Madara's food tray remains untouched before him as he tries to massage the ache out of his cramped hand. An annoying reminder that he is still not fully recovered from his injuries and that he overextended himself during the treasure hunt. While more of an inconvenience than a serious setback, it will be a hindrance in the upcoming third phases of the exam, nonetheless. With about an hour until the next part though, Madara has time to ensure the dull ache in his limbs is manageable.

The cafeteria around him buzzes with the clatter of trays and lively conversations. Students recount the happenings of the treasure hunt, exchanging stories and boasting about their accomplishments, while speculating about the nature of the next test. Fortunately, Madara has found a somewhat secluded corner where he can escape most of the noise.

"You alright, man?" Concerned, Augury and Comeback lower their food trays onto his table and take seats across from him. "You should have said something if you are injured. Should we accompany you to the infirmary?"

"It is just an old injury acting up; I will manage," Madara reassures them, pressing into an especially stubborn muscle near his thumb that refuses to cooperate with him. Tomorrow he will be stiff as a board, he can already tell.

"If you say so," Augury replies with a shrug and furrowed brows, clearly unconvinced but respecting Madara's wishes. Without further ado, he promptly grabs a pair of chopsticks and digs into his meal with the enthusiasm of a starving man.

Comeback's lips are pressed into a thin line, but she doesn't voice her concerns either. More restrained, she begins eating with a mumbled "Itadakimasu."

Midway through his meal, Augury interrupts his eager devouring with a sudden gaze directed at Madara. "By the way, my name is Tomitsuka Kanjin, but you can call me Kanjin."

Comeback promptly jabs him in the side with a disapproving frown. "Don't speak with your mouth full; it's disgusting." Then she turns her attention to Madara. "I'm Kitano Amaya, Amaya works just fine."

"Arano Junichi." Madara returns shortly, finally releasing his hand from his ministration to take a bite of his own food—a generous bowl of Oyakodon. The last part of the exam had been taxing on his body, he needs all the calories he can get.

"So, where are you from, Arano?" Curiosity gleams in Kanjin's dark eyes.

Madara, with a sigh, decided to humour him for a bit. "If I am using your first names, you should do the same. I was born in Tokyo but relocated to Musutafu a few years ago."

"Did your parents get a job offer here in Musutafu or something?" Kanjin wonders.

"I am actually an orphan," Madara states absentmindedly after swallowing another bite, humming appreciatively at his lunch choice. The Oyakodon is delicious.

"Ah, shit, sorry about that, man. Foot in the mouth and all," Kanjin apologizes with a wince.

Madara dismisses his concerns with a lazy wave. "There is no love lost with my parents, so don't worry about it."

Kanjin blinks in surprise. "So, they're still alive? Do you know them?"

"Idiot! You can't just ask that!" Amaya, appalled, chastises her friend.

Madara only huffs in wry amusement. "My father is dead. As for my mother, she is alive, but I know very little about her. She never wanted children to begin with," he states matter-of-factly, showing no trace of concern about his family situation. To him, it's not a significant issue; if anything, he considers himself lucky to have absent parents. The thought of dealing with loving parents who care about their children is a stressor he's glad to have avoided.

"Children? Does that mean you have siblings?" The boy continues with interest, chopsticks hovering midway to his mouth. Meanwhile, Amaya looks mildly horrified at Madara's nonchalant response.

"I have two younger brothers." The reminder prompts Madara to retrieve his phone from his pocket. Although they had gotten it back after the hunt, he hadn't taken a glance at it yet.

Upon unlocking the device, he is instantly bombarded with a barrage of messages, mostly from Izuna, growing increasingly impatient for updates. There's only one from Obito, a threatening reminder not to fuck up. Madara interprets it as a good luck wish flavored with Obito's unique charm. Choosing to ignore the majority of the messages, he scrolls to the bottom of their shared chat.

I: Nii-saaaaaaannn! How did it goooo? °՞( ᗒᗣᗕ )՞°

I: ?

I: Are you ignoring me?!

I: Nii-san… _( :'‹」∠)_

M: Calm, down it went fine so far.

There. With that, he switches the device off, just as it starts to vibrate wildly and lays it to the side. He would rather answer Izuna's endless questions in person later than type them out on his phone; in the meantime, Obito can deal with the dramatics of their brother.

"Was that them?" Amaya asks hesitantly, pointing at Madara's phone. "It must be exciting for them that their brother is becoming a hero."

"Hm. I guess so." Madara shrugs. Izuna's excitement lies more in the curiosity about the exam's nature than the prospect of him becoming a hero. Shifting the focus away from himself, he asks, "What about you? Do you have siblings?"

Kanjin nods, dutifully swallowing before speaking up. "I have an older sister, which is annoying most of the time, really."

"Don't be ridiculous; your sister is great." Amaya interjects, to which Kanjin groans longsuffering. Evidently, this must be a recurring topic of discussion between them.

"You're only saying that because you're an only child. You didn't have to live with her and endure her at her worst."

"You are an ungrateful prick." Amaya counters mercilessly, pointing her chopsticks threateningly. "I wish I had a sibling as nice as your sister."

"Then, by all means take her, you can have her."

Having successfully averted their attention from him, Madara tunes out their bickering, returning to his lunch. All the while, under the table, he attempts to alleviate the ache in his leg.

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"Next one!" Madara barks demandingly, rising from his hunched-over position, swallowing a grunt as pain shoots up his thigh. Ignoring it, he wipes his hands as best as possible from the sticky red with a rag handed to him a while ago.

"Over here!" A hero student shouts, crouching beside a body he had just laid out on the dusty, hard-packed earth a few feet away, waving Madara over.

Madara briskly walks over to the two and crouches down on the opposite side of the unconscious person. His bad leg briefly protests the movement, but he spares it no mind, pushing the physical discomfort to the recesses of his mind. "Give me an overview," he orders in a sharp, no-nonsense tone, his eyes scanning the blood-smeared form before him.

"Broken ankle, multiple cuts in the abdominal area, bleeding heavily, possible concussion," the hero summarizes with a grave voice, brows furrowed and lips pinched.

"Bring me more bandages," Madara tells him, already reaching for his knife to cut open the injured civilian's shirt for a better look at the extent of the wounds. A stubborn strand of black hair falls out of his ponytail into his face as he rips the blood-soaked fabric away. "And bring me a hair tie that is not fucking useless!" he snarls irritably after the retreating hero; his fuse shortening with every passing minute, a volatile energy rising steadily beneath the surface.

"Y-yes!" The boy stammers, hurrying to fetch the items as quickly as possible.

Madara yanks the offending hair out of his face, uncaring about the gore he is smearing all over it. Covered from head to toe in the crimson liquid, the stench of it clings to him like a leech, enveloping him in a haunting aura that hangs over him and his entire makeshift infirmary on the sidelines of the catastrophe zone.

It's a chaos of yelling hero students, pained grunts and wails, with countless people running like headless chickens all around him, bringing more and more injured from the center of the disaster zone. Though, they are careful to make a wide berth around Madara. Since the start of this simulation, he has garnered quite the reputation already - crossing him or failing to heed his commands unleashes hell upon everyone in his reach.

Madara has no idea what kind of disaster even occurred in the center of the arena; he has not moved from this self-made pit of anguish since the start of the third part of the license exam. All he knows is that sweat is gathering on his forehead, sounds are starting to blur around him, and Iron is coating his tongue - if he wasn't so used to it he would gag on the taste of it. However, he is far too familiar with the hectic aftermath of a battlefield to be bothered by this situation.

His mind remains calm as he methodically provides medical care, clinically assessing the mangled stomach before him with a numb detachment. His hands quickly become slick again as he attempts to stem the blood flow with the meager tools at his disposal. They can't even afford the luxury of worrying about infections or cleaning the injuries right now; all Madara can do is prevent the civilians around him from bleeding out in the next couple of minutes.

And even if he had the means - or the chakra for that matter – he doubts he could do much more than he is now. Mending broken bones and torn tissue never came as effortlessly to Madara as it did to Hashirama. Healing had always been the Senju's gift, the ability to bring life and create, while Madara is the calamity that destroys, the one who rains down black ashes and burns everything to the ground.

His scorching chakra never quite agreed with Iryō Ninjutsu, and his rough hands lacked the delicate touch of a medic. Nevertheless, his extensive field practice goes some way in compensating for these deficiencies. He had patched up countless fellow Uchiha after skirmishes with rival clans during the war, attended to mission partners in the aftermath of a mission gone awry, and stitched himself back together numerous times after he had left Konoha behind.

- And pieced together the shattered fragments of a boy barely clinging to life, someone who had been at one point more dead than alive. -

He may not possess the qualities to be a healer, but Madara has learned to be pragmatic when necessary.

As it had quickly become apparent that he holds the most medical practice and knowledge among the aspiring heroes, and with no healing quirks currently available, Madara has found himself tasked with the responsibility of treating the most severe injuries in this part of the exam, while most of the other participants are tasked with clearing the disaster zone.

Besides, despite knowing it is merely a simulation, some young heroes turned dangerously green at the sight of the more gruesome wounded civilians. Madara scoffed at those, swiftly sending them away from his makeshift infirmary. Having someone vomit all over the place would only create more trouble for the patients.

The boy soon returns to Madara with more bandages and a cord that can be used as a hair tie. Madara takes one to get his mane out of his face and the other to tightly bind the civilian's stomach. Then, he is on his feet again, knowing that there is nothing more he can do for this individual at the moment.

"Next!"

Madara loses track of time as he tends to one civilian after another, brought to him by huffing and puffing heroes. Snippets of conversation about a villain wreaking havoc and hostage negotiations reach his ears, but he has no thoughts to spare for whatever is happening on the other side of the arena.

Nevertheless, if those heroes take any longer to eliminate the ongoing threat, Madara is prepared to march over there and handle it himself, blood-soaked and worn down as he is from his current task.

In the end, he doesn't have to. The other heroes somehow manage to navigate the issue, and Madara is, thank Amaterasu, finally released from the duty of playing doctor. As he exits the arena, every muscle screams in protest, and his irritation is palpable, etched across his face in a deep scowl. A trail of red drips behind him.

The other heroes give him a wide berth, a mutual decision to avoid the cloud of frustration that surrounds him. They glance his way with a mix of pity and relief, and all too grateful for the burden Madara shouldered during the exam but unwilling to weather the storm that is his temper.

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Madara's annoyed gaze remained unyielding, fixed upon the head proctor of the HPSC himself as the man leisurely shuffled through a neat stack of papers, seemingly oblivious to Madara's presence, despite having summoned him.

Time ticks by with a stifling slowness, nearly ten minutes having passed already since Madara has taken his seat in this needlessly spacious meeting room. If the HPSC hoped to unease him or make him uncomfortable with the quiet for some nebulous reason, they would be sitting here for a while longer.

Madara eventually averts his eyes from the bland man and lets them drift towards the expansive cityscape visible through the towering window wall beside him, absentmindedly picking at the blood stuck stubbornly to his nails. Thankfully, he was allowed to clean himself a little after the last part of the exam; however, he still looks like he walked straight out of one of those horror movies Izuna likes to watch, and he most likely doesn't smell any better. Not that Madara can tell; all he has been able to smell for a while now is blood.

Another handful of minutes of empty silence pass until the proctor finally raised his head from his documents. His stern eyes meet Madara's, and his flat words shatter the tense atmosphere like a thunderclap. "I will be honest, young Arano," he begins, his voice betraying no emotion, "we did not expect you to pass this exam, least of all to perform so exceptionally well."

Madara nearly scoffs out loud. He is aware that the HPSC hoped for his failure—it would have conveniently swept away the dilemma of him pursuing a hero licence.

"However," the Proctor continues, his tone and face perfectly neutral as if he hasn't just insulted Madara, "your written test was nearly flawless. You demonstrated remarkable strategic intelligence, exceptional leadership, combat prowess, and stealth abilities, ultimately resulting in your team's victory in the treasure hunt. All the while, you maintained a calm and collected demeanor. In the third phase, you did not hesitate to aid the injured, displaying a thoughtful and professional approach and an extensive medical knowledge, while you adhered to proper hero protocol throughout the simulation. According to our guidelines, the HSPC cannot, in good conscience, declare your exam a failure. So, my congratulations are in order, young Arano. You have passed the Hero Licence Exam, and from this day on, you are officially recognized as a Hero of Japan." The proctor's conclusion is delivered as dryly as the Suna desert, neither conveying any joy nor displeasure with the outcome.

"In spite of this," he adds, his expression growing more severe, "we have some concerns regarding the excessive force you exhibited in incapacitating your opponents in the second part of the exam. Additionally, considering your lack of prior experience as a hero and your young age of only twelve, the HSPC has deemed it necessary to impose a mandatory six-month internship upon you. This will provide you with the opportunity to accumulate experience under supervision and within a safe environment. The aim is to guide you on your journey to becoming a full-fledged hero, encouraging restraint and discouraging excessive violence."

At the notion of an internship, Madara's full attention suddenly shifts to the proctor instead of the rusty red flaking of his fingers. "An internship?" he repeats, caught off guard; he had never intended to undertake any kind of internship, and besides, "I still have to attend school."

The proctor maintains his flat composure, "That won't pose a problem. During the six-month internship, we will provide you with a private tutor who will accommodate your educational requirements around your internship schedule."

Madara regards the man contemplatively, crossing his arms and leaning back in a chair that nearly swallows his short form whole. He takes a minute to let his thoughts settle. In reality, he doesn't have much of a choice, does he? The man declared him officially a hero, making him, in a broader sense, an employee of the HPSC. Well, he's got the license, so whatever; enduring an internship seems like a small price to pay. If it means escaping middle school for half a year, he's certainly not about to complain.

Fixing a dark stare at the proctor, he asks, "And where would this internship of mine take place?"

As if on cue, the meeting room door swings open, and in walks none other than the second-ranked hero, Endeavor himself. His expression is grim and posture stiff, commanding attention with the flickering flames that surround him.

Madara raises a questioning eyebrow at the man. The proctor, however, shows no sign of surprise at all by Endeavor's entrance.

Realization is slow to sink in, an air of disbelief gradually shrouding Madara. There's simply no way. Incredulity settles heavily over Madara, his gaze firmly fixed on the flaming hero as the situation catches up to him. Interning with Endeavor to learn restraint? It feels like a joke; there couldn't possibly be a worse choice of hero for such a task. Madara has seen the second-ranked hero on the news and the internet, and describing the man as quick-tempered is akin to calling the fire he wields lukewarm. Yet, as Madara's eyes meet Endeavor's teal gaze, he notices a greedy glint in them as they look down at where Madara sits. Suddenly, everything makes a lot more sense.

Madara has seen that expression directed at him many times before, and he knows exactly what it means. Those who glutton for power always have that special kind of shine in their eyes that reflects a bottomless hunger, grasping for everything within its reach that promised more power, more influence, more recognition, simply more. Those glowing eyes see a potential tool in Madara's presence, though he isn't certain for what exact purpose. However, he has a feeling he will find out soon enough.

"Endeavor kindly offered you an internship in his agency," the proctor explains.

"Did he now," Madara's face hardens. "How fortunate, truly. However, I have no intention of becoming a daylight hero."

"I am aware," Endeavor says, towering in the doorway like a mountain with his tall build. "I will accommodate your preference to stay underground."

"Is that so? You are a hero accustomed to standing in the limelight, as are all your sidekicks, if I am correct. How would that work with me being an underground hero? I don't see how we could possibly work well together." Madara challenges, not a scrap of respect in his voice.

Endeavor's scowl intensifies at his insolent attitude. "Have some respect for your superiors and be grateful that the number two hero personally offered to take you in. I am perfectly capable of adapting to different types of hero work, and as long as you follow my orders, we will work together well enough."

Madara throws a glance at the proctor, who remains silent and stoic in his seat, showing no inclination to refuse Endeavor. Is it worth protesting this unexpected turn of events? Most likely not; he's already on thin ice with the HPSC after today. Recognizing a lost battle and opting for the path of least resistance, Madara turns back to the flaming hero, clicking his tongue in clear annoyance. "Very well, I am in your care then."

As long as he gets that license, Madara can weather an internship, and if Endeavor believes Madara will allow himself to be used as a mere tool, he's in for a rude awakening.

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When Madara finally emerges from the testing facility, utterly done and bone-tired, he's greeted by a bustling plaza teeming with newly minted heroes, their ecstatic family and friends, and pro-heroes networking and forging new connections. The atmosphere is charged with excitement and congratulatory chatter.

Amidst this throng of people, Madara's ears catch a familiar voice rising above the commotion. "Nii-san!"

Izuna, with a relentless grip on a somewhat reluctant Obito, dashes toward Madara. He flings himself into his older brother's embrace, uncaring of his stained clothes, and Obito, by default, gets caught up in the middle of the enthusiastic hug.

Izuna practically vibrates in Madara's arms with curiosity, his enthusiasm bubbling over. "Come on, don't leave us hanging! Did you pass? What was it like, and what did they have you do?"

In response, Madara simply reaches into his pocket and retrieves his shining new hero license. Before he can even blink, it's snatched from his grasp by Izuna's lightning-fast fingers.

"You named yourself Madara?" Izuna snickers with a sly grin. "How unimaginative."

Obito snorts, glancing at the plastic card in Izuna's grasp. "Well, it's better than going by something like 'All Might'—talk about a God complex. Wait, actually…" Obito trails off, giving Madara a considering look. "A name like that would suit your enormous ego perfectly."

Madara merely rolls his eyes at the familiar banter. Over the last few months, Obito has made it his personal mission to rib Madara at every turn. According to him, someone has to keep Madara's massive ego in check. He doesn't mind; he gives as good as he gets, and it's relieving to see Obito regaining his spunky attitude.

"I eagerly await the day when you share your humble wisdom with me," Madara huffs, tousling Obito's hair for good measure. Today, Obito doesn't immediately dodge away, as he did the first few times.

Instead, he wrinkles his nose in disgust, leaning away. "You stink, did you roll in cadavers or something?"

"Or something like that," Madara sighs, feeling the exhaustion seeping further in. "Let's head back; I will fill you in on the details of the exam on the way."