Chapter 2: The Plastic Limb and the Glass Box
Recovery was not a battle; it was a siege. It was a slow, agonizing process of waiting, staring at white ceilings, and learning to live with a body that felt like a jigsaw puzzle put together by a stranger.
Three weeks had passed since Obito Uchiha woke up in the Musutafu General Hospital. Three weeks of tests, needles, and the constant, buzzing hum of electricity that seemed to permeate this entire world.
He sat on the edge of his hospital bed, his legs dangling. He was wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts provided by the staff. He looked down at his right arm. Or rather, what had replaced it.
It wasn't flesh. It wasn't the white, organic matter he had briefly hallucinated in his fever dreams. It was a contraption of beige plastic and metal joints. A prosthetic. It was rudimentary, heavy, and cold.
"It's a standard issue mechanical assist," Dr. Hori explained, adjusting a strap near his shoulder stump. "Since you don't have a family to cover the costs of bio-integration or high-end neuro-links, the state provides this. It will allow you to grip and hold, but don't expect fine motor control just yet."
Obito stared at the plastic fingers. He tried to make a fist. The motors whirred softly—zzzzt—and the fingers curled in slowly, jerkily. It was slow. Too slow for hand signs. Too slow to throw a kunai.
"It feels dead," Obito muttered, his voice hollow.
"It's a tool, Obito-kun," Dr. Hori said gently. She moved to his face. "Now, let's check the eye patch."
She peeled back the medical tape. Obito flinched as the cool air hit the scarred tissue on the right side of his face. He kept his left eye open, staring straight ahead. His vision was cut in half. The world on his right was a void. He had to physically turn his head to see the doctor standing there.
The loss of depth perception was the most disorienting part. When he reached for a cup of water, his hand would close on empty air an inch before the glass, or knock it over clumsily. For a shinobi who prided himself on aim—even if he was a clumsy one—this was a humiliation that burned deeper than any wound.
"The scarring is healing well," Dr. Hori noted. "You're a fighter. I've rarely seen a child recover from crush syndrome this quickly without a regeneration Quirk."
"I just... sleep a lot," Obito lied. He didn't tell her about the chakra he had been meditating on, painfully circling it through his remaining pathways to speed up the knitting of his bones. It was difficult; his chakra network was battered, flowing like a dried-up creek.
The door opened, and a man in a tan trench coat and a matching hat walked in. He looked tired, his eyes dark and weary.
"Detective Tsukauchi," Dr. Hori greeted him. "He is ready for discharge today."
The man, Tsukauchi, nodded and pulled up a chair. He sat opposite Obito. Obito instantly tensed. This man smelled like authority. Like the ANBU interrogators, though less bloodthirsty.
"Hello, Obito," Tsukauchi said. His voice was calm, steady. "I'm with the police force. We've been trying to find your records for weeks."
Obito remained silent. He gripped the bedsheet with his real hand.
"We found nothing," Tsukauchi continued, watching him closely. "No birth certificate. No school records. No family registry. The name 'Uchiha' doesn't exist in any modern database in Japan. It's as if you fell out of the sky."
"Maybe I did," Obito mumbled, looking away.
"We checked the missing persons reports for Quirk accidents, teleportation mishaps, everything," Tsukauchi said. "Listen, son. I need to know. Do you remember your parents? Your address?"
Obito felt a lump in his throat. He remembered them clearly. He remembered his grandmother's tea. He remembered the Uchiha district's stone walls. But saying it would make him sound insane.
"I... I don't remember where I live," Obito said. "I remember my name. I remember... rocks falling. That's it."
Tsukauchi stared at him for a long moment. Obito didn't know it, but the detective's Quirk, 'Human Lie Detector,' was active. Technically, Obito wasn't lying. He didn't remember where he lived in this world. He remembered rocks falling.
"Alright," Tsukauchi sighed, standing up. "Since you are a minor with no guardians and no identification, you are becoming a ward of the state. We have arranged a place for you at the 'Sunrise Home for Children' here in Musutafu. It's an orphanage."
An orphanage. The word tasted like ash. He was an orphan in Konoha too, but he had a clan. He had a village. Now, he truly had nothing.
The car ride to the orphanage was a terrifying experience.
Obito sat in the back seat of the police cruiser, his nose pressed against the glass. The speed was unnatural. Trees and buildings blurred past faster than a galloping horse. And the buildings... they were mountains of glass and steel that scraped the sky.
He saw giant screens attached to the sides of towers, displaying moving images of people in colorful costumes fighting giant monsters.
"Is that... a war?" Obito asked, pointing at the screen.
The officer driving chuckled. "No, kid. That's the news. All Might just took down a villain in Tokyo. See him? The Symbol of Peace."
Obito watched the blonde giant on the screen laugh with his hands on his hips. Peace? Obito thought bitterly. Peace doesn't look like a man in spandex punching people. Peace is... quiet.
The Sunrise Home for Children was a modest, two-story building on the outskirts of the city. It had a large brick wall, a metal gate, and a yard with a few trees that looked tired.
Tsukauchi walked him to the entrance. A woman with round glasses and a stern but kind face was waiting.
"This is the Matron, Ms. Satako," Tsukauchi introduced. "Satako-san, this is Obito. Be gentle with him. He's been through a lot."
"We know," Ms. Satako said. She looked at Obito's eye patch and his plastic arm. Her gaze softened. "Welcome, Obito-kun. We don't have much, but we have warm beds and hot food."
Obito bowed, a reflex from his old life. "Thank you for having me."
The Matron blinked, surprised by the formal gesture. "Oh, such manners. Come inside."
The interior smelled of lemon cleaner and old carpet. It was noisy. Children were running everywhere. And this was where Obito's reality truly shattered.
He saw a boy whose head was a giant spray bottle. He saw a girl floating three feet off the ground while reading a book. He saw a toddler sneezing fire—actual fire—and nobody panicked.
Monsters, Obito's instincts screamed. They are all monsters.
He clutched his plastic arm to his chest, feeling small. In Konoha, clans had special abilities, yes. The Aburame had bugs, the Akimichi grew large. But they all looked human. These people... some of them barely resembled humans at all.
"This is your room," Ms. Satako said, opening a door at the end of a hall. "You'll be sharing with Kenji."
The room was small, with two bunk beds. A boy was sitting on the lower bunk, reading a comic book. He looked normal, except his fingers were incredibly long, like spider legs.
"New kid?" Kenji asked, not looking up. "What's your Quirk? You look banged up."
"I... I don't have a Quirk," Obito murmured. It was the safest answer. If he said he could breathe fire, they would ask him to show it. And right now, he doubted he could even spark a match.
Kenji looked up then, his eyes widening. "Quirkless? And disabled?" He let out a low whistle. "Man, life must hate you."
Obito felt a flash of anger, the old Uchiha pride flaring up. I am a Chunin of the Hidden Leaf! he wanted to shout. I possess the Sharingan!
But he swallowed the words. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Maybe it does."
The first night was the hardest.
The bed was too soft. The pillow felt like a marshmallow. Obito lay on his back, staring at the dark underside of the top bunk. The city sounds outside were different from the forest sounds of Fire Country. Sirens, cars, the distant hum of the city.
He missed the crickets. He missed the smell of pine.
He reached up with his left hand to touch his face, tracing the edge of the eye patch. He thought of Rin. Was she safe? Did Kakashi protect her? Did they mourn him? Or did they just move on, leaving his name on the Memorial Stone?
I promised I'd become Hokage, he thought, tears finally leaking from his single eye, soaking into the pillow. Now I'm just... Obito the cripple. Obito the nobody.
He cried silently, biting his lip so Kenji wouldn't hear. It was a pathetic, lonely sound in the dark.
The next morning, Obito woke up before the sun. Old habits died hard.
The digital clock on the wall read 05:00. The orphanage was silent.
He slipped out of bed, moving as quietly as he could. His body felt stiff, his scars pulling tight against his skin. He put on his shoes and crept out the window, dropping into the backyard.
The air was cool. The sky was a pale purple, transitioning to blue.
"I need to know," Obito whispered to himself. "I need to know what I have left."
He walked to the center of the yard. The grass was wet with dew. He stood facing a large oak tree.
"Taijutsu first."
He assumed the basic stance of the Uchiha interceptor style. But as soon as he shifted his weight, he stumbled. His center of gravity was gone. The loss of the right arm threw his balance off completely. He corrected himself, gritting his teeth.
"Again."
He tried a simple high kick. His body twisted awkwardly, and he fell hard onto the dirt. The impact jarred his healing ribs. He gasped, pain shooting through his chest.
"Pathetic," he hissed.
He scrambled up. He looked at the tree. He reached into his pocket. He had found a few flat stones earlier. He held one in his left hand. His off-hand. He was right-handed.
"Target: that knot in the wood. Distance: ten meters."
He threw.
The stone flew wide, missing the tree entirely and hitting the metal fence with a loud CLANG.
Obito stared at his left hand. He couldn't judge the distance. With one eye, everything looked flat. He couldn't tell how far the tree really was.
"No..."
He picked up another stone. Threw it. Missed.
Another. Missed.
Another. Missed.
Panic began to rise in his chest. A cold, suffocating panic. He wasn't just injured. He was broken. A ninja who couldn't throw? A ninja who couldn't balance? He was useless.
"Fire Style..." he whispered desperately. He needed to prove he was still himself.
He brought his left hand up to his mouth. He couldn't do hand signs with one hand. Not yet. But he could mold chakra. He took a deep breath, searching for the heat in his belly. He tried to knead the energy, to convert his breath into flame.
Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!
He exhaled sharply.
A puff of black smoke coughed out of his lips, followed by a tiny, pathetic ember that fizzled out before it hit the grass.
Obito stood frozen, smoke curling from his mouth.
His chakra control was shattered. The trauma to his body had disrupted his pathways. The energy was leaking, unfocused, chaotic.
He dropped to his knees in the wet grass. He looked at his plastic hand, lying lifelessly on his thigh. He looked at the blurry world.
"I can't do anything," he whispered. The realization was heavy, heavier than the rock.
He punched the ground with his left fist. Once. Twice. The skin broke, blood mixing with the dirt.
"I am Uchiha Obito!" he shouted, his voice cracking, startling a bird from the tree. "I am going to be Hokage!"
But his shout was swallowed by the vast, indifferent city. No one answered.
He stayed there for a long time, breathing heavily, his forehead resting on the dirt. The sun began to peek over the horizon, casting long shadows across the yard.
Eventually, Obito sat up. He wiped the dirt and tears from his face. He looked at the tree again. The knot in the wood seemed to mock him.
He stood up, swaying slightly.
"I missed because I'm weak," he said to the air. "I fell because I'm weak."
He walked over to the stone he had thrown against the fence. He picked it up. He walked back to his spot.
"If I can't throw from ten meters," he muttered, stepping forward until he was only two meters away from the tree. "I'll start from two."
He threw the stone. It hit the trunk, a few inches below the knot.
It wasn't a bullseye. But it hit the wood.
"Tomorrow," Obito said, his voice hard, devoid of the earlier panic. "Tomorrow I hit the knot."
He turned and walked back toward the building. He was broken, yes. He was in a world of freaks and giants, yes. But the Uchiha clan had a saying: The fan that fans the flames grows stronger with the wind.
He would not go out like a candle. He would burn. Even if he had to burn everything down to build himself back up.
As he climbed back through the window, he didn't notice the Matron watching him from her office on the second floor, a cup of tea in her hand, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"A troubled soul," she whispered. "But a strong one."
Obito laid back in his bed, the plastic arm cold against his chest. He closed his eye.
Step one: Learn to walk, he thought. Step two: Learn to see. Step three... find out what a 'Hero' really is.
The journey had begun, not with a grand adventure, but with a stone thrown in a backyard.