Naruto: Farming Emotions with Multiple Identities in Naruto — Chapter 208

Chapter 208: Obito is a Humanoid Mood-Value Artifact

“Hey, Kakashi, it’s just an exam paper. There’s no need to look so murderous. If you love doing them that much, why not just ask the instructor for a few extra copies?”

Shiranui Genma leaned against a desk, chewing on his signature senbon. He offered the casual remark in an attempt to defuse the tension, noting how Kakashi’s dark, brooding glare was practically on the verge of making the nearby female students burst into tears.

Before Kakashi could snap a retort, a figure launched across the classroom like a human cannonball.

“Kakashi, you bastard! You’re bullying A-Mu again! Take this!”

Obito hurtled through the air, arms outstretched for a flying tackle.

Naturally, Kakashi wasn’t about to be taken down by such a clumsy assault. His visible eye narrowed. With a fluid shift of his stance, his right hand shot out to lock around Obito’s wrist, while his left hand pressed firmly against the Uchiha’s waist. Using Obito’s own momentum against him, Kakashi pivoted, effortlessly flipping the boy over his shoulder. Obito crashed to the floorboards, and Kakashi immediately bounced back to his feet with a crisp, graceful kip-up.

But Obito wasn’t deterred. He scrambled up, roaring, and threw a wild punch. In seconds, the two were locked in a fierce scuffle right in the middle of the aisle.

Genma sighed, stepping forward to intervene. “Hey, knock it off, you two—”

Smack! Bang!

A stray fist from Obito caught Genma on the cheek, immediately followed by a sweeping kick from Kakashi that clipped his shin. Genma’s face contorted in a mix of pain and sudden outrage. “Alright, that does it!” With a furious shout, he threw himself into the fray.

For six or seven-year-old boys brimming with excess chakra and boundless energy, a minor disagreement escalating into a brawl was practically a daily ritual.

The commotion instantly drew the attention of the rest of the class. Across the room, Might Guy’s thick eyebrows shot up, his dark eyes sparkling with competitive fire.

“A three-way sparring match in the name of youth?! Count me in! Ata!”

Unleashing a battle cry, Guy launched himself into the chaotic pile of limbs.

Desks and chairs became collateral damage. The four boys bounced off the furniture like pinballs, leaping onto tabletops one second and kicking over wooden stools the next.

Nearby, Asuma was busy trying to strike up a smooth conversation with Kurenai. He never saw the stray kick coming. Guy’s heel slammed into Asuma’s shoulder, sending the Sarutobi heir flying backward until he crashed violently into Morino Ibiki, who had just been quietly observing the chaos.

The two boys hit the floor in a tangle of limbs. When they scrambled back to their feet, their eyes were bloodshot with sheer indignation. Without a word, they charged into the free-for-all.

In the blink of an eye, the previously peaceful classroom had devolved into a full-blown battle royale. Dust kicked up from the floorboards, papers fluttered through the air, and as more students got caught in the crossfire, the brawl only expanded.

Stelle stood safely on the periphery of the warzone. Watching the flying fists and kicked-over desks, her fingers twitched. Her hands were practically itching to join the melee; she was intimately familiar with this brand of absolute chaos.

But she had a persona to maintain.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she forcefully morphed her expression into a mask of pure, helpless panic. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, forcing a sheen of moisture to gather, then turned to Ebisu, who was standing beside her.

“What should we do? What should we do?” she whimpered, her voice trembling perfectly. “They’re fighting!”

Ebisu, the quintessential stickler for the rules, adjusted his round glasses nervously. Seeing so many of his peers engaged in unauthorized combat distressed him greatly. “Everyone, please cease this at once! We are all classmates! How can you engage in such barbaric behavior?!”

He shouted at the top of his lungs, but his pleas were entirely drowned out by the sounds of shouting and breaking wood.

“Oh, come on! All the boys are fighting, how can you just stand here? Get in there!”

A mischievous, bold-looking girl from the Senju clan suddenly shoved Ebisu squarely in the back.

Caught completely off guard, the bespectacled boy stumbled forward, plunging directly into the combat zone. Disoriented by the flurry of fists and flying bodies, he spun in a dizzying circle, completely lost.

Before he could find his bearings, a stray foot planted itself firmly against his backside.

Ebisu yelped as the kick sent him stumbling out of the chaotic mob. He pitched forward, his arms windmilling as he hurtled uncontrollably toward the sharp corner of a heavy wooden desk.

“Student A-Mu! Quick, catch me!” he shrieked.

“Okay, I’ll try!”

Stelle darted forward, her movements deceptively precise. She reached out and snagged one of his flailing wrists, arresting his forward momentum just enough to prevent his skull from cracking against the desk. However, the sudden halt caused his center of gravity to shift, sending him careening directly toward her instead.

With a subtle half-step to the side, Stelle applied a clever twist of force, smoothly redirecting Ebisu’s trajectory toward a nearby stool.

Ebisu flailed wildly as he tumbled toward the seat. In his blind panic, his hand desperately clawed at the air—and accidentally hooked his fingers right into the fabric of the scarf wrapped securely around Stelle’s lower face.

The momentum was too great. The tightly tied knot gave way, and the scarf was forcefully ripped from her face, fluttering away into the dusty air.

“Oh my god, so scary!”

Having landed awkwardly on the stool, Ebisu looked up, his eyes locking onto the face previously hidden beneath Stelle’s scarf. A strange, high-pitched shriek of absolute terror ripped from his throat as he scrambled backward, trying to shrink behind the wooden legs of the chair.

His piercing scream cut through the noise of the brawl like a kunai. Instantly, the fighting ceased. Every single pair of eyes in the classroom snapped toward the source of the sound.

They all stared at Stelle.

Beneath her large, round, and overly cute eyes—right where smooth, delicate skin should have been—was a massive expanse of hideous, violently twisted burn scars. The mottled, ruined flesh looked exceptionally terrifying, a stark and brutal contrast to her otherwise gentle features.

The classroom plunged into a suffocating silence. The raucous shouts, the scuffling boots, the clattering furniture—all of it came to an abrupt, dead halt.

A second later, a few of the more timid girls let out sharp, stifled gasps. They instinctively recoiled, hiding behind their braver companions, though their eyes remained glued to Stelle’s face in morbid curiosity.

Stelle stood frozen.

…Uh…

She honestly hadn’t meant to play the victim card this hard today; the scarf getting ripped off was a genuine accident.

But, her mind quickly calculated, since the accident had already happened, it wouldn’t be too much to milk it for all it’s worth, right?

It was all for the mood values, after all.

Hello, sweet emotional trauma. Goodbye, personal integrity.

Feigning a sudden, horrifying realization that her face was exposed, she gasped and quickly threw her hands up to cover her scarred cheeks. She looked down frantically, searching for the discarded fabric. Spotting it lying on the floor near the edge of the crowd, she took a hesitant step forward.

The moment she moved, the surrounding students flinched. As if operating on a hive mind, they all shuffled backward in unison, their faces painted with undisguised horror and revulsion.

Six or seven-year-old children rarely possessed true malice, but they lacked a filter. Confronted so suddenly with such a terrifying, visceral disfigurement, their fear was entirely instinctual. Yet, for someone in her position, that raw, unfiltered recoil was precisely the most agonizing reaction possible.

Stelle froze in her tracks, her shoulders trembling, looking too terrified to take another step.

“Everyone, get the hell out of the way!”

A furious roar shattered the silence. Using pure, unadulterated brute force, Obito shoved Might Guy aside and burst out of the frozen circle of students. He rushed toward Stelle like a cannonball, his face pale.

Without a second of hesitation, he threw his arms open and pulled Stelle against him, pressing her face firmly into his chest to shield her completely from the prying, terrified eyes of their classmates. He wrapped his arms around her trembling shoulders, gently patting her back as he spoke in a panicked, breathless rush.

“It’s okay, A-Mu. It’s okay. No one can see now. I’ve got you.”

He was panting heavily, his heart thumping wildly against Stelle’s cheek. The sheer urgency of the situation had caused his voice to crack and pitch upward. He turned his head, glaring with absolute ferocity at the cowering Ebisu. “You bastard! What the hell have you done?!”

Ebisu, finally realizing the magnitude of his blunder, went pale. He stammered out a frantic defense. “That… I didn’t mean to! It was an accident! I’ll—I’ll go find the scarf!”

He scrambled to his feet in a blind panic, nearly tripping over the stool’s leg in his haste.

But Kakashi was already moving. His sharp eyes had tracked the fluttering fabric, locating it wedged in the gap between two overturned desks.

Ignoring the stunned silence of the room, Kakashi walked over, bent down, and retrieved the scarf. His fingers deftly worked the tangled knot Ebisu had caused, straightening the fabric out before he walked over and silently handed it to Obito.

Obito snatched the scarf, his grip tight. He looked down at the girl huddled against his chest, his voice dropping to a cautious, gentle whisper. “A-Mu, I’ve got the scarf. How about I take you outside the classroom?”

The person in his arms gave a tiny, pathetic nod.

Keeping one arm securely wrapped around her to ensure her face remained hidden against his jacket, Obito guided her out of the tense classroom. He didn’t stop until they reached a quiet, secluded corner of the academy corridor. Once he was absolutely certain the hallway was empty, he finally let go.

Immediately, Obito spun around, presenting his back to her. He reached over his shoulder, blindly offering the scarf.

“A-Mu, tie your scarf. I won’t look. I promise.”

Stelle took the fabric from his trembling hand. She carefully wrapped it around her lower face, ensuring the hideous scars were completely concealed once more. This time, she tied a much tighter, secure double knot at the back of her neck.

Obito waited a few extra seconds just to be safe before slowly turning his head. His dark eyes were suspiciously bright, his lower lip trembling slightly. He looked like he was on the verge of bursting into tears—as if he were the one who had just been publicly disfigured and ostracized.

Stelle lowered her gaze to the floor, her shoulders slumping. She pitched her voice into a low, incredibly fragile register, doing her best to comfort him.

“It’s okay, Obito. It was my fault for scaring our classmates. Besides… it really is ugly. It’s completely normal for them to be afraid of a monster like me. I… I’m fine.”

It would have been better if she had just stayed silent. The moment those self-deprecating words left her lips, the tears welling in Obito’s eyes finally spilled over.

How could she be so good? She was the one who had just been humiliated and stared at like a monster, yet she was still trying to comfort him. She was still thinking of others.

He always talked a big game about how scars were a man’s medals, but deep down, he knew that if his face were ruined like that, he would be devastated. He wouldn’t be able to accept it.

Let alone a sweet, kind girl like A-Mu. With her face burned so horribly, how much agonizing effort must she have put in just to accept herself? How much did she suffer in silence?

Unable to hold back, he stepped forward and pulled Stelle into another tight embrace, pressing her head against his chest.

“A-Mu, don’t force yourself to be strong,” Obito choked out, his voice thick with tears. “If you want to cry, just cry! Let it out! I promise, I will never, ever laugh at you.”

Stelle rested her cheek against his jacket, blinking blankly at the hallway wall.

…Why does it feel like our roles have been swapped?

Those were supposed to be her lines.

But then, the system notifications began to chime in her mind. Obito’s mood values were exploding like a supernova. The rest of the classmates had contributed a decent sum—twenty thousand from one, thirty thousand from another, and even a solid fifty thousand from Kakashi’s underlying guilt and shock.

But Obito? Obito alone had just dumped a staggering two hundred thousand points into her system.

Stelle mentally grinned, basking in the invisible golden light of his emotional distress. He was so dazzling. He truly was a giant, humanoid, mood-value-farming artifact.