The conference room in the Hokage Tower had been designed for important meetings, but Obito doubted its architects had ever imagined it would host a debate about the fate of a war criminal. Representatives from all five hidden villages sat around the polished table, their faces bearing the weight of recent loss and the responsibility of deciding what justice meant in a world still bleeding from conflict.
Obito sat in a chair positioned strategically at one end of the table—close enough to be part of the proceedings, far enough to make it clear he was the subject, not a participant. Chakra-suppressing shackles bound his wrists, more symbol than necessity at this point, but symbols mattered in rooms like this.
Tsunade presided over the gathering with the grim efficiency that had made her legendary both as a medic and as a leader. To her right sat Gaara, the Kazekage's sand still bearing traces of battlefield dust. Mei Terumi represented Kirigakure, her usual playful demeanor replaced by the hard-eyed focus of someone who had seen her village's dark history repeated on a global scale. The Raikage, A, filled his chair like barely contained thunder, while an elderly advisor spoke for Iwagakure in place of Onoki, who was still recovering from the war's toll.
"The crimes are unprecedented," the Iwa representative was saying, consulting a scroll that seemed to go on forever. "The Fourth Shinobi War alone resulted in over forty thousand casualties across all five nations. The Akatsuki's activities prior to that add thousands more to the count."
"Numbers don't tell the whole story," Gaara interjected quietly. His pale green eyes found Obito's across the table, and there was something in his gaze that might have been understanding. "I was once considered a monster too. I know what it means to carry the weight of deaths you've caused."
"With respect, Kazekage-sama," the Raikage's voice rumbled like distant thunder, "your situation was different. You were a child, manipulated by adults with their own agendas. This man orchestrated decades of conflict as a grown adult making conscious choices."
The distinction cut deeper than any blade. Obito had spent years telling himself that his youth at the time of his transformation mattered, that the trauma and manipulation he had endured provided some mitigation for his choices. But the Raikage was right—by the time he had founded the Akatsuki, by the time he had begun hunting the tailed beasts, he had been old enough to know better.
"What does the defendant say for himself?" Mei asked, leaning forward slightly. Her tone was carefully neutral, but Obito caught the edge of curiosity beneath the diplomatic facade.
All eyes turned to him. He had been given the opportunity to speak in his own defense, to offer explanations or justifications or pleas for mercy. Instead, he found himself thinking about the children who would never grow up because of choices he had made in rooms not unlike this one.
"I don't have a defense," he said finally. "I made my choices with full knowledge of their consequences. The only thing I can offer is complete cooperation in repairing whatever damage can still be repaired."
The honesty seemed to surprise them. Tsunade's eyebrows rose slightly, while the Raikage's scowl deepened into something that might have been confusion. They had prepared for denials, for blame-shifting, for the kind of manipulation that had characterized his actions for so long. Raw accountability was apparently harder to process.
"Complete cooperation," the Iwa representative repeated. "What does that entail, exactly?"
"Everything," Obito said. "Intelligence about remaining Akatsuki resources, hidden caches of weapons and research, sleeper agents who might still be operating under old orders. Names, locations, codes, contacts. I'll dismantle everything I built, piece by piece."
"And after that?" Gaara asked. "What do you see as your future?"
It was perhaps the most difficult question anyone had asked him. What future did a monster envision for himself? What did redemption look like for someone whose crimes spanned continents and decades?
"I don't know if I deserve a future," Obito admitted. "But if I'm allowed one, I'd like to spend it trying to rebuild what I helped destroy."
Before anyone could respond, the conference room door opened to admit an unexpected figure. Naruto Uzumaki entered without ceremony, his orange jumpsuit a bright splash of color against the room's formal atmosphere. His face bore the kind of determined expression that Obito had learned to associate with immovable objects and unstoppable forces.
"Sorry I'm late," Naruto said, though he didn't sound particularly apologetic. "Had to make sure I was here for the important part."
"Naruto," Tsunade's voice carried a warning, "this is a closed session."
"Yeah, but you're talking about someone's life," Naruto replied, moving to stand beside Obito's chair without invitation. "Seems like the kind of thing that needs all perspectives."
The Raikage's scowl intensified. "This man is responsible for your parents' deaths, boy. He orphaned you before you could speak. Why would you defend him?"
Naruto was quiet for a moment, his blue eyes serious in a way that made him look older than his years. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of hard-won wisdom.
"Because killing him won't bring anyone back," he said simply. "And because I've seen what he's capable of when he chooses to protect instead of destroy. During the war, he saved my life. He helped us stop Madara. He chose to be better."
"One good deed doesn't erase decades of evil," Mei pointed out.
"No," Naruto agreed. "But it proves he can change. And if someone can change, if they want to make things right, then killing them is just waste."
Obito felt something constrict in his chest at the boy's—the man's—words. Naruto spoke with such certainty, such faith in the possibility of redemption, that it was almost painful to hear. How did someone maintain that kind of hope after experiencing the worst humanity had to offer?
"What are you proposing?" Tsunade asked.
"Give him a chance," Naruto said. "Not freedom, not forgiveness, just a chance to prove he meant what he said about wanting to help rebuild. Put him to work cleaning up his own mess."
"Under what conditions?" the Iwa representative asked.
"Whatever conditions you think are necessary," Naruto replied. "Guards, missions, constant supervision—I don't care. Just don't throw away the chance for him to do something good with whatever time he has left."
The debate that followed was intense but not vindictive. These were practical people discussing practical concerns—public safety, international relations, the precedent that mercy might set for future war criminals. But underneath the diplomatic language and strategic considerations, Obito sensed something else: a genuine wrestling with questions of justice and mercy that had no easy answers.
Gaara spoke about the value of redemption, drawing parallels to his own journey from weapon to protector. Mei raised concerns about public perception and the message that sparing him might send to other potential terrorists. The Raikage argued forcefully for execution, while the Iwa representative suggested life imprisonment as a compromise between justice and mercy.
Through it all, Naruto stood beside Obito's chair like a guardian, his presence a constant reminder that someone believed in the possibility of change. It was humbling and terrifying in equal measure—the weight of that faith, the responsibility of proving it wasn't misplaced.
When the formal debate ended, Tsunade called for a recess to allow private consultations. As the representatives broke into smaller groups, Obito found himself alone with Naruto for the first time since awakening in the medical tent.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
Naruto didn't need clarification. "Because everyone deserves a chance to be better than their worst moment," he said. "Even you."
"I've had thousands of worst moments."
"Then you've got a lot of work to do," Naruto replied with a slight smile. "Good thing you're still alive to do it."
When the session reconvened an hour later, Tsunade's expression was carefully neutral. "After extensive deliberation, we have reached a consensus," she announced. "Obito Uchiha, you are hereby sentenced to life in service to the reconstruction effort. You will be confined to Konohagakure under constant supervision, with the understanding that your freedom depends entirely on your cooperation and behavior."
Relief flooded through him, followed immediately by a crushing sense of responsibility. They were giving him what Naruto had asked for—a chance. Not forgiveness, not absolution, but an opportunity to spend whatever years remained to him in service rather than punishment.
"The terms are non-negotiable," Tsunade continued. "Any attempt to escape, any act of aggression, any sign that you pose a threat to anyone under our protection will result in immediate execution. Is this understood?"
"Yes," Obito said, his voice steady despite the magnitude of what he was accepting. "I understand."
As the representatives filed out of the room, making plans for implementation and oversight, Obito sat in his chair and tried to process what had just happened. He had been given something he had never expected to receive: a second chance.
The question now was whether he was strong enough to deserve it.