A figure appeared before him—tall, masked, and instantly recognizable. The twisted smirk under the orange mask belonged to none other than Obito.
Itachi regarded him with calm detachment.
"Somewhat. But it's not enough… not nearly enough."
His voice was soft, but there was something new in it—an undercurrent of intensity.
"Take me to your organization," he said plainly.
It wasn't a request.
Obito blinked.
For a moment, he was caught off guard.
This wasn't the calm, calculating boy he'd known. There was something different in Itachi now. A sharpness. A quiet arrogance.
Almost… dominance.
Had Itachi changed this much in just a few hours?
Then Obito remembered—Itachi was only thirteen.
Of course he'd feel invincible after overpowering elite ANBU operatives.
He thought back to his own youth—how he'd felt unstoppable after mastering the Fireball Jutsu. How he'd wanted to test it on anything that moved, full of reckless ambition.
The memory soured his mood.
His eyes darkened behind the mask.
Rin… Wait for me. I'll create a new world—one where you still exist. I won't accept a reality without you…
The echo of that vow gnawed at him.
The two continued silently, one leading, one following.
Obito withdrew into his thoughts, words fading from his lips. Nothing seemed worth saying anymore.
Itachi walked quietly, occasionally glancing at the landscape around him.
The war had scarred this place, but the beauty remained. Wounds in the earth had slowly healed with time. Trees grew over graves. Flowers bloomed where blades had fallen.
Life went on—untouched by the blood spilled beneath it.
After the chaos of battle, it all felt strangely serene.
But not without cost.
Itachi could feel the strain.
His vision had worsened.
The world was slowly growing dimmer, edges less distinct. A creeping blur he knew would only worsen with time.
That's why he took his time to look around.
To remember.
On the horizon, the first light of dawn began to glow.
Clouds drifted lazily above, painted gold by the coming sun.
The sun itself had not yet risen—
But in that moment, Itachi's stomach grumbled quietly.
Strange… he thought.
I feel hungry.
"Hey..."
Itachi suddenly stopped in his tracks, his motion smooth and deliberate.
Obito, hearing the call, halted and turned around, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "What is it?"
His voice carried a curious tone—no longer distant, no longer unreadable. At least, not in sound. Behind the mask, Obito remained as unreadable as ever; Itachi couldn't see through it—literally or figuratively.
"I'm hungry," Itachi said plainly. "Let's catch a few animals and roast them."
He remembered his past life—fond of sweets, yet always deprived. This time, this life, he'd care for himself. He wouldn't repeat the same silent suffering.
"Troublesome brat..." Obito muttered under his breath.
As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly in the stillness of morning. The sound was embarrassingly sharp, cutting through the silence like a kunai.
A blush flashed beneath Obito's mask—fleeting, unseen.
Itachi couldn't witness it, but in his heart, he sighed: Thick-skinned, as always. His stomach is louder than his emotions.
The two activated their Sharingan. Crimson eyes glowed as they scanned the terrain, tracing faint movements in the grass—tracking signs of life.
"So early in the morning... would there even be anything out?" Obito whispered, eyes darting. The mention of grilled meat made him swallow involuntarily.
Itachi leaned back against a tree, chewing on a stalk of wild grass, watching Obito stalk the forest like a veteran hunter. The boy had given up quickly, finding no tracks. Now, he just sat cross-legged, gaze softening, half-lost in thought.
His expression turned distant, his thoughts floating back to the modern world—school days, adolescence, laziness wrapped in passion.
He let himself relax. Obito still had use for him; he wouldn't betray him, not yet.
So for now, Itachi allowed himself to enjoy this fleeting moment of peace.
"Ugh... hateful brat."
Obito finally returned, two small rabbits cleaned and dangling from his hands. He scowled at Itachi lounging lazily and muttered something darker under his breath.
Don't kill him. Not yet. He's still useful... useful...
"Hey, go grab some branches," Obito grumbled. "Unless you plan to roast these with that lazy stare."
Itachi blinked back into the moment, focusing on Obito's silhouette against the light.
"Got it."
He stood, brushing the dew and dust from his pants before walking off in search of dry sticks and branches.
Watching the boy walk away, Obito frowned beneath the mask.
'Why does this kid feel like he has multiple personalities? Calm one moment, distant the next... Which one is real?'
"Grrrr..."
His stomach grumbled again, snapping him back.
'Tch. What's taking him so long?'
"I'm back," Itachi said calmly, returning with a handful of dry twigs. "Found something interesting, too. I think it'll taste better stuffed inside the meat."
He crouched and set down the branches, then casually pulled out a pouch of herbs and spices, arranging them neatly on the ground.
Obito's visible eye twitched. "Seriously? What is Konoha feeding kids these days? On missions we're lucky to have raw meat and military rations, and you're flavoring your food like it's a tea ceremony?"
"Missions are missions," Itachi replied without even looking up. "Life is life."
Obito said nothing. He simply formed a quick series of hand seals and exhaled a small flame onto the twigs. The fire crackled to life, its warmth chasing away the morning chill.
"I really don't understand you..." Obito said suddenly, his voice low and unreadable. "Last night, you killed your parents and wiped out your entire clan. And now, here you are, roasting meat like it never happened."
The bitterness in his tone was sharp.
But Itachi didn't flinch.
"And yet, you still parade around calling yourself Uchiha Madara. You kill without hesitation. Didn't blink when you killed my teammates right in front of me."
The image flashed in both their minds—too vivid, too raw.
Obito paused, kunai still in hand, carving a skewer.
"Tch. All that for a foolish clan..." he muttered.
The silence between them turned heavy. The false calm shattered, replaced by an invisible tension—wounds reopened by truth, even if dressed in casual words.
They were both actors now, trading jabs while studying the other's mask.
"Here," Obito finally said, tossing a trimmed branch toward Itachi.
Then he flopped to the ground, folding his hands behind his head, eyes turned to the sky.
He didn't speak again.
The branch landed with a thud beside Itachi.
But instead of picking it up, Itachi's eyes flashed blood red. The kaleidoscope spun in his gaze.
And then—
Black flames erupted.
Amaterasu.
The first strike came without warning.
"Not bad, you're slightly worthy of using the name Uchiha Madara."
Itachi spoke calmly, watching as Obito stood tall, the air around him warping and distorting with raw spatial energy.
With a soft sigh, Itachi released the Amaterasu and let his Mangekyō Sharingan fade. The flames vanished as quickly as they had appeared.
Obito, his chakra flaring and already preparing a Wood Release technique, froze mid-motion. Thoughts of the larger plan flickered through his mind. Slowly, the surging chakra within him began to settle.
But his body kept moving.
"Brat," he said coldly, stepping forward, "hasn't anyone taught you it's rude to interrupt another man's thoughts? And more importantly… never pick a fight with someone stronger than you."
In a flash, Obito had his hand around Itachi's throat, lifting him effortlessly into the air. Itachi didn't struggle.
Obito's gaze locked onto Itachi's eyes—bloodshot, strained, the whites so dark they looked like they might start bleeding.
The killing intent that had risen within Obito began to waver. Something in Itachi's stillness, in his silence, drained the violence from him.
With a grunt, Obito loosened his grip and let him drop.
Itachi hit the ground hard.
Obito stood over him, silent, eyes hidden behind the mask.
"Haha, just kidding. After all, Uchiha Madara isn't someone who's so easily killed. The title Ghost of the Uchiha wasn't earned with kindness—it was forged in blood."
Itachi stared at Obito, displeasure simmering beneath his calm expression. The fact that Obito had emerged completely unscathed from a full-force Amaterasu irked him. It was unexpected—and worse, a failure.
He hadn't held back. That attack had drained a significant portion of his chakra. He hadn't expected Obito to phase through it so effortlessly.
He recalled what little he knew about Obito's technique—the intangibility, the phasing. It lasted at most five minutes, and the moment he launched an attack, his real body had to emerge. That should've been his window.
But it had slipped through his fingers.
"Is this because I killed that little girl...? It seems like that girl held quite a place in your heart," Obito said with a chilling smile, his words sharp and deliberate. "Even in her final breath, she called out your name..."
He could see the faint flicker of emotion in Itachi's eyes—a crack in his otherwise unreadable mask.
Obito smiled cruelly. He hadn't forgotten how close he'd come to death just now, and he wasn't the type to forgive and forget. If he couldn't punish Itachi physically, he'd strike where it hurt most—his mind.
"Oh?" Itachi replied coolly, brushing off the jab, though his tone carried a bite. "Which girl are you referring to? I was merely testing your strength. I need to know if your organization is actually worth my time."
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