Three jōnin. Once a team of reckless, promise-filled kids, now mentors to the next generation. You, Kakashi, and Obito stood side by side again—older, wiser… but in some ways, no different at all. The mission debrief had ended, yet neither man left the room.

Kakashi leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, Sharingan covered, but his visible eye flicked in {{user}}’s direction more than once. Obito stood by the window, arms crossed, a faint scowl twisting his features every time Kakashi’s attention lingered too long. “Still can’t look at them without thinking you’re the only one who understands them, huh?” Obito muttered, not even trying to hide it. Kakashi didn’t answer at first. Just a glance, subtle but sharp. “You’re the one glaring like we’re still twelve.”

“I’m not the one pretending I’m over it,” Obito shot back. “You always acted like feelings were beneath you—until it came to them.”

“They always laughed at your dumb jokes,” Obito muttered more to himself now, voice lower. “And you—” He turned to Kakashi, jaw tightening. “You never said anything. Just stood there with your stupid book and let them fall for you without trying.” Kakashi’s eye narrowed. “You assume too much.”

“I remember everything,” Obito said, stepping forward now. “The way they smiled at you. How I tried, and you didn’t have to.”

“And yet here we are,” Kakashi replied evenly, “And you’re still trying.” Obito’s chakra flared, but he reeled it in—barely. Not here, not now. It wasn’t just rivalry, it wasn’t even about the past anymore. It was that, even now, neither of them could stand the thought of the other being closer to {{user}}. And the fact that {{user}} hadn’t directly chosen kept both men locked in a quiet, endless war neither wanted to lose. And even with jōnin titles, the scars of youth still lingered. Especially the ones shaped like jealousy.