"No way in hell we let this intel leak!"
A gravelly, pissed-off snarl leaked from behind that swirling orange mask, thick with barely-contained rage.
Uchiha Obito's lone Sharingan glared daggers at the Fourth Mizukage. Those crimson pupils spun three tomoe slow, like they were trying to burn straight through the guy and laser-lock onto the "Black Flash" who just flipped his whole damn plan upside-down.
The air itself froze under his fury. Light warped around him in those telltale space-time ripples—like reality was glitching out.
Sweat dripped off Obito's chin, hitting the floor with tiny plip-plip sounds that echoed way too loud in the dead-silent room.
Beside him, Orochimaru's pet project—Otsutsuki Black Zetsu—writhed like living tar in the shadows. Its voice scraped out like ancient bark grinding together.
"Well, well… unexpected headache, huh?"
It paused, those yellow eyes flickering with a smirk it didn't bother hiding, then kept up the fake-ass polite tone.
"A slippery bastard with space-time jutsu? Total eel. But I'll sniff him out ASAP."
Under that boot-licking act, though? Black Zetsu's cold-ass thoughts were on a whole other level.
This Uchiha Madara fanboy—picked by the OG himself—thinks he's hot shit. Obsessed with his fairy-tale Eye of the Moon crap, flipping the entire Land of Water upside down over some dead chick he maybe banged. What a joke.
Zero real work, all energy wasted on petty revenge porn. Pathetic.
In Black Zetsu's thousand-plus-year chess game, Obito was just a slightly fancier pawn—handy, but replaceable AF.
Meanwhile, that "Black Flash" who just thunder-dropped into the board? That sparked a curiosity a million times deeper than Obito's little vendetta tantrum.
That blinding lightning, those eyes… they made Black Zetsu's ancient soul shiver with some freaky déjà vu.
Like a meteor just smashed its master plan. Unknown variable—danger level: nuclear.
Screw Obito's orders. Black Zetsu was already mobilizing every shadow resource to dig up this guy's dirt.
What's his link to Daddy Otsutsuki?!
Wild theories bred like roaches in its freaky brain. It'd get answers—fast, quiet, and zero of them were getting shared with the self-proclaimed "savior" next to it.
Pawns don't need to know the player's hand.
"Do it now," Obito snapped, cutting the silence like a kunai. "I don't want a whisper of this getting out."
"Heh. Chill, boss."
Black Zetsu let out a cryptic chuckle, then melted into the tree's shadow—pitch-black goo vanishing in a blink. Only a raspy echo lingered: "I'll pin his ass down soon."
Obito scowled under the mask, stared at the empty spot a beat longer, then twisted space and ghosted out.
Cold-blooded murder vibes rolled out like a net over the whole damn ninja world.
---
Konoha Village
Afternoon sun filtered through patchy clouds, gilding the bustling streets in warm gold.
Yamanaka Ino—just done slinging flowers at the family shop—stretched lazily in the doorway. Perfect timing: Haruno Sakura and Hyuga Hinata rolled up for their usual hang.
These three girls—same age, tight since that random run-in outside the Uchiha compound years back—had leveled up from cute kids to straight-up stunners.
Ino rocked a high blonde ponytail that screamed energy, sea-green eyes sparkling with zero filter. Purple short-sleeve kimono, butterfly bow—total sunshine vibe.
Sakura's bubblegum-pink crop was sharp, forehead bangs neat. Emerald eyes now carried a steel edge you'd miss if you blinked. Simple pink dress, clean and practical—she wasn't here to play dress-up.
Hinata? Soft indigo hair to her shoulders, snow-white Byakugan eyes like polished moonstone. Shy, whisper-quiet, but that Hyuga poise was royalty-level. Pale kimono, graceful AF.
But the real star? That ratty scarf clutched to her chest—like it was the damn Hope Diamond. Even in summer heat, she never let go. Edges frayed from constant hugging.
"Yo, Hinata, where we grubbin' today?" Ino leaned in, voice bright, eyes flicking to the scarf.
Sakura glanced over too—same question, same we get it look.
Hinata peeked up, pure-white eyes drifting to a familiar sign down the street. Soft voice: "Um… BBQ Q?"
First—and only—place he ever took her. Most memories of him lived there. She always slowed passing it, chasing ghost-warmth in the meat smoke.
---
Inside BBQ Q, the grill sizzled, meat perfume thick. But Ino and Sakura kept eyeballing Hinata's scarf like it was gonna sprout legs.
Years now—rain, shine, didn't matter. Hinata rolled with it like a security blanket. Ino sometimes wondered if his scent still clung to the threads. Sour pang in her chest, but… yeah, she got it.
They all knew where it came from. Couldn't not think of him.
That sun-bright little Uchiha boy…
Meat scent mixed with heavy, unspoken vibes.
They dodged the name like it was cursed—Uchiha Makoto—but it hung in the air anyway.
Deep down? All three burned with the same stubborn fire.
They trained their asses off pre-ninja academy, low-key competing, dreaming of getting strong enough to storm freakin' Kumogakure and drag his ass home.
Kid dreams, yeah—but try telling that to their hearts.
You meet someone that dazzling too young? Good luck shaking 'em. They're either your lifelong demon or the star you'll never reach.
Suddenly—window chaos.
"THIS IS YOUTH! CHARGE THE SUNSET, SASUKE!"
"YES, KAI-SENSEI! YOOOOU—"
Some green-leotard lunatic with eyebrows like caterpillars was handstand-walking down the street, dragging a blushing, black-haired pretty boy behind him.
Uchiha Sasuke—gritting teeth, face tomato-red, trying to keep up with Might Guy's psycho pace. Comedy gold.
Villagers just sidestepped like this was Tuesday. Couple shinobi chuckled, shook heads—respect, but damn.
Ino elbowed Sakura, smirking. "Ey, wide-forehead—Sasuke's kinda hot, right? Weird flex, but… ditch the ghost and shoot your shot."
Sakura side-eyed Sasuke's sharp profile—still fine AF despite the humiliation—then hmphed and flipped her hair. "That try-hard edgelord? Keep him, pig. I'm good."
"Oh please—you're still mooning over Mr. Never-Coming-Back!"
"Shut it, Ino-pig—you're just as bad!"
They bickered like always, but when eyes met? Same flicker of hope and ouch.
Waiting on a miracle that might never show.
That weird mix of rivalry and shared ache? Glue of their friendship.
Quiet beat. Ino turned to Hinata, who was delicately nibbling meat.
"Hinata—ninja academy starts soon. You in?"
Hinata set chopsticks down, nodded, arms tightening on the scarf like it whispered you got this. "Father… approved it."
Fingers traced the frayed weave—pulling courage from threads. She whispered inside: Makoto… you'd be starting too, right?
That scarf—he'd wrapped it around her himself years ago, clumsy but warm. "Next time… hand it back yourself."
So she held it. Waited. If he never comes, I'll get strong and go get him.
---
Outskirts of Kirigakure – Abandoned-ass Compound
Weeds choked the cracked paths. Crumbling walls screamed nobody's home. Musty rot and bug buzz—pure desolation.
Air rippled like heat haze. Two figures popped into existence—straight out of thin air.
Space-time whiplash faded. Feet hit uneven stone and dead grass.
Doujutsu Yakushi Nono staggered, knees buckling. Mental burnout, chakra crash, plus those nasty gashes—whole body screamed nope.
The dude? His lightning armor had dialed back from Thunder God to still scary AF. Blue arcs danced over ripped muscle like restless sprites—crackling soft but deadly.
Moonlight blurred his outline through the electric veil. Messy black hair to his jaw. Eyes—sharp, deep, like they could strip your soul bare.
Nono had just lived the Flying Thunder God—Konoha's S-rank forbidden jutsu, Fire Shadows and their inner circle only.
Plus that carbon-copy Lightning Chakra Mode—Kumo's Raikage bloodline secret.
Either one? Lifetime goal for most shinobi. Needed freak talent, elite access, and chakra pools deeper than the damn ocean.
Both? In one guy? From rival top-tier villages?
Her spy brain short-circuited. Pain? Forgotten. Danger? Whatever. She had to know.
Voice cracked, weak but shaking with awe: "You… who the hell are you?!"