Chapter Text
Kakashi watches Obito die — it feels obsolete. He’s destined to fail his previous people, to lose them, the ability to save anyone he cares about remaining just out of his reach.
He watches the world end. His students — brave, naive, perfect, stupid kids he thinks of as his own — don’t dare to stop fighting. They brainstorm, combining their wits and strength, ready to take down the biggest threat they’ve ever faced… and instead of feeling proud, instead of feeling relieved, Kakashi feels exhausted.
How many have died?
As Obito’s sharingan fades away for the final time, he feels his depleted chakra; the reserves are gone, and he is dying again, putting on a brave face, letting his students believe that it will be fine. His chakra coils are strained beyond reason; beyond saving.
There’s a frown present on Sakura’s face as she scans him for injuries. Something heavy settles in her eyes; grief for someone who she knows is already gone.
His chakra coils are empty, fried the same way Obito’s were, maybe with less damage. Did he feel the same pain Kakashi is in, while they stood together after Juubi was torn from his body?
Kakashi, for a brief moment, let himself be naive — let himself believe that they will all live, and Obito will finally come back home. He would take the hat to save him, he would pardon him before he is even officially declared the new Hokage, and they would live together and figure out how to exist amidst all this hurt and cruelty Obito’s delusion-ridden dreams brought.
Because Kakashi is a selfish man, and for once he would’ve liked getting something and not letting the world pull it from his tight grasp. For once, he’d liked to be egotistical, and refuse to sacrifice this one last thing.
But Obito is gone, yet again, this time with no miraculous return. The dust he was reduced to clings to Kakashi’s clothes and skin.
“Sensei?” Sakura’s voice shakes. The sealing is complete, and they are stranded in a world not their own, with no way to return. Kakashi breathes deeply, slowly.
Obito managed to stand — he fought, helped them around, and his body must’ve been on fire from the inside, every movement aching as if his muscles were torn apart.
And all Kakashi can do is blink sheepishly at his students. They’ve all grown. Sasuke is still lost — still too angry, but at least they’re reunited. They are still a team. More than that — friends. Maybe family, one day.
“We won! Kakashi-sensei, that was so sick! That susanoo was awesome, dattebayo!”
“I was under the impression no one but the Uchiha could wield it. Perhaps you were worthy of that eye, after all,” Sasuke mutters with a scoff.
Kakashi doesn’t feel worthy. He hated that eye for the longest time; it was nothing but a reminder of his first failure. Of his shortcomings and flaws. It left him exhausted, and made him relive all his worst moments. Rin’s face is still fresh in his memory, even though it should’ve faded long ago. The first thing he ever captured with the sharingan to remember forever, outside of Obito’s face, half crushed by the boulder, was the desperate look in her eyes as she jumped in front of him.
Obito should be here to wield it instead. There’s nothing heroic in dying. There’s no redemption, no attempt to make things right. Sacrifice lies flat and empty, in the end.
“Sensei?” Sakura asks again; she looks so much like Rin, with this fear in her eyes.
The story — everything that led them to this moment — might’ve started long before Kakashi was born, but the path solidified only after Rin’s death. Because if Obito reached them in time, or if Kakashi foresaw what was coming, it might’ve ended differently. Maybe they could’ve stopped hatred from soaring through Obito’s heart — maybe they would’ve came up with a plan to stop Madara and Zetsu and everything else.
That was one thing that was both in their control and beyond it. Rin was a pawn, just like Obito. They wouldn’t be able to change Madara’s mind. But maybe if she was saved—
“I’m so proud of you,” Kakashi rasps. His body recoils, the words tasting like blood and ash on his tongue. His hands shake as he reaches up, to wipe blood from Sakura’s face. Is it hers? Obito’s? Maybe it’s Kakashi’s? Or perhaps he punched the goddess so hard she bled?
Naruto stops in his tracks. The yellow glow surrounding him fades away.
“Kakashi-sensei?”
“I might’ve not taught you much, but I hope you remember that you’re stronger together. Don’t— don’t lose yourselves, alright?”
“Oi, you can be sentimental later, old man,” Naruto glances between Sasuke and Sakura. The latter covers her mouth with her hand, stifling a sob. “Once we get out of here, we can talk over ramen. Oi, Sasuke, did you know that Ichiraku is still standing?”
Sasuke scoffs, in a manner so typical of him that Kakashi is reminded that he’s just a child. A lost boy who was never taught how to grow up, and how to grieve.
Naruto is worried — he rambles on, before his voice dies down, and he kneels beside Kakashi. Tears shine in his eyes, but none spill just yet.
“You’re going to be fine, sensei. We won.”
“I saw,” he offers them a tired smile. “Good job.”
“You have to come back with us, alright? So that Team Seven can be reunited. We will need our sensei.”
“It’s been long since you last needed me. You don’t anymore. You’ll be fine on your own.”
Sakura squeezes his hand, Naruto looks down. Something complicated flickers in Sasuke’s eyes, but he refuses to join them. That’s fine, Kakashi supposes. He failed him the most. Maybe he doesn’t deserve reconciliation.
“No!” Naruto shakes his head. “You’ll be fine! You can’t leave us. You can’t— Sakura, tell him! You can fix this! You can heal him—“
Sakura shakes her head. Tears are running down her face.
“I’m sorry, sensei.”
“No, don’t cry,” so awkward, he cringes into himself. He can almost see Obito standing over him, clearly disappointed. Why is he? Kakashi made it a habit to always run late, but he used to be on time, once. He wouldn’t want to keep him waiting. He’s been alone for too long — Kakashi doesn’t want him to be scared. He failed him once, twice. “It’s alright.”
“It’s not.”
Naruto punches the ground. He’s sobbing now, far from the saviour of shinobi — now he’s just a boy, lost and scared.
Sasuke crouches beside him. He’s contemplative, perhaps not sure how to address Kakashi after all that happened.
“You have to promise me to behave.”
“Why would I?” His voice is dry, and Kakashi is once again reminded of a snobby brat who cannot figure out sympathy.
“Because I was your teacher once, and it’s rude to refuse to grant someone their dying wish.”
“You’re not dying. We’re going to get out of here, and then you can repent for all Konoha and other kage did to my people. Properly.”
“Always so keen on revenge. You’re trapped in a never ending cycle, Sasuke,” Kakashi laughs; it’s interrupted by a pained cough. “You have to have each other, now more than ever, okay?”
Neither of them answers him. Naruto’s lower lip quivers, and he wipes away his tears with his forearm.
“You can’t go—“
“It’s okay, Naruto. Obito is waiting for me, you know? And he never liked being alone, so I better join him soon. The last thing I need is for the deadlast to complain that I’m late. I have a reputation to uphold, Rin can’t know about my little habit.”
“He would want you to live,” Sakura argues.
“It’s fine. Rin waited for both of us long enough.”
Sasuke stands up abruptly, the look in his eyes hardening. He glances at Naruto, then back at Kakashi.
“You’re dying.”
“Yes.”
“And there is no cure for that.”
“There isn’t.”
Sasuke ponders something. He looks at his hand, then at Naruto’s.
“If you could stop it, would you?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Save my clan? Save your loved ones?”
“I would do anything,” Kakashi confesses, because he’s tired of lying. Of losing those he cares about.
Something settles in Sasuke’s expression.
“Prove it,” he says; something akin to understanding sparks in Naruto’s eyes, and he nods at Sasuke.
“Don’t worry about us, sensei.” His voice is shaking, but he sounds resolute. Confident. “We will meet again.”
Sakura stares at them; she must realise what they’re doing before Kakashi does, because she takes a step back. There’s no relief in her eyes. Instead, trust is what Kakashi sees. She makes place for Naruto and Sasuke to step closer—
And then the world fades away.
Kakashi comes to his senses abruptly. Lightning soars through his veins, his mind buzzing with energy that originates from somewhere else.
His hands are ridiculously small.
“Kakashi, breakfast is ready,” he hears a voice call out; its sound brings tears to his eyes.
My boys, what the hell did you do?
He doesn’t have time to ponder his student’s genius plan; the door creaks open, and he’s met with a face that resembles his own so much he avoids looking into mirrors, to escape the memory attached to it.
Sakumo smiles fondly and crouches next to his bed.
“Are you excited?” His hand is in Kakashi’s hair, and he’s trying very hard to remember how to breathe.
I forgive you, he wants to reassure, but when he opens his mouth no sound escapes him. Concern flashes in his father’s eyes, and he checks his forehead, frowning.
“You’re not coming down with something, are you?”
“Dad—“ Kakashi finally manages to get out; the word is stunted, attached to a faded memory. It tastes foul and foreign; alien to his tongue. He can’t think of another way to address the person wearing this face, though.
“I know you’re excited, but if you’re feeling sick, you can skip the first day. The Academy isn’t going anywhere, alright?”
Kakashi is so ridiculously tiny; it’s infuriating. There’s a lot of pent up energy in his body, buzzing under his skin, urging him to move. At the same time, he also doesn’t want to leave the bed. The mattress is clean and it’s the best his back has felt in decades.
He doesn’t think about the childhood bedroom he’s in; about the Hatake estate, forever stained with his father’s regrets and his final choice.
“I want to go,” he says, only faintly aware of where he’d be going. He just needs to get out of here, this house filled with nightmares he still can’t shake off.
Sakumo must mistake it for anxious excitement, because he ruffles his hair again, and starts telling him about what he might expect as a student.
Gods, he’s so tiny; Kakashi stares at his hands again. It’s bizarre, and a bit sad. They truly put toddlers through a meat grinder.
The inner voice of reason, one he thought he’d killed many years prior, scoffs; Kakashi learnt not to criticise the system but to blindly follow it. Maybe that’s why the thought about how unfair stealing children’s childhood only to send them off to die is comes to him in Obito’s voice instead of his own.
“You’d be great,” his father says, patting his arm. Kakashi leans into the touch, soaking in it. It doesn’t matter how foreign it feels, there was a time when it was the most obvious thing in the world to him, to expect it.
Did they mean for him to wake up so young? Sasuke and Naruto are smart kids — in their own, special manner — but their powers are new. Maybe they messed up. Or maybe Sasuke wanted to be sure that Kakashi won’t; if he was sent not early enough, he would’ve had little to no chance to change the outcome.
Konoha looks different, and not only because Kakashi is a whopping one hundred centimetres. The Uchiha are in the streets, taking walks, going to work or haggling for lower prices on produce they’re buying. Kakashi honestly forgot how many of them were there.
“You know, there’s no shame in admitting that you need to rest, Kakashi,” his dad’s voice is steady; he’s holding his hand, firm, warm. Of course, if he’s assuming that Kakashi is starting to come down with a sickness, he must mistake his behaviour for stubbornness.
“I’m fine,” he’s really not, but he can only fall apart so many times.
Sasuke asked him to fix things — he owes him that much, at the very least. There was a spark of kindness in his eyes, before he urged Naruto to join him to do whatever sent Kakashi back in time. Or maybe Kakashi was trapped in delirium while dying, and his student’s eyes didn’t soften for a moment. No matter, he’s tired of the constant sacrifice; of losing people, of standing behind, watching as the world around him unravels.
He made so many mistakes — if his kids gave him the opportunity to right them, he must.
Someone’s causing ruckus at the entrance. Sakumo stops, watching, clearly amused, the chaos of the first day of the Academy.
Kakashi looks around; he barely recognises the faces of his future friends. It’s terrifying to see them again, so young, without blood on their hands and grief tearing through their hearts.
He knows, by heart, that he’s actually looking for two faces that are absent from the crowd.
Neither Obito nor Rin are present, which is to be expected. Gai is not here as well, and maybe they don’t know each other, but his presence might’ve eased Kakashi just a bit. Maybe a challenge or two would’ve helped to keep him sane.
“Go on, introduce yourself. Those are your classmates,” Sakumo nudges him; he’s probably expecting the snobby kid with an ego far larger than his body. Kakashi doesn’t remember how to be that person; he’s too battered and bruised to pretend that this arrogance still exists.
He will never have time to grieve, will he?
Maybe he’s greedy — he had more than a decade to spill tears over his mistakes, making sure no one would see.
But the wound Obito left in his heart is fresh. He’s not afraid for his kids — Team Seven will survive, because that’s what they do. They don’t need him, and haven’t in a while, as much as it hurts to admit.
He’s sure they will find their paths again; just like he’s sure that Gai will live his best life despite everything that happened, and eventually forget Madara’s name.
Maybe he should’ve stayed home — he can see the corpse of his father every time he looks at him, but it would’ve been easier to bear; it’s an old wound.
The one left by Obito’s is still bleeding, open and raw. They could’ve been together; could’ve survived together or died together. He waited a lifetime, and lost him as soon as he got him back.
“Kakashi?” His father sounds concerned. Kakashi bites his lip, fixes his scarf and nods at him.
“Alright. Come back for me?”
“Of course,” Sakumo smiles. “Try to make friends, okay? You can’t look down at everyone. Those are the people you’ll work with, in the future.”
“Yeah, I know.” He tries to keep fondness out of his voice. Gods, his heart hurts. “Promise me you’ll be here later?”
“Pinky promise.”
They entangle their pinkies together; Kakashi feels silly, but it seems right.
Their teacher gathers them inside and assigns them seats; the two near Kakashi stay empty.
The first lesson covers the basics of Konoha’s history and the types of chakra that exist. Kakashi tries to listen — he’s a diligent student, no matter his age. Four or forty, he’d still listen to lessons, like it’s an old habit.
“Can someone try to tell us how different chakra natures affect each other—“ Kakashi’s hand is up before their teacher can finish the question; it’s interrupted by the door to the classroom slamming open.
“We’re sorry for being late!” Rin says; she tugs Obito along, apologetic. Her cheeks are flushed, and so are his. “There was an old lady crossing the street.”
Did every single one of them use that excuse? Kakashi focuses on that, because thinking of anything else would be too painful.
Rin glances in his direction, like she immediately knew where she could find him. She smiles and waves, ignoring how Obito is doubling over, looking vaguely sick.
He can see her face, the flash of pain in her eyes as she chokes on his name, blood spilling from her lips. His fist is stuck, and he can’t get it out, and she’s dying in his arms despite the promise he made.
There’s blood on his hands, and he can’t ever wash it off.
Obito looks up too; his eyes flash with recognition, and he glances at Kakashi, then at Rin.
“Take your seats. Miss Nohara, mister Uchiha, I won’t excuse this type of behaviour each time you deem it necessary. You should show some respect to your fellow classmates. Some of you actually want to become good shinobi.”
“Is there such a thing as a good shinobi?” Obito mumbles; Rin pokes him.
“Stop that. Sorry, he’s a bit freaked out by the whole killing thing.”
“It’s a school for killing people,” Asuma says; his comment gains some laughs.
Kakashi ignores him; he’s hyper focused on Obito; on how he bites his lip, how his eyes get glossy. They were young — he doesn't even remember that he had a problem with killing, once. Then again, it should’ve been obvious — the Kannabi mission was the first time Obito fatally injured anyone, and it was clear it was a big deal to him.
The person he became after skews Kakashi’s view of that heroic but naive boy he can now barely remember. There must’ve been piles of bodies under his feet into his adulthood. How many corpses has Obito had on his conscience? How soaked in blood was he?
He could prevent all of it.
Obito follows Rin to his spot; his lip wobbles, and Kakashi hesitates.
Focus, Hound, he tries, but fails to fall into that mindset; an ordinary ANBU, one who can only succeed at his missions, as he has no other option.
He knows many ways to kill — and even with his tiny, bare hands, he’d be able to finish this quickly.
But the thought scares him. And so, he’d have to search for a different solution to ensure that Obito doesn’t fall down that path again.
Maybe.
They’re brought to the area behind the school building, to show their existing skills — it’s a test focused on those whose parents are already shinobi, and those who come from clans that specialise in that line of work. Others will watch to see what techniques their classmates already know.
Rin bodyslams into her opponent; Nohara is a small clan, but a clan nonetheless, so she is participating. The other girl falls backwards, surprised.
The teacher intervenes when Rin, for some ungodly reason, gets out a massive needle — nearly a senbon — and positions herself to strike the poor child into one of the vital spots.
Sage almighty, perhaps Kakashi, just like Obito, was stuck with that idealised version of her.
They both stare at her in disbelief; she tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles brightly, like she hasn’t attempted homicide on a fellow five-year-old.
There are some more duels — two Uchiha kids face each other, and end up with black eyes. Asuma faces Hayate. Anko obliterates her opponent, cackling wildly.
“Uchiha Obito and Hatake Kakashi,” their teacher calls, raising his hand. They stand across each other, and Kakashi has to take a moment to level his breathing. His mind flashes to the vast open space of Kamui; to his fist going through Obito’s heart.
There’s nothing in my heart anymore—
Kakashi clenches his hands into tight fists and grits his teeth.
They make the unity sign and start; Kakashi kicks him in the shin, and Obito ducks, dodges his next oncoming attack and actually catches his foot centimetres from his face.
They continue — his body is tiny, but Kakashi knows that his father must’ve trained it by now. Intensely. The muscle memory is a wonder, even if he doesn’t have the mass or height to aid him any longer.
Obito’s training as one of the Uchiha shows as well — his lungs don’t have the capacity for katon just yet, so the fireball he sends towards Kakashi is laughably weak, but his use of an actual technique emphasises that he’s from an actual shinobi clan.
Their spar goes well, up until Obito stumbles and Kakashi hits him in his chest.
Why am I panicking? He takes his hand away as quickly as he can. Blood flickers in his vision, though there’s none. He looks up at Obito; he looks confused, but simply decides to use this to his advantage and hits Kakashi in his jaw.
He stumbles backwards; his hands are shaking.
Is he in Kamui again? The voices of those around him are muffled — there’s only Obito.
His vision flickers.
And, in the blink of an eye, he’s on top of Obito, his tiny hands squeezed around his neck.
Obito looks surprised; he flails around, trying to shake Kakashi off; he only succeeds in making his grip tighter.
Kakashi is pulled back before he can finish the job; his ANBU training achieves nothing against a chunin twice his size; not with a useless body like this one.
“Obito!” Rin’s panicked voice is loud in his ears. She runs towards him and holds his hand, helping him to calm down.
She sends a scolding look towards Kakashi.
It doesn’t matter — he’s too lost to comprehend it. His emotions run high, and are more intense than he remembers. He can feel tears building up behind his eyes; his heart stings, and he feels too small to do anything at all.
“Did you win?”
“It was a draw. Because you can’t win by strangling someone. It’s not honorary.”
Sakumo laughs, and Kakashi starts to doubt his parental competency; he expected some scorching comments about how he should watch his temper, not praise for taking a fight a tad bit too seriously.
“I’m not expelled, am I?” He asks, because it’s a huge concern. Not that it would actually matter — there are two clear paths he can take to ensure that the future is a bit better, and both of them aren’t in his reach.
He could kill Obito — but this emotion-driven attempt proved that it’s laughably easy to stop him, right now. And he’s unsure if he actually wants to. Anger swims in his heart, doubled by the bitter betrayal of Obito abandoning him once again, choosing to die rather than pay for his crimes accordingly and try to right his wrongdoings.
The second option is nonexistent, because of his breakdown. Befriending Obito as soon as he can — it seems obvious; help him socialise more, so that Rin isn’t the only person he has in Konoha. So he’s not so isolated that it’s easy to sway his loyalty away from the village.
He doubts that plan could ever come to fruition now. He can still feel Obito’s heartbeat under the tips of his fingers.
Tears swell up in his eyes, and he wipes at them angrily.
Stupid, childish body with stupid impulses and inability to regulate and process emotions.
“Hey, it was a fight. You were startled. You’re not in trouble. And I’d rather have you have instincts to fight back than to stand around and let yourself get hurt.”
“I think you should be scolding me, father.”
It’s a testament of how shunned by his clan Obito is, that none of the Uchiha show up to demand an apology and for Kakashi to be pulled out of the Academy, for not being able to control his impulses.
His little stunt goes unpunished, at least relatively so. He’s suspended, but only for this day. Tomorrow he may join the class again, hopefully with lesser violent tendencies towards other children.
“Hm, I doubt there's an actual reason,” Sakumo ponders; Kakashi almost laughs. He was blind to the blatant favouritism that let him grow into arrogance, when he was young. Now it seems painfully obvious.
And still, it was not enough to influence Sakumo’s decision after the village turned from him.
This system swallows people whole, he can hear in his thoughts; so similar to Obito’s. When has he become his inner voice of reason?
“I tried to strangle my classmate. For no reason.” Kakashi huffs in childish despair. He will have words with Sasuke and Naruto, if it’s ever possible. They could’ve at least tried to come up with something less nonsense. His mind is old, but his body is not, and it acts out according to his current biological age. Inconvenient. “He will hate me forever, now.”
“Are you worried about making friends?” Sakumo nudges him. He’s in civilian clothing; it’s hard to imagine him outside of this failure Konoha forced Kakashi to believe he was. It’s even harder to consider him his own person, and not Obito’s hero.
Kakashi built himself around what he thought Obito were so much that he’s unsure what to do now — how he’s supposed to be his own person, when so many of his habits are borrowed from somewhere else.
He doesn’t dignify his father’s question with an answer; just hums vaguely, because yes, he is upset that he might’ve lost his chance to change the future in a way that’s less bloody and heartbreaking.
Sakumo tried to stifle his laughter.
“I think you rather impressed them, Kakashi.”
“Yeah, with mental instability.”
Sakumo rolls his eyes and ruffles his hair; then he nods, pointing towards the school’s gate.
Obito is peeking through the bars, and, noticing he’s been spotted, quickly hides behind the brick wall. He’s not alone — Rin grabs his hands and pulls him into the line of sight with her. She holds him, as if to prevent him from running.
“Hello,” she greets politely, ignoring how Obito tries to escape her tight grip. “Kakashi, hi. Sorry you were suspended for today.”
He pushes himself to respond.
“Uh, hey. It was justified. I shouldn’t have— well, I’m sorry. For doing… that.” He directs the apology towards Obito; the boy stops struggling and stares at him for a moment.
“It’s cool. It was a fight, right? I should’ve known how to defend my stance. Rin says I’m atrocious at dodging.”
“Because you are,” she nods wisely, then pats his back, sympathetic. “But that fireball was good! Better than last week, right, Kakashi?”
“Last week?”
She laughs and waves her hand.
“There was a competition, remember? You showed off with a mud wall, and Obito competed with his fireball technique. And we ate dinner together.”
“You didn’t tell me,” Sakumo looks at him.
The memory is vague, almost completely faded — right, there was a moment when Rin and Obito spied on him while he was fishing, waiting for his father to come home after a longer mission, and he took pity on them and invited them over.
“Sorry, I forgot.”
Obito’s eyelid twitches; Rin is quick to cover his mouth.
“You have a really nice garden, mister Hatake.”
Sakumo smiles, and thanks her; he seems grateful that Kakashi actually connected with someone. Maybe there’s something with that assumption, that ninjas see each other’s hearts through their fists. If his attempt at strangling Obito will lead to an unlikely friendship, he’ll take that chance while he has it.
“Dad, can they eat with us? I owe him an apology.”
Sakumo tilts his head; his gaze falls upon the two kids, and Kakashi sincerely hopes he can sense how much he needs him to agree.
He will save Obito. Even if it means forcing him to survive.
He needs them to trust him — so it’s easier to change things around. So that Obito will have a home to return to, and Rin won’t have to take such drastic measures, all in the name of a system that never knew her name in the first place.
“If their parents won’t oppose that—“
Rin squeals and urges Obito to do the same.
Kakashi wonders if this will be enough to start a detour from the future that’s already written.
“Are you alright?” Sakumo kneels in front of Obito, when he doesn’t answer or follow Rin’s lead. The boy has bruises around his neck, in the shapes of tiny handprints. He looks blankly ahead, as if he forgot how to express himself for a moment. Then, like clockwork, a smile gets plastered onto his face.
“You’re really cool,” he says, with such adoration Kakashi ponders how he missed it, the first time around. How is it possible that he missed the signs of how Obito revered Sakumo and regarded him a hero, when it’s so obvious?
Maybe Kakashi saw only what he wanted to see — hatred of the people who felt betrayed by his father’s failure.
Sakumo laughs.
“Thank you. I’m sure one day you’ll grow up to be just as amazing.”
Rin grins and throws her arm over Obito’s shoulders.
“He’s going to become the greatest Hokage!” Her smile is energetic, and she has a stern, convincing look in her eyes, as if daring anyone to argue. “And together, we’ll be stronger than the Sannin! But there are three of them, so we need another member. You in, Kakashi?”
Startled, he nods before he can process what she asked him.
They join him and his father for dinner; the Hatake estate doesn’t feel so overwhelmingly terrifying and painful, with them around.
Sakura, Naruto, Sasuke I will try to make it better, Kakashi looks at his family-to-be. Rin pokes at Obito until he starts to bicker with her, still tense around his childhood hero. Sakumo keeps on adding food to their plates.
Obito. I promise I will save you, this time.