academy

I stop slashing with my sword and wipe the sweat from my brow. Anyone observing me would clearly see the intensity of my training. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I steady myself, my eyes locked on the unmoving target before me.

It's been three days since the funeral, and today, I have to return to the academy. The brief respite I've had has been punctuated with relentless practice, a desperate attempt to channel my grief and anger into something productive. Yesterday, a member of the academy staff came to inform me that I couldn't stay at home any longer and had to go back. The directive was clear, though his tone was curt and unyielding, reflecting the pressure from higher-ups who seemed to think that returning to normalcy would somehow mend the gaping wound of loss.

It's not as if my training is a secret. I am performing it right in front of them, with ANBU agents keeping a close watch from the shadows.

I know they are assessing my every move, gauging my worth and my readiness. The fact that I am under such surveillance speaks volumes about the expectations and the stakes involved.

I'm not naive enough to think Sarutobi will leave me alone. The village will scrutinize me, evaluating my loyalty, my talent, and the potential threat I might pose. They want to see if I can channel my grief into something productive and if I can still be of use to them. I intend to show them precisely what they expect: my anger, my loyalty, and my talent. I'll prove myself by graduating from the academy swiftly, meeting their expectations head-on. They are counting on me to be the hot-blooded kid eager to become strong and seek revenge for my father by defending the village.

Despite the White Fang's tragic end, his death came after he failed a mission. The circumstances of his last days were clouded in secrecy and manipulated truth. The official narrative was that he had failed, and this failure led to his death. But I know better. His final moments were shrouded in mystery, manipulated to fit a narrative that suited those in power. It would have led me astray if not for the clarity my memory provides, keeping me grounded in the reality of what truly happened.

I glance at the template assimilation, noticing the progress bar at 14%. The growth is rapid, and I can already feel a marked improvement in my kenjutsu skills. The basics, while simple, are becoming sharper and more refined with each practice session. It's a subtle, yet significant change. I can sense the improvement in my muscle memory, in the precision of my strikes, and in the fluidity of my movements. Satisfied with my progress, I take a quick bath to wash away the sweat and grime that has accumulated. The water feels refreshing, a brief but welcome relief from the oppressive heat and the strain of training.

After the bath, I head to the kitchen. Time is short, so I prepare a quick meal—just some eggs, nothing elaborate, but enough to sustain me for the day ahead.

Sometime later, I finally approach the academy entrance. The walk here was a nightmare. The bustling streets, the stares, and the whispers of the villagers are almost unbearable. As I make my way through the crowd, their whispers and stares follow me like a shroud. I can hear the murmurs, the derisive comments—"It's his son, that coward." The words cut deep, each one a reminder of the scorn and judgment I am subjected to. It's painful to hear such things from the very people my father fought to protect. Yet, this pain fuels my resolve. It strengthens my determination, turning my anger into a driving force.

Entering the building, I move with purpose toward my class. I will be at the academy for this month only, just as my assimilation completes. The halls are familiar, yet they seem different now, filled with echoes of past laughter and conversations that feel distant and hollow. Opening the door to my classroom, I step inside. The room is filled with students, their conversations fading into silence as they notice my entrance.

Ignoring the stares, I head towards the back bench by the window. Unfortunately, it's already filled. Seeing my awkward situation, one of the students says, "Let's go sit in the front today." The others follow him, and I reluctantly take the seat. I look around the room, noticing familiar faces—Kurenai, Rin, and Asuma are already here, their eyes subtly glancing in my direction as if trying to gauge my mood or my reaction like everyone else.

Obito is missing ,I think about him and the role he plays in this world, pondering the possibility of changing certain events. Looking at Asuma, I wonder if it would be possible to switch Itachi's role with Asuma's. Just imagine if Asuma were to massacre the entire Sarutobi clan by himself. What would Hiruzen do? Would he kill him or spare him? I think it would be the latter. The notion intrigues me—the idea of seeing how different actions could lead to different outcomes, shaping the course of events in unpredictable ways.

Seeing Kakashi eyes on him Asuma turn back ,' what the hell why is he glaring at me '.

I shift my attention back to the rest of the class, focusing on the dynamics at play.

I also have yet to decide what direction i should take. After i take revenge what should i do next? It's normal to works hard to become strong and survive against the Otsutsuki clan. Beyond survival, there are questions of what i wants to achieve and how he intends to shape his future. I could seek to rule the planet, but that would mean not only defeating the entire world but also controlling it, improving it, and protecting it.

But with gacha I will not be bound with this world I will travel through the omniverse.

I stop my thoughts as the teacher enter and also notice me. He started the attendance.

Just when he was going to complete the checking obito open the door.

The teacher " obito how many times will you come late." Obito nervously said " teacher I was helping my grandmother , I will come on time next time" . Giving last look the teacher allow him to enter.

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Author's pov

Should he travel to marvel and hp