“Obito, let’s go back to Madara-sama.”
Zetsu’s moist little voice echoed behind him like a fart in a cathedral.
Obito didn’t answer at first. He just stood there, quiet and brooding, like an anime protagonist with 99 trauma points and zero therapy.
“That plan… the resurrection of the dead is still possible.”
Obito exhaled through his nose. Loudly.
He didn’t want to be a part of this crap. But he was already here, wasn’t he? No pause button. No rage quit.
Now it was survival mode.
“…Uh-huh. Yeah, that’s right.”
He nodded slowly, trying to sound convinced. But inside?
‘Look at this manipulative bitch. Tryna puppet me like I’m some kind of mid-tier NPC. Fuck outta here.’
His gaze swept over the carnage around him. This whole “tragedy” was just Madara Uchiha’s soap opera plan. Stage one: murder the love interest. Stage two: gaslight the simp into becoming a pawn.
‘What a wishful-thinking, crusty-ass war criminal. Genuinely delusional gay bastard energy.’
Still, Obito wasn't strong enough to break free yet. So? He played along. Scripted lines. Pretend despair.
But he had plans of his own.
‘You wanna use me, Madara? Cool. But best believe I’m gonna reverse-Uno your fossil ass one day.’
“…But before that,” Obito muttered aloud, “let me get something.”
He turned away from the creepy twins (a.k.a. Zetsu) and walked toward Kakashi’s unconscious body lying nearby.
First order of business?
Snatch that mask.
He yanked it off without hesitation.
“Hmmm... yep. As pretty-boy as I remembered,” he mumbled, squinting at the little beauty mole near Kakashi’s lip. “So that’s why he wears the mask. To protect the world from becoming too gay.”
Then, without so much as a “sorry bro,” Obito plunged his fingers in and yoinked Kakashi’s left eye right out of its socket.
“Gimme that sweet eyeball, baby.”
He held up the Mangekyo Sharingan like it was a damn gacha pull. One legendary drop secured.
‘No way I’m leaving my eye with anyone else. Sharingan only hits peak power when it’s a pair, and this belongs to me, bitch.’
And it's not like Kakashi could even use it properly. No Uchiha bloodline, chakra gets drained faster than a free trial.
‘Honestly, I’m doing you a favor. Call it… early retirement.’
He tucked the eye away and turned to leave, not even glancing back.
Did he spare Kakashi out of friendship? Guilt?
Hell no.
He spared him because of strategy.
Kakashi was still a plot-relevant character. And right now, Bun Giggles’ biggest weapon wasn't jutsu or chakra.
It was meta knowledge.
‘Can’t mess with the plot too much or I’ll screw myself. Besides, it’s just Kakashi. Even if he trains for twenty arcs, he’s not touching me.’
And if Kakashi ever did try to get in the way?
Well, Obito had plans for that too.
‘Better to let him live in agony, riddled with guilt, moping like a Disney sidekick. That way, I can enjoy his sad little breakdowns and laugh at him later.’
Vengeance? Maybe.
Entertainment? Absolutely.
Petty? Extremely.
But who could blame him?
A first life spent with only his left hand. A second life spent simping. You think he wouldn’t hold a grudge?
‘But that’s for later. For now… I gotta mentally prep myself to meet the crypt keeper himself: Madara Uchiha.’
‘Honestly? I’m kinda scared.’
After running through the dense forest for a while, Obito finally noticed something.
“…Whoa.”
His speed. His agility. The way the trees blurred past him like a green screensaver on meth.
This was nothing like his old body. This was power. Real, honest-to-god shonen power.
Back on Earth, running ten meters winded him. Now? He was gliding through the woods like an Olympic parkour god.
And for a second—just one glorious second—he forgot about all the despair and plotting.
‘Goddamn. I’m in the Naruto world. And I’m jacked as hell.’
Obito might’ve been a simp. A pawn. A tragedy character.
But that didn’t change the facts:
Dope-ass Dōjutsu.
Broken jutsu potential.
Insane plot armor.
He could work with that.
Meanwhile, deep underground in the Land of Grass, a decrepit old man sat slumped on a stone throne.
His body was skeletal. His skin paper-thin. Three twisted white pipes were connected to his back, each one running from a massive, monstrous golem behind him.
Madara Uchiha.
A legend. A manipulator.
And about to meet the reincarnated rent collector with a Trolling complex and too many hentai folders.
---
“Madara! There’s no hope left in this world. I want to create a world where everyone is free from pain… suffering… loss. A world with Rin. For that… I’m ready to do anything.”
Back in the underground base, Obito stood before the dried-up mummy that was once Madara Uchiha and dove straight into the performance. His voice? Laced with grief, anger, despair… and Oscar-tier acting talent.
Madara looked amused, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.
“Hmph~… I take it no one else saw what happened?”
It sounded like he was talking to Obito, but the question was really for the white growth fungus beside him.
“Only I saw it,” White Zetsu answered, glancing toward Obito...trying his hardest to stay out of drama. “Obito killed all the enemies.”
“…Except for Kakashi,” Zetsu added. “He let him live. But the guy was out cold when Konoha’s reinforcements showed up, just screaming ‘Who killed them?!’ over and over. So yeah. No leaks.”
Madara turned back to Obito, his tone colder now.
“You couldn’t bring yourself to finish off your comrade?”
Obito tried his best to stay calm. He slipped right into character.
“No. I just don’t care,” he said flatly. “Whether he lives or dies doesn’t matter. In the world I’m going to create… Kakashi will be there too.”
He paused—then stepped forward, fists clenched, eyes wild.
“And Rin will be there!”
He delivered it with passion, rage, and just the right amount of fanfic edge.
Madara watched, eyes gleaming. He bought every word.
“Tell me how to create the world of my dreams, Madara.”
“Hmph~. You don’t need to thank me. Come here,” Madara said with a sly grin. “From this day forward… you are the savior.”
“Look into my eyes.”
And just like that—bam—Obito was sucked into an illusion space.
Inside the illusion, Madara did what he does best: exposition dump.
Ten Tails.
The Outer Path.
Rinnegan.
The Infinite Tsukuyomi.
The whole damn lore wiki.
Obito already knew all of it. But he listened patiently, throwing in the occasional “Whoa…” and “I didn’t know that…” like a good little actor.
When the lore dump ended, Madara taught him a slew of Uchiha-exclusive jutsu, forbidden arts, and secret techniques—like handing over the cheat codes to the whole game.
By the time Obito came out of the illusion, he was stacked with skills.
Madara stood up, his body creaking like a haunted rocking chair, and rested a bony hand on Zetsu beside him.
“Obito. I’ve taught you all of the Uchiha’s arts—our ninjutsu, forbidden techniques, Yin-Yang release…”
Suddenly, a Zzzzzt— sound rang out as half of White Zetsu began to turn pitch black.
Obito narrowed his eyes.
‘There it is… the bastard himself.’
Black Zetsu.
The greatest backstabbing black slimeball in all of anime.
The number one “I live to betray” champion.
The dream son every Asian parent thinks they’re raising.
Madara didn’t seem concerned in the slightest.
“I’ve injected my will into this one. You can treat it as half of me. A product of deterioration, sure—but still useful. The Zetsus created from Yin-Yang chakra are now your pawns.”
With a smirk, he raised his hands and formed a hand seal.
Click. Click. Crrrrrk…
At the mouth of the Outer Path Demonic Statue, a black rod slowly extended out.
“That rod is a physical fragment of my will. You’ll need it when performing the Six Paths techniques.”
Madara’s voice was getting thinner, breath heavier.
And then, with deliberate slowness, he reached back, gripped the three thick pipes embedded into his spine, and ripped them out one by one.
Shhhk… Shhhk… Shhhk.
He dropped into the stone chair like a man done with the world—and his final command echoed like prophecy.
“Whew… Phew… Go now.”
“Until the day I am resurrected…”
“You are Madara Uchiha.”
“….”