---
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the village streets as Uchiha Obito sat on a weathered bench, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
An elderly woman passed by, pausing when she noticed his expression. She settled onto the bench beside him with the careful movements of someone well-acquainted with age.
"You look troubled, young man," she said kindly.
Obito hesitated only a moment before the words spilled out. "I can't beat him. No matter what I do, I can't beat Hanekawa."
The old woman smiled gently. "At your age, opening a two-tomoe Sharingan is already remarkable. You should be proud."
"I know." Obito sighed heavily. "But he's a genius among geniuses. I'm not even close."
"Perhaps," the woman said thoughtfully, "what you're lacking is the right teacher."
"Teacher?" Obito scratched his head. "But my Teacher is already strong. Minato Namikaze is—"
"Not an Uchiha," the woman interrupted softly. "Your talent lies in the Sharingan. He cannot guide you there."
Obito blinked, considering this. Over the past year, most of Minato's instruction had focused on chakra control and general technique. The real surge in his power had come from opening his eyes—something entirely his own doing.
"Maybe I should ask the clan leader?" he ventured uncertainly.
"Do you think he has time for you?" The woman's knowing smile suggested she already knew the answer.
"Probably not," Obito admitted. "I only see him a few times a year."
"I do know an Uchiha jonin," the woman said, reaching out to gently touch his head. "He's retired now, but his experience remains. He could help you greatly."
Obito's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Of course. Consider it my way of thanking you for helping me cross the road every day." She stood slowly. "He's recuperating at a post station about ten minutes from the village. I'll speak with him today. With your talent, he'll surely agree to teach you."
"Thank you!" Obito jumped to his feet, barely containing his excitement. Maybe this is my chance to finally catch up.
---
That evening, Obito returned home buzzing with anticipation—only to find Uchiha Fugaku waiting at his doorstep.
"Clan leader!" Obito quickly bowed.
"You performed well today," Fugaku said, his tone measured. "Congratulations on opening the two-tomoe Sharingan."
"Thank you, sir!" Obito's joy flickered as shame crept in. "Though I lost to Hanekawa..."
"Hanekawa is irrelevant," Fugaku said calmly, producing a scroll. "Before the three-tomoe Sharingan, learning additional ninjutsu is meaningless. When you reach that level, you'll understand what true power means."
He was speaking of the Mangekyō Sharingan, though Obito didn't fully grasp it yet.
"Yes, sir! I'll work harder!" Obito's confidence returned as Fugaku departed.
Tomorrow, I'll meet this mysterious teacher. Everything's finally turning around.
---
The next morning, Obito woke before dawn, too excited to sleep. After a quick breakfast, he hurried to meet the old woman.
"Good morning, Obito," she greeted warmly. "Shall we go?"
They walked beyond Konoha's gates to a modest post station nestled among the trees. The woman knocked softly.
"Come in," a weak voice called from within.
Obito's confidence wavered as they entered. The figure sitting beside the bed looked ancient—white hair, weathered face, movements that seemed fragile as paper. Yet his eyes burned with an intensity that made Obito straighten involuntarily.
"Hello, grandfather," Obito said politely.
"Outside," the old man commanded, rising with surprising steadiness.
Once in the clearing, the man's expression hardened. "Show me your best technique."
Obito formed the hand seals without hesitation. "Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique!"
A massive fireball erupted from his mouth, consuming the air with heat. He stepped back, chest puffed with pride. Among his peers, only Uchiha Shisui matched him in this jutsu.
"Sloppy," the old man said flatly.
Obito's pride shattered.
The man moved with sudden, fluid grace. His hands flew through seals, and the world erupted into inferno. A fireball ten meters high materialized—not a technique, but a sun. Grass and flowers turned to ash. The earth itself blackened.
"This..." Obito stared, speechless. "That's impossible..."
"Grandfather," he breathed, "please teach me."
"One condition," the man said coldly. "No other Uchiha learns of my existence."
"Why?"
"I dislike them." The man's tone brooked no argument. "If you cannot keep this secret, leave now."
"I can do it!" Obito said firmly. What's keeping a secret compared to defeating Hanekawa?
"Good. Come whenever you're free."
As Obito left that evening, his mind spun with possibilities. This old man's mastery of Fire Style far exceeded even Minato's. Who is he? Where did he come from?
He didn't notice the figure watching from the shadows—or the way White Zetsu melted into the earth, reporting back to the man who wore Uchiha Madara's face.
---
Hidden Cloud - Raikage's Office
The Third Raikage read the intelligence scroll with growing concern. He summoned his two most trusted advisors: Dodai, his steadfast right hand, and Mabui, the brilliant young strategist whose dark skin and white hair made her unmistakable.
"What are your thoughts?" he asked, handing the scroll to Mabui.
She read quickly, her expression darkening. As one of the few who knew Hanekawa's true identity, she understood the implications immediately.
"The better he becomes," Dodai said optimistically, "the higher he can climb for us."
"That assumes he remains loyal," Mabui countered quietly. "Hanekawa is now powerful enough to leave the Hidden Cloud entirely. With Konoha's protection, he could break any seal we placed on him."
The Raikage's jaw tightened. "Should we recall him?"
"That would waste his potential and alert Konoha," Mabui said carefully. "Instead, let him prove his loyalty. War is coming. We'll need someone of his caliber."
The Raikage nodded slowly, though doubt lingered in his eyes. In the world of shinobi, loyalty was always the most fragile commodity.