Obito Uchiha, twelve years old today, stirred on a cold stone bed deep within the cavern.

His sleep was never peaceful anymore, just the same looping nightmare that felt less like a dream and more like a memory.

He had grown up an orphan inside the proud Uchiha clan, yet always felt like an outsider in his own home.

The others saw him as weak, too kind, too soft.

He didn’t carry himself with the arrogance the clan was known for.

In return, they treated him like a stain.

The adults whispered behind his back, and the children mocked him openly.

It wasn’t until later that Obito understood why.

He came from Kagami Uchiha’s dovish line, the branch that had most passionately supported cooperation with Konoha instead of opposition.

To most of the clan, that made him a traitor by blood.

As tensions between the village and the Uchiha unfortunately only grew, with each passing year of his life, the doves became even more suppressed, and his isolation only worsened.

Still, Obito never let it kill his spirit.

He wanted to prove himself to both his clan and his village.

His dream was simple, almost childish, to become Hokage, the first Uchiha to do so.

He said it out loud often, even when it earned him laughter.

Every insult only pushed him to train harder, even if he had to do it alone.

He wasn’t a prodigy like Kakashi Hatake, and he knew it. But that didn’t matter.

If effort counted for anything, Obito believed he could close the gap through sheer will.

And then there was Rin Nohara.

She was the one bright thing in his life, the one person who treated him like he mattered.

For her, for her smile, he wanted to be someone worth noticing.

When he finally graduated and learned he’d been placed on a team with Rin under Minato Namikaze, the rising star of Konoha, it felt like his luck had finally turned.

Minato was everything a teacher should be: kind, brilliant, and unshakably confident.

For the first time, Obito felt like he belonged somewhere.

Training alongside Minato and Rin, he found moments of happiness that almost made him forget the cold stares from his clan.

Even Kakashi’s presence, now their teammate, didn’t sting as much when they were all fighting toward the same goal.

But the war changed everything.

The Third Shinobi World War erupted, pulling even the youngest genin academy graduate into the front lines.

Obito saw it as his chance to prove himself at last, but reality crushed that optimism quickly.

The first missions were chaos, blood, screaming, and death too sudden to understand.

As months passed, something began to gnaw at him that he didn’t want to ever admit.

Minato, their protector, was appearing less and less.

The newly weakened Flying Raijin hero was stretched thin across battlefields, saving countless others while Obito’s little team was sent on missions that became more and more dangerous over time.

The man who had once encouraged him now felt like a shadow, always somewhere else, always too busy for his own team.

Obito tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter. That this was just how war worked.

That he would still become someone great, someone worth noticing.

But deep down, something small and bitter had already started to form back then, he now realised. A question he couldn’t erase.

‘If Minato really believed in us… Why didn’t he teach us how to survive more?’

Back there, he told himself it was unfair to think that way.

Minato was fighting a war, after all, not babysitting them.

When Kakashi was promoted to Jōnin and given command of their next mission, that hidden splinter twisted even deeper.

Obito congratulated him, of course, even forced a smile, but the words tasted bitter.

Kakashi hadn’t just surpassed him in rank; he had surpassed him in everything. Skill, respect, reputation. Even Rin’s attention.

And when that mission to Kannabi Bridge came, it shattered everything that was left of the old Obito.

He still remembered the smell of wet earth and blood when the rocks came down on him.

The flash of panic. Rin’s scream. Kakashi’s eyes wide with disbelief.

Then the crushing weight, the darkness closing in, and the pain fading to nothing.

He had thought that was death.

But death didn’t come.

Instead, he woke up in that cavern, here, in this same place, with half his body missing and an old man watching him from the shadows.

Madara Uchiha.

At first, Obito didn’t even believe him. The stories said Madara was long dead, a ghost of history.

But the truth had a way of forcing itself into you, especially when it saved your life.

Madara had given him new limbs, white and strange, made from something he didn’t understand at the time.

“You were lucky,” the old man had told him, his voice calm, patient, almost kind. “You were chosen.”

Chosen for what, Obito hadn’t known then.

He stayed there for weeks that turned into months, recovering and training under Madara’s watch.

His body felt different, stronger, faster, but not his.

The white tissue responded to him like muscle, but reminded him constantly that half of him no longer belonged to himself.

Madara talked often. About the world, the villages, the lies behind the idea of peace.

About the shinobi system being nothing but a cycle of betrayal.

At first, Obito resisted. He argued, clung to his hope, to his team, to Rin.

But Madara never shouted, never forced.

He only asked questions. Logical ones. Cruel ones.

“Why do you fight for people who would abandon you?””Why does peace only last until the next generation learns to hate?””Why did your teacher save the world but not you?”

The questions stayed long after Madara stopped speaking.

Then came the day everything broke.

When the White Zetsu dragged him toward the surface, saying Rin was in danger, he didn’t think.

He just ran. He burst through the soil, his new body surging with power, his mind focused on one thing — saving her.

And then he saw her.

Kakashi’s chidori buried in her chest. Rin’s eyes wide with that same smile she always gave him, right before she fell.

Everything after that was just noise. Blood. Screaming. The sky collapsing around him.

By the time he returned to the cavern, something inside him had already died.

Madara didn’t need to convince him anymore.

He didn’t need to explain the plan or the world’s cruelty. Obito understood it now perfectly.

From then on, he followed Madara.

Listened. Learned. Grew.

His Sharingan changed, twisted by grief into something far greater — and far colder.

Obito sat up from the cold slab of stone, exhaling slowly. The same nightmare again.

No, not a nightmare—memory. The rock, the blood, Rin’s eyes.

He pressed a hand to his head and rose. “Let’s go. I’m ready.”

His voice no longer trembled like a boy’s. It was steadier now, deeper, shaped by months of silence and training.

The fire that once burned in his chest had cooled into something sharper, harder.

Tobi emerged from the shadows ahead, his white form shifting like wax in the dim light.

“You sound different,” Tobi said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Maybe I am,” Obito answered.

He had spoken to no one but the Zetsu clones and the old man for months now.

The air in this underground world was thick, lifeless, and cold, yet it had become his reality.

His prison, his forge.

The scars of his new body were visible even through the gray fabric that wrapped his torso.

The old man called it a gift. Obito thought it felt more like a leash.

“Madara’s waiting,” Tobi said.

They walked down the tunnel toward the heart of the cavern where Madara’s life still clung to him through the roots of that tree.

The old man opened his eyes as they approached. “You’ve finally fully ready…” he said quietly, his voice echoing faintly in the stone. “And just in time.”

Obito nodded. 

Madara studied him for a long moment, then gestured to Tobi. “Good. From today onward, you’ll begin the next step. The world isn’t ready for Obito Uchiha. You’ll act under my name until it is.”

Obito glanced at Tobi. “You mean—”

“Yes,” Madara said. “He’ll cloak you. Alter your body, your voice, your presence. The world will see Madara Uchiha reborn, not a child barely into his teens.”

The plan was simple in principle, but precise in execution.

Tobi’s body would envelop Obito, reshaping his height, his build, and even his chakra signature.

With enough chakra control, even his voice could mimic the weight of an adult’s tone.

The result would be convincing—terrifying, even.

Obito didn’t hesitate. “I understand.”

Madara’s gaze sharpened. “No. You must do more than understand. You must become him. Think as I would. Decide as I would. Only then will the world believe.”

He leaned forward slightly, the tubes in his back pulsing. “Power alone doesn’t control the world. Belief does. You will become that belief.”

Obito met his eyes and nodded once. “Then I’ll become Madara.”

As Tobi’s white mass began to wrap around him, reshaping his frame, Obito’s chakra rippled and settled.

His breathing slowed, and when he finally spoke, his voice had changed—lower, measured, like a man twice his age.

“After Rin died,” he said quietly, “I realized everything I believed in was a lie. My village, my clan, even my dreams—they all let her die. If the world can create something like that, then it deserves to end. And if it can’t be fixed… we’ll replace it.”

Madara’s expression didn’t shift, but his eyes gleamed faintly.

“That’s the first lesson,” he said. “Pain burns away illusions. It’s the only teacher that never lies. You’ve learned faster than most.”

Obito didn’t respond. There was no need to.

Madara’s voice softened slightly. “The Eye of the Moon Plan isn’t about power. It’s about rewriting reality itself. A world without loss. Without betrayal. You saw what the old one gives. Now you’ll help me end it.”

Obito stood still, the transformation complete, the new frame tall and ominous in the flickering light.

“I’ll do it,” he said simply. “Not for power. Not for revenge. But because a world like this should never have existed.”

Madara nodded, satisfied. “Then the true work begins.”

He closed his eyes again, the tubes pulsing slower now. “My time grows short. But yours… yours is just starting.”

As the old man’s breathing deepened into silence, Obito looked down at his hands—one flesh, one white—and flexed his fingers slowly.

He didn’t flinch anymore at the feel of the grafts. He accepted them.

This was who he was now.

Obito Uchiha had died under a mountain of stone.

The man who walked out would carry a different name, a different face, and a plan to erase the world that had buried him.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep