Inside the laboratory, the pale fluorescent lights flickered softly, casting uneven shadows across the room. Scrolls, glass tubes, and complex chakra-infused instruments crowded every inch of the long wooden desk. The faint hum of sealed containers echoed like whispers, each carrying the scent of formaldehyde and ink.
Only Tobirama Senju and Orochimaru remained within. Both were silent—one with the cold precision of a calculating scientist, the other with the measured poise of a predator assessing his prey. Between them hung the weight of an unanswered question.
At last, Orochimaru broke the silence. His voice, calm but laced with intrigue, carried across the still air."Lord Tobirama… regarding Kakashi, there is one more thing—something rather fascinating about how his Sharingan has changed."
Tobirama's hand paused mid-scroll. He looked up, his crimson eyes gleaming faintly beneath the harsh light."Speak."
After a brief hesitation, Orochimaru began. He explained in meticulous detail how Kakashi, while traveling to the Hidden Mist, had somehow sensed Tobirama's peril through his Sharingan—an impossible phenomenon that defied ordinary ninjutsu principles.
When he finished, he studied Tobirama's expression carefully, expecting curiosity or disbelief.
Yet Tobirama merely nodded, his tone calm and distant."I'm not surprised."
He turned slightly, gazing at the intricate formulae etched across the wall. The faintest ripple of chakra energy stirred the air."When Kakashi rescued me from the Mist, I had already suspected this. It seems your theory aligns with my own deductions."
His tone was steady, but his mind was racing—analyzing, categorizing, mapping new conclusions."So," he continued, "what's your conclusion, Orochimaru?"
Orochimaru's serpentine eyes gleamed."Perhaps," he said softly, "this corruption of the Sharingan isn't mere illusion or mental manipulation. It is an amplification—an overclocking of the user's deepest desires and obsessions."
Tobirama folded his arms, silent.
"In Danzo," Orochimaru continued, "it amplified his lust for control and power, pushing him toward unrestrained domination. But in Kakashi… it seems to have burned away his hesitation and self-doubt instead. The same curse that consumed one man purified another."
Tobirama's gaze sharpened with faint interest. Orochimaru's logic had merit.
In their eyes, Kakashi's mutation appeared not as corruption—but as adaptation. His Sharingan, unlike the others, functioned like an antibody, counteracting the malignant resonance that had devoured others.
"Among all those tainted by the Sharingan," Orochimaru went on, "only Danzo and Kakashi were non-Uchiha. That difference might be the key. Their bodies lack the genetic synchronization of the Uchiha line—forcing the eye to adapt differently."
At that, Tobirama's frown deepened. "And Danzo?"
Orochimaru's tone turned grim. "He went too far. Too many transplants. His body absorbed fragments of Uchiha Gen's remains, and the result was… aberrant."
He glanced down at the scroll before him—Root's confidential autopsy records."When Uchiha Gen's corpse vanished, the remains left at the site showed signs of cellular corruption. The tissues exhibited a strange Wood Release pattern—one consistent with forced Hashirama cell fusion."
A sharp glint flashed in Tobirama's eyes."So our earlier hypothesis was correct," he said coldly. "Danzo absorbed Gen's remains after implanting my brother's cells… thus giving birth to his unstable Wood Release."
He exhaled sharply. "That fool may have combined the very essences of the Uchiha and Senju bloodlines—the perfect conditions for disaster."
Orochimaru's expression darkened, his tone low and speculative."I suspect his current hybrid body could become the ideal vessel for Uchiha Gen's resurrection—if that consciousness still lingers somewhere."
Tobirama's eyes narrowed. The very thought chilled even him.
Orochimaru's gaze drifted momentarily, his voice lowering to a murmur."When I last spoke to him, I sensed it… a presence beneath his words. Arrogant. Cold. The same tone I once heard from the Uchiha elders—a superiority that scorns everything beneath it."
He remembered that chilling warning—Danzo's voice overlapping with another, layered and commanding:'Do not attempt to resurrect the Second Hokage.'
That tone hadn't belonged to Danzo alone. It had belonged to something inside him.
Orochimaru's pupils thinned. A realization trembled on the edge of his mind—one he wasn't yet ready to confront.
At that moment, a pulse of memory rippled through his mind—information transmitted from one of his distant shadow clones stationed in the Land of Rice Fields.
The images were vivid: Sasuke training beneath dark skies, his chakra roaring with power. His growth had already surpassed what Orochimaru had anticipated.
A faint, serpentine smile curled Orochimaru's lips. "Sasuke's progress… is remarkable. Far beyond what I expected."
Tobirama merely snorted, unimpressed. "Another Uchiha," he muttered disdainfully, "it never ends."
He turned back to his scrolls, uninterested in Orochimaru's fascination.
The laboratory fell into silence again—until, somewhere far away, another story unfolded.
Hidden Rain Village — Inner Chamber
The rain never stopped in Amegakure. Tonight, it fell harder than usual, hammering against the windowpanes like relentless static. The air smelled of metal and ozone.
Within a dimly lit room, Nagato sat slumped in his wheelchair, his thin frame shrouded in shadow. Each breath came out shallow and uneven. Beside him stood Konan, her blue hair reflecting the flickering light of the lantern.
Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke. "Nagato… are you sure about this? Transplanting White Zetsu into your body—it's far too dangerous."
Nagato's pale face lifted, and his sunken Rinnegan eyes glowed faintly violet. His tone was weak, yet unwavering."The world is collapsing. The great nations devour the small. If I don't act now, the Land of Rain will be the first to fall. To protect it… I must use every tool available."
He coughed, crimson specks staining his sleeve. "If the Uchiha bring about this era's ruin, then I will shoulder the burden of saving it."
Konan's eyes softened with sorrow. She had always been his voice of reason—but beneath her resolve was something simpler, more painful. She didn't care about the world. She only cared about him.
Though her instincts screamed against it, she finally relented, producing several sealed White Zetsu bodies prepared earlier."…If this truly is what you've decided, then I'll trust you."
Nagato extended his frail hand. Chakra threads flickered through the air as the White Zetsu began merging into him, their pale bodies dissolving like smoke and fusing with his skin.
The air rippled violently. His Rinnegan erupted with light, filling the entire chamber with crushing pressure.
Konan stumbled back slightly, shielding her face from the chakra wave.
Moments later, the light dimmed. Nagato stood.
For the first time in years, his feet touched the ground unaided. His breathing was still labored, but his eyes burned brighter than ever—filled with power, and with the same dangerous conviction that once belonged to Yahiko.
Seeing him stand again, Konan's tense shoulders eased, but only slightly. Somewhere deep in her heart, she felt it—the beginning of another storm.
Nagato slowly took a step forward. His once frail body now carried a quiet but unshakable strength."Konan," he said, his voice calm yet heavy with conviction, "I once said that only Akatsuki can bring hope to this world in its darkest hour. And now… I finally have enough strength to fulfill that promise."
He turned to her, the pale glow of his Rinnegan reflecting faintly in the dim room."You and Yahiko… you are the people I must protect."
Hearing those words, Konan's heart tightened. The unease and doubt that had clouded her slowly began to settle. She could still feel the uncertainty of the future clawing at her chest, but Nagato's unwavering gaze carried a quiet light—a light she had long thought lost. In that moment, she felt the same warmth she once knew as children in the rain.
"I understand, Nagato," she whispered, her voice trembling but firm. "No matter what happens, I will always be by your side."
Nagato allowed himself a rare, gentle smile. "Yes. Together, we'll witness the day this world finds new hope."
In the shadows, Black Zetsu observed every movement in silence, his expression unreadable. When Nagato absorbed those carefully prepared White Zetsu cells without hesitation, a flicker of satisfaction glimmered in the abyss of his gaze.
Those cells were not simply a gift of vitality—they were seeds of control. Deep inside, hidden mechanisms lay dormant, waiting for the perfect moment to seize Nagato's body and force him to perform Rinne Rebirth. But now was not the time to reveal his hand.
The world was already hurtling toward an apocalypse. The Uchiha's power, the awakening of ancient forces, and the destabilization of every nation left no room for error. Nagato had to recover fully first. Only then could Black Zetsu execute the second stage of his long-laid plan—his mother's resurrection.
He recalled the moment when Uchiha Gen's power had exceeded his control. Panic had once pierced his calm like a blade. But time had dulled the fear. Calculation replaced chaos. And in Nagato, he saw the perfect vessel to regain control of the storm.
As Nagato's breathing steadied and the vitality of White Zetsu flowed through him, Black Zetsu's silent confidence returned. The strings of his invisible web were still intact.
Death Forest.
A pale moon hung in the sky, its light spilling through the gaps in the canopy like cold silver threads. Kakashi walked alone, every step heavier than the last, as though the forest itself was pressing down on him.
A leaf drifted down from above, caught briefly in the breeze—
And Obito was suddenly there.
He stood a few steps ahead, half-shrouded in shadow, his lone Sharingan faintly glowing. The two men locked eyes without a word. Between them stretched years of shared pain, betrayal, and memories that neither could erase.
For a long time, only the sound of rustling leaves and their steady breathing filled the night.
Finally, Kakashi broke the silence, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm sorry… Obito."
Obito shook his head slowly, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "Kakashi, I didn't come to blame you."
He took a step forward, the memory of a sunlit Team Minato flickering behind his eyes. "I know your bond with Konoha. I always knew you wouldn't stand by and do nothing. But… when you raised your blade against Danzo, that was the Kakashi I remembered. The real Kakashi."
Kakashi's fingers curled slightly at his sides. Those words—meant to reassure—cut deeper than any blade. "I've been torn apart inside. Between you, the village… and the future of this world. I want to help you, Obito. But I can't bring myself to forsake everything else."
The images of Naruto, the village, and his promise to protect them burned painfully in his mind.
Obito stepped closer, his presence soft yet piercing, like a ghost from Kakashi's past. "I know," he murmured. "I've always known."
Then, from within his cloak, Obito slowly drew out a kunai and extended it toward Kakashi. The steel gleamed coldly beneath the moonlight.
"Maybe," Obito whispered, his voice breaking slightly, "if I die here… you won't have to be torn anymore."
Kakashi's heart clenched violently. His hand shot out and grasped the weapon, pressing it against Obito's throat, his grip trembling. "Stop it, Obito… stop testing me," he choked out.
But Obito didn't flinch. "I'm not testing you. I just don't want to see you suffer in this endless struggle. If the world is beyond saving, at least… I want you to understand me."
Kakashi slowly lowered the kunai, his breath ragged, his voice hoarse. "Maybe you're right. Maybe this world is sick. But understand me too, Obito… my dream is to become Hokage. To protect the village. To protect our home."
Obito let out a quiet, bitter laugh and reached up to remove his spiral mask, revealing the scarred face beneath. "And it's because of you that I can't completely let go," he said softly. "Because of you… I still feel alive."
His expression hardened, madness flickering at the edge of his gaze. "But I've chosen my path. I'd rather be a numb, advancing madman."
"And my dream…" His voice dropped to a feverish whisper. "…is to create a world where only Rin exists."
The Mangekyō Sharingan in Obito's right eye spun violently, distorting the air around them as Kamui's black vortex opened like a silent beast. But Kakashi's left eye flared in response, his own Mangekyō erupting with power. Space itself trembled as their ocular powers clashed and canceled each other out.
Their gazes locked again. Words were useless now.
A kunai flew from Kakashi's hand, mirrored by Obito's. The two blades collided mid-air, sparks scattering into the darkness.
Then—
Obito vanished.
A black flash, and he reappeared behind Kakashi, countless black chains bursting from his body like a tidal wave.
"Kakashi!" Obito roared, his voice cold but laced with pain.
"Obito!" Kakashi answered with an equally raw cry, drawing his blade in a single, fluid motion. The white arc of steel met the black torrent.
The crash that followed split the night. Sparks rained down around them like fireflies.
Two men—once brothers in arms, now trapped on opposite sides of fate—fought not only each other but the weight of their own hearts.
The influence of Uchiha Gen loomed like a shadow neither could escape. But at this moment, their confusion and pain found their only outlet.
Not in words.
But in battle.
Their eyes locked once more, and for an instant, it was as though they were boys again on a training field, full of unshakable dreams.
Then, as if guided by instinct, they both raised their hands.
The Seal of Opposition—a symbol of their bond, and their inevitable clash—was formed.
And the fight truly began.