A Surprised Obito

Are these "divine artifacts" pure chakra constructs? Gen pondered, sifting through the system's intel. Did Itachi just integrate pre-existing ones into his Susano'o?

The theory held weight. Both Orochimaru and Black Zetsu had instantly recognized the Totsuka Blade and Yata Mirror during Itachi's battles. Their knowledge implied these weapons weren't Uchiha inventions, but legendary relics with established histories across the shinobi world.

So why did Itachi possess them? Gen's eyes narrowed. Either freakishly lucky... or the Uchiha clan hoarded their secrets.

The implications sent a thrill through him. He cared little for the artifacts themselves. But if their origins tied back to Indra... or even the Sage of Six Paths himself...

Chakra-based weapons retain their creators' essence. Gen's Ōtsutsuki bloodline stirred with avarice. That residual power... could accelerate my awakening. Especially traces from Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki. The ultimate shortcut.

"And now," Gen murmured, a predatory glint in his eyes as he pictured Itachi reporting the failed mission, "thanks for the free advertisement, Uchiha Itachi." He chuckled softly. "What a helpful guy."

Deep Forest - Akatsuki Retreat

"The brat's lightning..." Kisame grimaced, flexing his still-numb arm as they moved through the trees. "Never felt anything like it."

He spat, a mix of blood and frustration. "Underestimated him. No intel... that stings."

Itachi remained silent, his pace steady but face pale from Tsukuyomi's backlash.

"Let's regroup," Kisame finally grunted. "Mission's busted. Blame it on running into the Copy Ninja and his freak student."

Itachi merely nodded, his Sharingan concealed but mind churning. That purple lightning... its resonance disrupted Tsukuyomi's fabric. Unprecedented. And dangerous.

Wave Country - Return Journey

"Worst. Payday. Ever." Gen grumbled, half-supporting a still-wobbly Kakashi. The B-rank fee felt like pocket change after tangling with Akatsuki.

They'd officially terminated the mission—"enemy strength exceeding contract parameters"—and were limping back toward Wave's main port. Kakashi, though less catatonic than in Gen's memories (courtesy of Itachi's subtle restraint), was clearly running on fumes.

"Expected complications..." Kakashi rasped, pushing sweaty silver hair from his visible eye. "...Not that complication. Itachi's eyes... truly monstrous."

"Guy-sensei said the same about yours," Gen offered lightly. "That's why he trained to fight blindfolded—predicting movement, not sight. Maybe you should try it?"

Kakashi huffed. Typical Guy. Yet the idea held merit. Surviving Tsukuyomi had sparked something else too—a faint, unfamiliar stirring behind his own Sharingan lid.

He pushed it aside, focusing on the walking anomaly beside him. "That lightning technique, Gen. How?"

Gen shrugged, summoning a flicker of violet energy that danced erratically over his palm before shaping into a short, crackling blade. "Told you my theory. But during the fight... it just clicked. Like instinct overriding logic."

Kakashi stared, dumbfounded. The raw power was palpable, unstable arcs spitting like angry sparks. He manifested this... mid-combat? On his first attempt?

"Extreme stress..." Kakashi finally managed, voice thick with disbelief and reluctant awe, "...can unlock hidden potential. You got... phenomenally lucky. And phenomenally gifted." He met Gen's eyes. "Your affinity for Lightning Release... might surpass mine."

"Eh?"

A voice boomed from above. "Surpass Kakashi? Now that's news! And Kakashi looking like warmed-over death? Even rarer!"

They looked up. Perched on a thick branch, white hair cascading dramatically, a grinning man with a "oil" kanji headband peered down.

Jiraiya of the Sannin.

Relief washed over both.

---

Land of Water - Mizukage's Office (Disguised)

"Progress crawls. Manpower dwindles."

The masked figure known as "Madara Uchiha" paced the dimly lit Mizukage's office. Mist's rebellion simmered, a nuisance he ignored. His true focus was Akatsuki's glacial growth.

And Nagato... The thought was a sour taste. Constantly feeding chakra to the withered Gedo Statue—how much had the real Madara drained from it?

"When..." Obito muttered, the mask muffling his voice but not his impatience, "...will that world manifest?"

A patch of the stone floor bulged, sprouting a swirling, black-and-white Venus flytrap head.

"Obito~" Zetsu's dual-toned voice chirped. "Got some juicy intel!"

The masked figure whirled. "I am Uchiha Madara!" he snarled, the Sharingan flaring crimson behind the eyehole. "Remember your place, Zetsu."