Chapter 24 – Uchiha Madara's Social-Death Moment
"Tool."
A word that enslaves in ordinary ears now sounded to Nagato like a sacred hymn.
The heart suspended in mid-air finally touched ground.
If Yahiko is the 'brain,' why must I agonize over philosophy? Be the hardest fist, smash every obstacle—nothing more.
The haze in Nagato's eyes retreated like a tide, replaced by fanatical, absolute loyalty.
"I understand."
Nagato clenched his fist; bony knuckles whitened, yet a relieved smile tugged at his lips.
"If this is your will… use me to the hilt, until death."
Yahiko saw the ghost-fire reignited in his best friend's gaze and felt the last stone in his heart settle.
The butterfly effect never lies.
Since pain couldn't shape him, reshape his worldview with bonds and brainwashing.
"No rush; the hardware's fine. You need a software update."
Yahiko spoke with overbearing certainty and a trace of warmth: "When you're ready, we'll do it again. Next time, I'll give you power worthy of a god."
Just as warmth rekindled—
Clap… clap… clap…
A slow, out-of-place applause exploded through the dead-silent underground base.
Ripples distorted the air in a dark corner.
A black-robed man in an orange spiral mask stepped out. Beside him, the plant-like Zetsu rose from the floor, black-and-white face wearing a spectator's grin.
"Stirring speech, Yahiko. Who knew your tongue was sharper than any Ninjutsu?"
The man calling himself "Uchiha Madara" spoke in a low, hoarse voice; the crimson Sharingan in his single eye looked down like a god judging Mortals.
Killing intent detonated!
"Who!"
Konan barked; countless sheets of paper spun into razor-sharp shuriken, instantly locking onto the intruder's throat.
Though Nagato didn't move, the Hanzou Puppet guarding him flashed to Obito's rear, sickle glinting coldly.
"When did they get in?!"
Alarm bells screamed in Konan's mind.
How much of our talk about Stand Awakening—an Akatsuki core secret—did he hear?
Facing two killing gods, Obito kept his arms crossed, steady as Mount Tai.
He snorted, voice mysterious and crushing: "Longer than you think. Afraid a god might learn your secrets?"
Ambiguous, yet heavy with menace.
Nagato and Konan exchanged a look—grave.
This self-proclaimed "Madara" was unfathomable; he had to be silenced.
As they prepared to strike, a snort broke the deadlock.
"Heh…"
Yahiko didn't even rise from his stone chair; chin propped on one hand, he watched Obito like a clown.
"Tell me, Mr. 'Uchiha Madara.'"
Mockery danced in Yahiko's eyes. "Isn't it tiring, doing a one-man show behind that mask?"
Obito's masked brow creased. "Meaning?"
"The posing is downright hilarious."
Yahiko stood slowly, each step landing on the beat of Obito's racing heart.
"My eyes saw it—you arrived less than thirty seconds ago."
Silence crashed over the room.
Yahiko tapped his temple, a cruel smirk curling his lips:
"Trying to bluff us? Want to seize the narrative by acting omniscient?"
"Save it. In front of my Epitaph, that trick's dumber than a three-year-old's."
Thirty seconds?
Konan and Nagato blinked, then understood.
So he'd only heard the final line about "upgrading software"?
All that "I've seen everything" act… was pure theater?!
Their gazes shifted from wary to pitying, as if staring at an idiot.
Obito's heart skipped a beat.
Damn—how did the guy know so precisely?!
He really had just arrived, planning to fish for intel and assert dominance—only to be stripped bare before the show began!
The public exposure flushed Obito's masked cheeks red.
Yet the Oscar-level actor stayed perfectly calm.
"Think what you want."
Obito shrugged, forcing a pivot. "Since you saw through it, let's get to the point. I'm here to keep my promise and deliver a gift…"
He reached into his robe as if pulling out a scroll.
"It's vital to Akatsuki's future strategy—trust me, you won't refuse…"
"Stop."
Yahiko stood five meters away, hand raised, cutting off the performance.
"We'll get to gifts later."
He extended his right hand, palm up—the universal gesture for debt collection.
"Time to pay our wager, don't you think?"
Obito's hand froze inside his cloak.
The warehouse bet came boomeranging back: if Yahiko beat Hanzou without using the Rinnegan, "Madara" would join unconditionally and unmask.
What had seemed a sure victory ended with the lunatic actually killing Hanzou!
Now there was no way out.
"What? The great 'Slaughterer of the Ninja World' reneging on a bet?"
Yahiko's voice turned icy; the very air seemed to chill.
"Hmph."
Obito snorted. In this awkward moment he chose "big-picture" deflection.
"Yahiko, leave some room. I acknowledge your strength and will provide resources."
Spirals of spatial distortion rippled around him—Kamui activating.
"As for the mask—it's only symbolic. Right now you need my intel, not my face. Clinging to trifles isn't kingly."
He was gambling.
Gambling that Yahiko, being smart, would compromise for profit.
Too bad he faced an emperor.
"You seem to misunderstand one thing."
Behind Yahiko a crimson Stand winked into existence; its twisted face opened the compound eye on its forehead.
Obito's pupils shrank; instinctive Soul-deep dread seized him.
Not good!
Kamui—intangibility, NOW—
[King Crimson·Time Deletion]!
Bzzt—!
The world's colors collapsed; stars inverted.
In the fractured timeline only Yahiko could sense, Obito's attempt to phase out was erased.
Causality severed, only the result remained.
The next instant time resumed.
Obito's vision flickered. Yahiko, five meters away an eye-blink earlier, now stood nose-to-nose with him!
No movement trail.
It was like a frame cut from a video.
Before the famed space-time Ninjutsu could finish, an icy-iron hand clamped onto Obito's shoulder like a vice!