The woods around the training ground were far too quiet.
Obito stood motionless, the Sharingan beneath his mask wide open.
In all his years, he had seen every kind of genius.
There were those mature beyond their years, like Kakashi, and those gentle and wise, like Minato Namikaze.
But he had never met anyone like Itachi.
An eight-year-old brat who never spoke of dreams or bonds, only fiscal budgets and the legitimate right to govern.
Was this a new required course at the Ninja Academy?
Obito felt as though his brain could not keep up.
He had prepared a whole arsenal of persuasive rhetoric, but now it all lodged in his throat. He could not get out a single word.
He even began to wonder whether something had gone wrong with the village's education system during the years he had been away from Konoha.
"Who the hell taught you?"
Obito could not help voicing his bewilderment.
Itachi spun the kunai in his hand around a fingertip, then caught it in a firm grip.
"That doesn't matter."
"What matters is that your plan is riddled with holes. It isn't remotely feasible."
"If you really are our ancestor Madara, I suggest you put together a detailed Business Plan before you come back to discuss destroying Konoha."
Obito felt a vein throbbing on his forehead.
A Business Plan?
A fucking Business Plan!
I'm here to carry out a terrorist attack, not pitch to investors!
Obito finally lost patience. He stopped going in circles with this bizarrely minded brat, stepped forward, and unleashed a surge of chakra.
The gust swept up the surrounding leaves, sending them spinning through the air.
"Shut up!"
"I don't have time for your pointless calculations!"
Obito's voice turned harsh. He no longer bothered maintaining his air of unfathomable mystery.