Captor

Through the eyehole of his orange mask, "Madara" observed the scene unfolding in the kitchen. The chakra of this world was thick, resistant, making even maintaining his Sharingan an exercise in precise control. Old Man Madara hadn't prepared him for anything like this – how could he have? This world wasn't part of any plan.

The jinchūriki was making a mess of whatever he was trying to bake, flour covering his orange shirt while the woman – Amarah – patiently demonstrated the proper technique again. Her broken arm was a reminder of control, of necessary cruelty. He was good at that now, had learned it well in the caves under Madara's tutelage.

"Naruto, you're going to get it everywhere," Sakura scolded, but there was fondness in her voice.

The scene struck something in him, memories he usually kept buried beneath layers of purpose and pain. Not of family – he'd never had that, not really. The Uchiha clan had been too caught up in their pride and politics to care much for a perpetually late, seemingly talentless child. No, what this reminded him of was Team Minato, before everything went wrong.

Back then, he'd dreamed of becoming Hokage. Of being acknowledged. Of Rin...

His hand clenched involuntarily, and he felt the wood of the doorframe splinter beneath his grip. The noise drew Sasuke's attention, the young Uchiha's eyes narrowing as he searched for the source. But the Sharingan was still active, hiding him from view.

Sasuke. The last loyal Uchiha, though his loyalty was already fracturing thanks to Itachi's necessary cruelty. Another piece that would need to be carefully managed when they returned. If they returned.

"The dough needs to rest now," Amarah was saying, her voice carefully controlled. She always spoke that way when she sensed his presence, like prey trying not to draw a predator's attention. "Why don't you work on those chakra control exercises while we wait?"

The exercises were largely pointless in this world. He'd noticed how their chakra systems struggled against the strange thickness in the air, how even simple jutsu required intense concentration. The Nine-Tails' chakra was particularly affected – he could sense how it churned inside Naruto, restless but contained in a way it never was in their world.

It should have been frustrating, this delay in his plans. The Eye of the Moon Plan required precise timing, careful manipulation of events and people. Madara had laid it all out before his death, and Obito had spent years ensuring every piece would fall into place.

But watching these children – watching all of them – he felt something he hadn't experienced since that day in the cave when Madara showed him the truth about this world: uncertainty.

The Infinite Tsukuyomi would create a perfect dream world, one where everyone could be happy. One where Rin would still be alive, where she hadn't been forced to die by this cruel reality. That was the truth Madara had shown him, the purpose that had driven him for all these years.

But this... this was different.

These children were supposed to be tools. The Nine-Tails jinchūriki, the last loyal Uchiha, the girl with perfect chakra control – each had their role to play in the grand scheme. The woman was merely convenience, a way to maintain cover in this strange world.

So why did watching them affect him like this?

Was it because of how Naruto reminded him of himself, before he learned the truth about the world? The boy's dreams of being Hokage, his desperate desire for acknowledgment – they were painfully familiar.

Or was it Sasuke, carrying the weight of the Uchiha name but still somehow untouched by the worst of its curse? The boy even looked like him sometimes, when he forgot to maintain his stoic facade and actually acted his age.

Perhaps it was Sakura, with her fierce devotion to her teammates that echoed Rin's own loyalty. But no – he shut that thought down immediately. Rin was beyond compare. Rin was the reason for everything.

(Wasn't she?)

The woman, though... she was the unknown variable. The way she cared for these children despite her fear, how she created structure and stability even under threat. It wasn't weakness – he'd seen the steel in her eyes when she thought the children were in danger. It was something else, something that made him think of Minato-sensei's patient teachings, of Kushina's fierce protectiveness.

"Your stance is wrong," he found himself saying, materializing fully into view. All four of them froze, but he kept his attention on Naruto's attempted tree-walking position. "Your chakra control is already compromised in this world. Poor form will only make it worse."

Why had he said that? It served no purpose. Their training here was irrelevant – once they returned, everything would proceed according to plan. The Moon's Eye Plan would create a perfect world, one where...

One where what?

He'd known once, had been so certain. Madara had shown him the truth about this cruel reality, had given him purpose when all he had was pain. The plan would create a dream world where everyone could be happy, where Rin would live, where...

But watching these children train, watching them learn and grow even in captivity, he felt that certainty waver. Dreams weren't real. He knew that better than anyone. Reality was cruel and harsh and needed to be replaced.

(Didn't it?)

"Like this?" Naruto adjusted his stance, determination overriding fear.

Obito found himself moving forward, adjusting the boy's position with mechanical precision. "Channel the chakra here," he demonstrated, ignoring how everyone tensed at his proximity. "The resistance in this world requires more precise control."

Why was he helping them? They were tools, nothing more. Prisoners to be maintained until he found a way back.

But as he stepped back, watching Naruto successfully maintain his position for a full minute, he felt something he hadn't experienced in years: pride.

The sensation disturbed him enough that he phased away immediately, retreating to the rooftop where he spent most of his time searching for signs of this world's chakra patterns. He needed to focus on finding a way back. The plan required it. Madara's will required it.

Didn't it?

He could hear them below, resuming their training with whispered discussions of chakra theory. The woman was asking intelligent questions, trying to understand the principles even though she couldn't use chakra herself.

This wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't part of the plan.

But as the sun set over this strange world, Obito found himself watching them through his Sharingan again, wondering why reality suddenly felt more substantial than dreams.