The smoke overhead thinned until the sky cleared. From the center of the vast crater beneath Kizaru, a lone figure burst free of shattered stone.
One of 's Sharingan eyes had gone blank white—the price of invoking the forbidden technique Izanagi, which had let him shrug off Kizaru's otherwise-fatal slash.
Kizaru floated down, hands tucked in his coat pockets, a languid grin playing at his lips. He bent forward slightly, peering at Madara as though examining an interesting curiosity.
Madara—never fond of being looked down on—sprang backward, landing atop a jagged boulder to Kizaru's left. Now a head higher than his opponent, he crossed his arms, satisfied with the restored sense of superiority.
Even so, the tall, unruffled Kizaru—clothes unscathed, confidence unshaken—forced Madara to admit the truth:
This boy from the Shimura line really might be the strongest shinobi born since Hashirama and me.
And he was still under ten. If that strength kept climbing, perhaps he really could brush the summit Hashirama once held.
But only to that height, Madara told himself. With the Rinnegan awakened, I already stand beyond.
"Shimura Kizaru!" Madara's voice rang out, arms folded firmly. "I, Uchiha Madara, concede that you may well earn the title of the next God of Shinobi. Your power is worthy of respect."
"Oh? That's quite the compliment," Kizaru chuckled, fingers brushing his chin. "How embarrassing."
Is this child truly not even ten? Madara wondered. The composed, handsome shinobi before him hardly looked the part.
"No need for humility," Madara declared. "My acknowledgment should carry weight."
"Old-timer," Kizaru replied, feigning ignorance, "weren't you run through by the First Hokage?"
Madara threw his head back and laughed. "A mere ruse! Do you think Hashirama could truly kill me?"
"So why crawl out of your grave today?" Kizaru pressed, fishing for his motive.
"I heard a new God of Shinobi had appeared. I simply came to judge whether the rumors were deserved." Madara's gaze bored into him.
"Oooh—so scary," Kizaru drawled.
"The war is over," Madara continued, tiring of small talk. "Tell me, Shimura Kizaru—what is your view on peace?"
Kizaru sighed as though reciting a personal mantra. "Peace is fleeting. Desire, rivalry, hatred—those rule this world."
Madara's eyes gleamed. He sees the truth already…
"Do you believe lasting peace impossible?" he asked.
"There was a chance," Kizaru answered. "Had you and Lord Hashirama unified every land under a single, stable order, the world might know relative calm even now."
Madara felt a pang of youthful nostalgia—Kizaru had voiced the very dream he'd once shared with Hashirama. But the words of the Sage of Six Paths had since shown him a different way.
"That tranquility would still crumble," Madara argued. "Greed breeds hatred; hatred breeds war."
Kizaru nodded and, without warning, molded chakra. A stone throne rose beside him. He sat, legs crossed, elbow on the armrest, chin propped in one hand, half-smiling.
"Well then, old man," he asked, "what do you think drives war at its core?"
"Hate and desire," Madara replied instantly. "Endless greed sets nations, villages, even comrades against each other. When that hatred swells, war erupts."
"A fine summary." Kizaru inclined his head. "My own view is this: war's heart is low productivity—and the class imbalance that follows."
Madara listened without scorn.
"Because resources fall short of need," Kizaru went on, "people fight to survive. Daimyō and nobles hoard the means of production and bankroll ninja to wage their petty conflicts, keeping us divided. They're the root feeding every new war."
"An interesting angle," Madara admitted, recalling the Warring States era before the village system formed.
"So," he asked, "wipe out the daimyō and nobles, and peace follows?"
"Hardly." Kizaru smiled. "Remove them and power-hungry shinobi will fill the vacuum."
"Human desire is bottomless," Madara agreed.
"Therefore," Kizaru said, "we must raise productivity itself—meet every person's basic needs. Only then might peace take hold."
"Impossible," Madara shot back. "Desire forever outpaces supply."
"True," Kizaru conceded lightly.
"Shimura Kizaru," Madara said, stepping closer, "I possess the Sage's true method for peace. Join me. When my time ends, you will inherit my will—become this world's savior and its god."
He stretched out a hand, eyes bright with hope. No boy could refuse such an offer.
Kizaru merely smiled. "No."
Madara froze, hand suspended mid-air. "Why?" he asked, bewildered.
"Too troublesome," Kizaru answered with disarming honesty.
Madara drew back, frowning. "You think I'm deceiving you?"
"I doubt the great Uchiha Madara would stoop to lies," Kizaru said—half praise, half tease.
"Then why refuse?"
"Because I'd rather enjoy a cushy nine-to-five—good pay, light work."
Kizaru spread his palms, carefree. "That's all."
Kizaru: (￣▽￣)~*
Madara: …?
Even legends can be dumbfounded.
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