As for Kakashi's situation, Shimizu found it difficult to put his feelings into words.
Losing that precious left eye—perhaps it was a misfortune… or perhaps, in some twisted way, a blessing.
Without the burden of Obito's Sharingan, maybe Kakashi would finally carve out a path that was truly his own. Or perhaps, without that legendary bloodline limit, he would no longer possess the means to stand against the strongest of the strong.
After all, the Hatake clan was not one blessed with a kekkei genkai.
Still… he was young.
He had time—plenty of it—to grow stronger.
Shimizu could only hope that this time, Kakashi wouldn't squander it.
"How's Obito doing? And Rin?"
What Shimizu knew was limited. Not long after the war ended, Obito had stubbornly carried Rin on his back all the way from the Land of Grass to Konoha, traveling thousands of miles before finally collapsing into unconsciousness.
According to the medical team, Obito had suffered from severe infection, dehydration, and days of relentless high fever. And yet, through sheer willpower, he had endured it all just to bring Rin back safely.
He really didn't hold back when it came to pushing himself.
"Ah… Obito." Minato scratched his head awkwardly. "The first thing he said after waking up was that he wanted to leave my team."
Shimizu let out a light chuckle. "Heh… looks like his wings have grown strong."
Knowing the root of Obito's determination, Shimizu could understand it. No one could remain indifferent when the person they cared about suffered like that.
And in Obito's eyes, Kakashi had already become the very image of ingratitude. Beneath that seemingly carefree exterior, Obito was far more sensitive than most realized. Kakashi's rigid adherence to the mission this time had truly struck a nerve deep within him.
Still, stating it so bluntly right from the start… it certainly put Minato in an awkward position.
"It's not that I mind what he said," Minato explained, shaking his head. "I'm just surprised by how determined he is."
That was the Uchiha for you—hard for outsiders to truly understand.
"Minato, I've got to say, you've got quite the temper on you," Shimizu teased. "If it were me… I might've flipped the table already."
In a sense, this was practically equivalent to abandoning one's teacher.
"I was planning to try and persuade him again," Minato continued, "but Clan Head Fugaku came to see me privately a few days ago."
"He told me Obito has already awakened the three-tomoe Sharingan… and that he's the future hope of the Uchiha. He asked me to consider letting Obito return to the clan so he could train him personally."
Shimizu's brows twitched.
Three tomoe already? That fast?
It hadn't even been two years since Obito first awakened his Sharingan, and he had already surpassed talents like Hui and Shisui, becoming the most outstanding prodigy of the Uchiha?
"He said he hopes I'll consider Obito's future… and also take the interests of the Uchiha into account."
"Given that, I didn't have much choice but to agree."
"Then let him go back," Shimizu said. "It might not be a bad thing."
In fact, to Shimizu, Fugaku's reasoning felt more like a way of giving Minato an out—an elegant solution that allowed everyone to save face.
"But what about the Hokage side…?" Minato hesitated.
Shimizu suddenly asked, "Do you know why Kakashi, Obito, and Rin were assigned to your team in the first place?"
"That… I'm not sure," Minato said, falling into thought. "The Hokage only ever mentioned that their personalities were well-suited to form a team."
Was that really the case?
If it was… Shimizu couldn't help but scoff inwardly. "Then his judgment was pretty terrible."
Minato could only respond with another wry smile.
Their conversation gave Shimizu a clearer picture of the shifting situation, but no sooner had Minato left than Jiraiya arrived.
"Jiraiya-senpai."
Jiraiya gave a slight nod. "Minato already told you, right?"
"You mean… about my removal from office?"
"I… just hope you won't take it to heart. The old man has already done everything he could."
"To be honest, those things don't really matter to me," Shimizu replied with a faint smile. Then, in an unusually sincere tone, he added, "Compared to all that noise, I care much more about my training."
"Haha… I figured as much." Jiraiya laughed heartily.
Ever since returning to the village, Shimizu had gone right back to his routine—training grounds and home, back and forth, a monotonous cycle centered entirely around cultivation. It was as if nothing beyond that held any real weight in his mind.
"The old man's been under a lot of pressure lately and doesn't have the time, so he asked me to check in on you. Have you run into any problems with your training?"
At that, Shimizu could only give a wry smile. "Problems? They're everywhere."
"Take it slow. You're still young—there's no need to rush."
"I want to get stronger as quickly as possible," Shimizu admitted, his tone tinged with frustration. "But it always feels like I'm just… missing something. Like I'm lacking in every area, yet I can't pinpoint where the breakthrough lies."
"What have you been working on recently?"
"Too many things…" And just like that, Shimizu poured out all the difficulties he'd been facing in one breath.
His chakra had hit a bottleneck. His fine control still needed improvement. Genjutsu, the study of various elemental releases—each came with its own set of challenges.
Jiraiya listened, then nodded thoughtfully. "What you're describing… they're all very common issues. It's clear you're aiming to become an all-rounder—a shinobi without weaknesses."
That was one way to put it.
But Shimizu's true goal in learning all these techniques wasn't simply versatility in battle. It was to expand his understanding—to build a foundation that might one day allow him to create his own jutsu.
Because between techniques, there were always underlying connections. The more principles he grasped, the stronger his base would become. And with that foundation, the chances of successfully developing a unique jutsu of his own would increase.
Back when he was still a Chunin, he had once arrogantly believed he could invent countless techniques to boost his strength…
But creating jutsu was the domain of geniuses. What did that have to do with an ordinary person like him?
Only now, after years of steady accumulation, did he feel that he was finally brushing against that threshold—the edge of something new.
When Shimizu explained his thoughts, Jiraiya's usual carefree demeanor faded. For once, his expression turned serious.
"I used to think you were just trying to broaden your combat options," Jiraiya said.
And yes, mastering more techniques did make it easier to handle complex situations.
But deep down, Shimizu knew what he truly lacked—a decisive move. Something that could end a fight in a single blow, or turn the tide when he stood on the brink of defeat.
That was why he had once been so obsessed with Chidori, drawn to its sheer destructive power.
But now… even Chidori no longer seemed enough.
Worse still, its many limitations restricted when and how he could use it.
He hadn't forgotten Jiraiya's sharp reminder: speed was a double-edged sword. Speed alone couldn't guarantee victory. If an enemy predicted his landing point even once, it would mean death.
Jiraiya's expression grew solemn. "Relying solely on learning techniques won't make you a true powerhouse. Only when a shinobi develops a combat system uniquely their own can they truly walk the path of the strong."
"A unique combat system…" Shimizu murmured, turning the idea over in his mind.
"Take me, for example," Jiraiya continued. "My sage arts are my greatest strength. In Sage Mode, every jutsu I use becomes vastly more powerful, and my strength, speed—even my perception—are all greatly enhanced."
"So my focus has shifted to refining Sage Mode itself. The faster I can enter it, and the longer I can maintain it, the stronger I become."
He paused, then added with a sigh, "Right now, I can only sustain it for about five minutes."
Only five minutes?!
No wonder Jiraiya had exited Sage Mode immediately after his last battle in Takigakure against Iwagakure. It wasn't by choice—it was a limitation.
"Every extra minute I gain is a leap in strength," Jiraiya said quietly. "And that's the path I'm walking now…"