"Are you… Uchiha Madara or Danzo Shimura?"

The words left Uchiha Itachi's mouth coldly, each syllable slicing through the silence like a blade.

As reality reasserted itself and the Tsukuyomi dimension dissolved, the question echoed with thunderous weight.

"What?!"

Nagato's eyes widened, stunned into speechlessness. Even Black Zetsu, ever lurking and calculating, showed a flicker of genuine alarm.

Danzo?

The name hung heavy in the air, a ghost from the darkest corridors of Konoha's history. Why would that man—that relic of the shadows—suddenly be mentioned now?

Itachi's gaze remained sharp and unwavering as he spoke, his voice devoid of emotion:

"Inside the Tsukuyomi… I sensed Danzo's chakra. It was faint… but unmistakable."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Heh…"

The masked man scoffed darkly, his lone eye narrowing with contempt. "A pitiful accusation, Itachi. Do you think throwing random names around will confuse me? My Mangekyō already repelled your genjutsu."

He waved his hand dismissively, but his movements were tense. Too tense.

"Danzo Shimura?" he sneered. "You dare compare that maggot to me?"

But the bitterness in his tone betrayed him.

Itachi remained stone-faced. He wasn't guessing—he knew what he saw. That fleeting flicker of chakra—it was the same sensation he had once encountered during the Uchiha massacre. A darkness hidden beneath layers of false power. Danzo's darkness.

Black Zetsu took a step back, his thoughts racing.

This was bad. Very bad.

He didn't understand the full extent of the connection, but something was unraveling. The masked man was cracking, and Uchiha Gen's appearance had only accelerated the fracture.

The man in the mask clenched Uchiha Gen's bottled eye tightly, blood dripping from between his fingers. A storm was building behind his eye—a mania that couldn't be hidden.

He didn't care about Itachi, or Nagato, or even the Akatsuki anymore.

His goal had shrunk to a single person, a single image:

Rin.

A world without her was meaningless. A world with anyone else… unforgivable.

His figure blurred, warped, and then vanished, sucked into the void of his own kamui dimension without another word.

Nagato stared after him grimly, murmuring, "Could Gen's ability go beyond genjutsu? Could it… override other Sharingan users?"

Itachi's eyes narrowed. "Yes… and more. That man isn't Madara. At least… not anymore."

"Then who?" Black Zetsu asked. "A vessel for Gen? A puppet?"

Itachi shook his head slightly. "Maybe both."

The silence was suddenly broken by Deva Path Pain's voice—calm, yet marked by disbelief.

"Even the legend of Uchiha Madara… reduced to a puppet?"

In the corner, Black Zetsu's form quivered with fury.

They're all fools... It's clear he isn't Madara at this point.

Itachi remained silent, his expression growing even more solemn.

Even before this, he had vaguely speculated that the Masked Man might not be Madara.

The real Madara would never fall so easily under someone else's control.

This imposter had clearly only inherited some of Madara's power and will, but was not Madara himself.

Black Zetsu stood in the shadows, his emotions at their lowest point…

He had spent centuries preparing this game. And now?

All of it—derailed.

Because of Gen.

Because of Itachi.

Because of their betrayal of the Uchiha bloodline.

Despair and fury gnawed at him. The plan to resurrect Kaguya… slipping through his fingers.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Now, even the masked man—once his greatest pawn—had become unstable, corrupted, manipulated by a new force.

The quiet that followed was suffocating.

Itachi, deep in thought, stared at the empty space where the masked man once stood.

This wasn't just about revenge or control anymore.

A far greater storm was coming.

In the forest, the night ran deep and cold.

A damp mist crept between the trees, and the wind whispered secrets only ghosts could hear.

The Masked Man—Obito Uchiha—moved in silence, his figure phasing in and out of the trees, half-corporeal, like a shadow that didn't belong in the world of the living. The moonlight sliced through the canopy above, glinting off the glimmering edge of his swirling mask.

His thoughts churned as violently as the Kamui vortex within his eye.

The Five Great Nations… and even the Akatsuki… will be forced to unite when that disaster arrives…But if I don't act now… the plan—my plan—will fall apart.

Anxiety gnawed at his chest like a parasite. He clenched his fists.

Kamui was still incomplete.

His left eye… was not with him.

"I must retrieve my other eye." He said it aloud as if trying to convince himself.

There was no time left.

Delay was no longer an option.

With a final surge of chakra, his body phased completely and vanished.

Outskirts of Konoha.

The trio—Kakashi, Jiraiya, and Tsunade—walked along a quiet, moonlit road toward the village gates.

"Kakashi… have you been keeping up with my latest book?" Jiraiya grinned, nudging him playfully.

But mid-laugh, his expression twisted into something unreadable.

He sensed it.

A chill down the spine.

A distortion in space.

"Behind you!" he shouted.

Too late.

Like a phantom breaking through a mirror, the Masked Man materialized behind Kakashi—silent, sudden, precise.

From the hollow of his right eye, the space around them twisted. A swirling vortex of Kamui bloomed like a black hole, and Kakashi's body was already being pulled.

"—?!"

Kakashi's Sharingan flared wildly, reacting on instinct. His eye spun, matching the rhythm of the incoming force.

"KAKASHI!"

Tsunade's roar split the night. The earth cracked beneath her as she leapt forward with blinding speed, chakra bursting from her heels.Jiraiya summoned chakra to his hands, forming seals mid-air.

But it was no use.Kamui's pull was absolute.

Kakashi's body distorted, pulled into the vortex. Within seconds, he was gone.

Kamui Dimension.

A dead void.

A landscape without sky or earth.

Just an endless gray.

Kakashi landed on solid, formless ground, breathing heavily—but already alert. His Sharingan spun, scanning.

Then…Obito stepped from the void.

That spiraling mask… that suffocating chakra… there was no mistaking it.

"Obito."

The word hit like lightning—direct, unflinching.

The Masked Man froze. A tremble passed through him.

He recognized me… so quickly…

He looked down, away from Kakashi's calm, knowing gaze."Kakashi… I'm here to take back what belongs to me."

Kakashi didn't raise his voice. No panic. Just a quiet resolve in his words.

"Then take it. It was always yours."

Obito's breath caught.

And in that instant… time collapsed.

Kakashi wasn't standing in this void anymore.

He was back in the cave.

Back in that cursed mission.

Back in the blood and boulder, as young Obito smiled through his final tears… and entrusted him with the eye.

And now, Kakashi felt it all from the other side—from Obito's side.The despair. The helplessness. The fury.

The unbearable moment when Rin ran into his Chidori…And the silent scream that followed.

Kakashi looked up again. He finally understood. Not just the pain—the purpose.

"You loved her more than life itself… and this world… this broken world wasn't kind to her."

Obito's mask dipped lower.

"You don't need to create a world for everyone… just one where Rin can smile." Kakashi stepped forward.

"You're the only one who can make that world. You always were."

Obito's voice was raw, almost childlike. "Kakashi… you…"

"We both dreamed of becoming Hokage… and we shared the same eye. You and I—"He tapped the left side of his face."—have always seen the same pain."

The Kamui dimension grew quiet.

Obito stared, hands trembling.

For the first time in years, a glimmer of doubt—and maybe remorse—rose to the surface.

And Kakashi, somehow, smiled.