The moment I regained consciousness, I was met not with hugs or celebration, but a tempest of emotion unleashed by my aunts, Inoki and Yoshino. They scolded me, their voices trembling with the fury that only genuine love could muster. Each word cut through the air, heavy and uncompromising. There was no escape, no protest strong enough to shield me from the storm of their concern.
And truthfully? I deserved every bit of it.
If someone made a "Top Ten Scariest Moments of My Life" list, that lecture would sit proudly at number three. Maybe even number two, depending on how long it lasted. Each worried glance from my aunts felt like a searing brand on my skin, a reminder of the danger I had flirted with.
Once I'd assured them—again and again—that I wasn't injured, that nothing felt wrong, they finally backed down, albeit reluctantly. But I could still feel their eyes on me for the rest of the day, burning holes through my back like chakra-sensing beams, a mix of worry and fierce love.
Still, I pushed on. Training consumed me.
Not just seals, everything. My progress wasn't crawling anymore; it was sprinting, fueled by a raw determination that felt alive within me. I was finally incorporating the Severance Field into my fighting style. What had once been an abstract defensive mechanism could now be activated mid-battle, slicing through chakra threads and disrupting jutsu flow with newfound precision.
Then, there was Itachi.
Genius, as always.
He didn't just train. He created, invented, and mastered techniques that left me in awe. He unveiled a new Fire Style jutsu, which he called Eruption, a terrifyingly beautiful move. It wasn't flashy in the typical way; it was controlled, precise, a masterclass in restraint. He would superheat the earth plates beneath his feet, not melting them, but igniting the molecules, compressing an immense amount of latent fire chakra inside them.
Then, with a single Ram seal, he'd detonate that pressure into a controlled, underground burst.
Miniature volcanic eruptions. Controlled. Selective. Deadly.
If your chakra signature was on the battlefield and he had a moment to prepare, you were in mortal danger. The attack zone reached nearly 200 meters, a millisecond decision could mean life or agony. It was swift and devastating, not something you could block or outrun once it ignited.
He didn't brag, there was no arrogance in his demeanor. He showed it once, then quietly refined it, laser-focused. No strings attached, no bargaining for recognition. Just pure dedication.
We were four years old, and now, we could hold our own against veteran chunin. And win.
In just a month, we had gone from beating genin to besting those with years of battlefield experience. The only thing standing between us and becoming chunin was our age.
And today... Today marked our second-to-last day of training. My final push. My mission wasn't to show off or defeat someone.
It was to finish Rin's seal.
I found refuge under the broad shade of a tree, sunlight filtering through its dense foliage. A gentle breeze danced around me as I settled into a meditative pose. Above me, Itachi balanced silently on a thick limb, lost in his meditative stillness.
I looked like I was meditating, too. Legs crossed, breathing steady.
But in truth, I was delving deep into my mindscape, immersed in a swirling vortex of rotating seal diagrams, floating formula strings, and fluctuating chakra patterns—all being written and rewritten by Nano at an insane pace.
"Huff… Huff…" Even in this mental sanctuary, I could feel the pressure, an urgency, heavy on my chest.
"Nano, what trial was that?"
"This was the 49,838th seal prototype," Nano replied flatly, its tone betraying no emotion.
Nearly fifty thousand prototypes.
In a single day, we had created nineteen thousand seals. And none had worked.
"What's wrong with the last one?" I asked, bracing myself for the answer.
"The seal failed to properly link the tailed beast chakra present in the ambient cloud-state vicinity. Host-chakra to beast-chakra synchronization collapsed under resistance. Interference detected—conscious tailed beast will."
That was the crux of the problem.
A tailed beast wasn't just chakra; it was a manifest mind. A will that could rival my own.
Even if I created a seal that segmented and contained part of the chakra, that piece could still maintain its own consciousness, especially if the beast willingly pushed back against the confines.
If Sanbi decided to interfere, the seal would falter.
This wasn't merely a technical challenge, it was a war of wills. And if Sanbi didn't want to cooperate, the seal would fail spectacularly.
I could have taken the simpler route, created a containment seal, effectively turning Rin into a jinchūriki. But that would condemn her to a slow demise, perhaps five years at most before the corruption crushed her spirit. Only a Senju or Uzumaki had the fortitude to bear such a burden long-term.
Rin… didn't possess that strength.
That was why I opted for the cloud model—a dynamic seal designed not to store the chakra within her but rather disperse it across a separate, surrounding chakra field. This way, her body wouldn't bear the load, wouldn't get crushed beneath the weight of the beast's energy.
But... it wasn't working.
"Alright, Nano. Change of plan."
"Listening."
"No more chakra division. Do not attempt to split or isolate parts of the beast's energy. That just gives it room to resist. We need to suppress the whole essence. Use the Adamantine Sealing Chain analysis from earlier; incorporate that suppression property, modifying it for a continuous cloud-state application."
"Understood."
"Next, store the beast chakra in an external, cloud-based chakra container. Wrap it with purification matrices and design it to filter corrupted energy before it can reach Rin."
"Integrating."
"Oh, and don't forget to add a remote alarm protocol. Use Minato-sensei's Flying Thunder God formula. Sync it with the seal, so it can either teleport her to him or him to her in an emergency."
"Processing seal revision... Now beginning prototype 49,839."
I let out a long breath, leaning against the tree's rough bark.
Even now, uncertainty coiled inside me like a serpent, its grip tightening around my heart. But one thought blazed brighter than the rest:
I couldn't afford to fail again.
I closed my eyes and let Nano take over. Watching the process was unnecessary; I trusted it.
Prototype 49,839. Then 49,840. On and on.
Each proto was sealed with intent, refined, reshaped, and tested silently within the recesses of my mind. I remained motionless, enveloped in stillness.
The iterations dragged on,..500 more attempts ticking by in a tranquil haze.
Then, finally-
"Seal complete. Estimated function efficiency: 97%. Stability threshold: 98%. Would you like to name and save the seal to your database?"
I nodded slowly, breath hitching slightly in my throat.
"Yes. Save it as Cloud Domain Seal—雲域封印."
A long pause followed, almost contemplative.
"Seal stored. Designation confirmed: Cloud Domain Seal – Kumoiiki Fūin."
It wasn't an elegant title, not poetic either. But it fit.
A barrier. A vault. A pocket of sky.
A prison for something ancient, cloaked in clouds.
"This'll have to do," I whispered, pushing myself upright from the tree trunk. My legs protested, screaming in discomfort. My back cracked. My chakra reserves were running thin.
But now? Rin had a chance.
She might not be able to wield the Sanbi's chakra, not yet, but she wouldn't die, wouldn't lose herself to its chaotic influence. And that was enough for now.
Later, I'd return to refine the output balance, regulate feedback and response loops, and design mental keys. Maybe even a way for Rin to borrow chakra safely when she needed it.
The seal was complete.
A temporary solution—but it would give her hope, and that was more than I could have hoped for.
After saving the file in Nano's archive, I left Minato-sensei's house in search of Rin. I expected her to be resting or perhaps helping Kushina in the kitchen, but the house was quiet, empty except for the faint flicker of a lantern's flame.
I searched everywhere, the ramen shop, the weapons shop, the market square, her home, even Kakashi's.
But she was nowhere to be found.
Panic didn't grip me; rather, a certain quiet certainty guided my feet down the familiar, silent paths of the village, past shuttered storefronts and flickering lamplight. I knew where she would be, the place where people go not to be found, but to remember.
The graveyard.
By the time I arrived, twilight had surrendered to night. The trees lining the graveyard whispered secrets to the wind. Rain began to fall—not heavy but enough to carry the bittersweet scent of earth and nostalgia.
Then I saw them.
Two silhouettes near the back, barely visible beneath the weak moonlight. They were sitting close, arms wrapped around each other, unmoving.
Rin and Kakashi.
I halted.
Didn't call out. Didn't approach.
Instead, I quietly stepped off the path, settling down behind a stone marker, close enough to keep watch over them but far enough to give them space for their moment.
I gazed up at the sky. The stars flickered, one by one, vanishing behind ominous rainclouds.
Even though I didn't want them to feel sorrow… how could they not?
Obito wasn't just a teammate; he was their friend. Their bond ran deeper, especially for Rin. Perhaps it was even love.
I closed my eyes and thought quietly.
She had been off for the past few days. Distant. Not scared—but heavy with the weight of unexpressed emotions.
Maybe it was nerves; maybe she was bracing herself for returning to the front lines. But if I was right about the trap Kiri had set... she shouldn't go back at all.
Rin's survival might ultimately be the key to saving the world. And Kakashi… he needed someone like her.
I never intended to force anything between them, but I always hoped they'd find their way to each other. If Obito's death hadn't played out the way it did… would things have ended differently for them? Probably, I thought.
But Obito had died.
And now, somewhere far from here, his essence was being manipulated like a puppet by Madara.
Obito was once a blank page, burning with hope and sketched with dreams. But Madara… Madara was the one writing his story now, tearing it asunder.
I stayed silent, observing from behind the gravestone as the rain began to pour harder, a steady rhythm of droplets adding to the somber atmosphere.
Let them have this moment.
They needed it.
---
**Rin's POV**
I'm weak.
Pathetic.
Even now, sitting here with Kakashi in the rain, I feel it. That hollowness clawing at my insides, that nagging sense of uselessness.
I've always needed them—Obito, Kakashi. They fought, bled, suffered, and protected me. I only watched.
When Obito was crushed under that boulder, I couldn't do anything to save him.
When Kakashi was ambushed, I stood frozen, paralyzed by fear, unable to act.
Always a burden, always playing catch-up, trailing behind.
And now, Obito is gone.
Obito...
He was kinder than anyone I knew. Always smiling, always pushing forward. I loved his smile. I loved how hard he tried.
Did I love him?
I don't know. Maybe I did. I think I wanted to. But I never granted myself the opportunity to understand.
Because I loved Kakashi too. Or maybe… I thought I did?
I could never choose.
If I had chosen Obito, Kakashi would have built that wall around himself even higher. If I had chosen Kakashi… Obito's heart might have shattered. The team could have unraveled with it.
So I did nothing. I ignored it, told myself maybe later, maybe after the war.
But "later" never came.
Obito was stolen from us before I could understand my own heart.
And when everything shattered... Kakashi was the one who remained.
Since then, I've begun to sense something new, something painful. The guilt of moving on, of feeling anything for someone else. For Kakashi.
But I can't walk away from him.
Not now. Not when he's the one who needs someone beside him.
Kakashi… he is the son of the White Fang, a hero, a legend etched in time.
But that very title is a curse. First expectations, then the shame of not meeting them, then the loss.
He shut himself down to survive. Trained like a soulless machine, living in a world of missions, transforming into a weapon.
But then… we formed a team. Obito reached out, pulled him into the light. I tried too. And just as we began to witness his transformation, Obito died.
Now, I can see it in Kakashi's eyes—he's grappling with doubts.
Is hope worth the risk? Does pain follow healing like a shadow? Is he doomed to lose anyone who dares to get close?
And I can't let him believe that.
I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder, the rain soaking my hair and plastering it against my skin. My fingers curled around his sleeve as we sat in silence.
"Kakashi…" I whispered, barely above the sound of the falling rain. "Thank you… for being here for me. I don't know what I'd do without you."
He didn't move, absorbed in his thoughts.
I shifted slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes were tired, a flicker of honesty breaking through the armor he forged.
"And I want you to know... I'm here too. You're not alone. You have me. You have Minato-sensei, Kushina-sensei, Akira, Itachi, Gai, Asuma...we're all here for you."
He held my gaze, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging heavy between us. Then finally, after an agonizing pause, he spoke, his voice low and gravelly.
"Rin... I'm grateful. I am. But..."
An expectant silence ensued.
"I can't love you. I have feelings for you. But I made a promise to Obito—to protect you, as a comrade. That's how I honor him."
His words weren't harsh; they weren't cold. Just... honest.
"I know," I replied quietly. "I feel the same. I have feelings for you, but… I can't call it love. I don't even know what it is. I just know I don't want to hurt us. I don't want to hurt you—or him."
My voice trembled. I could feel tears threatening to spill.
"But I will be by your side. No matter what. So look after me, okay?" I smiled weakly, my heart a patchwork of emotions. "Because I'm not letting you disappear either."
The tears fell quietly, unbidden. I didn't know if they were for Kakashi, for Obito, for myself, or for the overwhelming tapestry of emotions that had come to define us.
I just held him tighter as the rain poured down around us, a steady rhythm of life washing over our shared grief.
We didn't speak afterward.
We just sat there, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, our hearts carrying an unbearable weight.
Not weighed down by guilt.
But lifted—by responsibility.
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Chapter length-2400 word
(A/n)- I tried some change in perspective and to add some emotional touches to scene i am new to this scenes and scenarios so i don't know if I described the scenes and character building i envisioned correctly or not if you found something wrong or just out of pace tell me i always welcome your feedback.
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