Chapter 9
Minato took a slow, steadying breath as he approached the gates of the Uchiha compound.
The small slip of paper in his hand was crumpled and worn, the ink slightly smudged from weeks of being stuffed in a pre-teen’s pocket.
He hesitated just for a moment, then stepped forward, presenting the note to one of the Uchiha police officers stationed at the gate.
The officer took it, eyes flicking over the battered paper with a distinct disapproving frown before turning his gaze back to Minato.
He said nothing—but he didn’t have to.
Minato could feel the judgment in the silence.
Still, the officer simply nodded, turned on his heel, and gestured for Minato to follow him into the compound.
—
The compound was quieter than expected, its traditional buildings felt… closed off. Private in a way that made Minato acutely aware of how much of an outsider he was here.
They eventually stopped in front of one of the houses. The officer rapped firmly on the door, waiting until it slid open to reveal an older Uchiha woman standing in the entryway.
“You have a guest, ma’am,” the officer announced, voice neutral. Then, with an almost pointed air, he added, “Though it seems the visit is rather late for a genin training plan.”
Minato winced internally.
Yep. There’s the judgment.
The woman barely reacted.
She gave only a small nod, her expression calm, as though she’d expected it. “Thank you. I was expecting him—despite the lateness.” She stepped aside in clear invitation.
The officer simply inclined his head, offering a polite farewell before turning sharply on his heel and heading back toward the gate.
Minato hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping inside.
—
The house was just as traditional as the rest of the compound—wooden floors, paper screens, and a lingering scent of old incense. It practically radiated old Uchiha traditionalist and he couldn’t really imagine someone like Obito actually living here.
"This way," the woman said, leading him down the hall.
She guided him to a sitting room centred around a low table, a teapot and several cups already set out.
She lowered herself onto the floor with deliberate elegance, gesturing to the teapot. “I was just having a cup of tea when you arrived,” she said lightly, pouring herself another. She nodded toward the set. “Help yourself.”
Minato followed her lead, kneeling at the table, carefully pouring himself a cup.
When he glanced up, he found her watching him intently—not unkindly, but with a sharp, assessing gaze.
Like she was testing him.
Or waiting to see what he would do next.
Minato cleared his throat, setting his cup down.
“I’m Minato Namikaze,” he introduced himself, offering a polite bow. “Obito’s jōnin sensei.”
The woman inclined her head slightly but remained silent, still watching.
“I, uh…” Minato hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry it took so long to meet with you. To be honest, I wasn’t really sure how to handle clan matters since Obito’s the only one on my team where it’s applicable.”
He sighed, glancing away briefly. “I just assumed—well, I didn’t realize I should follow up when I didn’t receive an invitation to discuss his training, so…” He caught himself rambling and quickly refocused. “You’re Obito’s grandmother, correct?”
“I am,” she confirmed after a pause. Her eyes narrowed—not in hostility, but in quiet scrutiny.
“Since you have clan children on your team, you really should educate yourself a bit better,” she remarked. “That Hatake boy, at least, had the respect to follow Uchiha decorum appropriately when I met him.”
Minato flushed slightly at the criticism.
He’s trying, he swears.
It’s just that Obito wasn’t very Uchiha-like, and it had fallen lower on his priority list. He didn’t even know where to start when it came to Uchiha etiquette.
But then his mind caught onto something else she’d said.
“Wait—you met Kakashi?”
“Correct,” she confirmed, taking a slow sip of her tea. A flicker of amusement danced in her eyes. “It was quite the coincidence, wasn’t it? That we just happened to run into that Hatake boy a mere fifteen minutes before training—despite that never happening before.”
Minato frowned, thinking back.
Had Kakashi ever been less than fifteen minutes early to training? The only time that came to mind was the same day Kakashi had asked if Obito had given him the recommendation slip.
Before he could dwell on that, Obito’s grandmother sighed softly, setting her teacup down.
“I invited you here to discuss Obito’s training,” she reminded him, her tone even. “I’d like to get a head start before my grandson returns from his errands.”
Minato sat up a little straighter, schooling his expression into something more professional.
Right. Business first.
“I should also apologize,” she continued. “Obito has his own ideas of what it means to do the right thing. He never told me he was late to training.” She exhaled, a touch exasperated. “I only realized it after the Hatake boy ran into us and told me. I suspect Obito thought that if I knew, I would stop asking him to run errands for me, and he didn’t want that.”
“Why?” Minato asked, genuinely curious.
She sighed again, softer this time, as if fond despite herself.
“Because I raised him too well,” she said wryly. “He worries about me, my sister and a few of our friends who I would get to help babysit him when he was younger. He thinks we shouldn’t have to carry groceries or handle small tasks alone since he’s realized we are ageing, and the village… isn’t as kind to those who can no longer ‘pull their weight.’”
She took another sip of tea. “It’s his way of showing he cares—but he forgets that training is also important.”
That… sounded exactly like something Obito would do.
“As for the recommendation slip,” she continued, “he likely didn’t give it to you because he didn’t want to trouble me or my sister with clan training. And, if I had to guess, he also wanted to keep up with his genin training as usual—so he could spend more time with his team.”
Minato hesitated before responding. “Well, I—uh—appreciate his faith in my abilities as a teacher.” He offered a small, sheepish smile. “I’ve been doing my best. I actually plan structured lessons with a colleague who received a genin team around the same time I did. Right now, I’m focusing on chakra control exercises with the team.”
Obito’s grandmother hummed. “The Hatake boy mentioned that he gets self-paced training time.” Her voice was casual, but Minato could hear the unspoken question beneath it: So why isn’t my grandson getting special training time?
“I’ve actually had Kakashi on my team for about a year now,” Minato admitted, choosing his words carefully. “And Obito and Kakashi… well, they tend to clash a little whenever we cover topics Kakashi has already mastered. Obito can be a bit—” he hesitated, then settled on, “—slower than his teammates in some areas, and the gap in skill, especially with Kakashi being so far ahead, has caused some tension.”
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I’ve admittedly been assigning Kakashi to self-paced training while I focus more directly on Obito and Rin. It lets me tailor lessons to their level without distractions.”
She frowns.
“My grandson isn’t slow,” she said, tone clipped. “He’s easily distracted. He always has been, but it became worse after he and Rin ended up in the same academy class.”
Minato blinked, “Rin? But she’s the one who usually steps in to help him.”
“She’s a lovely girl,” she reassured, her expression softening slightly. “Kind, patient… I can see why Obito was drawn to her.” But then she hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. “But Obito is an Uchiha, and if he becomes too attached to her, it could be a problem. Especially if she keeps trying to solve all his problems.”
Minato frowned. “That seems a little dramatic.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line before she said, bluntly, “Normally, it wouldn’t be a concern. But Rin is civilian-born, and we are about to send these children to war. The likelihood of her becoming a casualty is high—she will be one of the least trained among them.”
Minato didn’t flinch, but the weight of her words settled heavily in his chest. No teacher ever intended to lose a student. But he had been Obito’s age when the Second Shinobi War raged, and he had seen firsthand how quickly young shinobi—barely older than his team—were cut down. Rin’s role as a medic-nin should offer her some protection. Tsunade had established strict rules to keep medics out of unnecessary danger.
But war didn’t care about rules.
The woman let the silence stretch, allowing her words to take root before continuing, “Uchiha do not survive losing their precious people well—especially if they lack the proper support and unfortunately my grandson hasn’t exactly gained the favour of the clan at large.”
Minato exhaled slowly. He knew what she was saying, but hearing it spelled out so plainly made his stomach twist.
“So… what do you suggest I do?” he asked.
Her expression eased, just slightly, as if pleased that he was at least willing to listen. “Schedule regular clan training days for Obito, either with me or my sister,” she said. “He needs more structured guidance in Uchiha techniques, even if he resists it.”
Minato nodded. He had tried to be mindful of Obito’s relationship with his clan—how much he pushed back against it and how much he still wanted to be accepted by them, even if he’d never admit it. But the idea of structured training with willing mentors… could be good for him.
She continued, “And find someone to personally tutor Rin. Not all the time—just occasionally. That way, there are days where training is only Obito and Kakashi.”
Minato frowned slightly, but she held up a hand before he could object. “The goal isn’t to cut Rin off completely,” she clarified. “Rin is one of his closest friends, and I have no intention of severing that bond. But Obito needs to form more connections outside of her. If he has a broader support system, he won’t place the weight of his world on just one person.”
That… made sense. Obito was fiercely attached to Rin. It wasn’t a flaw in itself, but Minato could easily imagine the devastation if something happened to her—if she was injured, taken, or worse.
She studied him for a moment, then added, “I may also start requesting genin assistance for the errands Obito typically runs for me. Perhaps ask some of my friends to do the same. If he sees others stepping in, it might ease his sense of responsibility.” A pause. “It would help if you took on more missions with your team. He needs to see that he can contribute without sacrificing his training.”
Minato hummed thoughtfully, rubbing the back of his neck. He had been hoping to hold off on missions until the entire team mastered water walking, but she spoke with the certainty of someone who knew exactly what her grandson needed. And if it helped curb Obito’s chronic lateness, it might be worth it.
“I’ll think on it,” he said at last, nodding. “You’ve given me a lot to consider.”
Her lips curved slightly, satisfied. “Good.”
—
It was Saturday and Sukea stretched his arms over his head with a lazy sigh, standing in the small, secluded training grounds at the Hatake compound, already regretting not fighting harder against being dragged out here on his day off.
But Kakashi had insisted.
So here they were.
Kakashi knelt a few feet away, the Kumo scroll that Minato had acquired unrolled in front of him. His sharp eyes flicked over the foreign script and diagrams, committing them to memory with that single-minded focus of his. Every so often, he would glance at Sukea expectantly, as if waiting for him to crack and just tell him what he was missing.
It wasn’t happening.
Sukea had no interest in getting either of them accused of being Kumo spies, even if it would save Kakashi some frustration. There were more eyes on them lately—Whether it was the Hokage or Danzo keeping tabs was unclear, but Sukea had noticed the increased scrutiny. He avoided them when he could. Years of ANBU experience made it easy—made it natural. He was only seen when he wanted to be seen.
Still, if he had to be out here, he would have liked at least one consolation.
“So,” he drawled, shifting his weight onto one leg. “Have you signed the Hatake summoning contract yet?”
Kakashi barely looked up. “Yeah.”
Sukea perked up slightly. “And?”
“Hasn’t worked yet. Dad’s wolves won’t follow me. I’m waiting for a new litter.”
Sukea exhaled, disappointed. A fresh batch of puppies would have made this whole ordeal a lot more tolerable. He must have been older than he thought when that tiny, wrinkly Pakkun first joined his pack… Shouldn’t be long now. Maybe shortly after he became a chūnin, then.
For now, all he had was Kakashi being Kakashi—honestly, not so different from a pup himself sometimes.
Then a sharp bzzt cut through the air.
Kakashi had started to crackle faintly, static flickering over his fingers in small, harmless sparks. Every time he moved too sharply, the electricity snapped out unpredictably, arcing toward the ground before fizzling away.
Sukea smirked. “With all the training you’ve probably had while we’ve been benched, I thought you’d be better at that by now.”
Kakashi’s only response was to flick a crackling spark at him in retaliation.
Sukea dodged it with an easy sidestep, but his amusement faded when Kakashi admitted, somewhat begrudgingly, “Team 7’s started going on missions again. I haven’t had as much time to train.”
That got Sukea’s attention.
Team 7 was back on missions while his team was still stuck in endless drills? Choza-sensei had been insistent that they needed a "solid base to work off of" before picking up assignments, as if D-rank missions required some profound tactical foundation. It was killing him. Even the dullest, most mind-numbing mission would be better than another day of basic exercises.
His basics feel very polished at this point, and then another spark nearly hit him, although not intentionally, Kakashi was trying to cycle his chakra again.
Sukea figured that was a problem to deal with later.
Keeping half an eye on Kakashi, Sukea picked up the scroll the boy had been using and skimmed over it. Sukea had owned the same scroll in his previous life, but it had been mostly sentimental. By the time he could possibly decipher it, he had already found better resources.
Looking at it now, with fresh eyes, he realized something: most of the jutsu listed were ones he had picked up from watching Kumo ninja with his Sharingan anyway.
Most of them were genin- to chunin-level techniques. Some of the ones he didn’t know were less about complexity and more about practicality—no skilled opponent would waste their time with something so basic unless they had mastered it to a terrifying degree.
Still, he was bored. Might as well find something new to try.
Current Transfer jutsu.
A simple jutsu. He was a little surprised he hadn’t learned it already.
All it did was channel an electrical charge into a held weapon. It was likely meant for minor enhancements, something useful in a quick skirmish but unlikely to hold up in a real fight against someone of Kakashi’s future calibre, which is probably why he never saw it. It was, at best, the Lightning Release equivalent of bringing a senbon to a sword fight.
Speaking of senbon.
Sukea pulled one from his pouch, rolling the thin metal between his fingers. It seemed safe enough to practice on. Worst case, he destroyed a single needle—an acceptable loss.
He focused, carefully following the steps outlined in the scroll. Of course, as he always reminded Kakashi, Kumo scrolls had deliberate gaps in their instructions to prevent outright jutsu theft.
But Sukea was a genius. He could fill in the blanks.
Or so he thought.
The moment he activated the jutsu, lightning flickered up the senbon, crackling along the metal—only for the charge to try to leap toward Kakashi.
Right. The boy was acting like a human lightning rod.
Sukea barely managed to flood his chakra system with earth energy before anything could happen, grounding himself just in time. The senbon, however, felt brittle in his grip, as if the charge had warped the metal.
Sukea frowned.
Yeah. Maybe he should do something about the walking electrical hazard before one of them got actually electrocuted.
"Alright, stop," he said, already reaching for Kakashi’s wrist before another wayward spark could bite at his skin.
Kakashi blinked at him, clearly confused. "What? I was just—"
"We’re changing lessons," Sukea cut in, already moving to sit cross-legged on the ground and dragging Kakashi down with him. "You need to learn how to ground yourself before you electrocute both of us. We’re doing Earth Release training instead."
Kakashi frowned, resistant. "Why? We aren’t earth-natured."
Sukea exhaled through his nose. "Because you are somehow a walking electrical hazard, and no one in the Leaf seems to know how to train you properly.”
Kakashi bristled at that.
“Down, boy. You haven’t done anything wrong,” Sukea continued, undeterred. “Minato never actually chakra-tested me in my time and assumed I had Earth Release just because I was a Hatake. Ironically, stopping him from training you wrong didn’t work out how I thought—because now he’s just training you wrong in a different way.”
Kakashi scowled. “Then you should just train me the right way.”
“No.” Sukea eye-smiled at him before having an idea. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I teach you how to build Earth Release as a second affinity so I won’t fear for my life the next time there’s a thunderstorm since I know it works. In exchange, you let me step in as you next time you have a mission.”
Kakashi’s eyes narrowed. “That wouldn’t be practical. You still have your own team training.”
Sukea just stared at him. A long, slow, incredulous stare.
Then, very deliberately, Sukea pointed between them—between their, albeit currently masked, identical faces.
Kakashi frowned slightly, but Sukea saw the realization creeping in.
“You stand in for me,” Sukea spelled out, his voice dripping with exaggerated patience. “Think of it as infiltration practice, genius. You’re the one who suggested I’d never been seen around the village because we were sharing an identity—now we can prove it works both ways.”
Kakashi narrowed his eyes but didn’t argue.
—
So, the rest of their training shifted.
Instead of crackling electricity and sparks snapping dangerously close to exposed skin, the afternoon became one of slow, steady breathing. Meditation. The feel of the sun warming their backs as they pressed their chakra into the earth beneath them, grounding themselves.
they breathed.
It was the kind of training that required stillness, something he knew Kakashi struggled with despite how he acted. It was against their natural chakra nature.
And sure enough—
Crumble
Sukea cracked an eye open just in time to see the top of Kakashi’s head vanish beneath the ground. A beat passed before a single silver spike of hair reemerged, then an entire scowling face as Kakashi clawed his way back up, covered in dirt and looking more annoyed than anything.
Sukea hummed, thoughtful.
“Alright, I’m teaching you Headhunter Jutsu, I would feel better about you doing that on purpose,” he announced, standing and dusting himself off. “I’m not climbing down there every time you lose focus.”
Kakashi shot him a flat look, brushing the dirt from his sleeves. “You haven’t climbed down once.”
“And I’d like to keep it that way.”
Kakashi muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue.
So, the lesson shifted again. Sukea talked him through the technique, correcting his stance when needed. By the time Kakashi could successfully sink and re-emerge without incident, the afternoon had stretched long, shadows growing longer around them.
It wasn’t what they had set out to do, but Sukea figured it was the right call.
And besides—
Sitting in the sun hadn’t been so bad.
The warmth of it soaked into his skin, the earth cool beneath his palms. The air smelled of overturned earth and Kakashi was no longer actively trying to electrocute himself. Just a quiet afternoon.
And, Sukea had some plans for Monday.