Clash of Ideals

Naruto rose from the ground.

His right arm was still dislocated, hanging crookedly at his side. Wounds covered his entire body, blood and dust mixed together, staining his signature orange outfit a dull, dark brownish-black. The Nine-Tails' Chakra had already run dry, his golden eyes dim and lifeless, his body still trembling faintly beyond his control.

But he had stood up.

He stood atop the rubble, at the edge of the massive crater, in the center of the battlefield brushed by the morning wind. Behind him stretched the vast formation of tens of thousands of Shinobi Allied Forces soldiers. Before him stood the Ten-Tails, that monstrous thing that blotted out the sky; Uchiha Madara, a legend who had lived for nearly a century; and Uchiha Obito, the man who had spent twenty years forging himself into a walking hell.

Kakashi stared at Naruto's back. That black left eye clearly reflected the figure of the seventeen-year-old boy. His right hand still gripped the Kunai engraved with the character "Obito," yet he did not raise it again.

There was no need.

Because the blond boy standing before him was the true owner of the "Obito" engraved on that Kunai—the boy who had never given up on his dream, who spouted big words, was always late, yet forever stood at the very front.

Naruto took a deep breath.

The Nine-Tails' Chakra was gone. What entered his lungs was merely ordinary air, carrying the scents of gunpowder, scorched earth, and moisture. It was somewhat choking, somewhat warm. Yet that breath entered his lungs, flowed into his blood, and seeped into every cell, like a seed falling onto parched soil, gathering strength to burst forth.

He raised his head, his gaze crossing several hundred meters to look straight at the black-and-white figure atop the Ten-Tails'