# 96 Naruto FF/ Naruto : Blazing Legend by IchigoTL

Source : Webnovel

Synopsis :

This world is indeed a mess. There are no bad guys, only people chasing their dreams. Everyone's goal is peace, but they want to achieve it in different ways.

The Hidden Villages seek peace through strength. The Akatsuki wants peace through pain. Ancient clans pursue peace through bloodline supremacy. Each believes their path is the only right one.

In this broken world, a soul from another reality must survive ninja politics, clan warfare, and approaching apocalypse. Armed with knowledge of a blood-soaked future and the power of the Sharingan, he learns that knowing the ending doesn't make changing it easier.

Every hero is someone else's villain. Every dream of peace is built on graves.

This is the Naruto world—where the greatest tragedy isn't that people fight, but that they fight for all the right reasons.

Chapter 1: Uchiha Rei

The forest canopy cast jagged shadows across the forest floor as branches whipped against his face. Rei could hear his own ragged breathing echoing in his ears, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of footsteps behind him. The weight on his back—Wada Yu, unconscious and bleeding—made every step feel like his legs were filled with lead.

"Rei... you have to hold on," he whispered to himself, though he wasn't sure if the words were meant for his unconscious teammate or himself. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth where he'd bitten his tongue. "Damn it, they're gaining on us."

The enemy chunin's presence pressed against his back like a physical weight. Rei's mind raced with tactical assessments, but they all led to the same conclusion: *We're not going to make it.*

"Where the hell is our backup?" The question came out as a desperate growl, swallowed by the indifferent rustling of leaves above.

Then the world exploded into pain and darkness.

---

Consciousness returned in fragments—the antiseptic smell of the hospital, the scratch of starched sheets against his skin, the dull ache that seemed to permeate every cell in his body. Rei's eyelids felt like they were made of concrete as he forced them open, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lights.

A bouquet of flowers sat on the bedside table, their bright colors seeming almost obscene against the sterile white of the room. But it was the memories that made him truly nauseous—not his own memories, but someone else's. Zhang Lie's memories, flooding through his consciousness like poison through his veins.

"I... I'm Uchiha Rei?" The words came out as a whisper, but they might as well have been screams for how they tore through his throat.

The impossibility of it crashed over him in waves. Time travel. Reincarnation. Whatever cosmic joke had landed him here, it felt like drowning in someone else's life while his own slipped away like water through his fingers.

This is the Naruto world. The thought should have been exciting—he'd watched the anime, after all—but instead it felt like a death sentence. Because this wasn't some colorful cartoon world of friendship and determination. This was a place where ten-year-olds died screaming in forests, where children were trained to kill before they could properly tie their shoes.

The body's memories came flooding back with surgical precision. Uchiha Rei, ten years old, orphaned, alone. The B-rank mission that had gone wrong in every possible way. His jonin sensei's final stand, buying time for his students to escape with his life. The enemy jonin's cold laughter as he cut down Rei's teammate like wheat before a scythe.

Wada Yu carried me back. The realization hit him like a physical blow. That kind, simple boy had hauled his broken body through kilometers of hostile terrain while enemy ninja hunted them like animals. And Rei—the original Rei—had been too proud, too typically Uchiha to properly appreciate what that meant.

Three broken ribs. Severe internal bleeding. Traumatic brain injury. The medical diagnosis read like a death certificate, which it should have been. Uchiha Rei had died in that forest, and Zhang Lie had taken his place like a scavenger picking through the wreckage.

"In my previous life, I was nobody." The words came out bitter, tasting of wasted years and squandered opportunities. "Just another face in the crowd, another disappointment to parents who deserved better."

But even as he wallowed in self-pity, something else stirred in his chest. Anger. Not just at his circumstances, but at the unfairness of it all. At the world that chewed up children and spat out corpses. At his own weakness, both past and present.

His reflection in the hospital window showed him the moment it happened—ordinary black eyes suddenly bleeding into crimson, the tomoe spinning lazily like drops of blood in water. The Sharingan. The Uchiha clan's gift and curse, awakened by trauma and nurtured by hatred.

Two tomoe. The realization should have been triumphant, but instead it felt like a mockery. He'd gained power through someone else's pain, evolution through inherited trauma. The Sharingan wasn't a gift—it was a scar, carved into his DNA by generations of loss and rage.

Sleep came eventually, but it brought no peace. Only dreams of forests and screaming, of metal through flesh and the wet sound of blood hitting leaves.

---

Three days later, the hospital discharged him with a handful of pills and a follow-up appointment he probably wouldn't live to keep. The walk home felt like a funeral procession—one person, no mourners, just the weight of a life that wasn't his own settling on his shoulders like a burial shroud.

The Uchiha compound sprawled before him, still proud and central to Konoha's heart. Not yet pushed to the margins like diseased tissue, not yet marked for excision. But Rei could see the cracks already forming, the subtle tensions that would eventually tear everything apart. The Uchiha police force's arrogance, the village's growing mistrust, the slow poison of isolation that would eventually consume them all.

His house—Rei's house—was a monument to abandonment. Dust coated every surface like gray snow, and the air tasted of neglect and old grief. This was where a ten-year-old boy had lived alone for months, where he'd learned to cook basic meals and wash his own clothes and pretend that being an orphan was just another part of being a ninja.

Mother died when he was three. Father died in battle last year. The timeline read like a casualty report, clinical and cold. But Rei could feel the weight of it in his chest, the way loneliness had carved itself into the original owner's bones.

As he swept dust from the floors, fragments of the anime's plot surfaced in his memory. Autumn of Konoha's thirty-eighth year. The Third Ninja War is coming. The knowledge sat in his stomach like a stone. He'd seen how that war played out in the anime—entire clans wiped out, villages burned, children turned into weapons and then discarded when they broke.

"I survived a car accident just to die in a war." The bitter laugh that escaped him sounded more like a sob. "With my current strength, I'm not even cannon fodder. I'm just... noise."

The future stretched before him like a minefield. The Third War. The Kyuubi attack. The Uchiha massacre. Akatsuki's rise. Madara's return. An endless parade of catastrophes, each one more apocalyptic than the last.

*I'll probably be dead before the massacre anyway.* The thought should have been comforting, but instead it just felt like another kind of failure.

A knock at the door interrupted his spiral into despair. Wada Yu's voice carried through the wood, warm and concerned and so achingly genuine that it made Rei's chest tight.

"Rei, are you back? I came to see you."

"Come in." The words came out steadier than he felt.

Wada Yu entered like a small mountain—eleven years old but already pushing six feet, broad and solid in a way that spoke of good genetics and better nutrition. The bag on his back bulged with suspicious shapes, and his face wore the expression of someone carrying good news and bad news in equal measure.

"Thank you." The words came out before Rei could stop them, heavy with gratitude that felt both foreign and familiar. "If it weren't for you, I'd be dead in that forest."

Wada Yu's expression shifted uncomfortably, like praise was a burden he didn't know how to carry. "We're teammates. That's what teammates do." Then his face hardened, and something ugly flickered behind his eyes. "Besides, it's those damn Cloud ninja who should be thanking their ancestors. If I ever see them again..."

"It's over," Rei interrupted, though he could feel the lie in the words. Nothing was ever over in this world. Violence just went underground, festering until it erupted again. "Sensei wouldn't want us consumed by revenge."

"Maybe not," Wada Yu said, but his hands were clenched into fists. "But I'm not going to let anyone else die because I was too weak to protect them."

The conversation felt like walking through a minefield. Rei could see the dangerous paths his friend's thoughts were taking, the way grief and guilt were curdling into something toxic. In the anime, this was how villains were born—good people broken by loss, their kindness twisted into cruelty.

But then Wada Yu's expression brightened, and he began pulling items from his bag with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. Sake that had definitely been stolen from his father's collection. Ingredients for a simple meal, probably bought with his mission pay. The practiced way they arranged everything on the table spoke of countless similar evenings, two orphans playing at being adults.

They ate and drank in relative silence, the conversation flowing around safe topics like water around stones. But eventually, the alcohol did its work, and the careful walls they'd built came tumbling down.

"I keep thinking about it," Wada Yu said, staring into his cup like it might hold answers. "The way Sensei looked when... when he told us to run. Like he'd already accepted he was going to die."

"He bought us time," Rei replied, though the words felt hollow. "That's what senseis do."

"No." Wada Yu's voice was thick with something that might have been tears or rage. "That's what *soldiers* do. We're not ninja, Rei. We're just children playing dress-up in a war zone."

The silence that followed was deafening. They drank without speaking, two kids pretending to be men while the weight of their own mortality pressed down on them like a physical thing.

Rei found himself thinking of his previous life, of classmates who'd simply stopped showing up to school one day. He'd been young then, naive enough to think they'd just transferred. Now he understood the truth—some absences were permanent, some empty chairs would never be filled again.

This is what it means to be a ninja, he realized. Not the flashy techniques or the village politics. Just... learning to live with the knowledge that everyone you care about is probably going to die.

The thought should have been terrifying. Instead, it felt like a key turning in a lock, opening a door to something dark and necessary. If this world was determined to take everything from him, then he'd make sure the price was steep.

His reflection in the window showed crimson eyes, tomoe spinning lazily in the lamplight. The Sharingan, evolved through pain and nurtured by loss.

Two tomoe, he thought. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

But it was a start.

Chapter 2: Chakra Training

The hangover hit like a kunai to the skull. Rei stumbled out of bed, his mouth tasting like he'd been chewing on leather and regret.

By noon, the pounding in his head had subsided enough for him to venture outside. The Uchiha compound sprawled around him like a monument to arrogance made manifest. Every door, every shop sign, every piece of clothing bore the clan's fan symbol like a brand of ownership. The civilians—the 'non-ninja' civilians—walked with their chins raised and shoulders squared, as if proximity to ninja blood made them warriors themselves.

It was pathetic and dangerous in equal measure.

"Look at them," Rei muttered, watching a shopkeeper haggle with a customer while the Uchiha fan on his apron seemed to do half the negotiating. "Acting like they could take on a chunin when most of them couldn't throw a kunai straight if their lives depended on it."

But that was the Uchiha way, wasn't it? Pride as a substitute for substance. Arrogance as armor against inadequacy. He could feel it in his own chest sometimes—that inherited certainty that being born with the right name made you special, that the Sharingan was proof of divine favor rather than genetic lottery.

Most of them are genin and chunin, he realized as he extended his senses, feeling for chakra signatures. Maybe a dozen jonin in the entire compound. We're not the military powerhouse we pretend to be.

The revelation should have been comforting—less competition, more opportunities for advancement. Instead, it felt like another weight settling on his shoulders. In a world where strength was the only currency that mattered, the Uchiha were living on borrowed prestige and fading reputation.

Konoha itself stretched beyond the compound like a living organism, vast and complex in ways the anime had never captured. Hundreds of thousands of people going about their daily lives, most of them blissfully unaware that children were being trained to kill in their name. The Hokage faces carved into the mountain watched over it all with stone eyes, eternal and judgmental.

If Konoha is this big, Rei thought, then the other villages...

The implications made his stomach turn. This wasn't a small-scale conflict between ninja clans. This was industrial warfare, with villages as factories and children as the primary export. The Third War wasn't going to be a series of dramatic duels and noble sacrifices—it was going to be a meat grinder that would consume everything in its path.

After a lunch that tasted like ash in his mouth, Rei made his way to the training grounds behind the Hokage Monument. The forest here was quiet, secluded—perfect for the kind of training that involved admitting just how pathetically weak he really was.

"That B-rank mission almost killed me," he said aloud, the words hanging in the air like an accusation. "What am I going to do when the real war starts? When 'anything goes' becomes the only rule that matters?"

The memory of waking up in the hospital came flooding back, along with the accidental discovery that had probably saved his life. The bathroom mirror had shown him crimson eyes with two distinct tomoe, spinning lazily like drops of blood in water. The Sharingan—evolved from trauma, strengthened by loss.

Double tomoe. Even in the Uchiha clan, that was respectable. His father had been a special jonin with the same level of development. Three tomoe meant automatic jonin status, instant respect, a voice in clan politics. The Mangekyo was a myth, a legend whispered about in the deepest archives where only the clan elders dared to look.

Taboo knowledge, Rei thought with a shiver. The kind of power that comes with prices too terrible to pay.

But two tomoe was a good start. Two tomoe meant he wasn't completely helpless.

He activated the Sharingan and immediately felt the world sharpen around him. Colors became more vivid, movements more predictable. He could see the individual leaves falling from the trees, track the path of insects through the air. It was intoxicating and terrifying—like seeing the world through the eyes of a predator.

Then the dizziness hit like a physical blow, sending him tumbling from his perch in the tree to crash face-first into the forest floor.

"Son of a—" The curse was cut off by the realization that nobody had attacked him. His chakra was simply... gone. Completely depleted by a few minutes of using his bloodline.

Pathetic. The word echoed in his mind like a death sentence. Absolutely pathetic.

He lay there for a moment, tasting dirt and humiliation in equal measure. This was what passed for an elite bloodline? This was the vaunted power of the Sharingan? He couldn't maintain it for five minutes without collapsing like a academy student on their first day.

"Everything starts somewhere," he muttered, pushing himself upright. "Even legends have to crawl before they can walk."

Chakra extraction had always been second nature to the original Rei, as automatic as breathing. But now, with Zhang Lie's memories and perspective guiding the process, something felt different. Chakra came easier, more abundant. The balance between physical and mental felt more natural, like a musician finally hearing the harmony they'd been struggling to achieve.

Is it because my soul traveled here? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. Does that mean my chkra is stronger? Or am I just more aware of the process now?

Whatever the reason, he could feel the difference. Each extraction yielded more chakra than before, came faster and with less strain. Not enough to call himself a prodigy, but enough to give him hope.

"Genius," he said with a bitter laugh. "That's what they'll call me. Another Uchiha genius, burning bright before burning out."

The training continued through the afternoon—extraction until his cells couldn't hold any more, then shuriken practice until his arms ached, then hand seals until his fingers cramped. The seal work was particularly humiliating. Three seals per second was respectable for a genin, but in a world where legends could weave six seals in the blink of an eye, it felt like moving through molasses.

Itachi Uchiha, he thought with something approaching reverence. Six seals per second when he was barely older than I am now. One-handed casting. Techniques that defied comprehension.

The future held monsters wearing the faces of children, prodigies who made the impossible look routine. If Rei wanted to survive what was coming, he'd need to become something extraordinary.

Or at least extraordinary enough not to die screaming in some nameless forest.

The physical training was a reminder of his limitations in other ways. The Uchiha had good physiques—better than average—but they weren't Senju. They didn't have the raw physical power to match their legendary rivals, the bodies that could contain chakra like living batteries.

Tsunade's Strength of a Hundred seal, he mused, remembering the technique from the anime. Storing chakra over time, releasing it when needed. That could work...

But even as the thought formed, he dismissed it. Why would one of the legendary Sannin take on an Uchiha student? Especially now, with her brother dead and her lover killed by enemy ninja. The woman who would become the greatest medical ninja in history was probably drowning in her own trauma, developing the hemophobia that would drive her from the battlefield.

The irony was bitter enough to choke on. The one person who might have the technique he needed was the one person who had every reason to hate his clan.

Grandfather killed by Madara. Brother killed in the war. Lover killed by Cloud ninja. The litany of loss read like a casualty report. Why would she help the clan that started it all?

The training session ended as the sun began to set, painting the forest in shades of gold and crimson. Rei's muscles ached, his chakra was depleted, and his hands were cramped from endless seal practice. But for the first time since waking up in this body, he felt like he'd accomplished something.

One hour of seal practice every day, he promised himself. Minimum. If I'm going to survive what's coming, I need to be faster, stronger, better.

The walk back to the Uchiha compound was quiet, filled with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from pushing physical limits. But as he approached the main intersection, something caught his eye that made him stop in his tracks.

A boy with goggles was helping an elderly woman cross the street, his movements careful and patient despite the obvious urgency in his posture. The orange jacket was unmistakable, even in the fading light.

Obito Uchiha. The name hit him like a physical blow. The boy who would become a monster. The child who would help orchestrate the Fourth War.

Rei watched as Obito finished helping the woman, accepting her grateful thanks with a bashful smile before hurrying off toward whatever training session or mission briefing awaited him. He looked so... normal. So genuinely kind, with none of the darkness that would eventually consume him.

He doesn't know, Rei thought with a mixture of pity. He has no idea what he's going to become. What he's going to lose.

For a moment, he considered approaching the other boy. They were clan members, after all, and roughly the same age. But what could he say? 'Hello, I'm from the future, and you're going to become one of history's greatest villains'?

Instead, he watched Obito disappear into the crowd, another child playing at being a warrior while the world prepared to devour him whole.

We're all just children playing dress-up, Rei thought, echoing Wada Yu's words from the night before. Pretending we understand what we're part of.

The compound felt different when he returned, charged with an energy he couldn't quite identify. Conversations stopped when he passed, eyes following him with a mixture of curiosity and calculation. Word had gotten out about his Sharingan evolution, apparently. In a clan where bloodline development was everything, a ten-year-old with double tomoe was worthy of notice.

Great, he thought sourly. More attention. Just what I need.

But as he settled into his empty house for another night alone, Rei found himself thinking not about the scrutiny or the politics, but about the boy with the goggles. About the kindness in Obito's eyes and the tragedy that awaited him.

Maybe I can change things, he thought. Maybe I can save him.

The thought was naive, he knew. Optimistic to the point of delusion. But in a world where children were weapons and wars were inevitable, sometimes naive optimism was the only alternative to complete despair.

And if he was going to survive long enough to make a difference, he had a lot of training to do.

Chapter 3: Good People

The Uchiha compound was a graveyard of dreams disguised as a thriving community. Every other house seemed to shelter an elderly person whose children had died "for the village"—a euphemism that fooled no one but somehow made the loss easier to bear. These silver-haired remnants of broken families survived on government subsidies and the thin hope that their grandchildren might succeed where their own children had failed.

Obito's grandmother was one of them.

The boy himself was a walking contradiction—barely five years old but already as tall as children twice his age, his body rushing toward a maturity his mind couldn't match. He'd started at the ninja academy early, another child processed through Konoha's educational machine, but his heart remained stubbornly innocent despite the system's best efforts to harden it.

Rei watched from across the street as Obito finished helping another elderly woman navigate the intersection, his orange jacket bright against the dreary evening. The woman's gratitude was genuine, her weathered hands patting his cheek with the kind of desperate affection reserved for other people's grandchildren. When she shuffled away, Obito's grin stretched so wide it looked painful.

"This guy," Rei muttered, shaking his head. "Nothing like the monster he's going to become."

It was a disturbing thought. The boy before him radiated pure, uncomplicated kindness—the sort that made him give away his lunch money to hungry beggars and arrive late to class because he'd stopped to help someone carry groceries. The Third Hokage himself had supposedly praised Obito's compassion, calling it proof that the Will of Fire burned bright even in Uchiha hearts.

If only you knew, Rei thought bitterly. If only you knew what that kindness is going to cost.

The original Rei had known Obito casually—they were clanmates, after all, and roughly the same age. They'd shared the awkward camaraderie of children who understood each other's circumstances without needing to discuss them.

"Brother Rei!" The younger boy jogged over, his face lit up with genuine pleasure. "Long time no see! How did your B-rank mission go?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Rei's throat constricted as memories of blood and screaming flooded back—his sensei's final stand, his teammate's death, Wada Yu carrying his broken body through hostile territory while enemies hunted them like animals.

"It failed," he said, surprised by how steady his voice sounded. "The mission failed. Our sensei... our sensei didn't make it back."

Obito's expression crumpled. "Oh. I'm sorry, Brother Rei. I didn't know."

"It's fine." The lie came easily, practiced. "It's part of being a ninja. But what about you? How's the academy treating you?"

The change in topic worked like a reset button. Obito's face brightened, and he launched into an animated description of his academic "achievements" that bore no resemblance to reality. According to him, he'd already mastered the Clone Technique and was well on his way to becoming the greatest ninja in history.

Rei listened with something approaching fascination. The boy was genuinely convinced of his own greatness, despite being dead last in every subject that mattered. His chronic lateness, his poor grades, his complete inability to grasp basic concepts—none of it seemed to dent his confidence.

He gives away his lunch money, Rei remembered. Arrives late because he's helping old ladies cross streets. The Third Hokage thinks it's admirable.

Maybe it was. Maybe pure, selfless kindness was worth more than technical skill or tactical genius. But in a world where children were weapons and mercy was a luxury few could afford, Obito's compassion felt like a death sentence waiting to be executed.

"Want to get some barbecue?" The invitation slipped out before Rei could stop it. "My treat."

Obito's eyes went wide. "Really? That's... that's amazing! You're such a good person, Brother Rei! Let me just tell grandma I won't be home for dinner!"

The boy sprinted away before Rei could respond, his excitement infectious despite everything. When he returned, he grabbed Rei's arm and practically dragged him toward the restaurant district, chattering about his favorite cuts of meat and whether they'd have enough sauce.

The barbecue place was packed with ninja celebrating successful missions, their laughter mixing with the sizzle of cooking meat and the clink of sake cups. Rei and Obito found a corner table, and the older boy watched as his companion's eyes went wide at the sight of the menu.

When was the last time someone took him out for a real meal? The thought was painful. When was the last time anyone treated him like a normal kid instead of a future weapon?

They ate in companionable silence, Obito's enthusiasm for the food making even Rei smile despite his dark thoughts. But as they prepared to leave, a question that had been building in his mind finally escaped.

"What's your dream, Obito?"

The younger boy didn't hesitate. "To become Hokage! I want to protect Rin and make everyone acknowledge me. I want to be someone who matters!"

The words hit like a curse. Rei knew where that dream would lead—to a cave-in that should have killed him, to manipulation by a madman, to the death of the very person he wanted to protect. Obito's love for Rin would become the poison that destroyed them both.

"What if you had to choose?" Rei asked, his voice carefully neutral. "Between becoming Hokage and protecting Rin. If you could only save one dream, which would it be?"

Obito's brow furrowed, confusion replacing enthusiasm. "Why would I have to choose? Can't I do both?"

You innocent fool. The thought was sad rather than angry. You beautiful, doomed fool.

"Maybe you can," Rei said with a smile that felt like broken glass. "Maybe you can choose both."

He left Obito standing there, puzzled and alone, disappearing into the shadows with the Body Flicker technique. The last thing he heard was the boy muttering to himself about not understanding the question, about wanting everything he'd dreamed of.

He doesn't know, Rei thought as he made his way home. He has no idea that some choices aren't really choices at all.

---

His parents' house felt like a mausoleum dedicated to modest ambitions. The jutsu scrolls they'd left behind were solid but unspectacular—Fire Release techniques that any chunin could master, a few basic elemental jutsu, and his father's specialty: the Body Flicker Technique.

Six scrolls total, Rei catalogued as he spread them across his floor. Fire Release: Great Fireball. Fire Release: Phoenix Flower. Lightning Release: Earth Walk. Wind Release: Great Breakthrough. Earth Release: Decapitation Technique. And Body Flicker.

His father had been a special jonin based on his mastery of that last technique, renowned for speed that could rival some of the village's elite. The irony of his death—killed by someone even faster—wasn't lost on Rei. In the ninja world, there was always someone stronger, always someone faster. Always someone ready to remind you that your best wasn't good enough.

I need to be better than my best, he decided. I need to be perfect.

The training regimen he devised was ambitious bordering on masochistic. Morning chakra refinement until his reserves were exhausted. Afternoon control exercises and physical conditioning. Evening hand seal practice until his fingers cramped. And throughout it all, the constant pressure of knowing that his current abilities wouldn't be enough to survive what was coming.

Six seals per second, he thought, remembering Itachi's legendary speed. That's the benchmark. That's what greatness looks like.

The Third Hokage managed four seals per second with one hand—an achievement that had made him legendary despite lacking any bloodline advantages. Raw skill and perfect fundamentals had carried him further than most genetic freaks ever dreamed of reaching.

That's the path, Rei realized. Not flashy techniques or inherited powers. Just perfect execution of the basics.

The plan was simple in concept, hellish in execution. But as he practiced the hand seals for the Great Fireball technique, feeling the chakra flow through the familiar patterns, he felt something that might have been hope.

A knock at his door interrupted his training. Wada Yu stood outside, looking unusually serious.

"We have a new team assignment," his friend said without preamble. "Third training ground, nine tomorrow morning. New sensei, new teammate. Don't be late."

"Got it," Rei replied. "Thanks for letting me know."

After Wada Yu left, Rei returned to his practice, but his mind was elsewhere. A new team meant new dynamics, new personalities to navigate. After losing their previous sensei, the village was giving them another chance—another adult willing to risk their life for a group of children who might not live to see their twelfth birthdays.

I hope they're not too difficult to work with, he thought, forming seals. The last thing I need is more complications.

But even as he thought it, he knew complications were inevitable. In a world where children were weapons and dreams were luxuries, every relationship was a potential tragedy waiting to unfold.

Just like Obito, still believing he could have everything he wanted.

Just like all of them, pretending they had choices when the only real choice was how they would die.