c146: The Light That Is Hard to Conceal!
How can it be!
Uchiha Obito's heart lurched as the feint collapsed into a killing stroke. Instinct moved before thought. With no time to warp space with Kamui, he snapped the Gunbai Uchiwa's haft into the blade's path as a shield.
Clang!
The war fan an heirloom once wielded by Madara rang like an iron bell. Even with Gen's Kusanagi sheathed in interlaced Wind and Fire chakra, the ancient Gunbai did not break.
Gen released Obito's wrist at once. If Obito dragged him into the Kamui dimension now, escaping would likely force Gen to reveal the Flying Thunder God—a card he refused to show tonight. Instead, Gen shifted his hips and drove a rising knee toward the most vulnerable target on a man's body.
The Mangekyō's perception saved Obito. Too close to evade, he still twisted just enough to spare himself a ruinous blow.
Bang! The strike crashed into the junction of Obito's right thigh and lower abdomen, blasting him back along the cliff face. At the same instant, the golden-white flames wreathed around Kusanagi flared as the sword spun from Gen's hand in a controlled release.
Obito flickered Kamui and the sweeping arc of chakra-lit steel passed through his intangible form without harm. Using the chain affixed to the Gunbai's butt, he hooked a bare trunk, yanked hard, and slingshotted himself into a stable perch. Fluid. Practiced.
"Hm?"
From the edge of his vision, a golden-white streak curved toward him. Obito slipped aside but the streak wasn't hunting him. Mid-flight it angled away and sheared through a thick branch instead. The burning cut glowed, embers haloed by wind-stoked heat. The Gunbai, suddenly unsupported, tumbled toward the blazing ravine below.
Gen blurred across the trunks, snatched the falling Gunbai, and settled lightly on a neighboring tree. With a casual flick, Wusheng the living blade spiraled back to him, hovering at his side like a patient hawk.
The instant his ambush failed to finish Obito, Gen had accepted the reality: with Obito's Mangekyō and space-time trickery, a clean kill would be rare. If he couldn't end it, he would profit and a Madara heirloom was a fine prize.
(And later White Zetsu, the false "Anbu"… one more asset for the "seducer-beating worker group.")
Beneath the mask, Obito's expression soured. Losing the Gunbai irritated him, but what gnawed was how Gen slipped his genjutsu and that eerie, talking blade.
The fan itself mattered less. It was Madara's weapon, inscribed with bindings meant to tighten the old ghost's leash on him. Even if Madara returned, he would hardly kill Obito for misplacing a tool. And retrieving it later with Kamui? Also possible. Gen couldn't keep a trophy phased to his palm forever.
"Young one," Obito intoned, keeping the Madara persona, "why are you immune to my illusions?"
Gen didn't answer at once. He vaulted onto a jutting spur of rock, then looked down, voice dry. "Sorry. I don't like talking up to people."
Obito: "…"
Insolent Uchiha brat.
"You remind me of myself," Obito pressed, tone heavy with feigned nostalgia. "The same astonishing talent. The same pride."
Gen: "…"
(When you were young you were the class dunce, not a prodigy. And you're exactly my age now spare me the elder act.)
"The reason your illusion failed," Gen said at last, "is simple."
"Oh?"
"In addition to Zhu Rong, I have partners."
"Wusheng open your eye."
"Yes, Master."
Gen's right hand flicked; Wusheng streaked out, passing through Obito's torso, then circling him in looping orbits that ruffled his cloak. Chakra currents feathered strangely in its wake.
Behind the mask, Obito stiffened.
What is this world? He had seen Black Zetsu and White Zetsu, witnessed things that should not be. But a sword that obeyed like a familiar… spoke like a shinobi… twisted chakra like a living seal?
A summon? No—the texture of its presence was wrong. Not an animal, not a construct.
"Show me your Mangekyō," Obito said suddenly.
Gen's heartbeat skipped. Too sharp. He'd revealed Wusheng to explain his resistance to genjutsu without dangling the existence of his own Mangekyō. If Obito linked the anomalies…
No Obito couldn't parse inanimate life; he'd file it under "peculiar ocular ability."
"Similar to your right eye?" Gen shrugged. "Pity I don't have it. Call this a secret art… a bloodline limit… or simply my talent, honed by effort and by Orochimaru-sensei's help."
"Return," he ordered softly.
"At once, Master."
Wusheng nested at his side. (Its sustained flight window was shorter than Kamui's safe phasing duration no need to advertise that weakness.) Zhu Rong could match Kamui's uptime so long as the dragon didn't burn at full output another detail best left buried.
"An interesting ability," Obito murmured. "You've caught my eye, junior."
Gen: "???"
Why does that line sound so familiar…
"Join me. I'm building something vast."
"How 'vast'?"
Obito hesitated, then decided bait was necessary. "Eternal peace for the shinobi world."
"—What?" Gen's face went from blank to blazing. "You call unleashing the Nine-Tails on Konoha a step toward peace? Families wiped out, children orphaned and you dare put 'peace' in your mouth?"
"Ignorant," Obito said, voice low but certain. "Those are necessary sacrifices. And they are not truly lost. In the world we build, they'll exist in peace."
"Madman," Gen snapped.
Obito's breath stilled. Maybe. Even he didn't know whether Infinite Tsukuyomi would truly save anyone… or simply drown the world in honeyed lies. But what else was there? If this winter of blood never ended, even Rin's return would only loop her back to death.
"Right now I can't disclose more," he said. "And you won't join yet. That's fine. The future is long. I'll return when the time is right. For now keep the Gunbai."
"My sincerity."
Space spiraled; Kamui yawned open, reality thinning around him.
Gen lifted the fan, deliberately unimpressed. "Hah! Don't pretend it's a gift. It's my trophy."
"And hear me unless Konoha itself casts me out, I will never stand with you."
(He had fought to stay low-key. Held back trick after trick. And still he'd hooked Obito's attention. Well gold shines, no matter how you bury it. If attention couldn't be avoided, it could be misdirected. Let Obito fixate on him, not on the web of bonds tying Nagato, Konan, and Yahiko's legacy. Madara snared Obito with bonds; Obito would try the same on others. Share the rain, share the lightning play favorites and you paint a target.)
The mountain's uproar dwindled as Obito vanished, the last ripples of the space-time vortex fading into the cold night air.
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