Naruto: The Opportunity Plunderer

The aftermath of battle clung to the clearing like a curse.

Tree trunks had been split apart by violent force, their innards smoldering. Cracks riddled the ground, and the air hung heavy with the lingering scent of burned chakra.

Two bodies lay motionless — Shisui, collapsed near a smoking crater, and Itachi, slumped against a shattered boulder, his eyes blank and lifeless but still conscious.

Both elite Uchiha shinobi were incapacitated, fallen not to recklessness but to overwhelming strength.

And now, only two remained standing.

One was Gojo — youthful, silver-haired, his breathing calm but controlled, eyes sharp like polished steel.

His fists were slightly clenched, his stance composed, balanced on the balls of his feet. Though young, there was maturity in his presence, a weight that didn't match his age.

The other was a cloaked figure — tall, broad-shouldered, with a swirling orange mask covering his entire face. The atmosphere around him pulsed with malicious intent. His chakra distorted the very space near him, like ripples in a still pond.

A cruel grin echoed in his voice.

"You cannot defeat me, junior," the masked man said, arms spread slightly. "Today, your so-called lineage will teach you what real power is. I am the embodiment of your ancestor's legacy."

Gojo tilted his head slightly, unimpressed. His lips curled upward in dry amusement.

"Oh? Big words," he replied. "Then enlighten me, oh wise one — what's your name, Mr. Ancestor?"

The masked man faltered for half a second, a micro-hesitation in his stance.

But then he laughed — a deep, resonating, theatrical laugh that seemed too forced to be genuine.

"I am Uchiha Madara," he said, voice filled with grandeur. "The Ghost of the Uchiha, returned from death itself."

Gojo's smile faded into something colder, more calculating.

Liar. And a bad one at that.

"You don't say," he said, pacing forward slowly, one foot after the other, like a teacher confronting a foolish student. "Then, if you're Madara… tell me something trivial. What's your father's name?"

The silence that followed was thick and immediate.

The masked man didn't speak.

Didn't move.

Didn't even breathe for a second.

Gojo's expression darkened with disdain. "Exactly what I thought."

He tilted his chin upward, as if addressing a dog barking at royalty.

"You don't even know the man's father. You're not Madara. You're not even a ghost. You're a clown, wearing a mask far too big for your pathetic little act."

He paused, then delivered the final jab.

"Tail of the crane. You reek of it."

The mask didn't hide the chakra spike that followed. It exploded outward like a triggered trap, thick and sharp, born from fury and humiliation.

"You dare—!" the masked man snarled, voice no longer calm, no longer superior — but personal. Furious.

It had hit a nerve.

Obito's deepest wound, carved into his soul by childhood shame and abandonment, was laid bare.

And now Gojo would pay for it.

With a speed that tore the wind, Obito vanished from sight.

Gojo's instincts screamed.

He dropped his shoulder just as a punch came screaming in from behind. The wind pressure still clipped his ear as he ducked and twisted, launching his own elbow backward in response.

It connected — or would have.

But Obito phased out, intangible for that moment.

Gojo jumped back, landing in a low crouch, breath steady.

He's using Kamui. Short-range phasing. Need to time it.

Obito gave him no time to strategize.

He came again — feet slamming into the earth like thunder. His body blurred, attacking from the left with a sweeping kick, then flickering to the right with a jab aimed at Gojo's throat.

Gojo parried the first with a wooden arm extension and bent back to barely dodge the second. He retaliated with a rising palm laced in chakra.

Missed again.

Obito vanished into the ethereal space for a heartbeat, then reappeared right above him.

His fist descended like a hammer.

Gojo raised both arms in an X to block it, and the sheer force drove him to one knee, cracking the earth below him.

He exhaled sharply.

Too strong. His chakra's deep and refined… but it's more than that. My body… isn't ready.

He was physically too young. His chakra control might rival elite jonin, but his muscles, his reaction time — his stamina — were still growing.

And Obito was exploiting that weakness mercilessly.

Obito stepped back and made hand seals.

"Fire Style: Great Flame Torrent!"

A roaring wave of fire surged forth, devouring oxygen and painting the sky red.

Gojo didn't hesitate.

"Water Style: Serpent Stream Break!"

A torrent of water erupted from his mouth, coiling like a dragon and smashing into the wall of fire. Steam exploded, obscuring the field in dense, hot mist.

Gojo didn't wait.

He performed another set of seals.

"Wood Style: Binding Vines!"

Thick wooden tendrils erupted from the ground, twisting like snakes toward the last known position of his enemy.

But Obito wasn't there.

He was already behind Gojo.

A knee rammed into his back, sending him stumbling forward. Before he could recover, a punch to the side of the face whipped his head to the left, and a spinning kick slammed into his ribs.

Gojo spat blood, tumbling across the ground, only managing to catch himself at the last moment with a chakra-anchored foot skid.

His vision blurred for a second.

Then cleared.

Obito's red eye spun.

The Mangekyo Sharingan revealed itself.

Gojo felt it.

The air itself warped.

His attacks had no effect. Obito was shifting in and out of intangibility perfectly — timing every dodge, every phase, like second nature.

And then Gojo realized.

The next phase wasn't defense.

It was offense.

The space around his right shoulder began to warp.

Kamui.

Gojo's body was beginning to twist — like it was being sucked into a drain.

Obito was trying to send him into the other dimension.

A cold, dark void he couldn't escape from.

And it was working.

Gojo's fingers twitched.

A whisper of chakra.

And then—he smiled.

"Don't you remember it?"

Obito blinked.

The body being absorbed shimmered.

It wasn't Gojo.

It was a wooden clone.

Obito's eyes widened behind the mask.

The moment of realization hit like a thunderclap.

The Gojo he had been absorbing — the boy whose body had started twisting and warping into his Kamui dimension — had never been real.

A wooden clone. A perfectly executed feint.

The very technique used by the Fourth Hokage.

But this wasn't Minato.

This was someone new — younger, unknown, but already just as unpredictable.

And Obito had fallen for it.

A flash of movement — chakra surged above.

Before he could react, Gojo dropped from the sky, his palm glowing with a violently spinning sphere of condensed chakra, infused with wooden energy.

"Wood Style: Spiraling Sphere!"

The Rasengan, merged with Wood Release, struck Obito square in the upper back.

There was no time to phase out.

The force detonated upon contact.

The masked man flew forward, crashing into the earth, carving a shallow trench across the dirt before finally skidding to a stop.

Gojo landed in a three-point stance, chest heaving, sweat trickling down the side of his face.

His muscles ached.

His lungs burned.

His vision blurred for half a second.

But he didn't drop.

Obito groaned, rising slowly. The mask was chipped where the Rasengan had landed. A spiderweb of cracks spread outward from the left side.

His left arm trembled. His cloak was torn across the shoulder. Bits of charred earth clung to his form.

He looked up.

"You… damn brat," Obito hissed.

His eye spun furiously. He was enraged now — past the point of tactical patience.

He disappeared again, phasing.

Gojo didn't move.

He closed his eyes.

His chakra spread out in every direction.

And the instant Obito reappeared — behind him this time — Gojo moved first.

He ducked under the first punch, spun, and sent his leg sweeping low.

Obito leapt.

Gojo followed, launching into the air.

They clashed mid-air.

Gojo's punch grazed Obito's ribs. Obito phased again.

Then returned to land a brutal elbow into Gojo's back.

Gojo slammed into the ground hard. He rolled, pain shooting through his spine.

This body… it's not ready. I can't draw out my full strength.

Obito landed softly, calmly walking toward him.

"This is the difference between us," he said. "You talk big, but you're a child — half-grown, half-built. You don't belong in this war."

Gojo slowly got to his feet, wiping blood from his chin.

"I don't care about belonging," he said. "I just care about stopping you."

Obito's Mangekyo spun once more.

Another pull — space around Gojo's right leg twisted again.

Kamui.

But Gojo was ready.

He rammed his palm into the ground.

"Wood Style: Pillar Rise!"

A thick tree pillar erupted from beneath him, launching him out of the Kamui's range.

Obito looked up — only to see Gojo already mid-air again.

A barrage of shuriken rained down.

Obito phased.

But one was a trap.

"Wood Style: Spore Explosion!"

The shuriken shattered — releasing spores that ignited into concussive blasts. Obito phased mid-air, but Gojo appeared behind him again.

No Rasengan this time.

Just a punch.

A solid punch, empowered with chakra, that cracked into Obito's mask.

This time, a chunk broke off.

Gojo landed, panting.

Obito reeled, then straightened. His face still hidden — but now vulnerable.

"You've gotten clever," he growled.

Gojo raised his fists.

"I learn fast."

Obito's chakra surged like a tidal wave.

He charged.

The two collided.

Fists. Feet. Chakra pulses.

Taijutsu mixed with feints and timing tricks. Genjutsu flickered in the middle of hand-to-hand strikes — Gojo dispelled one mid-combo, countering with a knee to Obito's gut.

Obito returned the blow with a palm thrust to Gojo's sternum, nearly cracking bone.

Gojo reeled, but didn't fall.

More handsigns.

Obito: "Fire Style: Exploding Flame Waves!"

Gojo: "Water Style: Torrent Guard!"

The water curved into a shield — but the explosion behind it still blasted him back.

His knees buckled.

Not enough chakra left.

Obito advanced again.

Gojo smirked.

"You sure you're not the tail of the crane?"

That made Obito hesitate.

Just long enough.

A Wood Clone tackled him from the side.

Obito phased — but Gojo was already behind him.

"Wood Style: Spiraling Sphere!"

The second Rasengan smashed into Obito's back — the same spot, the same strike.

Obito screamed.

The mask finally shattered completely.

Gojo stood over him, panting, bleeding.

And Obito — the true Obito — looked up, eye wild.

"Minato…?" he whispered.

Gojo said nothing.

But in his heart, he knew.

History had repeated itself.

But this time, the story had a new author.

---

[End of Chapter]

---

Want to read advanced chapter?

Give me your stone to this novel to reach the milestone that will give you bonus chapter per day!!!

5-10 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter / Day

10-20 Power Stones = 2 Bonus Chapters / Day

20-30 Power Stones = 3 Bonus Chapters / Day

Please support me?

See ya!