Comment section :
LoneWolfandCub: Yep, this time Itachi is a girl. I'm not sure where I'll be going with it; it just came to me spontaneously.
Lone survivor1: Thanks, man! I swear I'm trying to continue. Don't think it's dead just because there's been no update for 2 or 3 weeks.
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"It's fascinating," Obito murmured. His voice was low, but every word carried a bitter gravity. "To see people cling so tightly to this world. To fight and die for it—this world, built on broken ideals. For their villages, for their so-called nations… because the others are labeled 'the enemy.'"
He scoffed—sharp, hollow, cutting through the silence like a knife.
"But what does that even mean? 'The enemy'? Who decided that? Not the people. Not the ones in the mud, on the battlefield, holding their guts in their hands. No… it's the leaders. The war hawks. The ones sitting safely behind walls while they send children to kill other children."
His fists clenched at his sides, his voice thickening.
"People fight in wars they don't understand. They kill those they've never met. And when they survive—if they survive—they carry the weight of that death forever. And if someone they love dies? That grief becomes rage. That pain becomes a weapon. They don't just see Shinobi from another village anymore. They see murderers. They see monsters. And the hate festers. Grows."
He took a breath, slow and shaky.
"Sons. Daughters. Friends. Parents. How many have died? How many names carved into stone? And for what? For borders that shift like sand? For the pride of men who will never bleed for the wars they start?"
He turned toward the silent listeners present.
"It's a cycle," he continued, eyes hard and glimmering red. "Pain creates more pain. Grief leads to vengeance. Vengeance breeds war. And when enough blood has been spilled—when both sides are exhausted, when both sides have burned—they call that 'peace.' But it's not peace. It's just a pause between massacres."
Obito laughed quietly, but there was no humor in it. Only exhaustion.
"And the worst part? The system needs it. This system, this shinobi world—it's built on sacrifice. On control. On obedience. They say it's about protecting the next generation, but they've been saying that for generations. When does it stop? When there's no one left to fight?"
He looked up at the ceiling as if hoping it might offer answers, then back down, his voice softer now.
"Peace isn't real here. Not in a world where power determines worth. Not in a world where loyalty is blind, and compassion is weakness. Not when people are measured by how useful they are to a village's survival."
The Mangekyō in his eye spun slowly, glowing like an ember in the dark.
"They'll call me a villain. A traitor. A madman playing at peace. But tell me—what have the so-called heroes accomplished? Hashirama tried to build a peaceful world, and it crumbled the moment he turned his back. The villages turned into weapons. The clans turned into tools. And people like me? We were just… broken parts left behind."
He closed his eyes, breathing deep, almost as if steadying himself.
"The truth is... I'm tired. Tired of pretending this world can fix itself. Tired of watching people sacrifice everything for a peace that never comes. If being the villain means I can end this cycle—then so be it. Better to be hated for stopping the fire… than loved while adding to the flames."
He sat down again, shoulders sagging as if the weight of years had finally caught up to him. The storm in his chest dulled to a low, simmering ache.
"But I'm done," he muttered, voice low, barely more than a breath. "I tried changing this world once. Pushed harder than anyone else ever dared. And for a moment… just a moment… it almost worked."
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.
"But maybe someone else will do it better. Maybe they won't make the same mistakes I did. So let them try. Let them carry the burden. Why should I keep fighting for a system that would rather label me a monster than listen to the truth in my revolt?"
Silence fell like ash around him, thick and heavy. The only sound was the distant rustling of leaves in the wind, the night still and cold.
And then—
"…I just said hello…?"
Shisui's voice cracked the quiet like a whip of confusion, his eyes wide, blinking between Obito and the silent figure beside him.
His jaw moved, trying to shape words around the rising storm of bewilderment.
"What are you?!"
His voice wasn't accusing—more startled, almost disbelieving, like someone stumbling into the middle of a play and realizing it wasn't a performance at all, but real.
Obito didn't answer immediately. He simply looked at Shisui, and for once, the fire in his eye dimmed—not with weakness, but with resignation.
"I'm just a man who saw too much," he said quietly. "Too much pain. Too much death. And for too long, I believed that if I controlled everything, I could stop it all. I became what I hated… because I was too afraid to trust anyone else with the dream."
His voice dipped lower.
"Maybe that dream's not mine to carry anymore."
Itachi, ever silent, observed with an unreadable expression. Her arms were crossed, her posture calm—but her eyes betrayed her. They studied Obito like someone watching a dying flame, unsure if it would burn out… or explode.
"…You're not just some tea vendor," she said softly, tone devoid of judgment, but not of certainty.
Obito chuckled under his breath.
Shisui threw his arms up, still blinking in disbelief.
"No shit, Itachi—he's no tea vendor!" he snapped, gesturing wildly toward Obito. "We've known that for days! Remember when he beat both our asses? Two against one?"
Obito let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the side of his head.
"I held back."
"Oh, great! That makes it so much better," Shisui muttered, half-laughing in disbelief. "Held back while tossing us around like we were genin on day one."
Itachi stayed silent, her eyes briefly averted. She crossed her arms, voice lower than usual, just above a murmur.
"I… I was just being cautious. That was a foolish thing to say."
Shisui raised an eyebrow at her. "Yeah, no kidding."
She gave him a sideways glance, not bothering to hide the faint blush dusting her cheeks.
Obito's lone eye drifted between them, and he let out a dry chuckle—half amusement, half weariness.
"Well, I'm not leaving Konoha," he said, walking toward the front door of the shop. "I've made my choice. I'll stay. And maybe… maybe I can fix something before it all breaks again."
Itachi straightened slightly, her tone regaining its usual calm edge. "Then we'll be watching."
Shisui scoffed. "Watching is one thing. Working for you is another."
Obito paused at the door and turned his head slightly.
"You already agreed, Shisui."
Shisui groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I really need to stop making deals when I'm half-asleep."
Obito adjusted his cloak and cracked the door open, morning light spilling across the polished floor of the tea salon. The faint sounds of Konoha waking up were just beginning—vendors setting up stalls, shinobi passing by on early patrols.
He glanced back at them with a faint smirk in his voice.
"We open in five minutes. Try not to look like you just learned I'm not who I said I was."
Shisui muttered under his breath, "Because we just did…"
Itachi quietly followed after Obito, pausing only once to glance at her reflection in the tea room's window. Her expression was unreadable, but her hands clenched at her sides.
The morning air was crisp. The sign hanging above the door creaked softly in the breeze. Inside, everything was calm.
For now.
Five minutes later, it was time to open the shop. Obito pulled apart the wooden curtains at the entrance, letting the warm morning sunlight spill in. He turned his head and called out into the back room.
"Happy Uchiha brat, the shop's open! I hope you've got that apron on like I asked!"
Shisui peeked his head around the doorframe, an unamused look on his face.
"Was 'The Uchiha With the Most Expressions' really a necessary embroidery?"
He stepped into view, revealing a pristine white apron with that exact phrase stitched in bright pink thread across the chest.
Obito gave him a slow, exaggerated once-over, then raised both thumbs with a big, satisfied grin behind the mask.
"Perfect! You look like this job was made for you."
Shisui stood still for a moment, dramatic tears trickling down his cheeks. Obito snorted and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Come on, crybaby—you're gonna scare off the customers. And I haven't made nearly enough money to make back my investment."
He began shoving Shisui toward the front.
"Chop-chop, little cousin! You don't want me to go broke, do you?"
Obito leaned in close, their foreheads nearly touching, waiting.
Shisui raised both hands. "Nononono, Tobi-nii! I get it!"
Obito nodded, arms folded in approval. "Good. Then smile. You're my mascot now."
Meanwhile, Itachi sat quietly in a corner of the tea salon, sipping a cup of green tea and slowly chewing on her second dango stick out of a set of three. Her gaze drifted lazily toward the two idiots by the door.
She didn't know exactly how this masked man usually behaved… but this? This was unexpected. Chaotic, a little absurd—but strangely comforting.
She kind of liked it here.
She closed her eyes, letting herself melt into the quiet rhythm of morning life in Konoha. For once, the village didn't feel like it was preparing for war.
Then, from the back—
"SHISUI! Where the hell is my teapot?! You useless brat—I thought you washed it!"
Shisui groaned, not even bothering to turn around. "Shut up, old man! I don't know who touched your ancient relic of a pot, but I doubt it matters. That thing's probably older than the Third Hokage!"
A sputtering noise echoed from the kitchen.
"What did you just say about my teapot?! I'll have you know that pot has witnessed more trauma than your fragile little brain could ever comprehend! It deserves respect!"
Itachi's eyes twitched. She let out a long, trembling sigh, setting her dango down with more force than necessary.
"Why…? I just wanted to relax."
As she rested her head in her hand, Obito stuck his head out of the kitchen holding the infamous teapot aloft like it was a divine relic.
"Found it! Who the hell shoved it under the sink next to the detergent?! It's sacred!"
Shisui's voice came from somewhere behind the counter. "I thought that was its shrine!"
"It is now," Obito declared with dramatic finality, vanishing again behind the curtain.
Itachi blinked slowly. She looked down at her half-eaten dango.
"…Maybe war was more peaceful."
At that moment, the soft jingle of bells rang through the shop, sewn into the red curtains that adorned the entrance. Morning light spilled into the tea salon as an elderly woman pushed them aside and stepped inside, clutching a small coin pouch in one hand and a walking stick in the other.
Shisui, ever alert, heard the bells and bolted out of the back room with practiced cheerfulness.
"Hello, ma'am! Welcome to KITF! How may I help you today?"
The older woman chuckled warmly, amused by his energy.
"Ohohoho, no need to rush, young man. I just came for my morning tea and figured I'd try this new place, I'd say it only opened recently."
Shisui grinned at that.
"You'd be absolutely right, ma'am. Since yesterday—just past midday, actually. "
The woman blinked in surprise, clearly impressed.
"That recently? Well, color me surprised! Alright then, young man—be a dear and bring me a small table outside. The weather's lovely this morning. And a list of your teas, if you don't mind."
"Right away!" Shisui chirped with a playful salute, then vanished and returned a moment later with a menu and a folded table tucked under one arm. He carefully set it up beneath the shade of the veranda and helped the woman into her seat.
As she glanced at the menu, she frowned slightly and squinted.
"Mmm… my eyes aren't what they used to be. Bright colors blur a bit. Would you mind telling me what's written on your apron, dear? The lettering caught my attention."
Shisui stiffened ever so slightly. His grin shrank into a sheepish smile.
"Ah. Yes… the apron. That was… a little joke from my boss. It reads: 'The Uchiha With the Most Expressions.'"
The woman blinked, then let out another laugh—this one heartier than before.
"An Uchiha? Oh my. That explains it! I mistook you for a… hmm… what's the word…" She tapped her chin with a frail finger. "Something... human."
Shisui chuckled awkwardly and gave a slight bow.
"A normal person, right? Black hair, a charming smile—definitely not the brooding, 'I-will-burn-the-world' type. I get it all the time, ma'am."
He placed a hand on his chest with faux pride. "I may, in fact, be the only Uchiha not currently harboring a personal apocalypse."
The old woman snorted in amusement, but her smile faded just a touch. Her next words carried a weight that settled gently between them.
"Yes… you just might be. There used to be another."
Shisui's expression shifted from playful to curious. He leaned on the table slightly.
"Really? And who might that cousin of mine be?"
She pursed her lips, eyes distant, as if staring at a memory that hadn't surfaced in a long time. A gust of wind stirred the curtain behind her, and her fingers curled loosely around the ceramic teacup now resting on the table.
"He died," she said softly. "Obito. Obito Uchiha."
Shisui blinked. His breath caught.
"There's no need to look for him," she continued, voice hoarse now. "He was a good boy. Always helping the elderly with their groceries. Always smiling, even when he looked exhausted. He'd say, 'I'll be the first Uchiha Hokage, just watch me!'—as if he truly believed it."
She exhaled through her nose, more sigh than breath.
"He knew how to make people feel alive, that one. We still talk about him, you know. At the market. At the temple. The little ones don't remember his name, but the warmth he gave off—it stayed."
There was silence for a beat. Even the breeze seemed to pause.
Shisui stood still, eyes softening. Behind him, unseen through the doorway, a faint shadow lingered in the hallway just past the curtain—a silent figure with a single black-and-orange mask, now turned just slightly toward the old woman.
Obito said nothing.
But his hands, hidden behind the curtain, clenched into trembling fists.
Shisui nodded crisply,
"I ... Actually remember Obito. He was way more cheerful than I that I can remember, but I think the whole clan forgot about him ."
The older woman waved him off ,
"Don't worry Uchiha kid , he was a black sheep for your clan anyways , he told us bits and pieces of his stay in you clan , wasn't pretty. Anyway here I will take the ' green tea hidden in the leaves ' ."
Shisui smiled and took the menu from her outstretched hands ,
"Right away ma'am , when I come back will you mind telling me a bit more about my cousin ?"
The only Uchiha that was way more different than the others , even more than him , he had to learn a bit more about his cousin .
The woman pondered on the question and then acquiesced,
" Yes I might just do that, his memory should be preserved after all ."
When Shisui came back, he gently placed a fresh cup of tea before the older woman, then sat down across from her, sensing the opportunity to learn more about this cousin he'd barely known.
"So," she asked after a sip, peering at him over the rim of her cup, "how old are you, kid?"
Shisui blinked, a little caught off guard by the question.
"Uh… I'm twelve. Why?"
The woman nodded slowly, her eyes drifting toward the street.
"Obito was thirteen when he died. Just a year ago now."
She sighed and set her cup down, the clink of porcelain sounding louder than it should have in the quiet morning.
"You might've been good friends with him," she said softly. "You've got the same spirit. A good head on your shoulders."
Shisui didn't know what to say. He stared into his tea, watching the steam curl and dance like a spirit rising from the cup. The woman spoke gently, her voice carrying the weight of memory and affection.
She told him about how Obito was always eager to help, even when others dismissed him. How he dreamed—really dreamed—of becoming Hokage. How he still hadn't awakened his Sharingan, and how he constantly complained about a certain "Bakashi." But behind those complaints, she said, was a deep respect and loyalty. He saw Kakashi as more than just a rival. He saw him as a friend.
As she spoke, a few tears slipped down her cheeks—one after another, quietly falling, unnoticed or perhaps simply unacknowledged. Shisui didn't interrupt. He let her speak, let her remember.
When she finally fell quiet, Shisui smiled—small, sad, but warm.
"I can imagine how frustrated his team must've been, waiting for him to show up late to every meeting," he chuckled gently. "He sounds like the type to trip over his own sandals and still try to play it cool."
The woman chuckled through her tears.
"And I can't believe he was on a team with Hatake Kakashi—he's the youngest to ever make Jonin! I used to think I was the youngest," he added, puffing up a bit in mock pride. "I made Jonin last year. But no… Kakashi beat me to it."
He leaned back and shook his head in disbelief.
"And Minato Namikaze? The Yellow Flash himself? What a team... I'm surprised the village didn't implode from sheer talent—and lateness."
The older woman smiled, eyes still shining with tears, but her shoulders relaxed as the weight of her grief settled into something lighter—something shared.
Shisui took another sip of tea and glanced toward the curtain, as if expecting a shadow to step out and join them.
But it remained still.
He looked back at the woman.
"I wish I'd known him."
She nodded. "He would've liked you."
Behind the curtain, Obito stood completely still.
He hadn't meant to listen. He was just going to yell at Shisui again, maybe grumble about the teapot some more, the usual routine. But then he'd heard her voice. Soft. Familiar. Cracked with age.
"Obito Uchiha."
The name hit him like a kunai to the chest. He hadn't heard it said like that in years—with affection, with mourning, with truth. And she remembered everything. His stupid dreams. His petty complaints. His late arrivals. The way he used to help with groceries, carrying more than he could manage just to make her laugh.
She remembered him.
And she missed him.
Obito leaned his weight against the wall, his hand resting flat against the wood, head bowed slightly. The mask stayed on, but behind it, his expression crumbled.
"He was such a good boy…"
His breath caught.
Was.
He pressed a knuckle to his mouth, trying to steady the tremor in his chest. There were so many things he wanted to say. So many things he wanted to undo. That boy she remembered, that bright-eyed idiot who wanted to be Hokage… he was gone. He'd killed him. He'd buried him beneath rubble and revenge and told himself it was necessary.
But she still saw him.
Or at least, who he used to be.
And Shisui—his little cousin, full of fire and noise—sat beside her, listening like he believed in that version of him too. Not the traitor. Not the ghost. Just Obito. Just a boy.
A boy who had been loved.
Obito slowly slid down the wall into a crouch, elbows on his knees, head lowered. His breath came shallow through the mask. He hadn't cried in years—not since Madara twisted everything inside him into steel and ash.
But now, listening to her voice tremble as she spoke about him in the past tense, he felt something hot sting at the corner of his eye.
He wiped it away before it could fall.
He didn't deserve to cry.
He didn't deserve to be missed.
For a moment, he stayed there, hidden, small, silent.
Then he exhaled softly and whispered to no one:
"…I'm sorry."
And he meant it.
Every word.
The day dragged on.
By the time the sun had passed its peak, the shop was full and buzzing—customers coming in like weeds after rain, each with their own requests, questions, and impatience.
Obito spotted Shisui dragging his feet near the counter, wiping his brow with a pitiful groan. He motioned him over.
"Take a break, I've got it from here."
He gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and waved him off like he was shooing away a fly.
Shisui lit up instantly.
"Thank the heavens! I was starting to feel like I'd turned into a civilian. My arms are going to fall off, I swear."
Obito crossed his arms and raised a brow.
"And here I thought you were a jonin. You sure you didn't just find that headband somewhere?"
Shisui stuck out his tongue and yanked his apron off like it was on fire.
"Yeah yeah, keep your jokes. See you later, boss!"
Without hesitation, he flickered straight to Itachi's corner—where the boy had been lounging quietly with a half-finished cup of tea.
Obito didn't even look up.
"SHISUI! No jutsus in the shop, you moron!"
The red curtains by the entrance rustled as both disappeared outside in a gust of wind.
Obito sighed.
"Unbelievable."
An older man leaned against the counter with a small grin—grey-haired, cloak dusty from the street. Daisuke wasn't much of a talker usually, but he'd been showing up often enough lately to make himself familiar.
"He's just a kid, Tobi-san. Let him burn off the steam."
Obito glanced sideways, one brow still raised.
"I don't remember being that noisy."
Daisuke chuckled.
"Memory's the first thing to go, old man."
Obito smirked and turned back to the tea station.
"You're one to talk. Us 'old men' still run this place."
"Barely," Daisuke muttered under his breath, settling onto a nearby stool.
"Just the usual today."
Obito poured the tea, placed it in front of him with a casual gesture.
"Coming right up. Try not to fall asleep on the stool again."
"No promises," Daisuke muttered, already sipping.
As closing time neared, Shisui was back inside, helping Obito tidy up the mess left behind by the day's rush.
"Sooo… You're still training us, right? Like we agreed, remember?"
Obito's eyes narrowed, brow furrowing as he clearly tried to recall something he hadn't thought about all day.
"Yeah… totally remember, kid." He scratched the back of his head. "Uhm, listen. We close up the shop, then you go get your girlfriend or whatever she is, and we head to the usual training ground. That good for you?"
Shisui made a face, disgusted.
"Hell no, she's not my girlfriend. She's my best friend, though." He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, seems like a good plan."
He turned toward the side alley, calling out, "Tachi! Can you secure the usual training ground? We'll head over once we're done!"
Itachi, leaning against the wall in the shadows, looked between him and Obito, then gave a small nod.
"Hn."
She flickered away, silent and swift.
Obito let out a small groan. "Uchihas need to stop doing that."
Shisui looked confused. "Stop what?"
Obito gave him a flat look. "Hn."
Shisui paused, then burst out laughing. "Hahaha! That was perfect! You even sounded just like her! Man, that was so Uchiha."
Obito raised an eyebrow. "You do realize I am an Uchiha, right? It's probably genetic."
Shisui nodded slowly. "You might be onto something… All the Uchihas I know make that sound."
After wiping down the last table and stacking the chairs, Obito locked the door and pulled the red curtain aside to peek out into the quiet street. Satisfied, he turned and tossed the keys into a small wooden box behind the counter.
"That's it. Shop's closed. Let's move."
Shisui already had his gear slung over his shoulder—light, mobile, practical. He grinned as he pushed the door open and stepped out into the cooling evening air. The sun had dipped below the rooftops, leaving long shadows and a faint golden glow lingering over the village.
The walk to the training grounds wasn't far, but they took their time. The streets were less crowded now, filled only with the occasional passerby or shopkeeper closing up for the night.
Obito walked with his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed. "You two have been using that ground for a while?"
Shisui nodded. "Yeah, it's a little hidden. Nothing fancy, just enough space, a few logs, and a creek running by. Quiet too."
Obito gave a small hum of approval. "Good. Means no one's gonna be watching."
When they reached the edge of the woods, Shisui veered off the main path, weaving through the trees until they came to a clearing—spacious, the grass flattened in spots from repeated use. Training dummies stood near the edge, and the faint scent of charred wood lingered in the air. The quiet gurgle of water could be heard nearby.
Itachi was already there, standing in the middle of the clearing with her arms folded and her cloak flaring slightly in the breeze. She glanced over her shoulder as they arrived, her expression calm.
"You're late."
Obito blinked. "We just closed the shop, princess."
She didn't respond, but a flicker of something—maybe amusement—crossed her face before she turned away and took her stance.
Shisui clapped his hands. "Alright! So what are we doing today? Genjutsu sparring? Taijutsu drills? Or is tobi-sensei going to dramatically demonstrate something and humble us into the dirt?"
Obito gave him a side glance. "You talk too much."
They sat in a triangle, grass brushing their knees, the faint sounds of the village far behind them. Obito lounged like he had all the time in the world, arms draped over his knees.
"So," he said with a lazy smirk, "let's talk about what I won't be doing."
Shisui tilted his head. "Uh… you're not gonna teach us how to knit, are you?"
Obito chuckled, dry and sharp. "Cute. No. I'm not going to be your sensei. I'm not here to hold your hand or pat you on the back when you get something right. I'm not here to teach you jutsus out of a book."
He stood up, cracking his neck.
"I'm here to break you."
The air changed. It thickened. Heavy and slow, like the moment before lightning strikes. The air around Obito shimmered subtly with pressure. Chakra—dense, controlled, suffocating.
Shisui blinked, suddenly aware of the sweat forming on his back. Itachi was still, her gaze sharp, but even she shifted slightly. Tension rippled through her frame.
"I was trained by Madara Uchiha," Obito said, voice flat as a blade. "The man who waged war against the entire world. The one whose name made nations tremble. That's where I come from. That's what forged me."
He took a slow step forward. And another.
"You think this is some elite club? You think sharingan makes you strong?" He sneered. "You don't get stronger from comfort. You grow from pressure. From fear. From blood."
Shisui tensed. "Okay, hold on—what does that even mean? Are you saying—"
"I'm saying," Obito cut in, "I'm going to try and kill you."
Silence.
His Mangekyō activated with a whisper of chakra—no dramatic flash, no words, just that eerie spin of death.
"I'm going to come at you with everything I have. Not a spar. Not a friendly match. I will hunt you. Break your bones if I must. Cut you if I have to. You will learn to survive, or you will lose."
He turned slightly, half-shadowed by the darkening sky.
"You're shinobi. Act like it."
Then, quieter—cold, absolute:
"If I wanted to… you'd both be dead already."
Shisui blinked, something sarcastic on the tip of his tongue—
But in a heartbeat, there was a shift.
Wind. A flicker. Then cold steel.
Shisui's breath caught in his throat as a kunai kissed the skin just under his jaw. He hadn't seen a thing.
Itachi moved—not enough to be a threat, just enough to counter.
Too slow.
A second kunai hovered at her neck, Obito behind her now, not a sound to his steps, his chakra presence zero.
He didn't speak at first. He let them feel it. The difference.
Then came his voice—low, measured.
"You can be fast. Clever. Gifted. But none of it matters… if death is already behind you."
He let that sink in.
Then he vanished again, reappearing a few steps away like it was nothing, arms folded behind his back, as calm as a man discussing the weather.
"You've got five minutes."
He glanced up at the fading sun.
"That's how long I'm giving you to run, hide, or prepare. After that?"
His Sharingan bled into black and red, the tomoe spinning lazily—hungry.
"I hunt you. Try not to die."
He turned and walked toward the trees, the air behind him colder, heavier somehow.
Shisui swallowed. "I hate this."
Itachi didn't move for a moment, then finally said, "Move."
And they ran.
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Comment favorite and follow if you want to support me , I take genuine critique to heart so if there are inconsistencies or grammatical mistakes here and there , do tell me .
Thanks
Unc' shegi