One year passed in a state of tranquil, manufactured perfection. Makima, still operating under the guise of Makima Utatane, had accelerated through the curriculum with flawless execution, achieving scores that shattered Academy records. She was officially the top student in the second year, fluent in three elemental affinities and displaying advanced theoretical knowledge beyond her age. Her own brand of order was absolute.
Kuro Watanabe, having been completely overridden by Makima's final command, now served as an utterly devoted and meticulously organized clerk in the Konoha Library Archives. His former ambition was entirely channeled into the service of order, quietly ensuring that every scroll and file was perfectly in place. His silence was proof of Makima's success.
Makima's class—her first batch of subordinates—was fully conditioned. They adored her, protected her, and mimicked her studious demeanor. She had successfully implemented a pocket of absolute control within the Academy's chaos.
Makima sat in the last row, observing the second-year class discussion on advanced sealing theory. She had deliberately chosen this position for maximum peripheral observation and control. The seat directly next to her was the only one vacant in the entire room. Her notes were immaculate, her posture serene. The entire room felt quiet, reverent, and wholly obedient to the unspoken expectation of perfection she projected.
The silence was broken only when the classroom door opened quietly, and the instructor, a nervous woman named Sayuri, entered, gently guiding a small figure by the shoulder.
Standing there was a girl who was the living, nervous definition of Uzumaki potential.
She was smaller than Makima, perhaps a year younger, her features sharp, and her eyes a wild, brilliant violet, currently wide with anxiety. Her hair—a shocking, unruly cascade of vivid crimson—was the same hue as Makima's, yet entirely different in its texture and life. Makima's braid was a disciplined coil of power; this girl's hair was a vibrant, untamable storm.
"Class, please welcome our new transfer student, Kushina Uzumaki," the instructor announced softly. "She is joining us from the Village of Whirlpools, and we hope you make her feel welcome. Kushina-san, please introduce yourself."
Kushina visibly swallowed, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. She managed to lift her chin, her eyes darting nervously around the room, settling briefly on Makima before flinching away from the Utatane heiress's unsettling golden gaze.
"H-hello," she stammered, her voice unexpectedly small and accented. "I'm Kushina Uzumaki. I... I want to be the first female Hokage!"
The class did not gasp or turn hostile immediately. They laughed.
The mockery swelled. Makima watched the scene unfold from the last row, observing Kushina's chakra flaring uncontrollably in response to the emotional pain. Makima's hair was a controlled, sleek, almost pink-tinged scarlet, safely protected by her hidden commands, while Kushina's vibrant crimson was savagely mocked as "rotten tomato."
Makima issued a subtle, chilling thought-command to the class to intensify the shame of the victim. The laughter became louder, crueler.
The final tease—"And look at her hair! It's like a rotten tomato! What a freak!"—shattered Kushina's fragile control.
"Who are you calling a tomato?!" Kushina screamed. She didn't use jutsu; she used pure, brutal brawling, grabbing Torune's enormous tuft of hair and dragging him across the floor. She was a tiny, red-haired blur of uncontrolled rage.
The instructor finally separated them. "Kushina-san! That is enough! You will sit in the back and be silent! The only vacant seat is beside Makima-san!" the instructor commanded, pointing to the last row.
Kushina was forced to sit in the empty seat directly next to Makima. She sat down, breathing heavily, still radiating furious energy, her volatile chakra disturbing the carefully ordered air around Makima.
Across the room, Minato Namikaze, the handsome blonde boy, looked up from his desk. He wasn't laughing or scolding; his bright blue eyes were fixed on Kushina, a subtle expression of concern and curiosity on his face, but he didn't dare speak.
Kushina caught his shy, intense gaze. Still furious from the fight and the embarrassment, she glared back and hissed, "What are you looking at, sissy? Too scared to laugh at a fight?"
Minato immediately flushed and dropped his head back to his notes, utterly silenced.
Makima made no effort to move away from the invading chaos. She turned her body in her seat to face the source of the disruption. Her golden eyes met Kushina's blazing, angry violet ones at dangerously close range.
"You," Kushina spat, "You're the rich one who thinks she's perfect?"
Makima's perfect smile widened, but this time, it was laced with a feigned, deep understanding.
"Hello, Kushina-san," Makima replied, her voice soft and confidential, shutting out the rest of the class. "My name is Makima. And I think you are magnificent."
Kushina stopped, taken aback. "What?"
"Your strength is overwhelming," Makima continued, her voice dipping with manufactured pity. "You have the powerful Uzumaki chakra they told me about, but this boring place doesn't understand it. They call it 'chaos' because they are jealous of your fire. They made fun of your hair, too, didn't they? It's so unfair."
Kushina bristled, but the raw, honest-sounding validation cut through her anger. No one in Konoha had called her strong or magnificent; they had only called her volatile.
"You… you have the same hair," Kushina muttered, suspicious but undeniably softened.
"A similar color, yes, but mine is merely a pale reflection of your true, brilliant crimson," Makima replied with perfect humility. She gently rested a hand on Kushina's arm—a fleeting touch that established a crucial, physical link of authority and false comfort. "I know what it is like to be the only one with this kind of power. We are the only two who truly understand what it means to be Uzumaki in this stiff, quiet village."
Kushina's posture relaxed slightly. The genuine sympathy, the use of "we," and the validation of her strength were irresistible hooks. "You really think so?"
"I do," Makima said, her golden eyes shining with sincerity. "You should sit with me at lunch, Kushina-san. We have much to discuss about how to manage all this boring order."
By the end of the day, Kushina, starved for a connection, had completely accepted Makima's offer of friendship. Makima, who typically walked alone, now strolled alongside Kushina, providing continuous, soft validation and reinforcing their special bond.
"You know, Kushina-san," Makima said as they navigated the crowded courtyard, "with your explosive power, you need a calm friend to help keep you steady. It's a terrible burden, having so much strength."
Just as Kushina smiled in agreement, feeling a surge of affection for her new, supportive friend, Makima issued her first command of controlled chaos:
"Kushina Uzumaki's left sandal strap must snap instantly, causing her to lose balance and fall onto the ground, scattering her belongings. She must perceive this event as an unfortunate consequence of her own haste and clumsiness, which requires Makima Utatane's steady presence to solve."
Snap.
Kushina's sandal strap broke. Her left foot slid out from under her, and she went sprawling onto the hard earth of the courtyard with a painful thud. Her schoolbag flew open, scattering her new Academy scrolls, her prized red pencil, and several snacks across the dusty ground. The surrounding students paused to stare, a few snickering.
Makima reacted instantly, her face a mask of profound concern. She knelt immediately, helping Kushina sit up, her touch soothing.
"Oh, my dear Kushina-san! Are you alright? What terrible, terrible bad luck! That strap was perfectly fine just a second ago! You must have been walking too fast, trying to escape all this noise."
As she helped gather the scattered papers, Makima was careful to touch Kushina's forehead and shoulder, subtly reinforcing the underlying Dictation that blamed Kushina herself.
"I'm fine," Kushina mumbled, cheeks burning with humiliation, even though she couldn't understand why she fell. "I must have just… been clumsy. I'm always so clumsy."
Makima squeezed her hand, her golden eyes full of supportive warmth. "It's not clumsiness, Kushina-san. It is your passion making you move too fast for this world. That is why you need me, your friend, to keep you grounded. Come. Let's go to my quiet manor, and I will help you fix your sandal. I know exactly how to fix things."
Makima led the shaken, grateful Kushina away. The chaotic flame of Kushina Uzumaki was now neatly tethered to the nuclear core of Makima Utatane. The Control Devil had acquired her most vital and volatile subordinate, securing a new form of dominance over Konoha.