Chapter 50: Race Against Time
Aizen's contact with Uchiha Madara had already been going on for quite some time.
Of course, by Aizen's concept of time, "some time" usually referred to several years.
After all, it would be far too naïve to believe that while Aizen was conducting research, he would simply ignore the wood-style dolls wandering beneath Konoha.
In truth, much of the data and insight Aizen possessed had been exchanged with the old warlord himself. Without such cooperation, even Aizen would have found it difficult to construct an entire Konoha-style ninjutsu system from nothing.
Through Madara's assistance, Aizen gained a wealth of resources and, in return, shared valuable discoveries. Their relationship was a pure exchange of interests—each had his own grand design, and neither bothered to hide it.
Madara, proud and indifferent, cared little for Aizen's ambitions. The aging legend refused to use Aizen's technology to restore his body. Instead, he devoted himself to finding a successor for the Uchiha clan—someone who could be revived through ancient techniques such as Impure World Reincarnation.
Aizen couldn't help but find the irony amusing.
(I don't know where his confidence comes from… trusting old, decaying techniques over new advancements.)
He suspected Madara's distrust stemmed less from arrogance and more from fear—fear of him.
How sad, Aizen thought with a faint smile. I never lie.
When he unfolded the thick letter, several pages of fragmented notes spilled out, each filled with dense handwriting.
---
> "I've received your experimental subject. It's an improvement over the last one—much more refined. However, that doesn't mean I agree with your ideas."
"To place all shinobi and humans upon a chessboard for your so-called trial… I, Uchiha Madara, will never approve. The Eye of the Moon is the only salvation for humanity. Even if it means escaping reality, this endless cycle of sorrow must be broken. If it cannot be stopped by my hand, then it shall be destroyed by it."
"How tragic! Were I not so old, and you not so young, perhaps we could have restored the glory of the past together. If Hashirama were still with us, the three of us could have truly pacified the world. Unfortunately, Aizen… you came too late. The ending has already been written."
"Still, just as you have high hopes for the Eye of the Moon Plan, I have high hopes for your research. Enclosed are fragments of Hashirama's cells—cells that have been fused with my own. Study them well."
"Hashirama's cells, barring unforeseen circumstances, should still be in the village. Tobirama's protégés would never surrender them willingly."
"Also, Danzo seems to have found the storage site of my Rinnegan. If you can, investigate. As long as the eyes are intact, you can proceed with your experiment."
"Hashirama's power remains immense. Even now, his cells sustain my life. If you can uncover the origin of the Wood Release, you may also find your 'original signal.'"
"But if your theory is true… wouldn't that mean this 'original signal' has existed for thousands of years? Could such a consciousness truly survive that long? I doubt it."
"One more thing—"
---
"…Is this supposed to be a research note or a pen pal letter?"
Aizen frowned, struggling to interpret Madara's chaotic handwriting.
The old man's words were scattered, his thoughts jumping from one topic to another. Age had dulled his once razor-sharp focus. He refused to let Aizen assist him, rejecting any technological aid, so many lines were blurred and half-formed, decipherable only through context.
Still, Aizen couldn't bring himself to resent it. In truth, he felt something close to respect.
For all his stubbornness, Madara remained one of the few who had taken that first step—the one that defied the world itself.
Even so… this level of stubbornness really is impressive, he thought wryly.
Then, glancing at the final page where Madara had written his disapproval of the "trial," Aizen sighed and crumpled the paper between his fingers.
With a quiet murmur, the envelope turned to dust and scattered into the air.
"It seems he said a lot of things you didn't want to hear," came a dry voice from behind him.
"Oh? Is that so, Sakumo-kun?"
Aizen turned, raising a brow at Hatake Sakumo, who had yet to leave the room.
"It's rare to see you so curious. Would you like to hear what it said? In a way, the author was your predecessor."
"No," Sakumo replied flatly. "I just figured that if you had something to say, you'd need someone around to listen. That's why I stayed."
"That's… rather sad," Aizen chuckled softly.
Sakumo's eyes were dull with exhaustion. His words, though deadpan, carried a bitter weight.
Aizen smiled faintly, spreading his hands. "But I can't deny it. After all, I'm no god or saint. I have desires like anyone else. And when people believe they've accomplished something extraordinary, they always want to talk about it."
Sakumo tilted his head slightly. "So what exactly have you done that's so remarkable? All of this?"
"Why do you think I'm so busy?"
"I'm pretty sure it's not because you're trying to take over the world," Hatake Sakumo replied dryly, his tone flat as ever.
Aizen chuckled.
Over time, after spending so long around him, Sakumo had come to understand Aizen to some degree. Despite his appearance and aura—like that of a villainous mastermind—Aizen's temperament was surprisingly calm. As long as one didn't directly oppose or challenge him, there was little to fear.
He answered questions honestly, taught willingly, and although he tended to speak at length, his thirst for power was not as insatiable as Sakumo had first assumed. Nor did he seem driven by obsession or ideals of transcendence.
If anything, Sakumo occasionally wondered if he had developed a faint sense of loyalty toward Aizen.
After all, the man had treated his son well. And, despite all his power, he hadn't done anything overtly harmful to Konoha.
"If you really wanted to dominate the world," Sakumo continued, folding his arms, "you wouldn't need to go through all this trouble. You could just use your power—control Konoha outright—and use your technological advantage to crush everything else. Honestly, no one could stop you."
Aizen smiled faintly. "That's quite the exaggeration. I don't believe I could fight the world alone. But…" His eyes glimmered behind his glasses. "I have considered something similar—and, in a sense, I'm already doing it."
"…What did you just say?"
For a brief moment, Sakumo stared, unsure if he had misheard.
He's not serious, right? Is he actually planning to lead Konoha to conquer the world?!
Aizen, noticing Sakumo's bewildered expression, gently shook his head.
"It's not a reckless crusade, as you might imagine," he said calmly. "It's a controlled experiment—carefully calculated and methodically tested."
His fingers tapped rhythmically against the stack of documents on his desk, moving papers as if playing a piano. Some files he slid to the bottom, others to the top.
"The question is simple: how can we unite everyone?"
He looked up, smiling. "The answer is—a common enemy. It's the most primitive, yet effective method of distinguishing friend from foe. It's also the fastest way to stimulate growth."
He gestured toward the window overlooking Konoha.
"Take this village as an example. Right now, everyone sees the Uchiha as their enemy. That shared hatred creates clear boundaries between clans and civilians, between 'us' and 'them.' And from that line, progress begins."
He leaned back slightly, his voice lowering to a thoughtful murmur.
"This kind of progress—born from conflict—is far faster than that achieved through admiration or imitation. A role model inspires, but an enemy provokes. Against an imagined foe, people push themselves harder. They evolve relentlessly—morality, technology, ethics, humanity—everything accelerates, all in an effort to prove they are superior."
"…But that's wrong," Sakumo interrupted, his brow furrowed. "False enemies and manufactured hatred—those are poisons. The ninja world doesn't need that. Didn't you once say you admired courage? There's nothing courageous about what you're describing."
"Yes," Aizen replied softly, "you're right. It isn't courage."
He sealed the glass jar containing Uchiha Madara's tissue sample back into its scroll, then pulled out another set of files and laid them neatly on the table.
"But this," he said, glancing at the reports, "is the environment where courage is born. It's the crucible from which excellence emerges."
Aizen flipped through the documents, his tone smooth and measured.
"Because someone—somewhere—must eventually stand up and say, 'I hate this kind of story.' Someone must reject despair. Someone must say 'no' to suffering. Someone must face the world's hatred with courage and hope."
He smiled faintly. "That's why trials exist."
"Just like now."
He turned a page and revealed a report from the Anbu. The handwriting was messy, clearly written in haste and shock.
According to the report:
The Sand and Stone Villages had announced the formation of a mutual aid alliance, holding talks in the Land of Rain to coordinate a joint defense against Konoha and the Land of Lightning.
Meanwhile, the Cloud Village had formed a defensive pact with the Mist Village, declaring that an attack on one would be an attack on both.
A triangular balance of power—tense and fragile—had formed between the three blocs:
Konoha, standing alone with superior technology,
Sand and Stone, united through survival,
Cloud and Mist, bound by shared ambition.
Each side now scrambled to court smaller nations and independent ninja villages, expanding their influence through promises and fear.
Aizen's eyes gleamed as he studied the shifting map.
This was exactly what he had intended.
"This isn't a story of suffering," he said softly, his tone almost reverent. "It's a test—a trial of will and purpose. A cold war is far better than a passionate death, wouldn't you agree? If we simply view it as evolution, everything makes perfect sense."
As the rain began to tap lightly against the window, Aizen smiled—a rare, genuine smile that reflected neither arrogance nor cruelty.
"I truly hope," he said, almost to himself, "that in the future, more people will find the courage to walk out of this vortex of pain—and finally express who they truly are."
Then he looked up at Sakumo and stood.
"Now then," he said quietly, "we should move as well."
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