Land of Fire — A secret underground base beneath the northeastern forests.
"Come on! Come on! Just two more steps!"
"Shut up already."
The boy roared irritably, glaring with barely restrained fury.
"Shou, can't you just close that mouth of yours for one second?"
"Eh? What's the problem? Hatoha, I'm cheering for you!"
The white Zetsu with a peach-shaped face—named Shou—muttered in dissatisfaction.
"I don't need your cheering. Without you yammering in my ear, I'd recover a lot faster."
Uchiha Hatoha's pale feet scraped along the uneven stone wall as he dragged himself down the corridor—he was doing rehabilitation training.
When he first woke up, he thought he had already arrived in the afterlife.
But then this weirdo named Shou popped out and told him he was still alive—barely, but alive. Shou claimed to have saved him and even transplanted new arms and legs onto him using techniques Hatoha had never even heard of. Now he was "taming" these transplanted limbs.
Of course, all of that was astonishing enough.
But what truly terrified him was that in this massive underground base, aside from Shou and the many lookalikes of his kind, there was also an old man who seemed so close to death he could keel over at any moment.
That old man… claimed to be Uchiha Madara.
And that wasn't even the worst part.
Back when he still couldn't get out of bed, that so-called Madara sat right beside him and spoke endlessly—mad, incomprehensible things. He said he saved Hatoha because he wanted him to change this world filled with despair—
To create a new world where everyone would know true happiness.
Who in their right mind would say something like that?
Whether that decrepit Sharingan-wielding old man was really Uchiha Madara or just delusional, Hatoha had already made up his mind to ignore him completely. He only needed to play along to keep himself safe. Once he fully adapted to his new limbs, he would escape this lightless prison.
He had to return to Konoha.
His younger brother was still attending the Academy. No one else could look after him.
No matter what,
his clansmen couldn't possibly care for him more than his own brother could!
Unfortunately—
The old man wasn't the real problem. Maybe because his body was failing, he didn't come to bother Hatoha every day.
But this creature named Shou—
he clung to Hatoha like a shadow, following him from dawn to dusk, chattering nonstop in his ear. The sheer noise alone made Hatoha feel like his nerves were about to collapse.
Honestly,
if not for his brother—
he might have ended his own life just to escape this "torture."
"Hey, Hatoha… are you really that eager to leave?"
Shou leaned in, pressing that peach-like face right up against Hatoha's, staring intensely at him with his single eye.
"Of course. My little brother is waiting for me at home."
Hatoha didn't bother hiding anything.
After all, even if that old man wasn't truly Madara, the Sharingan couldn't be faked. If the old man wished, he could hypnotize Hatoha at any moment and drag every secret out of him. The Sharingan had many names: the Copy Wheel Eye, the Hypnotic Eye…
There was no point in concealing anything.
Surprisingly, the old man who called himself Madara hadn't reacted with anger or disappointment when Hatoha declared he wanted to return to Konoha. Instead, he calmly promised that once Hatoha fully recovered—if he still wished to return—he would be allowed to leave.
Hatoha didn't believe that promise at all.
But that didn't matter.
No matter what, his top priority was recovering his body. In this crippled state, he could do nothing.
"My brother… does he look like you?"
Shou asked curiously.
"Obviously. He's my real brother—we share the same blood. Of course we look alike. But Tsuruha takes more after our mom, so he's a bit more delicate-looking…"
Hatoha started talking nonstop about his younger brother, Uchiha Tsuruha, and all their little memories.
He hated Shou's chatter—
but in this cold and silent place, having someone to talk to wasn't the worst thing.
If only the guy weren't so unbearably talkative, it might even be pleasant.
---
At the same time,
in another room of the underground base—
"The Seven Ninja Swordsmen… Quite a fitting identity."
Sitting in a stone chair, Uchiha Madara let a twisted smile curl across his withered face after hearing Black Zetsu's report.
Then he asked:
"When is the Kirigakure delegation expected to reach Konoha?"
"If they encounter no delays, they should arrive around late January," Black Zetsu replied.
"Late January… meaning less than two months…" Madara murmured.
"And Uchiha Hatoha's rehabilitation?"
"According to Shou, he'll be able to walk normally in about a month," answered the white Zetsu paired with Black Zetsu in their pitcher-plant form.
"One month… That's too fast. Tell him to slow Hatoha's recovery. He must not regain full mobility yet. The timing is not ready."
"Understood. I'll inform him soon."
"Besides Hatoha, Konoha must also be prepared. His younger brother… have someone watch him around the clock. Absolutely no accidents before the time comes. Only when the moment is ripe—may he die."
Madara spoke with icy clarity, every word colder than the last.
"Don't worry, he's been monitored the whole time," Black Zetsu replied with a grin.
"We still cannot afford carelessness. Black Zetsu—go yourself. Meet with Afu first and relay the plan. Then assist him in Konoha. If Hatoha awakens his eyes, make sure he doesn't lose control to rage. If he fails—then clean everything up."
Madara instructed.
"Understood. I'll handle it personally."
Black Zetsu bowed his head.
Madara said nothing more. He simply leaned back, exhausted, and stared at the ceiling. His unfocused eyes made it clear—he had sunk once more into the memories of his past.
The pitcher-plant form slowly sank into the ground and vanished.
In an instant,
the enormous room was left with only the faint, fragile sound of the old man's breathing.