The smell of gunpowder.
That was the first sensation to hit him—sharp, choking, mixed with blood and scorched earth.
He opened his eyes.
No—Uchiha Madara opened his eyes.
A battlefield stretched out before him. Forests burned in the distance. Corpses lay scattered across the ground—some Uchiha, some Senju. From afar came the clash of steel, war cries, and the thunder of ninjutsu detonations.
Madara stood among them, clad in Uchiha armor, a sword in his hand. Blood dripped steadily from the blade.
Several Uchiha shinobi stood nearby, all wounded, all breathing heavily.
"Young Master Madara," a middle-aged shinobi reported. "The Senju have retreated. We've held this position."
Madara said nothing. His eyes swept across the battlefield, cold and unmoving.
"How many dead?" he asked.
"Twenty-seven killed. Fifteen seriously wounded."
"And the Senju?"
"Rough estimate—around forty."
Madara's fist tightened.
On paper, trading twenty-seven Uchiha lives for forty Senju sounded like a favorable exchange. But he knew better. The Senju Clan was vast; forty losses barely mattered. The Uchiha were far fewer—losing twenty-seven was a wound to their core.
"Where is Izuna?" Madara asked suddenly.
"Young Master Izuna is on the left flank. He's safe."
Only then did Madara let out a breath.
He walked over to a body lying nearby. It was a young Uchiha—no more than twenty years old—his chest pierced cleanly by a kunai, his eyes still open.
Madara knelt and gently closed them.
"I will end all of this," he murmured—whether to the dead, or to himself, he didn't know. "I'll become strong enough that no one dares raise a hand against the Uchiha ever again. Then… this war will end."
He rose and turned.
In the distance, the Senju were regrouping. Their banners fluttered in the wind, emblazoned with the Senju crest.
Madara stared at that banner—and at the man standing beneath it.
Senju Hashirama was looking back at him.
Across a hundred meters, their gazes met.
There was no rage. No hatred.
Only a suffocating exhaustion, as if borne by men far older than they were.
Then Hashirama turned away, leading the Senju forces into retreat.
Madara remained where he stood until their figures vanished.
"Young Master Madara, we should withdraw as well," the middle-aged shinobi urged.
"…Mm."
Madara took one last look at the battlefield before turning away. His steps were steady—but the hand gripping his sword trembled, just slightly.
The scene began to blur.
Rin heard Madara's final voice, faint yet heavy:
"How much longer must this kind of life continue?"
The memory shattered.
---
Rin snapped back to reality, his palms slick with sweat.
Madara's obsession with power—his desire to end war and protect his clan—had crossed decades of time and seeped straight into Rin's heart.
He sat up and wiped his hands, then checked the time.
Almost one o'clock.
He stood and headed toward the western training ground.
Along the way, his thoughts lingered on that moment—when Madara and Hashirama locked eyes. So young, yet carrying the weariness of old men.
"War…"
Konoha was peaceful now—but Rin knew this peace was fragile. The Akatsuki, Orochimaru, Pain, the coming great ninja war…
Power was essential.
Not to become a hero. Not to become Hokage.
Just to protect what mattered to him in that chaotic era.
And—to play the role he had chosen.
---
The afternoon mission was exactly as dull as promised.
Waist-high weeds covered the western training ground. Kakashi handed out sickles and shovels, then settled under a tree with Icha Icha Paradise.
Naruto started enthusiastically, swinging his sickle like a madman—then collapsed ten minutes later, exhausted. Sasuke worked methodically, cutting each patch cleanly. Sakura pulled weeds by hand, her fingers quickly coated in mud.
Rin didn't use tools.
He knelt, pressing both palms against the ground.
"What are you doing?" Naruto asked.
"Testing something."
Chakra flowed slowly from Rin's hands into the earth. He tried to stimulate growth—or force decay.
Nothing happened. The chakra dispersed harmlessly.
He changed tactics, condensing chakra at his fingertips into a thin, sharp edge—not Wind Release, just refined shape manipulation.
He swept his hand across the roots.
The grass fell in neat lines, cuts smooth and precise.
"Oh?" Kakashi's voice came from behind him. "The beginnings of a Chakra Scalpel?"
"Something like that," Rin replied, continuing his work.
"That's a medical ninjutsu technique," Kakashi said, closing his book. "Where did you learn it?"
"From a book."
"Another book," Kakashi smiled faintly. "You've read quite a few, haven't you?"
"I read when I'm bored."
"What kind of books?"
"History, ninjutsu theory, and miscellaneous records," Rin answered calmly. "The Uchiha clan left behind a lot."
That was only half a lie.
Kakashi didn't press further—but his gaze never left Rin.
---
Halfway through the work, Naruto suddenly yelled, "Snake! There's a snake!"
A green serpent shot out of the grass, lunging straight at Sakura.
She froze.
Sasuke threw a shuriken instantly—but the snake twisted aside and avoided it.
Rin flicked his wrist, releasing a chakra blade—not at the snake, but at the ground in front of it.
The earth burst inward.
Startled, the snake recoiled and fled.
"It's gone," Rin said.
Sakura collapsed to the ground, legs trembling. "Th-thank you…"
Kakashi walked over, staring in the direction the snake had disappeared. His expression had turned serious.
"That's enough for today," he said. "Sixty percent completion. I'll count it as a pass."
"YES!" Naruto cheered.
But Rin noticed something—before leaving, Kakashi crouched by the small crater, touching the soil and even smelling it.
Something was wrong.
Rin approached as well.
There was nothing visible—but beneath the dirt, he sensed an extremely faint residue of chakra.
Not the snake's.
Something colder. Thicker.
Someone had been here.
---
That evening, Rin returned to his home—the modest apartment his parents had left behind.
After showering, he sat at the table and began writing.
Not ninjutsu notes.
But future notes.
From memory, he listed major events: the Chūnin Exams, Itachi's return, Sasuke's defection, Tenchi Bridge, Pain's invasion…
He marked what could be changed—and what must not.
"Jiraiya's death must be prevented. Neji's death too. But Naruto and Sasuke's bond can't be interfered with too much—that's the foundation of everything."
Then he paused at one name.
Uchiha Itachi.
The man who slaughtered his clan for the village. Who gave everything for his brother.
After a long silence, Rin wrote two words beside the name:
Illness.
Itachi didn't die because he was weak—he died because he was sick. If that illness could be treated early…
"But how do I even contact him?" Rin muttered. "He's a rogue ninja."
Then a thought struck him.
"When Itachi returns to Konoha… after the Chūnin Exams."
He wrote it down.
When he reached Pain's invasion, he stopped again, rubbing his temples.
Too much.
There were too many things to change—and his own growth was far too slow.
He burned the papers to ash. He wasn't foolish enough to leave evidence behind. Writing them out was only to reinforce his memory.
Rin lay down and closed his eyes.
[Current Synchronization: 5.5%]
[Redeemable Ability: Fire Release – Dragon Flame Technique (Requires 6% synchronization)]
Still short.
He selected daily training—a combat simulation against a chūnin-level opponent.
In the dark space, shadows lunged at him. Rin dodged, countered, relying on taijutsu and shuriken.
Ten minutes later, he had defeated three shadows—and died twice.
[Training complete]
[Combat experience slightly increased]
[Synchronization increased to 5.7%]
Still slow.
But at least it was progress.
Exiting the system, Rin checked the time.
11:00 PM.
He closed his eyes to sleep—
—and felt it.
Someone was in the room.
I'm posting many TL fan.
This fanfic will continue or not depends on how well this fanfic, survival of the fittest