Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

A few hundred meters from where Nara Shiba had just concluded his meeting, the scent of heated rations and dust from trampled grass filled the cool evening air. Makeshift tents lined the field, positioned in neat military rows. Shinobi, young and old, gathered in clusters, some sharpening kunai, others eating in silence, their faces dimly illuminated by the flickering flames of portable cooking stoves.

Near one such stove, three young shinobi sat on a flattened log, their rations resting on their laps in small, steaming tin bowls. The soft bubbling of soup mingled with the occasional crackle from the stove. Obito Uchiha, with his trademark goggles slightly askew, furrowed his brow as he poked at the uninspired meal with his chopsticks.

"This is it?" Obito exclaimed dramatically, holding up what looked like a sad, mushy carrot from his soup. "Again? Just barley soup and dried meat? We've been eating this slop for three days straight!"

Kakashi Hatake, ever the cool-headed prodigy, didn't even glance up from his ration tin. Seated with his back straight and movements precise, he stirred the bland broth with his chopsticks like he was dissecting a problem rather than enjoying a meal.

"Be glad you're eating anything," he muttered, his voice flat and laced with fatigue as he shovelled another mechanical bite into his mouth. The faint steam curled around his mask, fogging his single visible eye for a moment before dissipating into the breeze.

Obito Uchiha slouched beside him, gave a dramatic groan and sagged forward, his bowl resting precariously on his knees. His dark hair stuck up at odd angles from removing his goggles too hastily, and the tip of his chopsticks clattered against the edge of the tin as he prodded a sad, limp chunk of root vegetable.

"Seriously?" he whined. "This again? Barley soup and... whatever this soggy cube is? Is this supposed to be meat?"

He poked the questionable substance as though expecting it to wiggle in response. When it didn't, he slumped further, letting out a long sigh that could've been mistaken for the wind dragging across the grass.

"This is cruel and unusual punishment," Obito grumbled. "Back in the village, there was this little place near the Uchiha district—grilled sweet potatoes with honey glaze, fresh from the coals. And those pork dumplings—oh man, steaming hot, dipped in miso and soy…"

He closed his eyes, a smile forming as he leaned back on his hands. "I swear, I could eat twenty of those right now."

"Only if they didn't run screaming from your table first," Kakashi said, still not looking up. His chopsticks clicked together as he took another bite. "You eat like a starving bear cub."

Obito scowled. "No one asked you, Kakashi."

He shifted dramatically and turned toward Rin, who was seated neatly on a folded blanket beside them, calmly eating her soup with careful, measured bites.

"Rin," he said, a spark of warmth in his voice, "you've got to miss something too, right? Some nice dango? Or maybe mochi from the shop near the hospital? That soft kind with red bean paste inside?"

Rin paused mid-bite and gave him a small, nostalgic smile. "I do miss Dango," she said gently. "And those rice balls with pickled plum. I used to get one from the food stall whenever I trained late."

Obito grinned. "See? Even Rin agrees—this stuff is tasteless mush compared to real food."

But just before Rin could add more to their food-fueled nostalgia, Kakashi cut in, voice sharp.

"We're not at some festival, Obito."

Obito blinked, his smile faltering.

Kakashi finally looked up. His expression was calm, but his single visible eye was colder than usual like polished steel catching the last light of day. He had recently lost his eye, so he was still getting used to his new normal.

"This is war. You can't expect grilled potatoes and dumplings when you're miles near enemy territory and supply lines are barely sketched out, let alone secured."

He dropped his chopsticks into the now-empty tin. "Our job is to stay alive, not chase down recipes."

Obito deflated like a popped balloon. His shoulders slumped, and he blew out a frustrated breath. "Gee, thanks for the reminder, Mr. Sunshine."

"No one asked you," he added with a pout, jabbing his chopsticks in Kakashi's direction like miniature kunai.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable beneath the mask. "If you keep whining about food, maybe the enemy will hear and deliver a bento box."

Then, with a sarcastic edge: "Right after they stick a kunai in your throat."

Obito bristled like a cat with its tail stepped on.

"Why you—!"

He surged to his feet, ready to retort, but fate—or clumsiness—struck first. As he shot up, his sleeve caught the edge of his tin bowl. The motion sent the soup flying, arcing through the air like some tragic culinary jutsu.

"Splat!"

The watery meal landed in the dirt with an almost comedic splash, soaking the dry soil and sending droplets onto his pants and boots. A single sliver of meat—precious, rare—rolled sadly down a blade of grass like a defeated soldier retreating from battle.

Obito stared at the mess, mouth agape. Then came the howl.

"AH, COME ON!"

He flailed his arms as if blaming the sky itself. "That was the last piece of meat! The last one!"

Kakashi didn't even flinch. He calmly picked up his canteen and took a sip. "Guess you'll need to whine louder. Maybe someone will pity you into giving seconds."

"You little—!"

Obito turned and lunged forward, a mixture of embarrassment and hunger driving his fury. But before either of them could escalate further, Rin leapt between them like a barrier tag sprung to life.

"Guys, seriously! Cut it out!"

She held out both arms like a referee in a taijutsu sparring match, her usually gentle tone rising with sharp authority. "We're not back at the village! This is a warzone!"

Kakashi raised an eyebrow but stepped back, dusting off his flak jacket. "Tell that to the drama queen over there."

"I wouldn't be dramatic if you didn't act like you're the only one with a functioning brain!" Obito snapped.

"I wouldn't act like that if someone else started using theirs," Kakashi shot back without missing a beat.

Rin groaned audibly, rubbing her temples. "Kami help me…"

Obito glared, pointing an accusatory finger. "You think you're so perfect just because you became a jonin!"

Kakashi tilted his head, his eye narrowing slightly. "I don't think I'm perfect."

Then, smugly: "I know I'm better than you."

Obito let out a strangled sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a growl. "That's it!"

"ENOUGH."

The word sliced through the escalating chaos like a kunai through paper.

All three froze.

Standing just beyond the clearing, arms crossed and golden hair tousled by the wind, was Minato Namikaze.

The Fourth Hokage-to-be looked at them with a composed expression, but the subtle firmness in his tone made it clear that he wasn't in the mood for nonsense.

"Minato-sensei!" Rin said quickly, brushing dust from her knees and straightening like a soldier caught slouching during inspection.

Minato stepped forward, eyes flicking from the soup stain at Obito's feet to the frayed edge of Kakashi's cloak, and finally to Rin's harried expression.

"I see dinner was… eventful," he said with a faint smile, but it faded quickly.

"Finish packing," he added. "We're moving out within the hour."

Obito blinked. "Wait—already?"

Minato nodded. "The High Command has issued new orders. We're to advance ahead."

"Just when I was getting used to sitting down," Obito muttered, flopping onto the ground like a discarded scroll. "Ugh. How long are we going to be away from the village this time?"

No one answered him.

Minato turned his gaze eastward, toward the darkening trees. The golden glow of the setting sun was now smeared like a dying ember across the horizon, casting long shadows across the clearing. The breeze picked up slightly, rustling the leaves and brushing dust against the tents in low, mournful swirls.

He didn't reply right away. Instead, he stared at the horizon—silent and still.

In his mind's eye, he saw flashes of his childhood: the thunder of distant explosions, the weight of fallen comrades being carried on stretchers, and the silence that followed every victory that felt more like a loss. He remembered being their age and feeling like the world had cracked open.

"They're still kids," he thought, his heart heavy. "They shouldn't have to carry this burden yet."

Minato's gaze dropped back to his team—Obito brushing dirt off his pants, Kakashi checking the edge of his kunai, Rin carefully packing up their supplies. They were still children in many ways.

But war didn't wait for childhood to end naturally. It ended it early—with fire, steel, and the silence of those who didn't come back.

"I just hope this war doesn't change them like it changed us," Minato whispered to himself, turning away.

"Let's move quickly," he said aloud, voice firm once more. "We've got work to do."

He walked off, his cloak billowing behind him in the breeze. The three genin watched him go in silence.

Obito eventually groaned again, shouldering his gear. "Ugh… goodbye warm beds… goodbye dumplings… goodbye honey-glazed anything…"

Kakashi passed him with a sidelong glance. "You never had dumplings in the first place."

"Shut up, Kakashi!"

Rin, hoisting her pack, couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped her lips. "Try not to kill each other before the enemy gets the chance."

The trio trudged after their sensei as the sun dipped below the treeline. Laughter—tense, awkward, but genuine—rippled between them, carried away on the wind.

Unseen behind them, the dark canopy of war stretched wide across the world, waiting patiently with open arms.

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