Chapter 54: Thank You, Uchiha Obito
The man before him stood frozen, lost in a stupor. The fury that had been churning in Rubik's chest receded like the ebbing tide, leaving behind only a bone-deep weariness and resignation.
I was too invested… A trace of self-mockery rose in his heart.
He had known from the very beginning—this man was a madman, twisted beyond recognition by obsession and fixation, drowning in a self-destructive fantasy. And yet… somewhere deep inside, he had still clung to a laughable sliver of hope for him. How utterly foolish.
Watching Obito's hollow, shattered expression—as if he had been abandoned by the entire world—Rubik felt a strange, absurd sense of helplessness. This man, who wielded tremendous power and had shaken the entire shinobi world to its core, peeled back the shell of "Uchiha Madara"—and underneath, perhaps… his inner world was not even as mature or resilient as his own "son's."
In the end, he was just a pitiful soul trapped in a tragedy from over a decade ago, someone who had never truly moved on.
A wave of profound disinterest washed over him, dissipating the last remnants of his frustration. He sat back down, his movements carrying a post-climactic looseness. Picking up the cup of sake that had long gone cold, he didn't drink—just absently rubbed his fingers against the chilled ceramic.
His voice regained its calm, tinged with a weary detachment:
"My questions are done."
He lifted his gaze to Obito, who was still reeling from the immense shock and lingering pain, and spoke flatly, as if stating something utterly irrelevant:
"If there's anything you want to ask… now's your chance."
Obito's body seemed to jolt at those words, trembling slightly. He slowly raised his head, his one good eye—the Sharingan—filled with dazed disbelief and a faint, barely perceptible hint of vulnerability, fixed on Rubik.
"You…" His voice was hoarse, scraping like a broken bellows. "…You don't resent me?"
The question carried a fragile, almost unconscious hope.
Rubik's lips curled into an exceedingly complex smile—one laced with bitterness, resignation, and ultimately, distance.
"Don't misunderstand."
He set down the cup and met Obito's gaze squarely.
"I never expected you to bear any 'fatherly' responsibility from the start."
"I came to you…" His voice dropped, carrying the quiet of settled dust, though with a faint, elusive trace of melancholy. "…just to seek some answers for my late mother."
"Though it seems now…" He paused, gave a self-deprecating little shake of his head. "…that was just me… indulging in wishful thinking."
"Wishful thinking…"
Those four words pricked at Obito's heart like cold needles. His crimson Mangekyo Sharingan shifted slightly, his gaze seeming to pierce through Rubik and land on some distant, blurry corner of memory.
A girl with warm red hair, a smile tinged with timidity yet pure as spring water—flashed briefly across the fragments of his memory.
Uzumaki Chino.
That name, that figure, had long since grown hazy in the years Obito had deliberately chosen to forget—reduced to little more than a symbol. He had never loved her, never felt for her the searing, soul-consuming devotion he had felt for Rin. In his dark, spiraling trajectory of madness, she had been but a chance intersection, a tool he used to test the world and flee from reality.
And yet…
When Rubik's self-mocking words—"wishful thinking"—rang in his ears, when that face so strikingly reminiscent of his younger self was reflected clearly before him…
A guilt, long overdue, heavy enough to crush his very breath, surged over him like icy floodwaters.
That was Uchiha Obito's emotion.
His voice cracked, shattered as he forced out the words:
"I…"
He dropped his head, as though unable to bear the weight of that belated reckoning.
"I failed her."
Those words came from the depths of his soul.
He searched his heart honestly—he had never felt a shred of romantic love for Chino. That red-haired girl, in the world consumed by hatred and despair, had never occupied the place that Rin did.
But that night…
That brief entanglement, born from his broken spirit and desperate need to escape…
Had long since lodged like a needle deep in his numbed conscience! For over a decade, he had deliberately ignored it, masking it with his "tool" rationale, drowning it in the grander ambition of "saving" the world… but it had never vanished!
Now, that thorn had been ripped out—bloodily, mercilessly—by Rubik, the living proof of his mistake and cowardice!
The pain was sharp, searing, real.
This "I'm sorry" was a confession for the life he had altered, for the girl he had dragged into his abyss through his own wretched weakness that night.
But before that weight could settle, another name—more deeply etched, more agonizingly branded into his very soul—tore through his barely mended defenses with unbearable guilt!
Rin!
Rin…!
The guilt toward Chino was heavy. But the betrayal of Rin—the desecration of that pure, untainted love by using another girl as a tool of escape—that was the true torture that flayed his soul alive!
Rin…
"…I'm sorry…"
This "sorry" was no longer directed at Rubik.
Not even at Chino.
It was a confession to the only light in his life, his sole salvation—Nohara Rin.
And a confession to the boy who had once loved that girl with all his heart.
Rubik watched quietly as Obito's face twisted in pain and remorse. The last sharp edges of his resentment melted away like snow in spring. He shook his head gently, his voice calm and clear, carrying the ease of settled closure:
"That's enough."
"There's no need… for you to apologize anymore."
Obito's body trembled slightly, and he looked up in confusion.
Rubik's gaze seemed to pierce through the man before him, reaching back into the distant past—to that gentle, red-haired mother.
"I know the way you ended things… was truly rotten."
His tone was flat, not accusatory—just stating a fact.
"But still, thanks to you… my mother's life was spared."
"She… was grateful to you."
Those words, like a pebble dropped into still water, stirred faint ripples in Obito's hollow heart. He stared at Rubik in disbelief.
"She… never hated you."
Rubik's voice was soft, yet carried unshakable certainty.
"In her heart, you were just that joking, wandering soul… 'Big Brother Obito.'"
Rubik withdrew his gaze, letting it settle once more on Obito. And then, almost against his will, a genuine, warm smile slowly curved across his lips.
"Because of you, I was born into this world."
His eyes softened, as though countless warm memories were flowing through them:
"I had a wonderful mother."
"I met a master who was usually unreliable—but when it truly mattered, was more dependable than anyone."
"I've experienced so many things—joyful, difficult, but all precious beyond measure."
"I found… a dream worth fighting for."
His gaze seemed to pierce through the walls—seeing the peaceful sleeping face of Tōnoki, Shion studying intently at the medical department, Karin's focused profile, Naruto sprawled out in satisfied slumber, the steady, mountain-like presence of Jiraiya's booming laughter…
His smile deepened, filled with genuine contentment:
"I even found… a home. Again."
"And it's because of you," Rubik raised his hand, lightly touching his own eyes, "that I have these eyes…"
He lowered his hand, meeting Obito's shocked, bewildered gaze, and spoke with complexity:
"Though… I still carry a resentment toward you that won't fade…"
He paused, then inclined his head slightly.
"I still… need to—and must—say this to you."
"Thank you."
"Thank you… for saving my mother."
"Even though she passed away from illness, far too early…" A flicker of sorrow passed through his eyes, quickly eclipsed by a stronger warmth. "But whether for her or for me, in all those years we lived together…"
Rubik's voice grew tender and resolute, brimming with undeniable strength:
"We were truly, deeply happy."
Finally, clearly, solemnly, he spoke the name that had been buried in time:
"Thank you, Uchiha Obito."
"…"
Obito listened in silence.
No accusations. No contempt. No furious condemnations.
Only quiet statements.
Only warm memories.
Only… genuine gratitude.
And that familiar yet foreign word—happiness.
This should have been a spring that could heal any wound.
But now, as it flowed into Obito's parched, cracked heart, it felt like molten lava!
An icy, unprecedented terror seized his heart, nearly stopping it altogether!
He's been happy all these years?
That child—born from my moment of cowardice and escape—
Was actually… happy?!
That realization, like a bolt of lightning tearing through the dark sky, shook the very foundation of his faith—the faith he had built on hatred and despair for over a decade!
Then what was everything he had done? The sins he bore? The destruction he had set in motion? The Infinite Tsukuyomi he sought… for what?!
If… in this world he saw as hell, this world he furiously denied and sought to overwrite with illusion…
If people like Rubik… people like Chino… even everything Rin had once cherished…
Could find their own real, genuine happiness…
Then—
This "dream world without pain" that he had sacrificed everything for, bet his very soul on, and was willing to drag the entire world into…
Did it even need to exist?!
For someone who had already found happiness…
Was the Infinite Tsukuyomi—that "salvation" that stole reality and drowned one in illusion—
Really… a good thing?!
The thought seeped into him like the deadliest poison, corroding every shred of his fervent belief! Overwhelming confusion and panic surged over him like icy floodwaters, drowning him completely. The faint flicker stirred by Rubik's words was instantly crushed by this earth-shattering blow.
He shot to his feet, movements stiff and jerky like a marionette! He couldn't bear to look at Rubik's face—radiant with genuine warmth and fulfillment! He couldn't bear to hear another word about "happiness!"
That was the ultimate negation of his entire reason for existing!
"…"
He opened his mouth, but found he couldn't utter a single word. His throat was clamped by an invisible iron grip! In the end, he said nothing—just cast one last, profound, fleeing glance at Rubik, as if searing that face and that declaration of happiness into the marrow of his bones—or perhaps as if trying to erase it from his very soul!
The air twisted soundlessly.
The man's form, like a pricked illusion, vanished in an instant, leaving only the untouched cup of sake on the table and the silent moonlight spilling through the window.
Rubik sat alone, gazing at the empty seat across from him, then at the cup Obito had never once touched. Finally, he lifted his own cup—equally cold by now—toward the empty chair, toward the moonlight, toward the silhouette that had fled in panic.
He raised it gently.
Then drained it in one go.