Even without that portion of White Zetsu's body, Uchiha Obito could no longer use Wood Release and had lost that potent Yin Release Chakra, yet he felt an utter, thorough sense of relief.
After all, how could a patchwork body compare with the one you were born with? Ever since Uchiha Madara and White Zetsu remodeled him, no matter how much stronger he'd become, that bizarre sense of foreignness had never left his mind.
Of course, now without Wood Release and having forfeited his Sharingan, Uchiha Obito's strength capped out at best at Elite Jonin—and a fairly mediocre one at that. Even with all restraints removed, he didn't dare act rashly.
He voiced no objection to Vegapunk's off-hand suggestion to chat, simply settling quietly into a nearby chair.
"And the lady? She's not here?"
"You mean Hancock? She's studying Black Zetsu. Last time she accidentally 'studied' the previous Black Zetsu out of existence, so this time she wants a better look at how Black Zetsu is actually born."
Study Black Zetsu?! Obito felt gooseflesh crawl across his skin. How do you study something like that—and even 'study' it out of existence?
Wait—no, the real question was, isn't Black Zetsu one of a kind? What does she mean by "the previous Black Zetsu"?
"I can see you're full of questions," Vegapunk said calmly. Obito pressed his lips together; the man's unfathomable air grated on him.
In truth, Vegapunk was merely speaking normally. The crushing defeat had left Obito hypersensitive, imagining condescension in the scientist's tone the way he himself once looked down on others.
"I do have plenty. But do they matter anymore?"
Obito spoke flatly, the picture of resignation. Deprived of his Kamui Mangekyo, of Black Zetsu and Tobi's support, the Infinite Tsukuyomi Plan had become a mirage. He'd even grown world-weary; nothing seemed worth asking.
"Giving up, huh…"
Vegapunk shook his head. "Fine, then. I won't keep you. Do whatever you like."
Obito blinked, completely wrong-footed, words stuck in his throat.
Seeing Vegapunk so utterly indifferent stoked a spark of anger. Since awakening his Mangekyo Sharingan, when had anyone treated him like this?
Whether it was the god-eyed Nagato, his teacher the Hokage, or the former Mizukage of Kirigakure, all had faced him with dread or as if confronting a mortal foe. Now he was being flicked away like an ant—an insult to his pride.
"Aren't you curious why I came looking for you?"
After a long silence he finally spoke. Vegapunk merely shrugged: "Sorry, I already know."
He tapped a helmet on the table. "Memory reader. Put it on and in thirty minutes it flawlessly copies every memory since birth. You were unconscious for three hours."
"So what's left to ask? Your Infinite Tsukuyomi Plan? Your original goal of subjugating me? How White Zetsu is manufactured?"
"How you impersonated Uchiha Madara, turned Kirigakure into the bloody mist, murdered your teacher and his wife, and duped Nagato's Akatsuki comrades?"
Obito's face looked as if he'd bitten into excrement. He felt skinned alive, every secret exposed. Shame, fury, hatred surged; he roared, "Enough!"
"What? You did all this—wearing nothing but a swirl mask. Are you saying you won't even own up to your own deeds?"
Vegapunk folded his arms. "Or do you, deep down, agree your actions stink? That the Infinite Tsukuyomi Plan is garbage?"
"Rubbish! Everything I did was for real peace! The Infinite Tsukuyomi Plan is the path to true peace!"
Obito sprang up, bristling, shouting at the top of his lungs.
Had he truly, utterly believed in the plan, he could never have been redeemed.
In the entire Naruto World only Uchiha Madara was the sort to charge the wall head-on without ever turning back. Obito wasn't that far gone; doubt and hesitation had gnawed at him all along.
But he'd invested too much to retreat. He could only press the Infinite Tsukuyomi Plan forward—until victory or defeat.
Clinging to the plan let him call past atrocities "necessary sacrifices." Abandon it and the guilt would crash down and crush him in an instant.
His very outburst proved it. Absolute confidence would have kept him calm; only inner turmoil made him explode.
"Suit yourself. I don't pretend to follow your logic," Vegapunk said, producing an orange swirl mask. "This is how you passed yourself off as Uchiha Madara?"
"What are you planning?" Seeing the twin of his old mask, Obito tensed. Was Vegapunk going to impersonate Madara and seize Akatsuki?
Vegapunk chuckled. "So you've guessed a bit of what I'm thinking."
"Dream on! You've seen my memories—you know what price transplanting a Mangekyo Sharingan demands. Uchiha Madara's identity isn't so easily faked!"
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