Breakfast ended quickly, wrapped in an awkward, hard-to-name atmosphere.
Obito was about to leave.
Roy stood to see him off. Itachi got up as well. Mikoto opened the front door and let a strip of sunlight spill into the entryway.
Roy stayed seated by the tatami, sipping his after-meal tea with his back to them. Then, at one point, he said, "Obito-niisan."
Obito had just put his shoes on. He turned back.
Roy glanced over his shoulder and said, "Use those eyes to protect what you want to protect."
Obito's body trembled. The nightmare he'd just lived through flashed across his mind again. He clenched his fist and pulled it down hard, solemn as a vow.
"I will!"
Yeah. He would. No matter what.
"Creak—"
The door opened wider.
"See you, Itachi." "See you, Itachi."
Obito bowed to Mikoto again and smiled. "I'll come visit again."
He turned and left.
Mikoto leaned against the doorframe and waved after him. "Next time you come, remember to take your jacket off—Auntie will wash it for you!"
Warmth swelled in Obito's chest. He nodded, then broke into a run toward a training ground in the northern forest. Same as always—special training with his sensei.
Only now, it wasn't the same at all.
Obito's expression was heavy. His right hand drifted to the corner of his eye, where a faint trace of red seemed to flow. Without realizing it, his pace sped up—until he vanished into the distance beyond the Uchiha district.
"He's a pitiful kid," Mikoto murmured.
"…But he's a strong one, too."
The door closed again.
In the inner room, Fugaku—still in his black combat suit and green jōnin vest—walked out and sat on the cushion Obito had used. Mikoto brought breakfast, and he ate a few quick bites before saying, "If his teacher weren't Namikaze Minato, the clan would invest a lot more resources in training him."
Namikaze Minato—the Yellow Flash. Student of the Sannin. Hokage's "grand-student." Lover of the Nine-Tails jinchūriki. The man Hiruzen pinned his hopes on.
With a teacher like that, it was only natural the clan treated Obito differently for political reasons.
Roy took another slow sip of tea. With a casual hand sign, he summoned a Shadow Clone like he always did, sending it off to the Academy to handle attendance.
"So you think I shouldn't have helped him awaken the Sharingan?" Roy asked lightly.
Fugaku finished eating, pulled Itachi into his lap, and gently ruffled his hair. "You don't need to use a clone to go to school anymore. The Hokage has approved your early graduation."
"He can approve whatever he wants," Roy replied. "I didn't agree."
Fugaku shot him a glare. "You blew up the school."
Roy corrected him with righteous seriousness. "That wasn't 'blowing it up.' The Hokage wanted to test me."
"So if you're blaming someone, blame the Hokage."
Fugaku: "..."
For once, he couldn't find a clean rebuttal. What Roy said was technically true—except that Roy's "Fireball Jutsu" had no business looking like a natural disaster.
"Fine," Fugaku sighed after a moment. Then, more quietly: "I don't mind that you helped Obito awaken his eyes. He's a kid Sakumo has his eye on, too."
Sakumo?
That…
"Hatake Sakumo? The White Fang?" Roy asked.
Itachi, nestled against Fugaku, peeked up. "Hatake Sakumo said he wanted to be Nii-san's jōnin instructor."
"Yes," Fugaku said, smoothing Itachi's hair again. Then he looked back at Roy. "He told me he values three kids in the younger generation most."
"Obito is one." "Might Duy's son, Might Guy, is one." "And the last…"
"…You."
Might Duy—Eight Gates…
Roy didn't care much that Sakumo rated him highly. The man had a sharp eye and strength that even surpassed the Sannin. That part checked out. What really stuck was the Eight Gates—its ceiling was absurd.
Roy murmured, "The White Fang flatters me."
Fugaku only gave a noncommittal grunt. He stood to go on duty, but at the door he paused.
"Ren," he said softly, "I don't need you to be the strongest. I just want you safe. Do you understand?"
Roy froze for a heartbeat, then turned to look at him.
For a split second, Fugaku's silhouette overlapped with Silva's in Roy's mind—two different men, the same weight behind the words.
Roy's eyes warmed. He lowered his gaze and answered quietly, "Yeah."
"All right, go," Mikoto said at the entryway, nudging Fugaku out the door. "Ren's grown up. He's more sensible than you think."
Itachi watched the whole thing, his gaze bouncing between Mikoto, Fugaku, and Roy like he couldn't take in enough.
After a moment, the little one wriggled free of Fugaku's arms, braced himself on the table to stand, and tugged Roy's sleeve.
"Nii-san, let's go practice swinging the sword."
"Shisui-niisan is probably already waiting at the training ground."
Roy pinched Itachi's baby-soft cheek, drained his tea in one gulp, and gave him a teasing smile.
"Then you'd better move."
With a poof of white smoke, Roy vanished.
That was a Shadow Clone… so the one who went out earlier was… the real Nii-san?
Itachi stared for a beat, then bolted after him. Before leaving, he snatched up his little sword and gripped it tight.
This time, he swore to himself, he wouldn't lose to Shisui.
But a year is a year. A little strength is still strength. Experience is still experience.
Both of them were doing the same thing—ten thousand swings.
Shisui was older than Itachi by more than a year. His blade was weighted with a basket full of stones, and even then he moved with steadier rhythm than Itachi.
"One thousand… one thousand one… one thousand two…"
In the southern forest, at a secluded training ground, the two kids struggled through their swings while Roy stood nearby in silence—his staff-sword in one hand, Eclipse at his side, thinking.
Ever since his Bankai, he hadn't truly practiced with the blade.
Watching Shisui and Itachi, he couldn't help but remember the days he'd trained under Urokodaki Sakonji—back when Sabito and Makomo were still there.
Time really did fly. Everything changed. People changed.
Then a beam of sunlight struck through the canopy.
Roy raised his head. The sun blazed overhead—almost as if it were looking back.
Something settled in him.
He set his stance. Planted his feet. Wrapped both hands around Eclipse. Lifted the blade into guard.
Then he closed his eyes.
Hold to the beginning.
For a moment, it felt like he was back on Sagiri Mountain—fog everywhere, no sun—learning his first swing under Urokodaki's watch.
Then—
He opened his eyes.
The blade moved.
A white crescent of force tore across hundreds of meters, a clean, beautiful arc—and it hit a tree.
Crack—!
The trunk split clean in two.
And behind it stood a man with white hair, moving in the breeze—so much like Kakashi, yet clearly older, larger.
~~~
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