Tobi's Tale

“You said you had a story for me; I’d like to hear it,” the woman said standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at the masked man who seemed quite at home with rummaging through cupboard after cupboard. The masked man turned to the blue-haired kunoichi for a moment and if you squinted your eyes just right and added a little bit of imagination, you could just see his eyebrow quirking in amusement. “Ah, yes. I did, didn’t I?”

“Tobi, I’d like to hear it. Whenever you’re ready to tell me,” the woman asked softly, watching the masked man turn to rummage through the cupboards once more until he stopped on one.

“Ah! Bingo!” He retrieved a shiny blue canister, decorated with traditional birds and flowers. He lifted the orange mask and sniffed the contents of the tin, letting out a content sigh and bringing it over to the stove with the teapot that had been sitting on the counter. He didn’t say anything else until he had the kettle heating on the stove, the burner casting a blue lighting into the dark room that was previous only lit by the hallway light.

The masked man leaned back against the countertop and supported himself with his arms. “Ah… sorry. I think this calls for some tea first,” he apologized to the woman. “I’ll start off in just a few minutes. Heh! Um, Konan-kun, you wouldn’t like some too, would you? It’s a long story!”

“I don’t mind, Tobi. I have time. I’m seldom able to sleep anymore,” she responded to his comment about his story, but with a small smile she added, “But yes. I would like a cup of tea.”

“Alright then!” Tobi, the orange-masked man lifted up his hand from the counter and shot the woman a thumbs up, his smile practically showing from under his mask.

A few minutes of waiting later and Tobi and Konan were seated in what could be the dining area across from each other, steaming cups of tea in front of them and Konan intently watching and listening for the other shinobi to begin his tale.

Tobi was quiet for a moment and hummed to himself, considering his next move. After some deliberation, he put his hands behind his head to fumble with his mask. “In light of what I’m about to tell you, I won’t need this mask any longer. However, don’t be too surprised when you see the face behind it,” he warned before removing the hideous swirled-pattern from his face and setting it on the table beside his teacup.

Konan’s eyes lit up in shock and there was a pause as she could say nothing to the sight before her. Her mouth had dropped slightly and the previously masked man waited out the shock and took a sip of his tea. He his and pulled it away, setting it down on his saucer. “Ow. That’s still too hot,” he grumbled to himself. The kunoichi pulled herself together and stated the obvious to the shinobi before her, “You are not Uchiha Madara.”

The shinobi moved the teacup meticulously until it lined up with the saucer perfectly. “No. I am not Madara. I'm sorry that I had lied to you and Nagato, but I was under 'his' influence, regardless of the circumstances,” the dark-haired shinobi said soberly. His dark eyes cast down onto the teacup before him as he fiddled with the exact spot the saucer should be in now.

“I’d much rather know who you are and hear your tale,” the woman said. Every trace of surprise was now locked away and concealed once more as if it had never happened, but her looks also foretold that her body was poised and ready to strike like at any moment now. “However, I suppose I now know for certain that you are an Uchiha.”

The man looked up and met her eyes and nodded briefly in confirmation. “I am.”

“Continue your story then, Uchiha. But be aware that as soon as I had encountered you, I sent out a fail-safe,” the seasoned kunoichi stated. “If you are to harm me during your tale, the rest of the Akatsuki will immediately respond. Mind yourself, Uchiha.”

The shinobi smiled at her and the scars on the right side of his face crinkled with his expression. “Honestly, I’d expect nothing less,” he said calmly, with something akin to relief, becoming more and more peculiar and even more dangerous in the kunoichi’s eyes. “I guess I’ll begin now that we’ve got that aside. It started many years ago, when you and I were both young shinobi, but nonetheless, I’ll begin at the end.”

Konan raised an eyebrow. “That’s a strange way to begin a story,” she commented, her curiosity becoming hungrier for answers about the strange – often comical – shinobi.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, his laugh rumbling through the rest of his body, “I suppose it is, for most people, but I’m not most people and the best way to begin my story is from the end, because the end of that story, is the beginning of mine.” At that moment, the smile was whisked away from his face and he adopted an expression of stone.

“I had become a terrible man,” the scarred shinobi began. “I had begun a war that spanned across every nation on this world and I had claimed it was all in the name of ‘peace’. I had been a fool because of it. My idea of peace was death to any who opposed my beliefs – no, Madara’s beliefs. Not mine, yet somehow they had become mine.” The Uchiha picked up his teacup stonily and took a sip, his expression showing delight close to the surface and he hummed. “This tea is amazing. I may have to hoard it to myself,” he chuckled, bemused by his own voiced thoughts on the contents of the cup.

Konan was annoyed at his change of subject, being more than willingly curious to find the mysterious Uchiha’s origins. She chewed over for a moment what he had said and became increasingly puzzled. To her knowledge, there hadn’t been a war in years, either through the Five Great Nations nor through her own country of Amegakure. What did Tobi mean by an international war?

“Um… sorry,” he murmured and cleared his voice after setting down the teacup once again. “Now, as I had stated before, I had been under Madara’s control and tricked into carrying out his dirty work, all for a higher purpose, and to reanimate him, the epitome of evil, with a lust for power.”

“But Madara is long dead,” Konan cut in before Tobi could spout any more of the ridiculous story. “How could he possibly control you? How could you reanimate him?” She glared at the Uchiha who looked a little taken aback and nervous.

“Heh heh… all in good time, Konan-kun,” he said, rubbing the back of his head, nervously before making a disgusted face, probably directed inwardly at himself at this point and threaded his fingers through his hair, running them through his dark spikes until he settled his hands back into his lap.

“Madara, was not… exactly… dead. He died, yes, um… twice at that point, but three times,” he stated, trying to comfort her and vaguely answer her question. “In the battle with Hashirama, he had died in combat but used his dojutsu to change his death and replace his body with a clone, hence, no one had ever ‘found the body’. It was also sealed and protected so no one could try to obtain any of his powers, but alas, Madara found a way.

“I was a tool for him to gain eternal life and create a new world, it was evident. He turned me against my village, my sensei, and my only friend,” the Uchiha said frowning. “After that, I had succumbed to Madara’s grand curse, the Uchiha’s grand curse and legacy of hatred. I eventually betrayed him after a fight with the only person that I had left that nearly killed both of us and…” The Uchiha’s hands trembled slightly and he reached for his teacup to take another sip, the hideous green color almost soothing to look at as the tea continued to steam during the gradually heating story.

The Uchiha was silent too long. “What did you do, Tobi? What happened? How’d you defeat Madara?”

The scarred man huffed and set the teacup down, adjusting it on the saucer once more. “I didn’t defeat him, but I could have if I had wanted to. No, I didn’t defeat him. I became a jinchuuriki to a beast of unfathomable strength, the Juubi, and I became no longer myself.” There was a darkness emanating from him at that, like a soldier reliving his deepest, darkest traumas and the horrid things they had experienced in times of war. 

Konan as once again shocked that evening and then disappointment engulfed her. It was just a story. A fairy tale. He was just trying to amuse her with a story of an evil madman, a monster, and a corrupt anti-hero. She raised herself from her cushion and looked down upon the man. “I’m sorry, but none of what you’re saying is real. It’s nothing but a lie meant to pass the time and amuse yourself and cover for your own self-loathing and the true reason you wear that mask; cowardice,” Konan stated brashly. “You are a fake. There's no way any of your story is true."

The scarred man watched her calmly and observed her, gauging her frustrations. “I am a coward, yes, I’ll admit it, but like I had said, this is the end of a story, which this story’s beginning. Everything I am telling you is not a lie but a possibility – a future that never happened all because of a boy who believed in the good of people, while they believed that there was nothing left, and his friends; and my only friend. So please, I implore you to listen to the rest of my tale before you make the decision on whether I am a fraud or not.” His gaze was unwavering and honest, begging Konan to believe him. He made every gesture of a man who believed in the words that he spoke.

The kunoichi sighed in resignation and sat before him, intending to finish listening to the story after hearing the scarred man’s confession. “I guess you can continue,” she said, pushing back her hair behind her ear and then cupping the teacup in her hands, embracing its warmth.

The man smiled at Konan and nodded a small bow towards her, “Thank you, Konan-san.” He chuckled a little and continued, his eyes crinkling with amusement, “I had about the same problem telling my good friend this same story." He brightened considerably at his mention of this friend, endearing that much more.

“And what was her reaction,” Konan asked, taking a sip of the tea, her eyes widening at the taste, and immediately set it down. “That’s a little… sweet.”

“Ah… sorry! I have a bit of a sweet tooth, my apologies, Konan-kun,” he belted out nervously rubbing the back of his before turning away and blushing, “Oh and… my friend… you see, is a guy.”

Konan was taken slightly aback. “Oh. Sorry. It sounded like there was some kind of romantic tension of some kind between you, so I assumed it was a woman.”

Obito blanched and snarled, “I’d never have a romantic THING for Bakakashi!” He crossed his arms angrily and huffed, glaring daggers at the kunoichi from across the table. His face was flushed, whether that was from embarrassment or being enamored by the mention of his friend, Bakakashi – although Konan suspected that that was not the man’s name – she may never know now.

The scarred man calmed down after a few minutes, but his cheeks were still tinged with pink. His gaze fell upon the wall clock which had been ticking quietly on the wall. He took a deep breath and sighed, most of the color gone now. “We’ll have to wrap it up for the night,” he said before he yawned quietly behind a gloved hand.

“Hm? Why’s that,” Konan asked, disappointed now that the man had got her once again interested in his tale.

“It’s very late, er, early, and the last thing I want to do is lose my air of mystery, he said, tapping the side of his face and grinning at the kunoichi.

“If your story is true, or even if it isn’t, I don’t think anyone will recognize you,” Konan stated simply, pushing the teacup away from her subtly.

“Oh, I can recall at least one member that will, but on the contrary, even if they don’t, I’d rather not it be Hidan catch me and start bragging about it or using his demented vocabulary to harass me for my battle scars,” he said with disgust and a shudder. Konan’s lip curled in disgust. Hidan…

“Anyhow,” the scarred man continued, with a gentle grin, “I’m going to clean up and go to sleep. Busy day tomorrow.” He stood from the cushion and stretched, his lithe muscles showing beneath his black long-sleeved shirt before he took his own teacup and drained it. “Delicious! That really hit the spot!” Tobi came around and took Konan’s hardly touched tea as well, careful not to clang the glass dishes. Unusual. Most of the Akatsuki either expected maids to clean up after them or only cleaned up after themselves. Tobi was different. He had manners, but the worst psychopaths did after all.

“You ought to go to sleep too, Konan-kun,” he said, as he headed into the kitchen to get the dishes cleaned. “You probably have a busy day ahead too. I guess that’d be ‘paper work’!” He laughed heartily and watched for her reaction.

Konan scowled at him and frowned in annoyance. There had to be no way he was telling the truth about this story. He was too immature, however, he still seemed sincere. She got up from the cushion and nodded to Tobi who nodded back, surprised that she’d still be as polite towards him, “Thank you for the tea, Uchiha-san.”

Tobi’s brows went up and he looked slightly put out, “Ah, don’t call me that. Just Tobi. Tobi is just fine for now.” He ended that with another smile. He was quite sunny and cheerful for someone who claimed to have been a jinchuuriki for a made-up monster and started a fourth war that Konan had never heard of. Most shinobi from prominent clans always used their clan names but like she had observed many times before, Tobi was different. He greatly differed from his supposed cousin who also resided in the Akatsuki group, Itachi Uchiha.

“If you don’t want to be called ‘Uchiha’, what is your real name, ‘Tobi’,” she asked, hoping to appease her curiosity temporarily with a name in which to recall.

The levels of charisma in his grin had somehow enhanced and he simply said, “Well, I guess you’ll have to find out tomorrow night if you’re still willing to listen! Good night, Konan-kun!”

She internally groaned and murmured back a return of the sentiment and went off to her own quarters to sleep. She didn’t rest much as she lay there for a while considering who the masked man, Tobi, really was and going over the entirety of the story, looking for anything that might clue her off without have someone discover who he was before her. Tomorrow. She just had to wait until tomorrow.