The road out of Konoha stretched ahead like a long, lazy ribbon. Trees lined both sides, the leaves whispering softly as the wind brushed through them. Birds called in the distance. It was the perfect scene for a peaceful journey.
But Uchiha Souji was not peaceful.
He was suffering.
On his back was the heavy backpack Kakashi forced him to carry. Each step made the straps dig into his shoulders, and each breath reminded him that he was a genius Uchiha being used like a pack animal.
After walking for a while, Souji finally couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Senior Kakashi! I think we should take turns carrying this backpack!"
He sped up slightly, coming closer to Kakashi's side.
"After all, when it's time to eat, we both eat from what's inside, right? So why do I have to carry everything by myself?"
It was a reasonable argument. Logical. Fair.
Kakashi, however…
Kept walking.
He didn't even turn his head.
A small smile tugged up the corner of his masked mouth.
"Hey! Hey, Senior Kakashi!" Souji called again, frowning.
No reaction.
"Senior Kakashi?"
Nothing.
"Senior Kakashi, did you hear that?!"
Still nothing.
Souji's eyebrow twitched.
He followed behind Kakashi, calling his name again and again. Finally, Kakashi came to a stop.
Souji felt a jolt of satisfaction.
He's had enough. Good. Time to negotiate.
He straightened his back, ready to push his argument further.
But Kakashi suddenly lifted one hand and cupped it behind his ear, leaning toward Souji with exaggerated effort like an old grandpa trying to hear gossip.
His visible eye widened, his mouth opened, and he made the most dramatic surprised expression.
"Ha?!"
Then he leaned even closer.
"Ah?!"
Souji froze in place.
He blinked his big Uchiha eyes, completely confused.
"What… are you doing?"
Kakashi stared at him with an exaggerated serious face.
"Sorry," he yelled, as if Souji were far away. "Lately I've been a little deaf! Hahaha!"
He threw back his head and laughed, then turned around and continued walking forward, hands in his pockets, as relaxed as ever.
Souji stood there.
Silent.
Staring at Kakashi's back.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Only then did he realize he had been completely played.
His lips trembled.
"…Good. Very good."
Inside his heart, a storm was raging.
> You wait, Kakashi. Open your grave half-way, I'll climb in myself just to haunt you. If I don't get my revenge for this, I swear I'm not human!
Souji had originally thought Kakashi was a relatively normal person. Lazy, sure. A little weird, yes. But normal.
Now he understood.
Kakashi was also sick.
A special kind of sick.
A disease called "Inherited Idiocy from Uchiha Obito."
The good things from Obito, Kakashi hadn't picked up properly.
But all the bad things—lateness, nonsense excuses, trolling people—those he practiced to perfection.
Souji sighed deeply.
"It's really genetic stupidity," he muttered.
---
And far away, in a damp underground chamber in the Land of Rain—
"Ha-CHOO!"
A masked man sneezed loudly, the sound echoing off stone walls.
Uchiha Obito rubbed at his mask, feeling itchy. The inside was damp now, fogging slightly from his breath. He calmly took the orange mask off to wipe the moisture away.
He frowned.
"Why do I feel like someone's insulting me behind my back?"
Beside him, White Zetsu yawned and stretched.
"Man, why do we even live in the Land of Rain?" White Zetsu complained. "It's always wet and cold. I feel like I'm going to get rheumatism."
He gestured vaguely.
"Look at you, you've got a cold too, right? You sneezed pretty hard."
Obito looked at him silently.
He really wanted to say:
> "You don't even have bones. How are you going to get rheumatism?"
But he was supposed to be playing the role of Uchiha Madara right now.
And Uchiha Madara did not waste time on such stupid comments.
So he didn't answer.
He put his mask back on calmly.
On the other side of the chamber, half-sunk into the ground with only a black-and-white face visible, Black Zetsu finally spoke.
"Madara," Black Zetsu said, voice slow and deep, "a genius from the Uchiha clan has left Konoha. Do you want to go take a look?"
The power of the Sharingan was always dangerous.
Too dangerous.
And that made any talented Uchiha a factor that could interfere with their plans.
That was why Black Zetsu had been quietly watching the clan's movements.
Obito touched his mask thoughtfully.
"Which one? Uchiha Itachi? Uchiha Shisui?"
Black Zetsu shook his head.
"Your information is outdated," he said. "Didn't you read the ninja intel summaries I gave you?"
Obito looked away.
Of course he hadn't.
Every day, he was busy thinking about the grand plan.
Thinking about how to betray the real Madara at the critical moment.
Thinking about how to become the final ruler of the "new world."
Reading boring intelligence reports?
Too troublesome.
Anyway, he just needed Nagato to do his part, Rinnegan to do its work, and the pieces of the plan to fall into place.
Why waste time reading about little ninja brats?
Black Zetsu continued:
"It's a boy named Uchiha Souji. Currently at the level of double tomoe Sharingan. Only seven years old. An orphan from the Uchiha clan. This time, he left the village to train."
Obito crossed his arms.
"Seven years old and already double tomoe… tch."
He didn't like the sound of that.
Black Zetsu added, "He's being escorted by… Kakashi."
The name hit Obito like a thrown kunai.
His hand clenched into a fist—
Then slowly relaxed.
He knew Kakashi was still in the village, still doing missions, still breathing, still living his life as if nothing had ever gone wrong.
Obito's voice turned cold.
"Report their route to me at all times," he said. "I'll go and see…"
His visible Sharingan glowed faintly behind the mask.
"…what kind of apprentice that fake copycat has taken."
---
Meanwhile, on the road to the Fire Country's capital—
Kakashi walked at an easy pace at the front, hands in pockets, posture relaxed, looking like a lazy traveler out for a stroll.
Uchiha Souji trudged behind him, heavy backpack on his shoulders, Third Generation Onitoru at his hip, and a very strong desire to stab someone.
At the moment, though, his attention wasn't on revenge.
It was on learning.
Kakashi was explaining.
"…Chidori is a highly concentrated Lightning Style. The user must gather a large amount of lightning chakra in the hand. Because of the speed and tunnel vision, Sharingan is usually required to predict the enemy's counterattack."
He went on, calmly describing Chidori's basic principles, drawbacks, and training process.
To anyone watching, it looked like a brilliant student listening carefully to a brilliant teacher.
But in reality?
Souji looked focused on the surface.
But inside his head?
Left ear in. Right ear out.
Because he wasn't the one really listening.
His left hand rested lightly on Third Generation Onitoru's hilt, pulling it out of the scabbard just a little. The blade wasn't fully drawn—just enough to connect more clearly.
The one truly listening…
was the sword.
Inside the steel, the demon blade spirit was paying full attention.
"I really admire how evil you are, Souji," Third Generation Onitoru thought bitterly. "I'm just a sword. Why do I have to learn ninjutsu?!"
He carved Kakashi's words into his memory anyway.
Safety guides.
Risks.
How much chakra.
What kind of lightning flow.
The angles of attack.
The timing of the dash.
All of it.
He memorized everything with terrifying clarity.
"Souji," he muttered inside, "one day, you will be punished for being such a bad person."
Souji didn't care at all.
"Where do you think we are?" he whispered back in his thoughts. "This is the ninja world. There's no such thing as a curse that actually works."
He snorted mentally.
"If curses worked, Konoha would have been wiped out a thousand times already."
Onitoru seethed.
Souji continued calmly, in a tone that sounded almost reasonable:
"Don't be so dramatic. We're partners. You have me in you, and I have you in me."
"Isn't this just like school? You do the homework, and I copy the answers."
"That's normal."
"So relax. Don't stress too much."
If the sword had eyes, they would've popped out.
"Normal? NORMAL?!" Third Generation Onitoru screamed internally. "I'm not doing your homework—you're making me take the exam for you, you bastard!"
He wanted to give his master two huge slaps.
But he had no hands.
So he did what he could.
He obeyed.
He started moving chakra.
---
Based on Kakashi's explanation, Third Generation Onitoru drew lightning chakra from within Souji's body, guiding it down through the shoulder, arm, forearm, wrist—
Until it condensed around the sword itself.
Sparks crackled lightly at first.
Then brighter.
Stronger.
More intense.
In only a short time, electricity wrapped around Third Generation Onitoru's blade, dancing back and forth like a violent storm trapped in steel.
The air hissed and crackled.
Souji grabbed the hilt more firmly with his right hand and drew the blade fully in one smooth motion.
Not because he wanted to show off.
But because if he didn't,
the sword would have flown out of the scabbard on its own like a railgun.
Lightning screeched in the air.
Zzzzt. ZZZZZZT.
White-blue currents burned the air as they surged around the blade.
The smell of ozone spread instantly.
Kakashi stopped walking and turned.
His eye widened.
He stared at Souji.
"…"
He had only been talking.
He hadn't even properly taught the hand signs.
He hadn't given any step-by-step demonstration yet.
He had only described the concept behind Chidori.
And yet—
In front of him was a seven-year-old boy holding a sword wrapped with deadly Lightning chakra.
Even if it wasn't full Chidori yet, the foundation and control were already there.
Kakashi was speechless.
He felt like vomiting blood.
"Why…?" he thought weakly.
Why is this kid like this?!
He'd met geniuses before.
But this—
This was cheating.
This was unnatural.
This was… Uchiha Souji.
---
And in that single moment, in three different places—
Kakashi realized his student was beyond common sense.
Obito made up his mind to inspect Kakashi's new apprentice.
Third Generation Onitoru swore that if there was a God of Swords, he was going to file a complaint.
And the only one who felt nothing wrong at all…
Was the boy carrying a backpack, a demon blade, a plan to invest in capital real estate—
And an attitude that could be summed up with one word:
"Why? It's normal."
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