In Konoha, sunlight filtered through the neatly arranged rooftops, casting mottled shadows across the ancient streets of the Uchiha Clan Compound. Shops lined the roadside in orderly rows, and the occasional breeze stirred up a little dust. Uchiha Obito wore his indignation plainly on his face as he walked, kicking stones along the roadside and muttering, "Why does that guy Kakashi get to lead a team? How am I any worse than him? I refuse to accept this!" At the thought, his fists clenched involuntarily, his knuckles cracking under the pressure. His face was full of resentment.
But when he pictured himself being assigned to a team with Lin, the corners of Obito's mouth lifted, and he couldn't help grinning to himself. His cheeks quickly flushed red, like a ripe persimmon. The blush looked rather playful against his spirited face, as if his anger from moments ago had never existed. Now, he was imagining the missions he would go on with Lin, his eyes full of longing.
"Obito, you're wandering off again!" An old but kindly voice drifted from behind him, carrying the helplessness reserved for mischievous children. At the sound, Obito whipped around on instinct. Grandma was trembling as she leaned against the doorframe. In the sunlight, her frail figure looked especially thin, as though a gust of wind might blow her over.
Seeing this, Obito immediately wiped the smile from his face and hurried over, gently supporting Grandma by the arm. His voice softened. "Grandma, I'm back now. Don't worry." Grandma gazed at Obito with deep affection, then raised her rough hand and lovingly stroked his hair. Her palm held the warmth of all the years behind her. She said softly, "Oh, you're always so reckless. You can't act like that on the battlefield. You need to listen to your captain, understand? If you get hurt because you're rash, how heartbroken would I be?"
Obito listened obediently and nodded. Feeling the warmth of Grandma's palm, his heart grew warm, and a rush of affection welled up inside him. Looking at her deeply wrinkled yet beloved face, he secretly vowed to become a shinobi she could be proud of.
Just then, Haotian, Meihui, and Might Guy happened to pass by Obito's house. Sunlight outlined their figures. Haotian saw the tender scene between Obito and Grandma and smiled faintly. Then he signaled to Meihui and Guy. The three understood each other without a word, quietened their steps to avoid disturbing this moment of warmth, and slipped away.
But just as they turned around, an unexpected change suddenly occurred! Grandma, who had looked so kind moments before, began to twist grotesquely, her body melting like wax. Then white material started peeling away from her, slithering like slick snakes as it wriggled into the ground and vanished in the blink of an eye.
"Zetsu, well done." A low voice, as if rising from underground, drifted through the air with a chilling hint of laughter. The sound sent shivers down one's spine. As soon as it spoke, a white humanoid creature slowly emerged from the ground. It bowed its head respectfully and replied, "Lord Madara, everything is going according to your plan."
"Hmm..." The voice of the one called Lord Madara held a note of amusement, as though he were considering something. "This Uchiha Obito is quite interesting..." White Zetsu heard this and raised his head slightly, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "But, Lord Madara, he doesn't seem to have shown any particular strength..." Madara's eerie green eyes glinted as the corners of his mouth curled into a cold smile. "Strength? Hah. That can be guided... especially in someone consumed by hatred..." As he spoke, he slowly raised his right hand. Black Chakra danced at his fingertips like a venomous snake about to strike, its forked tongue flickering as it gave off a dangerous aura. "Now, all we need is to add a little fuel to the fire..."
At that moment, Madara stood in a dark underground cavern. Dampness hung in the air, and the stench of earth lingered everywhere. Water trickled down the uneven rock walls, dripping with a monotonous, unnerving rhythm, like a countdown to death. Madara's emerald-green eyes gleamed coldly as he slowly raised both hands and began forming Hand Seals. He chanted under his breath, his low incantation echoing through the cavern like a whisper from the depths of hell, full of mysterious and sinister power.
"Ninja Art: Demonic Statue of the Outer Path!" At Madara's low shout, a cloud of white smoke quickly billowed upward. As the smoke gradually cleared, a hunched figure appeared before him. It was an old man almost identical to Madara, with skin as dry as bark, sparse white hair drooping limply over his shoulders, and cloudy eyes that seemed utterly lifeless. Yet those eyes still gleamed with a chilling green light, as if they could see through everything.
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