Chapter Fifty-Six: The Terrible Mistake
Where am I again?
The darkness stretched infinitely in every direction—whoooosh, silence, whoooosh—an endless void that seemed to breathe despite having no lungs. Obito's eyes scanned the nothingness, his body feeling simultaneously present and completely absent. Wait a minute. Isn't this the black void I entered inside his heart last time?
His memories flickered back to that first encounter—the suffocating pressure, the chains that weren't chains, the feeling of being trapped in something far larger than himself. But this time was different. This time, the pressure was gone. The suffocation had vanished. He floated in the darkness like a feather in still air, weightless and strangely... peaceful.
Why am I here? Where is that person who looks like me?
Obito turned slowly, his movements creating ripples in the nothing—shimmer, ripple, fade—but no response came. No figure emerging from the shadows with that knowing smile. No cryptic words about worlds and losses and becoming stronger.
Isn't he usually here? Laughing while starting to tell me some mysterious things?
The realization crept over him like cold water rising: he was alone in this place. Completely, utterly alone.
Fine. If he won't come to me, I'll explore.
Obito pushed himself forward, his body moving through the void with an ease that felt unnatural. But no matter how far he traveled—whoosh, drift, whoosh—the scenery never changed. Black upon black upon black. No light. No sound. No energy. Just an empty space devoid of everything.
This place is filled with strange darkness. The energy here doesn't exist. It's just a black place empty of anything.
He paused, testing his breathing. Or rather, testing the absence of breathing. His chest didn't rise. His lungs didn't expand. And yet, he felt no panic, no suffocation, no desperate need for air. Quite the opposite—inhale, hold, exhale—he felt at the peak of calm. Maximum tranquility. The feeling that had come when he first entered this place—that suffocating, prison-like sensation—had completely disappeared.
This place has become much like what that person who looks like me said. "Is this really my world? Or as he said, our world? Me and him."
The words echoed in his memory, cryptic and frustrating.
But what did he mean by that? Back then, I couldn't understand anything. He said something about me needing to lose. What exactly do I need to lose to become stronger?
Obito's thoughts drifted to the past seven months—the training, the mastery, the relentless pursuit of power. He had reached first-grade sorcerer strength. The achievement should have felt satisfying. Instead, it felt hollow.
I've become certain that I can't become stronger through normal methods. Even if I use my abilities and future knowledge to gain advantages, it's impossible. Because I can't protect that information. If anyone discovers I know too much about the future, it won't be difficult for them to send some sorcerers or cursed users to catch me and interrogate me before simply killing me.
His body trembled at the thought—shiver, shake, rattle—a cold dread seeping into his bones despite the void's strange peace.
And I definitely won't allow that to happen.
Suddenly—hmmmmmm, whisper, hmmmmmm—sounds began emanating from somewhere in the void. Soft at first, like distant conversations through water, then growing gradually clearer. Obito's head snapped toward the source, his eyes searching the darkness.
What's happening?
He called out into the emptiness. He asked the void to bring his double forward. He demanded answers from the nothing. But no one came. No response arrived. The sounds continued their gradual crescendo—hmmmm, hisss, hmmmm—before stopping completely.
And then he saw it.
A sphere of black energy hung in the center of this black space. Dark void sphere against dark void background. And yet, somehow, Obito could distinguish it from everything else. His eyes locked onto it—stare, focus, lock—unable to look away.
"What the hell are you?" Obito asked the sphere, waiting for an answer.
You idiot. You're waiting for an answer from something in this empty, black place.
But no answer came.
He asked more questions. What is this place? How did I get here? Is this really my consciousness? Why didn't the person who looks like me appear? Each question was met with silence from the floating sphere—drift, spin, float—as it hovered in the void like a lazy balloon.
Finally, after what felt like both seconds and eternities, Obito grew tired of staring.
At first I was curious, but I realize now it's useless. I'm sure this sphere is just an empty thing. I shouldn't waste my time watching it like it's some anime.
"What's happening?"
His body felt strange. The space around him began contracting—shhhhhhrink, squeeze, press—slowly at first, then faster. The darkness compressed. The peace shattered. The void became small, smaller, smallest—
What's happening? Did I do something wrong?
Then the sound came.
BRRRRRRRING.
A bell. No—an alarm. Loud, insistent, unending—BRRRRING, BRRRRING, BRRRRING—tearing through the void like light through shadows. Obito's eyes shot open—WIDE, blink, WIDE—and suddenly he was staring at a ceiling.
A familiar ceiling.
His ceiling.
GASP—
Air flooded his lungs as he sat up so fast his spine popped—crack—his head whipping toward the source of the noise. The alarm clock on his nightstand screamed at him—BRRRRING, BRRRRING—its red display mocking him with the numbers 4:00 AM.
4:00 AM. Of course. Of course.
Sweat covered his body like a second skin—drip, slide, drip—soaking through his sleeping clothes and plastering his hair to his forehead. His breathing came in ragged gasps—hah, huh, hah, huh—each inhale feeling like his first.
He grabbed the water bottle beside his bed—grab, squeeze, lift—and drank. And drank. And drank. The water disappeared in seconds—gulp, gulp, gulp, gulp—until the bottle was empty and he could finally breathe normally.
Haaaaaaaah.
"What the hell is happening to me?" Obito whispered to the empty room, his voice hoarse and rough. "Why did I suddenly start going to that place? What does this mean? I need to figure out the meaning of this."
The truth is, these dreams have been appearing to me gradually. I don't realize it when I'm in that place—which seems to be my inner consciousness—but when I wake up, I can remember that I've entered that place multiple times. Every time I sleep during breaks. And it seems I've managed to find a way to wake up—any disturbance from the real world can bring me back.
He stopped the alarm—click—and sat in the darkness for a long moment, his mind racing through possibilities, implications, meanings. None of them made sense. All of them made him uncomfortable.
Shower. I need a shower.
The water was cold—hssssss, splash, drip—exactly as he needed it to be. It washed away the sweat, the fear, the lingering traces of that void. By the time he stepped out—drip, step, drip—and pulled on his Jujutsu High uniform—shhhhk, snap, adjust—he had pushed the dream to the back of his mind.
Training. Focus on training.
The training ground was empty at this hour, as expected. The sun hadn't even thought about rising yet—darkness still claimed the sky, punctured only by distant stars that winked at him like they knew secrets he didn't. Obito took his position and began his warm-up—punch, swish, punch, swish, punch—throwing combinations at empty air, his fists cutting through the pre-dawn chill.
Left jab. Right cross. Left hook. Right uppercut. Left jab. Right cross—
Footsteps.
Pad, pad, pad, stop.
Obito didn't turn around. He continued his routine—punch, swish, punch—tracking the sounds behind him. The footsteps had stopped several minutes ago. Whoever it was, they were just standing there. Watching.
Watching me train. In the dark. At 4:30 AM. Great. Fantastic. Just what I needed.
He continued for ten more minutes—punch, swish, thump, punch—throwing combinations in different directions, working up a light sweat, pretending the presence behind him didn't exist. Finally, the voice came—and it was exactly the voice he didn't want to hear.
"Well, well, well." The tone dripped with arrogance like honey from a spoiled comb. "Look who's training in the early morning. Isn't this my little piece of garbage?"
Obito's body froze completely—still, frozen, STOP—every muscle locking into place. His mind screamed at him. How could you be so stupid? How could you not recognize those footsteps? Those arrogant, heavy, deliberately loud footsteps that belong to only one person in this entire world?
Without thinking—or rather, with too much thinking—Obito dropped to his knees. His forehead touched the ground—thud—in a perfect kneeling bow. His eyes fixed on the dirt beneath him.
Don't look up. Don't make eye contact. Don't give him any excuse.
The footsteps approached—thud, thud, thud—each one deliberate, measured, designed to intimidate. They stopped directly in front of him. Obito could see the tips of expensive shoes inches from his face.
"You look much stronger." Naoya Zenin's voice carried a note of genuine curiosity beneath the mockery. "Are you sure you're that same little piece of garbage?"
He sounds like he's wondering if he's seeing someone else. But at the same time, he's sure he's talking to the person he knows. It's strange. That's clear in his voice.
But one thing hadn't changed. Naoya was looking down at the person kneeling on the ground—who was Obito—with that same mocking expression. That same contempt. That same absolute certainty of his own superiority.
I don't say anything. I stay quiet and listen to his mocking words.
Naoya talked for what felt like half a minute—strange, cryptic things about Obito, about training, about strength—before finally saying something that forced Obito to raise his head.
"Listen carefully, you little piece of garbage." Naoya's eyes gleamed with something that might have been excitement or might have been malice. "You're coming with me on a mission. We need to find that bitch who interrupted me during my glorious mission execution."
What?
Obito's mind raced, trying to connect the words to his knowledge, to his understanding of events, to the future he thought he knew. Nothing fit. Nothing made sense.
What is he talking about? Who interrupted him? What mission?
Naoya didn't seem interested in explaining further. He turned—swish—and gestured with his hand for Obito to follow. Obito rose to his feet in a single motion—whoosh, stand—but didn't move immediately. He stood there for a second, two seconds, three—
I follow him. I walk behind him and look at his back quietly without him noticing.
Naoya walked ahead, completely unconcerned. It didn't seem to occur to him that the person behind him might attack from behind. Why would it? In Naoya's world, garbage didn't attack royalty. Garbage stayed garbage.
But deep inside Obito, one thought screamed louder than all others:
Kill him. Just kill him now. Just kill him.
His muscles tensed. His hands curled into fists. The distance between them was nothing—five feet, four feet, three feet—he could close it in a heartbeat. One punch. One cursed technique. One moment of violence and Naoya Zenin would be—
Don't do that. You'll expose yourself to danger.
The logical voice cut through the red haze. Obito closed his eyes for a moment—blink, squeeze, open—and took a deep breath—inhale, hold, exhale—releasing it quietly so Naoya wouldn't notice.
Yes. I can't kill him. If I do that, I'll expose myself to danger. He'll die—but that will happen in the future. I just need to figure out the reason for this mission, which apparently involves Naoya.
Of course, I haven't gotten information from Naobito about why the Zenin didn't arrive during Geto Suguru's attack. And I have no way to contact him. Yes, I have his number, but I'm not crazy enough to call and ask for information or try to confront the head of the Zenin clan—even if I'm angry. And I definitely need that information. So no. I don't know anything. I don't know why Naoya came.
They reached the outside where a car waited—sleek, black, expensive, exactly the kind of vehicle Naoya Zenin would ride in. Obito paused at the academy gates, a pang of disappointment hitting him.
I've been at Kyoto Academy for less than a day before leaving. Honestly, that makes me a little sad. I wanted to gain some knowledge or information about barriers from the books here—especially if I could copy and memorize them using the Sharingan. Unfortunately, I'll have to postpone this to another day.
Naoya opened the car door and slid inside without looking back. Obito followed—slide, thump, door click—settling into the seat across from the man who made his blood boil.
Then, without any warning, Naoya Zenin threw a file at him.
Whoosh—thump.
It landed in Obito's lap like a dog treat thrown to a pet. Obito caught it automatically—grab—his fingers curling around the edges with practiced obedience. Inside, his mind was screaming again. He threw it like he's feeding a dog. Like I'm an animal waiting for scraps. Like I'm—
You'll kill him. But not now.
Even the logical side of his brain wasn't being nice to the Zenin clan head's son anymore. But that didn't matter right now. What mattered was the mysterious file in his hands.
Obito opened it—shhhhhhk, rustle, crinkle—and started reading.
For ten minutes, he read.
His eyes widened—wider, WIDER, MAXIMUM WIDTH—as the information sank into his brain like poison into a wound. All his previous conclusions about why the Zenin clan didn't come—they abandoned the battle, they had problems, they had to defend something else during the attack that hit all areas of Japan—evaporated like morning mist.
None of that was correct.
Because the truth was far, far worse.
Naobito had sent a group of Zenin elites, plus Naoya, to the battlefield at Tokyo Academy. But someone had intercepted them. And the information about that someone—the description, the abilities, the everything—was something Obito could recognize with sickening ease.
A woman with white hair and pale skin. Carrying a fan. Wearing traditional Japanese clothing that women wear at festivals. Additionally, she had a technique that allowed her to control and release cold, ice, and heat.
This information wasn't strange. It was specific to someone Obito knew from the original story.
Uraume.
Isn that Ryomen Sukuna's servant? That bitch is with Kenjaku?
This means all my thoughts were correct. The person who interrupted during Geto's attack and fired that fire sphere at me wasn't just anyone—it was Jogo. The volcano curse. Special grade. Capable of releasing flames without me noticing.
No one in the car noticed Obito's sudden trembling—shake, shiver, rattle—because no one was paying attention to him. Why would they? He was just garbage. Just a dog. Just—
Stop.
The trembling stopped. His eyes became sharper—FOCUS, SHARPEN, LOCK—and for a moment, it looked like he'd activated the Sharingan. The red flickered across his irises for less than a second before he took another deep breath—inhale, hold, exhale—calming his racing thoughts.
If that's true, this means Geto—his body, or maybe something else happened. In the end, there were two possibilities. First: his body was taken by Kenjaku. Second: he joined Kenjaku.
The first would return us to the original story. The second would make the story disappear from what it originally was.
His thoughts darkened further.
If it's the second, then I'll have to worry about one person. But if it's the second, I'll have to worry about two people. Both hate humans. One is a mad genius. The other is a terrorist who wants to eliminate humanity. Each one is more dangerous than the other. If they work together, it will be a catastrophe.
Obito's fist clenched around the file—squeeze, crinkle, CRUSH—the paper bending under his grip.
Worst of all... all of this was my fault.
If I hadn't existed, Geto might not have survived. He might have died like in the original story. But maybe my existence caused him to stay alive. I—I accidentally made a despicable person remain in the original story. And even that person wasn't ordinary—he was dangerous to the highest degree.
Stop. Stop the dark thinking. Be more strategic.
No need to think about these things. Since he managed to survive, maybe his body was taken. But I'm sure that didn't happen. The reason Kenjaku intervened—unlike the main story—is that he definitely noticed I wanted to kill Geto during the confrontation. And I came very close to achieving that goal. But he certainly wasn't going to allow me to do that—especially with the body he needed. So he saved him.
The points started connecting in his head, forming a terrifying analysis—even if he wasn't a genius.
Geto—he was suicidal in that last attack. He didn't seem to care that he was dropping a bomb big enough to kill us. That means he had reached the best kind of pure despair and blind rage. And someone like him, with that much power, lost to two people younger and less trained than him—after his desire was to kill all humans. Certainly, if he survived, his highest desire would be revenge and eliminating humans with even more hatred.
The answer was forming in his mind.
Kenjaku certainly won't throw away this opportunity. Maybe in the past, Geto was arrogant, but with his loss, he'll certainly feel the highest degree of despair. And an expert like the mind that managed to survive for 1000 years will easily control a desperate person like Geto Suguru.
No one in the moving car—vroom, bump, swish—could see Obito's face turn pale—white, whiter, ghost-white—as he realized what he'd done. He had changed the story. Incredibly. Terribly. Catastrophically.
Maybe the ending that would have happened—even after the disaster that will occur in Shibuya—might turn into a higher massacre with greater kill ratios. Especially with Geto Suguru in Kenjaku's group. That mad genius's team will increase in strength many times over. It might be much worse than what happened in the original manga.
Damn it. I definitely did something really stupid. I was an idiot to back away. Even if I was going to burn, I should have hit that man in the head and destroyed his entire body in one blow. Damn it. I shouldn't have backed away.
Excellent. There's no chance to go back. I truly failed, and I didn't think that man would react that quickly. But in the end, I was wrong. I'm not a genius, and now that's been proven.
All the plans he'd made in six months—poof—useless children's games. Everything he'd accomplished—training, techniques, growth—meaningless in the face of this realization. The help he'd tried to get from the Zenin clan to eliminate Geto Suguru? Stopped easily by that mind working in the shadows.
And now I might have made the future situation many times harder than it already was.
But there's still one solution.
I have to become stronger.
This is the only way I can survive the stupid mistake I committed.
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END OF CHAPTER
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Sorry for the delay in uploading the chapter, friends. There was a problem with my internet connection, so I couldn't upload it quickly.Anyway, thank you, my friend, for my idea, Susanoo. I want to tell you that this idea is truly, as I always said, you steal it from my ideas. You possess a special mental power.You're right, Susanoo is similar to the Violet Technique, the ultimate attack of the Kamui technique.This is how I envision Susanoo in the future.