Chapter 3: Good People
The Uchiha compound was a graveyard of dreams disguised as a thriving community. Every other house seemed to shelter an elderly person whose children had died "for the village"—a euphemism that fooled no one but somehow made the loss easier to bear. These silver-haired remnants of broken families survived on government subsidies and the thin hope that their grandchildren might succeed where their own children had failed.
Obito's grandmother was one of them.
The boy himself was a walking contradiction—barely five years old but already as tall as children twice his age, his body rushing toward a maturity his mind couldn't match. He'd started at the ninja academy early, another child processed through Konoha's educational machine, but his heart remained stubbornly innocent despite the system's best efforts to harden it.
Rei watched from across the street as Obito finished helping another elderly woman navigate the intersection, his orange jacket bright against the dreary evening. The woman's gratitude was genuine, her weathered hands patting his cheek with the kind of desperate affection reserved for other people's grandchildren. When she shuffled away, Obito's grin stretched so wide it looked painful.
"This guy," Rei muttered, shaking his head. "Nothing like the monster he's going to become."
It was a disturbing thought. The boy before him radiated pure, uncomplicated kindness—the sort that made him give away his lunch money to hungry beggars and arrive late to class because he'd stopped to help someone carry groceries. The Third Hokage himself had supposedly praised Obito's compassion, calling it proof that the Will of Fire burned bright even in Uchiha hearts.
If only you knew, Rei thought bitterly. If only you knew what that kindness is going to cost.
The original Rei had known Obito casually—they were clanmates, after all, and roughly the same age. They'd shared the awkward camaraderie of children who understood each other's circumstances without needing to discuss them.
"Brother Rei!" The younger boy jogged over, his face lit up with genuine pleasure. "Long time no see! How did your B-rank mission go?"
The question hit like a physical blow. Rei's throat constricted as memories of blood and screaming flooded back—his sensei's final stand, his teammate's death, Wada Yu carrying his broken body through hostile territory while enemies hunted them like animals.
"It failed," he said, surprised by how steady his voice sounded. "The mission failed. Our sensei... our sensei didn't make it back."
Obito's expression crumpled. "Oh. I'm sorry, Brother Rei. I didn't know."
"It's fine." The lie came easily, practiced. "It's part of being a ninja. But what about you? How's the academy treating you?"
The change in topic worked like a reset button. Obito's face brightened, and he launched into an animated description of his academic "achievements" that bore no resemblance to reality. According to him, he'd already mastered the Clone Technique and was well on his way to becoming the greatest ninja in history.
Rei listened with something approaching fascination. The boy was genuinely convinced of his own greatness, despite being dead last in every subject that mattered. His chronic lateness, his poor grades, his complete inability to grasp basic concepts—none of it seemed to dent his confidence.
He gives away his lunch money, Rei remembered. Arrives late because he's helping old ladies cross streets. The Third Hokage thinks it's admirable.
Maybe it was. Maybe pure, selfless kindness was worth more than technical skill or tactical genius. But in a world where children were weapons and mercy was a luxury few could afford, Obito's compassion felt like a death sentence waiting to be executed.
"Want to get some barbecue?" The invitation slipped out before Rei could stop it. "My treat."
Obito's eyes went wide. "Really? That's... that's amazing! You're such a good person, Brother Rei! Let me just tell grandma I won't be home for dinner!"
The boy sprinted away before Rei could respond, his excitement infectious despite everything. When he returned, he grabbed Rei's arm and practically dragged him toward the restaurant district, chattering about his favorite cuts of meat and whether they'd have enough sauce.
The barbecue place was packed with ninja celebrating successful missions, their laughter mixing with the sizzle of cooking meat and the clink of sake cups. Rei and Obito found a corner table, and the older boy watched as his companion's eyes went wide at the sight of the menu.
When was the last time someone took him out for a real meal? The thought was painful. When was the last time anyone treated him like a normal kid instead of a future weapon?
They ate in companionable silence, Obito's enthusiasm for the food making even Rei smile despite his dark thoughts. But as they prepared to leave, a question that had been building in his mind finally escaped.
"What's your dream, Obito?"
The younger boy didn't hesitate. "To become Hokage! I want to protect Rin and make everyone acknowledge me. I want to be someone who matters!"
The words hit like a curse. Rei knew where that dream would lead—to a cave-in that should have killed him, to manipulation by a madman, to the death of the very person he wanted to protect. Obito's love for Rin would become the poison that destroyed them both.
"What if you had to choose?" Rei asked, his voice carefully neutral. "Between becoming Hokage and protecting Rin. If you could only save one dream, which would it be?"
Obito's brow furrowed, confusion replacing enthusiasm. "Why would I have to choose? Can't I do both?"
You innocent fool. The thought was sad rather than angry. You beautiful, doomed fool.
"Maybe you can," Rei said with a smile that felt like broken glass. "Maybe you can choose both."
He left Obito standing there, puzzled and alone, disappearing into the shadows with the Body Flicker technique. The last thing he heard was the boy muttering to himself about not understanding the question, about wanting everything he'd dreamed of.
He doesn't know, Rei thought as he made his way home. He has no idea that some choices aren't really choices at all.
---
His parents' house felt like a mausoleum dedicated to modest ambitions. The jutsu scrolls they'd left behind were solid but unspectacular—Fire Release techniques that any chunin could master, a few basic elemental jutsu, and his father's specialty: the Body Flicker Technique.
Six scrolls total, Rei catalogued as he spread them across his floor. Fire Release: Great Fireball. Fire Release: Phoenix Flower. Lightning Release: Earth Walk. Wind Release: Great Breakthrough. Earth Release: Decapitation Technique. And Body Flicker.
His father had been a special jonin based on his mastery of that last technique, renowned for speed that could rival some of the village's elite. The irony of his death—killed by someone even faster—wasn't lost on Rei. In the ninja world, there was always someone stronger, always someone faster. Always someone ready to remind you that your best wasn't good enough.
I need to be better than my best, he decided. I need to be perfect.
The training regimen he devised was ambitious bordering on masochistic. Morning chakra refinement until his reserves were exhausted. Afternoon control exercises and physical conditioning. Evening hand seal practice until his fingers cramped. And throughout it all, the constant pressure of knowing that his current abilities wouldn't be enough to survive what was coming.
Six seals per second, he thought, remembering Itachi's legendary speed. That's the benchmark. That's what greatness looks like.
The Third Hokage managed four seals per second with one hand—an achievement that had made him legendary despite lacking any bloodline advantages. Raw skill and perfect fundamentals had carried him further than most genetic freaks ever dreamed of reaching.
That's the path, Rei realized. Not flashy techniques or inherited powers. Just perfect execution of the basics.
The plan was simple in concept, hellish in execution. But as he practiced the hand seals for the Great Fireball technique, feeling the chakra flow through the familiar patterns, he felt something that might have been hope.
A knock at his door interrupted his training. Wada Yu stood outside, looking unusually serious.
"We have a new team assignment," his friend said without preamble. "Third training ground, nine tomorrow morning. New sensei, new teammate. Don't be late."
"Got it," Rei replied. "Thanks for letting me know."
After Wada Yu left, Rei returned to his practice, but his mind was elsewhere. A new team meant new dynamics, new personalities to navigate. After losing their previous sensei, the village was giving them another chance—another adult willing to risk their life for a group of children who might not live to see their twelfth birthdays.
I hope they're not too difficult to work with, he thought, forming seals. The last thing I need is more complications.
But even as he thought it, he knew complications were inevitable. In a world where children were weapons and dreams were luxuries, every relationship was a potential tragedy waiting to unfold.
Just like Obito, still believing he could have everything he wanted.
Just like all of them, pretending they had choices when the only real choice was how they would die.