Deep within a hidden cavern, far beneath the earth's surface where neither sunlight nor chakra sensors could reach, an ancient figure sat motionless in the darkness. The Demonic Statue of the Outer Path loomed behind him, its massive form connected to his withered body through countless tubes and conduits that sustained what little life remained.
Madara Uchiha—the Ghost of the Uchiha, the man the world believed had died decades ago—listened to his servant's report with an expression that revealed nothing.
"Madara-sama," Black Zetsu said, his voice carrying that peculiar dual tone that came from his split form. "Regarding the Uzumaki incident... he really didn't kill any of the attacking ninja at all. Not a single one."
The plant-like being continued its report with clinical precision. "After defeating the coalition forces—all ten thousand of them—the Uzumaki heir simply demanded financial compensation. And once the villages paid the ransom, he released all of the captured ninja, including the three Kage themselves, exactly as promised."
"Really."
Madara's response was barely more than a whisper, his voice dry as ancient parchment. He didn't sound particularly surprised, but Black Zetsu—who had served this man for long enough to read the subtle shifts in his demeanor—noticed a trace of disappointment threading through that single word.
"Madara-sama, is something wrong?" Black Zetsu asked carefully, knowing that the old man's moods could be unpredictable, especially when his expectations were subverted.
"No, nothing is wrong." Madara's withered hand moved slightly, a gesture of dismissal. "So in the end, his personality is closer to Hashirama's than I expected. All that overwhelming power, and he uses it for... mercy. Negotiation. Peaceful resolution."
There was definitely disappointment in his tone now, undisguised.
"I had expected a little more from that child," Madara continued, his voice taking on a contemplative quality. "To be that powerful at such a young age is already incredible beyond measure. Even I must acknowledge that."
Black Zetsu remained silent, knowing that Madara was working through his thoughts aloud more than actually conversing.
"Do he have confidence that he could defeat him in my prime?"
"Yes. Absolutely. The version of him at thirty years old, at the peak of his natural chakra reserves—at least before he implanted Hashirama's cells and awakened the Rinnegan—that Madara could face anyone and emerge victorious."
His eyes, still sharp despite his failing body, gleamed in the dim light.
"But when he was twelve years old—the age that Uzumaki boy is now—what was he doing?" A harsh, rattling laugh escaped his throat. "Let alone fighting multiple Kage simultaneously, he was competing with Hashirama to see who could pee farther into the river."
The memory was absurd, almost embarrassing to recall. But it highlighted the sheer magnitude of what this child had accomplished.
"He really cannot imagine how strong he will become when he reaches his prime," Madara admitted, and for him, admission of anyone's superior potential was rare indeed. "If he's already at this level at twelve... by the time he's twenty? Thirty? What will he be capable of then?"
His withered fingers clenched slightly.
"In the end, I really wanted to kill him before dying," Madara said, and there was genuine regret in his voice. "To eliminate a potential obstacle to the plan before it could fully develop. But it's impossible now."
He look toward his own failing body, kept alive only through the Demonic Statue's power. "He already given my Rinnegan to Nagato, as planned. The pieces are in motion. And arrogant though he may be, he still possess enough self-knowledge to recognize that in my current state, he could never defeat that Uzumaki child."
Pride was one thing. Delusion was another. Madara had survived this long by understanding his own limitations.
"Black Zetsu," Madara said, his voice taking on a more commanding tone, "I've already made improvements to the Impure World Reincarnation technique. You know what to do with that knowledge, correct?"
"Yes, Madara-sama." Black Zetsu's voice carried complete understanding. They'd discussed this contingency before.
"If everything proceeds according to plan," Madara continued, "simply resurrect me when the time is right. I will deal with any remaining obstacles personally, in a properly restored body." He paused, then added, "And if my future successor—whoever inherits my will and techniques—doesn't want to perform the resurrection for some reason, then at minimum, lead them to avoid direct confrontation with the Uzumaki."
His eyes narrowed with cold calculation. "After all, once they become the Ten-Tails' jinchūriki as planned, they'll be functionally invincible anyway. There's no need to risk the plan fighting someone who might actually pose a threat when patience would serve better."
Originally, Madara hadn't cared much whether he personally could be resurrected in the future or not. As long as the Infinite Tsukuyomi was ultimately achieved, as long as his vision of perfect peace through eternal dream was realized, it didn't matter if he was the one to see it completed.
That's why he'd only left his will and knowledge with Black Zetsu, without creating elaborate safeguards to ensure his own return. The plan was more important than his personal survival.
But he'd changed his mind after this incident. After learning about the Uzumaki heir's terrifying potential.
He don't think anyone in the current ninja world will be able to properly contend with that child if he continues growing.
So in the end, if there's going to be any chance of the plan succeeding against such an obstacle, he'll need to be resurrected in a young, vigorous body. Not this withered corpse, but something capable of fighting at full capacity.
His mind was already working through the modifications needed to the resurrection technique, the preparations that would need to be made.
But another thought occurred to him—something more immediate than long-term planning.
"Black Zetsu," Madara said slowly, "should I go there? To Uzushiogakure? To see that brat with my own eyes before I die?"
The question hung in the air, and even Madara himself seemed uncertain about the answer.
Black Zetsu's dual voice carried careful consideration. "It would be extremely risky, Madara-sama. In your current condition, if you were detected, you couldn't fight or flee effectively. And from what we understand, the Uzumaki Clan has exceptional sensory abilities. The entire village is essentially one massive detection network."
"I'm aware of the risks," Madara said dismissively. "But I'm curious. Intensely curious. To see with my own eyes what kind of person could reach such heights at such a young age. To understand whether he's truly another Hashirama—all power and naïve idealism—or if there's something more beneath the surface."
He paused, then continued with dry humor, "Besides, I'm dying anyway. What's the worst that could happen? They kill me a few months earlier than the illness would? At least it would be interesting."
Black Zetsu considered this logic and found it disturbingly sound, at least from Madara's perspective. The old man had never feared death itself, only failure to complete his goals.
"If you're determined to go, Madara-sama, I would recommend extreme caution," Black Zetsu advised. "Perhaps use the White Zetsu as a proxy body? Or at minimum, observe from a great distance using remote viewing techniques?"
"Hmm." Madara's eyes gleamed with something that might have been excitement—a rare emotion for someone so close to death. "Yes, the White Zetsu proxy could work. I could experience the journey without risking my actual body's location being discovered."
His withered hand moved toward one of the tubes connected to his body, and through that connection, he could sense the White Zetsu army waiting in the depths below.
"Prepare one of the strongest White Zetsu," Madara commanded. "I want one capable of independent action and complex thought, not just a mindless drone. It needs to be convincing enough to pass casual inspection if necessary."
"As you wish, Madara-sama."
Black Zetsu began to sink into the ground, preparing to carry out the order, but Madara stopped him with a raised hand.
"One more thing," the ancient Uchiha said. "When we observe the Uzumaki boy... I want to know what he desires. What drives him. Everyone wants something, even those who claim to want nothing. Hashirama wanted peace. I wanted a world without suffering. What does this child want?"
"His actions suggest he wants money and economic power," Black Zetsu offered.
"No." Madara's voice was sharp and certain. "Money is a tool, not a goal. Nobody with that level of power needs money for its own sake. He wants something else, something that money can help him achieve. Find out what that is."
"Understood, Madara-sama."
As Black Zetsu disappeared into the earth to carry out his orders, Madara sat alone in the darkness, his mind already racing ahead through possibilities and contingencies.
The world keeps surprising me, he thought with bitter amusement. Even now, at the end of my life, when I thought I had seen everything and planned for everything, new pieces appear on the board.
Perhaps that's why Hashirama always smiled, even in the face of uncertainty. Perhaps he understood something I never did—that the unpredictability, the chaos, the unexpected genius appearing in each generation... perhaps that's not a flaw in the world that needs to be eliminated through the Infinite Tsukuyomi.
Perhaps it's actually what makes the world worth living in.
The thought was dangerous, almost heretical to everything he'd built his plans around. Madara dismissed it immediately.
No. He was right. The world needed to be remade. Suffering needed to be eliminated. The Infinite Tsukuyomi was still the only true path to peace.
But...
I still want to see that boy with my own eyes, Madara admitted to himself. Just once. Before the end.
Call it an old man's curiosity. Or perhaps just the last flicker of the competitive spirit that drove him to challenge Hashirama all those years ago.
Either way, he'll go to Uzushiogakure.
And he'll see what kind of world this child envisions.
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