masked man had frozen in place was... odd. His dark blue robes and eerie mask didn't make him any less suspicious, either.
Before Itachi could speak, Obito dropped down to eye level with the boy.
"Are you lost too, little boy? Don't worry! Tobi-san will scream really loud so a shinobi will come save us!" He patted Itachi's shoulder. "Poor boy—"
"I am a girl."
Silence.
The kind of silence that could be heard all the way to Iwagakure.
Itachi took a step back, slowly eyeing Obito up and down.
"The fuck?"
Very eloquent, Tobi.
Obito stood up, turned to face the street, and smacked his masked forehead with a sigh. "Of course he'd do this."
"Who?"
"Not your business, kid. Wait, how old are you?"
"Eleven. Is this an interrogation?"
Obito exhaled slowly, making a solid attempt to stay calm.
"Why the fuck would I interrogate a random kid?! And don't look at me like that—you look like a damn psychopath."
I said attempt. Never said he succeeded.
"Okay, okay—"
Obito sighed, rubbing his masked face like that would somehow fix the situation. He looked at the kid—girl—again. Definitely an Uchiha. Pale skin, dark eyes, the whole package. They all looked the same at that age.
"Well, Miss Uchiha," he finally said, crossing his arms. "What the hell are you doing sneaking up on people in the middle of the night? Got a hobby in creeping on civilians?"
She just stared.
Obito waited. Nothing. No response.
"…Hello? Earth to tiny Uchiha?" He waved a hand in front of her face. "Blink twice if you're still with us."
Still nothing. Just that unreadable gaze.
Obito exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. You're one of those kids."
The girl tilted her head slightly, expression never changing.
"Right. Fantastic conversation we're having." He huffed. "Look, kid, I'm just a humble businessman, selling some perfectly normal tea. Definitely not a threat to the village. So, unless you're here for a drink, I'm gonna need you to quit staring like you're memorizing my vital points."
She didn't react.
Obito groaned. "Alright. Cool. This was fun. I'm going inside now. Feel free to not follow me."
He turned, fully prepared to leave the weirdest interaction of his life behind.
Then, just as he was about to step off the roof, he heard it—quiet, almost too soft to catch.
"…Tea?"
Obito stopped.
He glanced back at her. She still looked as unreadable as ever, but there was the tiniest hint of curiosity in her posture.
For a second, he just stared.
Then, with an exhausted sigh, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small pouch. "Yeah, yeah. Here. Take some. It's good stuff."
She took it without a word, turned, and disappeared into the night.
Obito stood there, watching the spot where she'd been.
"…What the fuck was that?"
And thus... Started a ... Weird friendship... Probably.
It was a new day, which meant new problems.
"For Kami's sake, why is it so fucking expensive?!"
Obito scowled at the leaflet in his hands, glaring at the ridiculous costs listed under property modifications. He was sprawled out on his foldable chair, slumped dramatically outside his house, looking every bit like a man experiencing existential dread.
"I'm just trying to remove something, not build a damn Hokage monument! What the hell is a 'destruction tax'?! It's a wall! Is this some sacred historical artifact now? Are the Anbu gonna jump me for attempting to clean up my own property?!"
He groaned, tilting his head back against the wooden frame behind him, which let out a long-suffering creak, mirroring his frustration.
"This is daylight robbery. I'm gonna go broke before I even open my shop," he grumbled, waving the leaflet like a white flag of defeat. "Haven't even bought actual tea supplies yet—no cups, no kettles, no chairs. No counter! Am I supposed to just stand in the middle of the shop and hand people tea straight from my hands like some mystical monk?!"
A few passersby chuckled at his plight. Some gave him knowing nods—the universal language of yes, we too suffer under this nonsense, brother.
And then, a familiar voice interrupted his suffering.
"Well, young man, that's just how things work around here."
Obito tilted his head up just enough to see Daisuke approaching, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Obito groaned. "Oh great, the harbinger of bad news returns."
Daisuke chuckled. "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."
"I would be," Obito said, sitting up slightly and waving the leaflet at him, "if you were here to tell me this highway robbery was just a bad joke."
Daisuke peered over his shoulder, scanning the paper before letting out a low whistle. "That's… excessive."
"Excessive?" Obito tossed the leaflet onto the small table beside him. "This is theft! Who the hell decided that knocking down one wall should cost as much as building an entire extra room?!"
Daisuke hummed thoughtfully. "Probably the same people who decided that civilian paperwork should take weeks while Shinobi requests get handled overnight."
Obito gasped theatrically. "No way! You're telling me the village prioritizes its murder-trained soldiers over innocent tax-paying citizens?! Truly, I am shocked!" He placed a hand over his chest. "I may never recover from this revelation."
Daisuke shook his head, laughing. "You're really new here, huh?"
Obito stiffened slightly before slumping back again. "Yeah I know that."
Daisuke gave him a curious look but didn't pry. Instead, he leaned against the wooden post beside Obito's chair.
"Well, Tobi-san," he said lightly, "you'll get used to it eventually."
Obito tilted his head. "What, to being robbed blind?"
"To Konoha," Daisuke corrected. "Bureaucracy. Overpriced services. Half the rules not making sense. It's all part of the experience."
Obito groaned dramatically, letting his arms dangle lifelessly off the chair. "This is awful. I've been here, what, two days? And I'm already being extorted. Next thing I know, I'll be paying a breathing tax."
Daisuke smirked. "Give it time. They might come up with one."
Obito shuddered. "Don't give them ideas."
There was a brief pause before Obito sat up again, rummaging through his sleeve.
"Actually," he said, pulling out a small satchel, "since you're already here, let me give you a sneak peek of my totally legitimate and not at all doomed tea shop."
Daisuke raised an eyebrow as Obito held out the satchel.
"Here. Free of charge. Try it when you have time and tell me what you think."
Daisuke looked between the bag and Obito, his expression softening slightly. After a brief pause, he took the satchel, rolling it between his fingers.
"Thank you, Tobi-san," he said, his voice quieter than before. "If more kids were like you, the world would be in a much better state."
Obito stared at him for a moment.
Kids.
If only he knew.
Daisuke tucked the tea into his sleeve. "I've got a doctor's appointment, but I'll let you know how it tastes later."
Obito waved a dismissive hand. "Bah, if you don't come back, I'll assume I poisoned you and flee the country. Either way, problem solved."
Daisuke barked a laugh, shaking his head. "See you, Tobi-san."
Obito watched him leave before flopping back in his chair.
One old man down.
Now just the rest of the damn village to go.
Obito stayed sprawled in his chair for a while, staring at the sky like it personally owed him money. The early afternoon sun wasn't too harsh yet, but it was definitely making a point. Probably trying to remind him that, yes, this was a Fire Country summer and, no, he was not going to get a breeze anytime soon.
He grumbled under his breath, adjusting his mask before letting his arms dangle off the sides of the chair like some kind of dejected marionette.
"This is a scam," he muttered. "Living is a scam."
A couple of kids ran past, kicking up dust from the road as they laughed, and Obito watched them with narrowed eyes. Not because he was annoyed, but because they didn't have to worry about paperwork. Or destruction taxes.
He sighed deeply.
Maybe he should just blow up the wall in the middle of the night. No one could charge him if there was no evidence.
…Right?
"Kami save me, I'm actually considering property destruction as a viable financial decision," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "This village is rotting my brain."
As if summoned by his complaints, someone cleared their throat nearby.
Obito didn't bother moving at first. Maybe if he stayed limp enough, they'd think he was dead and leave him alone.
No such luck.
A shadow loomed over him, blocking out the sun, and he felt the distinct presence of expectation.
He cracked open an eye.
It was the Uchiha girl again. The one who had completely derailed his night yesterday by being way too perceptive and hitting him with the most awkward silence of his life.
Obito blinked at her.
She blinked back.
"…You," he finally said.
The girl tilted her head slightly, expression unreadable.
Okay. Right. This was fine. He could totally handle a kid.
Obito sighed and sat up, stretching his arms behind his head. "Alright, what do you want, lil' Uchiha? I don't have any free tea left, if that's what you're after."
She just kept looking at him, head tilted in that deeply unsettling way that all Uchihas seemed to master by age five. No words. Just patience. Like she could out-wait the damn sun if necessary.
Obito shifted, vaguely uncomfortable. "Oi. Are you gonna talk, or are we just having a silent staring contest?"
Finally, she moved—just enough to extend something toward him. A small, neatly wrapped package.
Obito stared at it.
"…What's this?"
She didn't answer immediately. She just kept watching him, dark eyes sharp. Then, finally, she said, "Compensation."
Obito squinted. "For what?"
"You gave tea."
…What.
Obito looked between the package and the girl, trying to figure out if he had somehow stumbled into an alternate reality. "So… you're giving me something back? Just like that?"
She nodded once.
"Hn."
Obito carefully took the package and unwrapped it enough to peek inside.
It was… dango. Freshly made.
Obito's fingers twitched. He stared at the skewered sweets for a long second before exhaling through his nose.
"Well," he muttered, "guess I did forget to eat today."
He glanced at the girl again, tilting his head.
"…You make these?"
She blinked slowly. "No."
"Figures."
A pause.
Then, after a beat, she muttered, "Mother."
Obito felt something weird settle in his chest.
Huh.
He reached into his sleeve, pulling out another small satchel of tea leaves. "Alright, then. If your mom likes tea, give her this. Call it an exchange of goods and services."
She took it without hesitation.
Obito popped a piece of dango into his mouth, humming at the taste.
Not bad.
The girl didn't move to leave right away. Instead, she studied him again, the way a scientist might study an especially dumb but mildly interesting lab rat.
Obito swallowed. "What?"
"…You're strange," she finally said.
Obito scoffed. "Wow, thanks. You Uchihas really know how to compliment people."
She didn't react to his sarcasm. Just blinked once.
Obito huffed. "Alright, little genius, anything else, or are you just here to throw words at me and disappear like some cryptic ghost?"
The girl hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. Then she asked, "You're not a civilian."
Obito froze mid-chew.
His lone visible eye locked onto her, mind suddenly kicking into overdrive.
Well. Shit.
Obito finished chewing slowly, buying himself a few extra seconds to think. His mask covered his face, but he still forced his expression into something neutral—just in case. The kid was sharp. Too sharp. He should've expected that from an Uchiha, but damn, this was not what he wanted to deal with today.
He swallowed and exhaled through his nose, tilting his head. "That so?"
Itachi didn't blink. Didn't shift. Didn't do anything a normal kid would when talking to a strange man in a mask. She just kept staring at him with those dark eyes, assessing.
Obito leaned back in his chair, arms draped lazily over the sides, like he had all the time in the world. "So, tell me, little detective, what gave it away?"
She tilted her head ever so slightly, and he could see the calculation happening behind her eyes. "You don't move like a civilian."
He barked out a laugh. "What, do I not trip over myself enough?"
Itachi didn't answer immediately. Instead, she studied him for another moment before saying, "You noticed me before I revealed myself."
Obito's fingers twitched against the armrest of his chair. He really hated Uchiha kids sometimes.
"Maybe I'm just paranoid," he deflected. "Bad experiences, you know? Can't be too careful."
Itachi hummed. Not quite accepting that answer, but not outright dismissing it either. She glanced at the tea stall behind him, then back at him.
"…Are you a shinobi?"
Obito scoffed. "Do I look like a shinobi?" He gestured vaguely at himself. "I'm sitting here, in broad daylight, complaining about taxes. Pretty sure that disqualifies me."
Itachi just kept staring, unimpressed.
Obito sighed and waved a hand. "No, I'm not a shinobi, lil' Uchiha. I'm just a guy trying to start a tea business without being financially assassinated by the Hokage's damn policies."
Another pause. Then—"What's your real name?"
Obito chuckled, low and amused. "What, you don't like Tobi?"
Itachi said nothing. Just waited.
"Names have power, kid." He wagged a finger at her. "You should know that better than anyone."
Then, finally, she said, "Your voice."
Obito blinked. "What about it?"
"You changed it. Yesterday, when you were performing."
Ah.
Obito fought the urge to sigh. Right. Of course, she picked up on that.
He scratched the back of his head. "So? Maybe I like putting on a show. Ever heard of 'flair'?" He made a vague jazz-hands motion. "It's what makes life interesting."
Itachi didn't blink. "It was intentional."
"All performances are intentional, little genius."
"No." She took a step closer. "It wasn't just a performance. It was a mask."
Obito tilted his head. "You sure? Maybe I just have layers. Like a particularly mysterious onion."
She ignored the deflection. "You're too aware of your surroundings. Your body language shifts depending on who is nearby. You test people before speaking."
Obito hummed, considering that. "Alright, so let's say, hypothetically, that I am unusually observant. What does that prove?"
Itachi studied him, then said, "You're not a civilian."
Obito clapped his hands together. "Wow! What a conclusion. And here I thought I was just a man with impeccable situational awareness and a deep love for quality tea."
Itachi narrowed her eyes slightly. "You speak like a shinobi."
"I speak like someone who enjoys witty conversation."
"You deflect."
"I engage in verbal sparring. You know, mental exercise. Keeps the brain sharp."
"You evade questions."
"Maybe the questions are boring."
Itachi's fingers twitched minutely, a subtle movement most wouldn't have noticed. But Obito did.
"You were armed yesterday."
Obito wiggled his fingers. "I have hands. That's practically a weapon, isn't it?"
"You had a kunai."
Obito waved a hand. "A small weapon. Tiny. Hardly worth mentioning."
"You're deflecting again."
"Not true."
"You evade questions whenever you can."
"Nonsense."
Obito let out an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head back as if this conversation was physically exhausting him. "Alright, fine. You got me. I was armed. So what?"
Itachi's gaze didn't waver. "Civilians don't carry kunai."
"Sure they do," Obito shot back. "Self-defense. Bandits are a thing, you know. Plus, maybe I just like knives. They're useful. Ever try cutting an apple with your bare hands?" He mimed the action, then shook his head. "Doesn't work well. Gets all mushy."
"You carried it like a shinobi," Itachi countered, undeterred.
Obito drummed his fingers against the armrest, lips twitching behind his mask. "You're a very suspicious child, you know that?"
"You avoid answering direct questions," she said.
"And you need a hobby." He flicked a hand toward the tea stall. "Might I suggest tea appreciation? Very calming. Excellent for stress."
Itachi simply stared at him. Obito stared back.
A beat of silence stretched between them. Then:
"You're hiding something," she said.
Obito chuckled. "Kid, everyone's hiding something. Even you."
She didn't deny it.
He studied her for a moment longer before shaking his head. "Tch. Fine, you got me. I'm not an ordinary civilian. Happy now?"
Itachi remained unreadable. "What are you, then?"
Obito leaned forward slightly, voice lowering just enough to be conspiratorial. "A very, very tired man who just wants to drink his tea in peace."
Itachi's fingers twitched again.
Obito tilted his head. "You keep doing that."
Her expression didn't change. "Doing what?"
"That tiny little finger twitch. Barely noticeable, but it's there." He let a smirk creep into his tone. "You're thinking about something. Really thinking."
Itachi exhaled softly, then said, "You remind me of someone."
Obito stilled, just for a fraction of a second.
Careful.
He leaned back again, shrugging. "I have one of those faces."
"No," she said. "You don't."
Obito forced a laugh. "What, so I have a unique face now? I'm flattered."
Itachi didn't respond. She only stared, eyes narrowing slightly—just the barest shift in expression.
And Obito felt it.
The weight of her scrutiny. The sharp mind working behind those dark eyes.
She knew something.
Or at least, she suspected.
Obito sighed, dragging a hand down his mask. "Why are Uchiha kids like this?" he muttered. "Do they teach you this in the Academy? Is there a class? Interrogation 101: How to Be a Menace?"
"Observation is a necessary skill," Itachi said simply.
"Right, right. And what else do they teach? How to make grown men regret their life choices?"
Itachi blinked at him. "You regret yours?"
Obito went still again.
And this time, it lasted just a fraction too long.
Itachi didn't miss it.
She never missed anything.
Obito forced another chuckle, lighter this time. "Alright, I'll admit it, you got me there. But let's not psychoanalyze the tea vendor, yeah?"
"You're not a tea vendor."
Obito exhaled through his nose, tilting his head toward the sky. "Kami, give me strength."
"You're not denying it anymore."
"Yeah, yeah, fine. You win, little detective. Ten points to the baby Uchiha." He folded his arms. "So, now that you've successfully called me out, what do you want?"
Itachi considered him for a long moment, then said, "I want to know why you hide."
Obito's fingers curled slightly, but he forced them to relax. "Kid, everyone hides."
"Not like you."
Another silence.
Then, slowly, deliberately, Obito reached for his tea, taking a long, thoughtful sip.
"I think," he said finally, "that I'm going to need something a lot stronger than tea for this conversation."
Itachi stayed silent, her sharp gaze scanning everything—the smallest movement, the most subtle shift in posture, anything that might hint at what Obito was hiding.
After a full minute, she finally spoke.
"I know you."
It wasn't just a feeling. Something deep inside told her she knew him.
Obito stiffened for the briefest second before exhaling through his nose. With an almost theatrical sigh, he dropped his voice into a deep, commanding register—the one he used when playing the part of Madara Uchiha. Hopefully, it would throw her off, make her second-guess herself.
"No, kid. You don't know me." His voice was smooth, firm. "Now, if you're just here to interrogate me for no good reason, I suggest you take that impressive suspicion elsewhere."
Itachi's eyes narrowed. She took a step back—not out of fear, but out of reassessment.
The change in his tone had been sharp, laced with something cold. Venomous.
She was about to call him out on it when their silent battle was interrupted.
"Itachi!"
A bright, almost obnoxiously cheerful voice called out.
Obito glanced up just as a teenager, a little older than Itachi, jogged toward them. His short, unkempt hair stuck up in all directions, like he had lost a fight with both gravity and a comb.
Itachi turned sharply. The brief flicker of surprise in her expression was so small it was almost imperceptible. Almost.
"Shisui." She said , weakly .
Obito, however, caught it instantly.
"Huh," he mused, leaning back in his chair. He didn't know where this was going, but it wasn't his problem. With a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted his mask just enough to sip his tea, watching the scene unfold like it was premium entertainment.
The teen finally reached them and, without hesitation, slung a casual one-armed hug around Itachi's shoulders.
"What are you doing here, Itachi?" he asked, grinning. "I've been waiting for twenty minutes at the training grounds. I thought we were gonna spar—did you forget me?"
Itachi, completely unbothered by the physical contact, simply shook her head. "No. I came to repay a… debt."
Shisui tilted his head, clearly confused. "A debt? I didn't know you were the type to owe people anything."
Obito let out a quiet huff, finally setting his tea aside. With an exaggerated motion, he pulled his mask down to cover his face again.
"No, she doesn't owe people anything," he muttered, waving a hand. "I gave her something, and apparently, that meant we entered a legally binding transaction. Don't ask me why. The hell if I know how her mind works."
Shisui finally noticed the masked man sitting across from them. He frowned slightly, posture shifting as if just now realizing that Itachi had been on edge.
Obito stretched his arms lazily. "What? You gonna interrogate me now, too?" He sighed dramatically. "Kids these days. No respect for a man's right to enjoy a quiet cup of tea."
Shisui just stared at him, then turned back to Itachi with a raised brow. "…Who is this guy?"
Obito smirked behind his mask.
Oh, this was gonna be fun.
Shisui's eyes flicked between Itachi and the masked man, clearly trying to piece things together.
Itachi, as usual, was unreadable.
Obito, however, was far too entertained by this situation.
"So," Shisui started slowly, crossing his arms. "You're telling me this guy gave you something, and now you feel indebted to him?"
Itachi gave a short nod.
Shisui sighed dramatically. "Itachi, please tell me you didn't make some kind of dangerous deal with a shady masked man in exchange for forbidden knowledge."
Obito snorted. "Wow. Rude. I'll have you know, my only crimes are being devastatingly charming and running an honest tea business in an economy that wants me dead."
Shisui gave him a flat look. "Uh-huh. Right. And you definitely don't sound like a criminal trying way too hard to sound normal."
Obito placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know, I am an upstanding citizen. I even pay taxes—"
"You were just complaining about taxes."
"Exactly! A true civilian struggle." Obito shrugged. "You ever hear a rogue shinobi complain about financial burdens? No. That's how you know I'm just a regular guy."
Shisui blinked, then turned to Itachi. "You're actually trusting this guy?"
She nodded again. "He gifted me tea leaves."
Shisui made a strangled noise, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Tea leaves?! That's it?! Itachi, that's not a debt, that's someone being nice!"
"Incorrect," Itachi said calmly. "A gift still holds value. It must be repaid."
"Okay, but—" Shisui pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply. "You already gave him dango earlier, didn't you?"
Obito hummed. "Yep. Good dango, too."
"Then it's even! The transaction is closed!" Shisui threw his hands up.
Itachi frowned slightly, the closest thing to 'mild disagreement' she ever showed. "He didn't request the dango."
"That's what makes it a gift!"
Obito rested his chin on his hand. "Man, I really should've asked for something expensive. Like a house. Or a war fan made of gold."
Shisui shot him an unimpressed look. "You're not helping."
"I could charge interest," Obito mused, tapping a finger against the table. "She insists on making this a transaction, so technically, I could start keeping track—"
"No," Itachi cut in immediately.
Obito chuckled. "Relax, kid, I'm kidding. Mostly."
Shisui sighed for the third time in two minutes. "I still don't know who you are."
Obito sat back in his chair, hands behind his head. "A simple tea vendor trying to make his way in the world. Definitely not a shinobi."
Shisui's eye twitched.
Obito could tell he wasn't buying it, but that was fine. Shisui was sharp, sure, but Itachi was the real problem—she had already dug way too deep.
He needed to redirect this before she figured out something she really shouldn't.
Obito finished his tea, set the cup down, and stood up, stretching like a man who had no real worries in the world. "Well, this has been fun, but I've got actual business to attend to. Very important. Incredibly legal." He gave a mock bow. "Pleasure doing business, little Uchiha."
Itachi's gaze followed him, unreadable.
Shisui, however, just crossed his arms. "I still don't trust you."
Obito grinned behind his mask. "Oh, good. That means you're smart."
And with that, he walked off, whistling a tune that definitely sounded way too suspicious for someone who was supposedly just a tea vendor.
Obito trailed behind them at a comfortable distance, hands in his pockets, whistling the same offbeat tune just to be extra annoying. Itachi, of course, ignored him completely. Shisui, on the other hand, kept glancing over his shoulder every few steps, looking increasingly agitated.
Finally, after five minutes of this, Shisui groaned and spun around.
"Okay, why are you following us?"
Obito stopped walking and tilted his head like a confused puppy. "Following? No, no, I'm merely heading in the same direction. Completely coincidental."
Shisui narrowed his eyes. "We're going to a training ground."
Obito gasped, placing a hand over his chest. "A training ground? My destination? What are the odds?"
"Astronomically low," Shisui deadpanned.
Itachi simply kept walking, apparently unbothered.
Shisui sighed, rubbing his temple. "You're not a shinobi, huh?"
"Nope," Obito said, popping the 'p.'
"Then why are you interested in a training ground?"
Obito shrugged. "Maybe I just like watching people get punched. Ever think of that?"
Shisui exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, sure. Because that's totally normal."
Itachi finally spoke. "He's lying."
Obito turned to her, feigning offense. "Oh, come on, that's a strong accusation, kid."
"You're here for a reason," she stated plainly. "You're interested in something."
Obito hummed. "Maybe I just enjoy the scenery."
"You can't even see it," Shisui muttered.
Obito tapped his masked forehead. "Ah, but the soul of the scenery? That, I can see."
Shisui gave him the flattest stare imaginable. "That means nothing."
Itachi ignored them both, stepping into the clearing.
Obito followed, sticking to the treeline. He had no real reason to be here—well, other than keeping an eye on the two prodigies and making sure they didn't, say, accidentally unravel his entire existence with their ridiculous perceptiveness.
Itachi took position across from Shisui, feet light, stance relaxed but ready.
Shisui smirked, hands forming a half-seal. "Alright, since someone decided to stalk us, I guess I'll have to show off a little."
Obito chuckled. "Go ahead. I'll rate your performance." He held up his hand like a judge at a competition. "Creativity, technique, style—bonus points for flair."
Shisui huffed a laugh, then vanished in a flicker of movement.
And suddenly, the fight was on.
Itachi moved like liquid, meeting Shisui's speed with precise, deliberate counters. There was no wasted movement, no excess energy—just sheer, clinical efficiency.
Shisui, in contrast, was a blur, dipping and weaving with fluid ease, like a leaf dancing in the wind.
Obito leaned against a tree, watching with genuine interest. Damn, they were fast. Shisui was insanely smooth in his movements, but Itachi… Itachi was something else.
Her style wasn't flashy. It wasn't loud. But it was terrifyingly effective.
And then, just as Shisui went in for what looked like a decisive strike—
Itachi disappeared.
Shisui blinked. "Huh?"
Obito barely had time to register the shift before Itachi reappeared behind Shisui, kunai pressed lightly against his back.
"...Oh," Shisui muttered.
Obito let out a low whistle. "Now that was stylish."
Shisui groaned. "Great. Now I've got an audience for my humiliation."
Itachi lowered the kunai. "You were distracted."
Shisui gave her a look. "Oh, really? I wonder why."
Obito grinned behind his mask. "Don't blame me. Blame your lack of focus."
Shisui rolled his eyes, then stretched his arms over his head. "Alright, alright, you win this round. But I was holding back."
Itachi tilted her head slightly. "You always hold back."
Shisui chuckled. "And you always notice."
Obito, meanwhile, crossed his arms, watching them interact with something close to amusement. Damn. These two were something else.
And honestly? He didn't mind watching.
They were at it again. This time, Shisui stopped holding back slightly—just enough to let the battlefield see a glimpse of why he was called Shunshin no Shisui.
He was a blur. Never in one place for more than a heartbeat. Every time Itachi's strike should have connected, he was already gone—phasing between positions with an ease that made it look effortless.
Itachi, however, was undeterred. She read his patterns, her mind racing at speeds that most shinobi couldn't even comprehend. When he moved, she moved. When he vanished, she anticipated. And when she attacked—
She forced him to respond.
A barrage of kunai shot toward him, angles calculated to limit his escape routes.
Shisui flickered. Gone.
A punch came from behind—it was him. But before the impact landed, he was already at her three o'clock, blade flashing—
Itachi didn't turn. Instead, she pivoted just enough to let the attack graze air before bringing her fingers to her lips.
Great Fireball Jutsu.
Shisui's eyes caught the motion before the flames even formed. He moved instantly, reappearing directly behind her.
A flicker of steel—his kunai was inches from her throat—
And then—
Obito.
He didn't just appear—he materialized between them, already in motion.
His hand caught Shisui's wrist, twisting it with just enough force to disrupt his momentum rather than injure. And before Shisui could blink, Obito redirected his entire body, spinning him midair and kicking him upward in the same breath.
At the exact moment of impact, Obito's other hand snaked around Itachi's neck—not to harm, but to launch her skyward as well.
Two Uchiha—sent flying, weightless, the entire battlefield tilting around them.
Then—
Hand signs. Fast. Precise.
Before they could even process what had happened, Obito exhaled—
Great Fireball Jutsu.
Flames erupted from his mouth, roaring to life, a wave of blistering heat aimed at the airborne shinobi.
Shisui twisted midair, eyes flashing. He saw Itachi below him, already analyzing, recalculating.
No hesitation.
Shisui was already moving before the fireball dissipated, flickering through the air like a phantom. He shunshined behind Obito in an instant, tanto raised high in an overhead strike, aiming for the base of the masked man's neck.
Obito reacted just as fast. Instead of dodging conventionally, he pivoted clockwise, his left hand snaking up to catch Shisui's wrist before the blade could bite into him.
Momentum.
He used Shisui's own force against him, pulling him slightly off balance and stepping into his guard. With Shisui still mid-air, Obito planted his right foot against the younger Uchiha's chest and kicked off, sending Shisui hurtling backward.
But Shisui was a master of movement. He twisted mid-air, using the force to rotate and land in a crouch, skidding back across the ground.
Itachi used the opening.
While Obito was still descending, she appeared in his blind spot—his right side, kunai flashing toward the unarmored section of his ribs.
Obito's hand snapped down, catching her wrist before the kunai could bite. In the same motion, he yanked her forward and used the momentum to twist his body, swinging his leg up in a controlled snap kick toward her head.
Itachi ducked at the last moment, the heel of his boot brushing the strands of her hair as it sailed past.
But Obito wasn't done.
Using the downward force of his missed kick, he adjusted his weight and brought his left elbow down, aiming for the nape of her neck.
A clone.
The moment his strike landed, Itachi burst into crows, black feathers dispersing in every direction.
"Hn."
Obito's eye tracked the real Itachi to his left, already forming hand seals.
She finished in an instant—Phoenix Sage Fire Technique.
A storm of small, blazing fireballs erupted toward him, each one traveling at erratic angles, zigzagging unpredictably as they closed in.
Obito tilted his head ever so slightly, analyzing.
Then—
He took one step forward, vanished, and reappeared inside the firestorm.
Shisui's eyes barely widened before Obito was already behind Itachi.
He reached out—two fingers extended—and tapped her lightly on the back of the neck.
"Dead."
Itachi turned her head, sharingan spinning, but Obito was already gone again.
Shisui tried to react, shunshining above, blade drawn—
Too slow.
Obito met him mid-air, catching Shisui's wrist again. But this time, instead of redirecting, he twisted it just enough to force Shisui to let go of his tanto.
The blade fell.
Obito snatched it mid-drop.
Before Shisui could blink, his own weapon was at his throat.
A beat of silence.
Then Obito huffed, flipping the tanto in his hand and tossing it back at Shisui.
"I hope you weren't actually trying."
Shisui caught the blade, eyes narrowing.
Itachi was already standing.
The real fight was about to begin.
Obito didn't even bother waiting for their next moves. He was already shifting before Shisui's shunshin fully manifested.
Shisui appeared behind him, the air shimmering with the speed of his movement. His tanto, gleaming with precision, came down in an overhead strike, aimed at where Obito's neck should've been.
Obito's eyes narrowed, and in the split second before the strike landed, his body blurred—he twisted counterclockwise, the tanto missing its mark by a hair. His right arm shot up, grabbing Shisui's wrist, contorting it with a vicious twist that sent the tanto spiraling away from Shisui's hand.
Before Shisui could adjust, Obito dropped low, using the momentum from the wrist twist to sweep his legs out, making Shisui's knees buckle. With a quick motion, he used Shisui's arm as leverage, pulling it to twist him mid-air and then shoving his chest backward with a knee that sent him crashing to the ground.
Itachi, instantly on guard, didn't wait a beat. Her fingers blurred into hand seals, and she unleashed her fireball jutsu—a massive, crimson ball of fire roaring from her mouth.
Obito didn't even flinch.
His right leg shot backward in an impeccable spin, the fireball barely grazing the heel of his foot as he shunshined forward—appearing directly behind Itachi, mere inches from her. He moved like a shadow, his form blurring out of existence, then right back into view.
Itachi had no time to process the shift before Obito's arm wrapped around her waist and lifted her effortlessly from the ground, throwing her into the air with a flick of his wrist.
She barely had time to steady herself in midair, eyes widening as she tried to reorient and prepare for his next attack. Before she could react, Obito's foot shot upward, slamming into her back with enough force to send her flying even higher.
As she flipped through the air, Shisui—now recovering from Obito's earlier assault—shot up from the ground, diving at Obito with his tanto aiming for the exposed space between Obito's ribs.
Obito saw the flash of the blade but didn't react as most would. Instead, he stepped slightly to the left, sidestepping the thrust in a fluid, effortless motion. His body seemed to anticipate every move, every second of the attack. In the same moment, he brought up his right hand, catching Shisui's wrist with one finger, gently stopping the tanto's lethal progression.
With a twist of his wrist, Shisui's body was flung—his face coming inches from the dirt—before Obito launched him back into the air with an open-handed slap to his chest. The force was enough to send Shisui rocketing into a spin, landing just behind Itachi, who had finally regained her footing.
Obito didn't give them time to catch their breath. Appearing behind Itachi again, his right hand shot forward, grabbing her by the back of the collar with a grip so precise that she couldn't escape. In one smooth motion, he flipped her upside down, held her by the ankles, and spun her mid-air.
Itachi's body went vertical, only to be released in a forceful spin that sent her crashing a few feet away. Her breath was knocked out of her, but she managed to roll, landing with the grace of a leaf fluttering in the wind.
Shisui was already back on his feet, but before he could make a move, Obito disappeared again—the air around him distorting like a ripple on water.
This time, Obito appeared above him, his right fist glowing with raw chakra, and before Shisui could react, Obito slammed down. His fist collided with Shisui's chest, not with the force of an attack, but with the sheer power of a force that pushed him back.
Shisui went flying sideways across the ground, unable to stop himself, his feet dragging the dirt before he slid to a halt, gasping for air.
Itachi, now fully reoriented, charged Obito with a series of rapid strikes, her movements precise and deadly—each blow designed to find a weakness in her opponent. But Obito was already pre-emptively blocking, each of his arms snapping up, effortlessly parrying her blows as though he was barely moving at all.
She tried for a leg sweep, but Obito's body swayed backward, evading it with a subtle, almost dance-like movement. He countered instantly, catching her by the waist with both hands and lifting her off her feet. She was caught off guard, unable to break his grip.
Then, with incredible force, he spun her once in the air, before releasing her, sending her flying across the ground in a smooth arc, skidding to a halt with just enough momentum to keep her upright.
By now, Shisui was picking himself up, panting. "I'm starting to feel like you're just showing off now, aren't you?"
Obito grinned under his mask. "Well, I do try to make an impression."
With the whole battlefield at his mercy, Obito stood tall—his stance relaxed, but every part of his body perfectly poised, anticipating their next move with the confidence of a predator.
"You've both got potential," he said, his tone turning slightly more serious. "But, in the end, there's always someone faster. Someone more prepared."
He stretched out his arms, then reached down, offering a hand to help Shisui back up.
"It's all about learning to adapt."
Shisui took Obito's hand, using the support to pull himself up, then shunshined away, reappearing beside Itachi. The two of them stood there, tension thick in the air as they processed the intensity of the fight. Obito had held back—just enough to demonstrate his overwhelming strength without causing injury—but the reality of the situation was clear. This man wasn't just an ordinary tea vendor; he was a trained shinobi, someone who had been hiding in plain sight.
Shisui broke the silence, his voice sharp, demanding.
"Who are you?" He was trying to read the situation, but there was something about this man—something unsettling. "That match was impressive, but you're no ordinary vendor. You're a shinobi. So, who the hell are you?"
Obito didn't answer immediately. Instead, he simply reached up, his fingers tracing the edge of his mask. The motion was slow, deliberate—like he was savoring the moment before revealing something important. With a smooth movement, he pulled the mask aside, revealing his right eye.
At first, the eye was completely black, a void of expression. But within the span of just a few heartbeats, the color shifted. His eye transformed into the signature red of the Sharingan, and the familiar three tomoes appeared, spinning slowly. It was the typical appearance of a standard Sharingan, nothing too unusual, but there was an intensity in his gaze that sent a chill down Shisui's spine.
But then, without warning, the tomoes began to spin faster, swirling in a complex pattern. The familiar three black marks began to blur and twist, shifting into something new, something far more powerful. The Sharingan was evolving—becoming something entirely different. The pinwheel-shaped pattern took form in his eye, a Mangekyo Sharingan, its intricate design spinning with an eerie precision.
Shisui's breath caught in his throat. He knew the power of the Mangekyo Sharingan, having awakened his own, but Obito's eyes... They were different. More dangerous. The design was unfamiliar, foreign, but there was no mistaking the potency behind it. A sense of dread lingered in the air.
Itachi stood still, her confusion evident. She didn't understand what was happening, why his Sharingan was so different from anything she had seen before. Her mind raced, trying to piece it together. Was this some kind of advanced technique? Had Obito somehow pushed the Sharingan to an entirely new level?
But Shisui wasn't confused. The warning bells were ringing in his mind now. Obito wasn't just any Uchiha—he was something far more dangerous, a force that even he, with his own Mangekyo Sharingan, could not predict.
Obito's deep voice cut through the tension, the familiar tone he had once used as Madara. It was commanding, heavy with the weight of unspoken threats.
"I'm an Uchiha who has been claimed dead," Obito said, his eyes locking onto Shisui and Itachi. "And I plan to stay dead."
His words hung in the air like a storm cloud, full of dark promises. There was no doubt in his tone; he was someone who had vanished from the world for a reason, and he intended to keep it that way.
Then, with a shift in his gaze, Obito's attention fell squarely on Shisui. His expression hardened, and his words came with a force that was impossible to ignore.
"Stay away from Danzo, Shisui," he warned, his voice low and edged with threat. "Under no circumstances should you tell him if you've awakened your Mangekyo Sharingan. If you do... I won't be able to protect you. Not from him, and certainly not from what's coming."
The air seemed to grow heavier as the words sank in. Shisui knew that Danzo was dangerous, but hearing Obito's warning—delivered with such cold certainty—struck a deeper chord. Danzo's thirst for power was well-known, but now it was clear that he wasn't the only one Shisui had to worry about.
Itachi, still trying to make sense of what was happening, stepped back slightly. She was still processing the appearance of Obito's Mangekyo Sharingan. It was a design she had never seen before, and it unnerved her.
Shisui, fully aware of the gravity of the situation, activated his own Mangekyo Sharingan in response. The pattern of his eyes shifted into their familiar shape, a sign that he was ready for whatever came next. His stance tightened, the air around him growing more dangerous by the second.
Obito took one last look at them both, his Mangekyo Sharingan spinning in his right eye. With one final glance, he spoke once more, his voice like a shadow lingering.
"Remember this, Shisui... There are forces out there far more dangerous than we can comprehend. If you're smart, you'll stay out of it."
And with that, Obito vanished, leaving behind only the echo of his words and the lingering presence of his overwhelming power. Shisui and Itachi stood in stunned silence, their minds racing to process everything that had just happened.