"Is it Rin? Nohara Rin?"
Obito asked, full of anticipation.
"That's right, she's called Nohara Rin," White Zetsu nodded.
"Yes!"
Obito's expression lit up like he'd just won the grand prize.
"Tell me everything you saw," he pushed, eager for any scrap of news about her.
"They finished a mission and went back to camp. That comrade of yours, Nohara Rin, was in a tent with another teammate, discussing medical ninjutsu."
"Kakashi?" Obito frowned slightly.
Then he remembered entrusting Rin to Kakashi. It was only natural that Kakashi would look after her more.
As long as he made it back, things could go back to how they were.
"No, it was that one called… Ki—"
"Kiyohara?!" Obito shouted.
It was that guy Kiyohara!
He still remembered Kiyohara touching Rin's hand right in front of him, and saying it was to "study medical ninjutsu."
Since when did you study medical ninjutsu like that?
Now the two of them were alone together in a tent—Obito didn't even dare imagine what Kiyohara might be doing.
"I have to go back!"
His anxiety spiked.
He hammered at the rock wall with his left fist, trying to break out.
But every big movement tugged at the stitches holding his right side together, sending sharp pain lancing through him.
Faintly, granulation tissue was growing there—as if a new arm was trying to form.
"And what then? Obito, you still don't understand? While you were 'dead,' your comrades didn't stop moving forward because you weren't there," Madara said, slowly opening his eyes. His crimson three-tomoe Sharingan fixed on Obito.
"Besides, the dead being replaced by the living—isn't that perfectly normal?" he continued.
Just like how Hashirama had picked up that woman, Uzumaki Mito.
"Replace me? No way!" Obito shook his head violently.
The dim light draped shadows across his bandaged face.
Was there really no place for him anymore?
"No one can replace me. Rin… Rin will definitely wait for me!" he insisted.
He clung to the memory of her words.
She'd said she would always be watching him.
"Wait for you?" Madara's face stayed impassive.
"According to Zetsu's observations, that Kiyohara has good talent, grows stronger quickly, and… seems to know how to get along with people.
"Right now, he's alone in a tent with the Rin you can't stop thinking about. What do you think will happen over time?" Madara asked.
He'd never dated anyone, but he still knew that put a man and a woman alone together and sparks were likely.
"You're lying!" Obito snapped, his one remaining eye blazing.
"Rin isn't like that. Kiyohara… there's no way he compares to me. He's just a civilian—I'm from the Uchiha clan!" he shouted.
When he finished, he ignored the pain and weakness in his body and tried to force himself through more rehab, straining to restore his chakra and mobility.
But this freshly stitched-together body needed time to adapt.
In the end, he ran out of strength and crashed to the floor, face twisted in frustration.
Watching his stubborn, agonized expression, Madara slowly shook his head, though there was a trace of satisfaction in his eyes.
Yes… suspicion, pain, resentment, anger—
These were the best nutrients for growing darkness.
When Obito saw reality turn against everything he believed—when everything he cherished seemed lost—
Only then would he truly fall into despair, becoming the perfect pawn.
"A world where only winners exist…"
In the darkness, Madara slowly closed his eyes again.
...
The next morning, after informing Kakashi, Kiyohara left the outpost alone and headed for the nearby town that served as a relay point.
The town wasn't large, but because it lay safely in the rear and housed a number of Konoha shinobi, it felt busy enough. There were even shops catering specifically to ninja.
Kiyohara quickly found a place that bought and forged ninja tools.
The shopkeeper was a middle-aged man with a single eyeglass lens and rough hands—clearly a veteran craftsman.
Kiyohara didn't waste words. He unsealed three ninja blades and a pile of loot he didn't need.
"Boss, give me a price. Cash only," he said.
The shopkeeper examined each item carefully, lingering especially on the greatsword. Surprise flickered in his eyes before he quoted a fair price.
After a brief negotiation, Kiyohara walked away with a thick stack of bills—more than he'd expected.
Then he pulled several broken blade fragments from his clothes.
"Chakra metal?" the shopkeeper's expression brightened instantly.
This was rare stuff—and a big commission.
"Customer wants to forge a ninja blade?" he asked.
"That's right," Kiyohara nodded.
"I want this chakra metal as the main material, fused into the blade. The most important thing is maximizing conductivity—get it as high as possible. Take the leftover fragments and labor cost from the cash I just got. If it's not enough, I'll make up the difference."
The shopkeeper took the metal, stroking it like a treasure, and said confidently:
"No problem at all. You've come to the right man. With this beauty, I'm sure I can forge something with excellent conductivity."
After a closer inspection, he added:
"Chakra metal is rare. For a smith like me, working with it is valuable experience in itself. I'll give you a discount—flat price, 500,000 ryō."
Kiyohara agreed on the spot.
The man was being generous; the price was lower than what he'd seen elsewhere.
Probably more craftsman than businessman—that's why he was so reasonable.
Chakra metal was as valuable to them as it was to any ninja.
...
The waiting felt especially long.
Kiyohara killed time browsing the town, buying some tools and essentials, but his mind kept drifting back to the sword being forged.
Finally, by the next evening, it was ready.
He returned to the shop.
The smith looked exhausted but his eyes were bright with pride.
He carefully handed Kiyohara a long, cloth-wrapped sword case.
"Take a look, see if it satisfies you," he said.
Kiyohara took a deep breath and slowly opened it.
Inside lay a sleek katana.
The blade was slender and slightly curved; near the guard, faint wave-like patterns were visible—that was the natural grain of the chakra metal.
The handle was wrapped in special bandages designed to absorb sweat and improve grip; it felt perfect in the hand.
The moment he saw it, Kiyohara's face lit up.
The sword wish was fulfilled.
Right then, Swordsman Kiyohara floated out of the urn and gazed at the blade in Kiyohara's hands.
~~~
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