Chapter 21: Shisui
The Uchiha district had its fancy parts with their pristine clan symbols and intimidating architecture, but then there was *this* corner—where the buildings looked like they'd been assembled by someone who'd given up halfway through. This was home to Uchiha Obito and his elderly guardian, living proof that even prestigious bloodlines came with their share of financial reality checks.
Obito's family situation was what you might generously call "modest." With only his grandmother for company and whatever scraps the village and clan threw their way, they managed to keep the lights on and food on the table. Wealth, however, remained as elusive as Obito's success rate in impressing Rin.
"Grandpa Saito!"
Obito burst through the door with his usual lack of subtlety, the kind of entrance that suggested either great enthusiasm or a complete disregard for hinges.
If the outside of the house looked humble, the inside seemed determined to win a competition for "Most Depressing Interior Design." The walls practically radiated loneliness.
"Ah, Obito."
An elderly man emerged slowly, his back curved like a question mark, white hair and beard giving him the appearance of someone who'd seen too many seasons pass. He leaned heavily on a rattan cane that looked about as steady as his finances. Despite the gentle smile creasing his weathered face, there was an unmistakable shadow of sorrow lurking behind his eyes—the kind that had taken up permanent residence.
"It's me, Grandpa Saito. I brought a friend today." Obito moved to support the old man with surprising gentleness.
For all his theatrical goofiness and tendency to trip over his own feet, Obito possessed what you might call an inconveniently large heart. Uchiha Madara would later describe him as being "filled with too much love"—which, in hindsight, was rather like describing a powder keg as being "filled with too much potential energy."
The Uchiha were, to put it mildly, emotionally complicated. Most of them came equipped with an almost supernatural capacity for feeling, particularly that troublesome emotion called "love." Unfortunately, this same love had a nasty habit of becoming their downfall.
The Sharingan—those infamous eyes that supposedly reflected the soul—had a particularly twisted sense of humor. The stronger the love, the more spectacular the fall when that love got crushed. It was like cosmic irony with a side of generational trauma.
No wonder the Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama, had treated the Uchiha like a ticking time bomb at a fireworks factory. They were a clan that specialized in emotional extremes, swinging between devotion and destruction with alarming regularity.
And Obito? He was currently the undisputed champion of the "most love" category in the entire Uchiha clan. Which, given the family history, was either very touching or very concerning.
"Oh? A friend?"
Saito raised his head, his eyes clouded with what looked like perpetual morning mist, settling his gaze on Qifeng.
Qifeng stepped forward, producing a rusty kunai from somewhere in his gear. He placed it carefully in his palm and presented it to the old man like the world's most ominous gift.
The moment Saito saw the weapon, his smile froze faster than water in a blizzard. His hand trembled on the cane, and his legs decided they'd had enough of this whole "standing upright" business.
"Grandpa Saito!" Obito yelped, throwing his entire body weight into keeping the old man from becoming acquainted with the floor.
A flicker of something—pity, maybe, or just human decency—crossed Qifeng's face before he tucked it away again.
He'd wrestled with this moment, honestly. Should he break the news to an old man who looked like a strong breeze might finish him off? But Uchiha Jinghuo was already dead, and in three days max, the family would be knocking on Saito's door with burial arrangements. Better to rip off the bandage now than let him discover his grandson's fate when they wheeled out the corpse.
The shock was too much. Old man Saito crumpled like paper, consciousness abandoning him entirely.
Obito immediately switched into caretaker mode, fussing over the unconscious elder with the dedication of a professional nurse, leaving Qifeng standing there feeling about as useful as a chocolate teapot.
Nearly an hour of anxious waiting later, the old man's eyes fluttered open. If he'd looked ancient before, now he seemed to have aged through several geological epochs in the span of his unconsciousness.
His gnarled fingers gripped the rusty kunai like it was the last solid thing in his world. When he spoke, his voice came out as a croak that had given up on hope.
"When?"
"About two or three days ago."
Qifeng had never excelled at delivering terrible news. He felt like someone had lodged a boulder in his chest cavity, and breathing had become an optional activity.
"He—"
"He did brilliantly. He's a hero of Konoha."
Some of the tension left the old man's face, replaced by something that might have been peace. He whispered, barely audible, "Good."
"Grandpa Saito, oh—Brother Obito's here too?"
A new voice cut through the heavy atmosphere. A boy in standard Uchiha black entered, took one look at the scene, and froze like he'd walked into a funeral by mistake.
The old man managed to summon a smile that was about as convincing as a paper umbrella in a hurricane. "Shisui?"
"Grandpa Saito, what happened?" Shisui rushed to the bedside with the kind of urgency reserved for genuine emergencies.
"Your grandfather is fine," Saito lied with the practiced ease of someone who'd been making others feel better his entire life, reaching out to ruffle the boy's hair.
Obito provided a mercifully brief explanation, and Shisui's face fell as understanding dawned. He bit his lip, processing the information with more maturity than any kid should have to possess.
Silence settled over the room like dust.
Qifeng studied this new arrival—young but carrying himself with the kind of self-assurance that suggested he'd been making his own decisions for far too long.
Uchiha Shisui, also known as "Shisui of the Body Flicker," future wielder of the most powerful genjutsu "Kotoamatsukami," descendant of Uchiha Kagami, and inheritor of the "Will of Fire." Also, tragically, future victim of political machinations that would make a soap opera writer weep with envy.
Seeing Shisui here answered some questions that had been niggling at Qifeng's brain. Why would Uchiha Jinghuo—a clan member without even activated Sharingan—volunteer for such a suicidal mission to the Hidden Mist Village?
Most Uchiha operated under the principle of "family first, village second, everyone else can sort themselves out." Only a select few, typically descendants or close associates of Uchiha Kagami, had bought into the radical notion that maybe the village deserved their loyalty too.
Given the connections, it seemed likely that Uchiha Kagami and old man Fengjing had been close. Close enough to share ideologies that would eventually get their descendants killed.
"Let the old man rest," Qifeng said, gesturing for Obito and Shisui to follow him outside.
Before leaving, he discretely placed a sealed envelope on the bedside table. It contained his recent mission earnings—not exactly a fortune, but enough to maybe buy groceries for a while.
His role in all this was awkward at best. He was essentially a messenger delivering someone else's final words, which ranked somewhere between "inadequate" and "completely useless" on the scale of meaningful contributions.
At least the money might make him feel slightly less like a vulture.
The three of them found themselves beside a small river, where the water seemed determined to commit violence against every rock in its path, creating a symphony of splashing that matched the general chaos of the day.
"Senior Qifeng, thank you."
Shisui spoke first—he'd noticed the envelope that had somehow escaped Obito's attention, because Obito's observational skills operated on the same level as his romantic success rate.
Shisui had lost his own relatives early, making Fengjing the closest thing to family he had left. Despite his youth, he understood exactly what Qifeng's small gesture meant.
Qifeng waved dismissively. "This is just the beginning. There'll be plenty more of this coming."
"Yes."
The kid was unsettlingly mature for someone who probably still needed a step stool to reach high shelves. Compared to most children his age, Shisui seemed to be operating with a completely different instruction manual.
"Have you started training yet?"
Shisui gave a response that somehow managed to be both a head shake and a nod, which was either very philosophical or very confused.
Qifeng placed a hand on his shoulder. "Train hard. We might not be able to change the big picture, but we can at least try to protect what matters to us."
Shisui stopped walking and stared at him with surprise, as if an adult had just spoken to him like he was capable of complex thought.
"I'm leaving."
Qifeng waved and vanished in a technique that would have been impressive if anyone had been paying attention to showmanship.
If Shisui managed to survive long enough to reach his potential, he might actually succeed in bridging the gap between Konoha and the Uchiha clan. That was a pretty significant "if," considering the survival rate of idealistic ninja in this world.
After encountering yet another future powerhouse, Qifeng felt marginally better about his own prospects. Konoha seemed to specialize in producing remarkably capable individuals, which was reassuring for someone whose greatest ambition was to remain completely unremarkable.
"I hope I haven't broken anything important," he muttered to himself.
All he wanted was to maintain his career as a professional corpse collector, accumulate enough skills to survive in this world of casual violence, and avoid becoming a statistic himself. Heroism was for people with death wishes and insufficient survival instincts.
He had zero interest in changing the world, saving anyone, or becoming the subject of inspiring speeches delivered over his grave.
The current Konoha would probably shower him with praise and promotion if he revealed even a fraction of his abilities. They might even give him a chance to become a war hero, which sounded about as appealing as volunteering for experimental surgery.
Consider the track record of Konoha's heroes:
Hatake Sakumo—died not from enemy action, but from his own people's politics. Apparently, doing the right thing was a capital offense.
Orochimaru—slowly manipulated toward defection by internal machinations. While this ultimately freed him to pursue his research interests, it probably wouldn't have happened without Danzo's helpful nudging toward moral flexibility.
Namikaze Minato—killed during the Nine-Tails attack, which had been orchestrated by someone with suspiciously detailed knowledge of when and where the Jinchuriki would be vulnerable. The complete absence of Root operatives during the crisis raised some interesting questions about coincidence versus conspiracy.
Uchiha Shisui—would eventually have his eye stolen and be driven to suicide by the same people supposedly protecting the village.
The pattern was clear: Konoha had a tradition of consuming its heroes like a particularly inefficient wood chipper.
And the common thread? One Shimura Danzo, who collected talented individuals' tragic endings like some people collected stamps.
So no, Qifeng had no intention of revealing his abilities while Danzo remained in power, safely protected by Sarutobi Hiruzen's misplaced loyalty.
Ironically, despite being a walking disaster for anyone with heroic inclinations, Danzo would prove crucial in the coming war. Which meant killing him early would probably cause more problems than it solved.
Better to stay in the shadows, collect corpses, and keep his head attached to his shoulders.
After Qifeng disappeared, Obito finally processed what had been happening around him. "What were you two talking about? I didn't understand any of it."
Shisui gave him a look that suggested he was reevaluating Obito's cognitive capabilities. "Brother Obito, that Senior Qifeng is definitely not what he appears to be."
Obito blinked with the expression of someone who'd just been informed that water was wet and found this information revolutionary.
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