[AUTHOR NOTE: I emailed patreon again on Sunday for my data after not getting any answers from them. A guy from their support team emailed me saying my patreon account is back(I shared screenshot on discord). He gave me my account back. The problem was with the woman that reviewed my account first time and also the one that reported my account(I still don't know who?). Thanks for the support guys. My friends say that people on webnovel are toxic but I have gotten much support from here and wattpad too. I gave patreon members one month gift membership because they weren't able to access it during my account ban. If I forgot someone. Message me on patreon. Have a good day guys.]
"Is it Rin? Is it really her?"
Obito asked, his voice trembling with hope.
"That's right," White Zetsu nodded, his flytrap-like extension bobbing. "Rin Nohara."
"Yes!"
Obito's face lit up. It was like he had won the lottery.
"Tell me! Is she okay? What is she doing?"
"Well," Zetsu drawled, enjoying the game. "After the mission, they returned to camp. She went into her tent... alone... with another male comrade. To 'study' Medical Ninjutsu."
"Kakashi?"
Obito frowned slightly.
If it was Kakashi, he could accept it. Kakashi promised to protect her.
'As long as I return, things will go back to normal.'
"No," Zetsu grinned. "It was the one named... Kiyohara."
"Kiyohara?!"
Obito shouted, struggling against his restraints.
'Him?!'
He remembered Kiyohara touching Rin's hand during the mission. He remembered Kiyohara's handsome face.
'Is that really how you learn Medical Ninjutsu? Alone? At night?'
"I must go back!"
Obito slammed his good hand against the rock wall.
Crack.
Pain shot through his right side. The stitched flesh tore. The Gedo Statue's tubes pulsed. He collapsed, gasping.
"What difference does it make?"
Madara Uchiha opened his eyes. The scarlet Three-Tomoe Sharingan pierced the gloom.
"In the time since you died, the world has moved on. The living inevitably replace the dead."
"Just as Hashirama had Mito Uzumaki," Madara murmured to himself.
"Replace me? Impossible!"
Obito shook his head violently. Shadows cast by the bandages obscured his expression.
"Rin said she would watch over me! She's waiting for me!"
"Waiting?"
Madara's voice was dry as dust.
"According to Zetsu, this Kiyohara is talented. He is strong. And unlike you, he is there."
"A young man and a young woman. Alone in a tent. In the middle of a war where tomorrow isn't promised."
Madara let the implication hang in the air.
"Sparks fly easily in the dark, Obito."
"You're lying!"
Obito screamed.
"Rin isn't like that! And Kiyohara... he's just a commoner! I am an Uchiha!"
He tried to stand. He tried to force his chakra to obey.
But his new body failed him. He collapsed face-first into the dirt, powerless.
Madara watched him with cold satisfaction.
Suspicion. Jealousy. Resentment.
These were the nutrients for the Curse of Hatred.
'That's right. Fall into despair. When you realize this world is hell, you will be mine.'
Early the next morning.
Kiyohara left the base and headed to the nearby transit town.
It was a hub for the front lines—busy, muddy, and full of shops catering to ninja needs.
He found a smithy. The owner was a middle-aged man with rough hands and a monocle—a true craftsman.
Kiyohara dumped the loot on the counter.
Three standard swords. One high-quality Odachi (from the Mist Jonin). Various tools.
"Cash only," Kiyohara said.
The owner inspected the Odachi. His eyebrows shot up.
"Good steel. Mist craftsmanship."
He quoted a price. Kiyohara haggled briefly, but the payout was massive. The Mist Jonin had been walking around with a small fortune.
Then, Kiyohara placed the Chakra Metal fragments on the counter.
The owner's eyes widened. He picked up a shard with trembling fingers.
"This... is pure conductive ore."
"I want a sword," Kiyohara stated.
"Use this as the core. Maximize chakra conductivity. The design should be a Tachi—curved, single-edged, optimized for speed."
The owner fondled the metal like a lover.
"You've come to the right place. To work with metal like this... it's a privilege."
He looked up.
"I'll waive the labor fee. Just cover the flux and coal. 50,000 Ryo."
"Deal."
Kiyohara paid immediately.
That was a steal. The experience of working with Chakra Metal was worth more to the smith than the money.
The next evening.
Kiyohara returned. The smith looked exhausted but proud.
He handed over a long scabbard wrapped in thick cloth.
"Inspect it."
Kiyohara unwrapped the cloth.
He drew the blade.
Schwing.
It was beautiful.
The steel wasn't just grey; it had a faint, bluish tint. Along the edge, ripple patterns—the "hamon"—danced like flowing water, the signature of the Chakra Metal alloy.
The handle was wrapped in non-slip sharkskin and black cord.
Kiyohara held it. It felt perfectly balanced, an extension of his arm.
'It's done.'
The Second Dying Wish was fulfilled.
A ripple distorted the air.
Young Kiyohara (The Swordsman Spirit) floated out of the urn.
He looked at the blade in Kiyohara's hand, his phantom eyes narrowing in appraisal.
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