Since becoming a target, Obito realized he couldn't get close to Rin anymore. And then it hit him—literally and figuratively—it was the smell. He'd known for a while about the silent wars among his peers, but now it was personal.
At first, he refused to accept it and picked fights daily. The result? A daily beatdown. His skills just weren't enough. And to his dismay, even Ebisu—who used to be just like him—had left him in the dust.
Now, Obito sat in class, forehead scrunched in frustration as the teacher droned on. "There's no way I'm this dumb," he thought. Desperate, he started scribbling down every word the sensei said. For some reason, rewriting it later at home helped. The next day, he'd bombard the teacher with questions.
The sensei found Obito's method… unorthodox, but hey, at least the kid was trying. So, like a good mentor, he guided him.
Sadly, Obito's efforts went unnoticed by everyone else.
Then came the end-of-year exams, and the usual shinobi supremacy battles were put on hold. A rare, peaceful ceasefire settled over the academy—dubbed "The Holy Week of No Face-Punching."
For once, classmates shared snacks and actually talked. Even Ebisu's squad mingled with Asuma and Midori's group. No trap strategies were discussed, but taijutsu, ninjutsu, and chakra control were hot topics.
Asuma was the cool guy, Midori the star, and fangirls clung to them like limpets. Ebisu found it pathetic… until his skills got attention, and suddenly, a certain blonde lolita was batting her eyelashes at him. Adjusting his glasses, he played along—for tactical research, of course.
Nawaki was annoyed. It had been months since anyone ambushed him. He almost… missed it. (He quickly banished that thought before it could ruin his reputation.)
He'd studied hard, reviewed every academy technique, and now exuded Senju excellence—luscious hair, flawless face, the works. But he wasn't stupid enough to let his guard down.
While lesser shinobi needed elaborate traps, Kaji could drop one in front of him mid-step.
Today, Nawaki was visiting Kushina—his honorary big-sister figure. The streets seemed safe… but then—
WHOOSH!
With reflexes honed by years of trauma, Nawaki vanished from the spot, reappearing atop a nearby roof, hidden between drying laundry. He glared down at the ground where a trap had blinked into existence.
"Seriously, Kaji? Again?!"
He scanned the area, sighed, and crouched, waiting.
The trap poofed away like it had never been there.
Nawaki checked every angle—left, right, up, down, behind the clouds—before cautiously continuing.
He knew their game. They wouldn't attack in crowds—only in alleys or open fields. And no matter how hard he tried to stick to busy streets, fate kept steering him into danger. All he could do was sigh and train harder.
----
Kushina nearly choked laughing as Nawaki recounted his latest near-death experience. Minato was wheezing, tears streaming down his face.
Kushina: "Kaji's methods are… unique. Remember when he asked if Kurama was bothering me?" She snorted. "Next thing I know, he drags in a female Nine-Tails shadow clone. Kurama's been weirdly chill ever since."
Nawaki: "Yeah, well, I can't be a perfect jinchūriki until I'm 18. Two more years."
Minato: "Did Kurama say why?"
Nawaki: "Something about my Yin-Yang chakra being unbalanced. Says it'll stabilize naturally by then. But… uh… he wants you and Kaji there, just in case."
Minato: "Noted. We'll prepare." He paused. "And you? Everyone's expecting you to awaken your grandfather's legacy. Think you can?"
Nawaki mumbled something incoherent.
Nawaki: "Orochimaru-sensei said he'd help… when he's back in the village."
Minato: "Be careful, Nawaki."
Nawaki: "Hai, hai~"
-----
As Nawaki reached his house, he froze.
There stood Kaji, casually flipping through a notebook filled with highly questionable scribbles.
Kaji: "Glad you're still alive. Nice dodge on that instant trap, by the way."
Nawaki: "What do you want now?"
Kaji: "Today's training is simple." He snapped his fingers.
POOF!
A shadowy clone of Nawaki materialized—same cocky grin, same annoying hair.
Kaji: "Fight him. Use everything you've got. If you so much as scratch him, I'll upgrade your training."
Nawaki: "…Upgrade or torture?"
Kaji: "Yes."
The Battle Begins!
Shadow Nawaki (mocking): "What's wrong? Scared of yourself?"
Nawaki (gritting teeth): "Shut up."
Nawaki lunges with a Senju Fist Barrage!
Shadow Nawaki dances out of the way, taunting.
Kaji (snacking): "Wow. You punch like my grandma."
Nawaki tries Fire Style: Great Flame Jutsu!
Shadow Nawaki counters with Water Style: Splash of Disappointment! (It's literally a drizzle.)
Kaji: "Did you just lose to water pistol?"
Desperate, Nawaki attempts the Wood Style: Splinter Strike!
A single twig sprouts from the ground.
Shadow Nawaki (poking it): "Aww. It's adorable."
Kaji (sighing): "This is painful to watch."
Nawaki (panting): "I hate you."
Kaji (grinning): "Good. Use that rage."
And so, the most one-sided battle in history continued…
Final Note: Kaji may have rigged the fight. (Okay, he definitely did.) But hey, Nawaki's gotta learn somehow!
The air grew heavy as Kaji's usual smirk faded. His eyes, usually alight with mischief, darkened like storm clouds. Nawaki felt it—the shift. This wasn't the Kaji who set absurd traps or mocked his training. This was the Kaji who had walked through hell and back.
Kaji: "Sit down, Nawaki. I'm not here to joke this time."
Nawaki obeyed, the playful tension replaced by something colder.
"You think training is hard? Try watching your squad die because you weren't strong enough."
A pause. The wind itself seemed to still.
"War Doesn't Care About Your Excuses"
"I was twelve when I lost my first team. Just a routine border patrol—until it wasn't. An ambush. No grand battle, no heroic last stand. Just a kunai to the throat for one, a snapped neck for the other. No time to scream. No time to think."
Nawaki's fists clenched.
"I ran. Not out of cowardice—out of logic. I was the fastest. If I died too, no one would've known what happened. So I ran, with an Iwa-nin's blade an inch from my spine the whole way."
Kaji's fingers traced a jagged scar along his ribs.
"This? A 'gift' from that day. The medic said I was lucky. Lucky." He scoffed. "Luck doesn't exist in war. Only preparation. Only strength."
"You've heard the stories—glorious victories, legendary heroes. Bullshit." Kaji spat. "Real missions? They're blood, mud, and silence. One mistake, and you're not just dead—you've doomed everyone who trusted you."
He leaned forward.
"Ever carried a dying comrade for miles, knowing they won't make it? Ever lied to a child, telling them their parent 'went on a long mission'? That's the job, Nawaki. Not flashy jutsu. Not fame. Responsibility."
"Why We Fight"
Kaji's voice softened, just slightly.
"But here's the truth—pain isn't pointless. Every scar, every loss, it means something. Because the world isn't kind. It breaks people. But us? We choose to stand back up."
He met Nawaki's eyes.
"You're a Senju. That name isn't just power—it's a promise. A promise that when others fall, you keep going. Not for glory. For the ones who can't."
Kaji stood, shadows clinging to him like old ghosts.
"So train. Not to impress. Not to win. Train so that when the world tries to break you—it fails."
A beat of silence. Then—
"Now get up. We're running drills until you puke. And then we'll run more."
Nawaki stood. For the first time, he didn't complain.