In the vast chessboard of existence, an intangible rule governs every living being, an unyielding truth that transcends ages: life is a winding path, strewn with obstacles. Some of these hurdles will prove easier to overcome than others, but the notion of ease or difficulty is an eminently subjective enigma, woven from multiple intertwined threads.
Firstly, there is the factor of place. The location where one is born largely determines the challenges one will face. While some are born under the protective wing of a loving home and benefit from a solid education, others come into the world in inhospitable streets, condemned to wander in search of sustenance. Some will know the security of a family or clan, while others will be plunged into an abyss of abuse, servitude, or even unprecedented violence.
Next, there is the factor of gender. Man or woman, the mere assignment to one or the other of these states imposes glaring inequalities, tinting each life path with distinctly different shades.
And many other factors could be invoked to nuance the destiny of each. But in the end, whether rich or poor, man or woman, healthy or disabled, all human beings are chained to this inexorable reality: fate is traced by the capricious throw of a die.
This random, inevitable aspect eludes our control, and it is here that fundamental inequalities arise. Every individual who treads this earth is subject to it, and it is through this harsh lesson that true disparities take root. Thus, every human being will eventually come to an inevitable conclusion:
Life is a bitch.
There is no need to seek further evidence of this universal caprice, for whether it be a prosperous businessman, a hardened soldier, or a desperate pauper, all, without exception, must face the torments of existence. In times of war, this trial becomes all the more arduous, sometimes revealing the darkest part of the human soul: its animal instinct.
In these tumultuous times, political and military discipline must be unwavering on the front lines, working to safeguard the people against enemy assaults, while pursuing the ultimate goal: victory. But where conflicts reign, where the horizon ignites, the chains of the law loosen, giving way to anarchy and its minions.
In the absence of any constraining framework, the human being becomes an unstoppable force, without limits or brakes, convinced that impunity reigns supreme. Deprived of clear rules, they erect their own moral code, where any transgression seems tolerable, even normal.
The First Great Shinobi War illustrates this sad truth with striking acuity. Beneath the veil of this conflict, the privileged exploited the most vulnerable for shameless profit. Soldiers, once trained in the art of war, deserted their ranks to sow chaos, abusing their knowledge to satisfy their base instincts on the most destitute. These troubled times pushed even the most desperate souls to acts they would never have contemplated in times of peace. The urgent need for survival drives some to commit the unforgivable, ready to shed blood for a crust of bread. In these dark hours, when famine looms and every meal becomes uncertain, codes of conduct and moral standards shatter, leaving only the ruthless law of survival.
It is in this heart-wrenching context that Uchiha Madara's fervent desire to impose peace by force takes root, an iron-fisted peace. A radical solution to stem the tide of blood, stifle vengeance, and appease the gnawing hunger. A peace that, for many, may seem totalitarian, but represents the only bulwark against the ravages of war: famine, rape, murder... all evils that erect a bitter and implacable conclusion: life is a merciless bitch.
Day 280
The Land of Wind, Kaze No Kuni, had launched several raids on the southern border of Hi No Kuni, but so far, their efforts had met fierce resistance. Despite their numerical superiority, the Konoha ninjas demonstrated unmatched skill and discipline, preventing any advancement beyond the assailants' ambitions. A frontline had thus solidified after a crushing defeat against Tobirama Senju, a month prior.
However, maintaining this frontline required considerable resources. Hence, detachments of soldiers were sent across the country, tasked with a grim mission: to collect a particular tax, not in money, but in provisions. These requisitions, especially targeting the most impoverished populations, did not go without clashes and protests.
A young brunette woman, modestly dressed, dared to express her distress to one of these ruthless soldiers.
"But sir... if you take all this, we won't have enough to survive until the end of winter! You're taking away our entire harvest..."
Her plea met with a cold and implacable stare. The man before her, insensitive to her pleas, seemed to devour every curve of her body with a lustful and greedy eye.
"It's war," he replied in a voice of ice.
"But we'll starve!" she insisted, desperate to see this individual shamelessly enter her house, crudely rummaging for hidden provisions.
"That's not my problem," he retorted, continuing his search with icy indifference.
Faced with this ruthless inflexibility, the young woman tried one last time to find common ground.
"There must be a solution, a compromise?" she proposed, ready to work harder to provide for her family's needs.
But her proposition only elicited a perverse smile from the soldier, who leered at her lasciviously before presenting her with a sinister alternative.
"There may be something you could do in exchange for your food," he insinuated, his gaze imbued with a malevolent gleam.
Trembling, she asked in a frail voice, "What?"
A chilling dread gripped the young woman, her heart hammering in her chest under the grip of terror. Before her, the soldier embodied a palpable threat, an aura of malicious intentions that froze her in place. The idea of fleeing crossed her mind, but she remained petrified, as if bewitched by the presence of this man whose gaze pierced her like a predator, ready to pounce on its prey.
"Pull up your dress," he ordered unequivocally, inexorably advancing towards the young woman, who instinctively recoiled, driven by the mounting terror.
"Wh-what!?" she exclaimed, her breath caught by the brutal revelation of his sinister intentions, realizing with horror that she was experiencing the horrors described by other women who had endured such torment.
"You want food?" continued the soldier, roughly seizing the brunette's arm, pinning her against the table behind her. "Then you'll obey and keep quiet!"
Trembling, the young woman felt despair wash over her as she categorically refused to yield to this man. She could not bring herself to sacrifice her dignity, even to save her own life and that of her family.
"No... no, I don't want to..." she articulated weakly, before receiving a stinging slap that sent her head flying to the side. Stunned by the violence of the impact, she was forcibly lifted and deposited on the table by her assailant.
"Who said you had a choice!" he roared, tightening his grip on the bruised arm of the young woman. A surge of instinct prompted her to struggle, to try to break free from the relentless grip that held her. But the brute force of her assailant stifled her efforts, giving way to a desperate terror that drove her to draw on her last reserves: a piercing scream tore through the oppressive air.
Alas, her cries were immediately muffled by the rough hand that pressed against her mouth, smothering any hope of rescue. "Shh..." he murmured sinisterly, as she felt the implacable weight of his body keep her captive in a grip of terror.
In a surge of desperation, the young brunette woman tried to free herself from the suffocating embrace of her assailant, striking, scratching, pushing with all her might. But her efforts were met with the implacable force that kept her prisoner, as the man inexorably advanced, his hands greedily exploring the most intimate recesses of her flesh. It was then that a primal instinct took over, guiding the young woman's hand to a glimmer of hope: the handle of a knife hanging from her assailant's belt.
A cry of pain tore through the air as the blade plunged into the man's flesh, shattering his attempt at dominance. Injured but still standing, the soldier managed to disengage, saved by the armor that had deflected the fatal blow. Seizing this brief respite, the young woman leaped from the table, attempting to escape, but was immediately seized by the unyielding grip of her assailant.
"Get back here, you bitch!" he roared, blinded by rage and pain, as he dealt a violent blow to the already weakened victim, bending her over under the shock.
In a breath interspersed with pain, the brunette pleaded, begging for mercy, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Brutally pushed back onto the table, she felt the fabric of her dress being torn mercilessly, revealing the imminent threat of rape.
However, the attention of the assailant was too absorbed by his sinister design to perceive the external noises creeping into the house. Ignorant of the shadow approaching behind him, he did not see the vengeful arm descending upon him. As he prepared to commit the irreparable, vengeance, in the determined guise of Sakura Haruno, materialized, seizing the man's hair to offer him the punishment he deserved, like a butcher slaughtering his livestock.
Few things disgusted Sakura as much as rape. To her, this abhorrent act was beyond redemption, deserving neither leniency nor pity. Thus, with unwavering determination, she slit the man's throat, who, in a final flash of confusion, was seized by death. The warm liquid of his own blood flowed over his chest, as the black of oblivion engulfed him in his ultimate fall.
Faced with the lifeless body, Sakura remained unperturbed, her face becoming that of an impassive warrior, devoid of any emotion. No empathy was granted to this abject individual lying at her feet. But when her eyes landed on the brunette, a transformation occurred: the mask of the caring and compassionate medic overlapped with that of the warrior.
"It's okay... You're safe now," murmured Sakura softly, a striking contrast to the merciless act she had just committed. The young woman, freshly escaped from horror, still remained in shock, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind struggling to assimilate the nightmare from which she had just awakened. Her gaze wandered over her own body, stained with the blood of her assailant, seeking confirmation that all of this was not just a dreadful dream. But the throbbing pain in her belly and on her cheek brutally brought her back to harsh reality.
"I mean you no harm," assured Sakura, addressing the still-shocked young woman.
"Who... Who are you?" stammered the villager, still shaken by the trauma.
"I'm a friend. My name is Sakura. Don't be afraid," she replied gently, placing her hand on the other woman's bruised cheek and the other on her stomach.
A shiver ran through the brunette when she saw the green glow emanating from her savior's hands, but gradually, the pain faded away, disappearing as if by magic.
"There, you're safe now," Sakura concluded, offering a reassuring smile to the young woman.
"Why?" asked the brunette, tears welling up in her eyes. "Why would a soldier supposed to protect us want to do that?"
"Because most men are just scum who only think about satisfying their basest desires," Sakura replied in a tone devoid of emotion. "We live in a dark age, where men believe in their supremacy over us, women. They think they have the right to decide our lives, our bodies. This soldier should have been your shield, but he succumbed to his lowest impulses. He would have reduced you to an object, devoid of any human dignity."
The young woman swallowed her words, unable to add anything to the harsh reality described by Sakura. That was the daily life of women in those times.
"But not all are like that," Sakura continued, her gaze scrutinizing the brunette's face. "There are open-minded men who can respect women, consider them as equals."
"Are you one of them?" the brunette asked spontaneously, a glimmer of hope arising in her eyes.
"Let's say I had to assert myself to earn their respect," Sakura replied with a knowing smile.
Since her arrival in the Sengoku era, Sakura had to fight every day to earn the respect she deserved. She had faced the greatest misogynists to finally become their partner. She knew the power of determination.
"How? How did you succeed?" the young woman asked, her interest piqued by Sakura's words.
"Would you like to follow in my footsteps?" the medic asked.
"Like you? I... I don't know..."
The brunette hesitated, bewildered by the prospect of taking such a path. It was a daunting idea.
"I'm not ready to kill someone," the brunette began, a slight tension in her voice. "But learning to defend myself, to protect my life and that of my loved ones, yes. I never want to feel the fear I felt today again," she added, fixing Sakura with her determined eyes.
Sakura fully understood the young woman's reluctance. She had chosen the path of the shinobi, but she couldn't impose that path on anyone else. Yet, she believed in the strength of women, in their ability to defend themselves and protect their loved ones.
"Just because you're a woman doesn't mean you're weak. You have the right to fight, to defend yourself, and to protect those you love," Sakura declared with conviction. "Killing someone can be terrifying, even immoral, but sometimes, it's necessary, especially when your people or your life are threatened. If you ever want to learn how to fight, go to Heiwa, the capital of Ta No Kuni. Ask for Suzuki, tell him Sakura sent you, and that you want to take up arms."
Day 290
Sakura and Madara were crossing a plain littered with corpses, remnants of a recent battle. With knowledge gleaned from books from the future, they were aware of conflict zones and their timelines. Their mission so far had been to save as many lives as possible, especially those of civilians caught in the turmoil of war. But now, with the intensification of the conflict, it was imperative to bolster their ranks of Shinobi.
"I hate war," murmured Sakura as they moved among the lifeless bodies.
"Yet it is inevitable," replied Madara, scanning the battlefield with an impassive gaze.
"Are there any survivors?" Sakura asked, hoping their intervention wasn't too late, as she sought Madara's gaze.
"Yes, but they won't live long," Madara replied, focused on detecting the chakra emanating from the bodies. "Their strength is quickly fading."
"None are salvageable?" Sakura insisted, refusing to let anyone die if she could help it, in accordance with her Hippocratic oath.
Madara, once reluctant to attach importance to the life of a wounded person, had learned to understand the honor code of physicians through Sakura. Respecting her sense of duty, he focused his attention and identified a source of chakra stronger than the others.
"There may be one," he murmured, indicating a direction with his gaze.
They headed towards the wounded man, a blond-haired, blue-eyed individual, a rarity among the Shinobi ranks of Tsuchi No Kuni. Though he was gravely injured, none of his wounds seemed fatal; however, the loss of blood would soon be his undoing.
With a glance, Sakura assessed the situation and realized she needed to act quickly to save this man. But before she could begin administering care, Madara's hand rested on her shoulder, interrupting her even before she had started.
"Jinchūruki," Madara whispered.
Now facing the individual, Uchiha could scrutinize the nature of the man's chakra more carefully. Focusing his energy into his Rinnegan hidden beneath his brown lock, the concentric rings widened slightly, revealing the identity of the Bijū he harbored: the Yonbi.
This revelation changed the game for Sakura, who watched the wounded man with renewed attention. The man, though fearful, defiantly met the gazes of the two intruders. While Madara remained impassive, Sakura knelt beside the injured man.
"You're doomed," she whispered after assessing his wounds. The Jinchūriki let out a bitter laugh in response to this obvious statement.
"I'm... already dead long ago," he articulated painfully.
For him, his life had ended when he had been turned into a vessel to contain the Yonbi.
Sakura then recalled Naruto's accounts of the Jinchūriki of their time, as well as the treatment reserved for her brother in heart as the bearer of the Nine-Tails. Memories surfaced despite herself, evoking a part of her past life.
"What motivates you then?" she asked softly, understanding the man's pain.
"Nothing... I'm just a weapon!" he replied bitterly, recalling his teachings. "A weapon you shall be! To protect your own! You are a weapon meant to be used!"
"What motivates you?" Sakura insisted, fighting her own emotions. She had to keep her cool. Though he physically resembled Naruto, he was not him.
"I told you..." he began, but was interrupted by Sakura repeating her question.
"What... motivates... you?"
"I... I don't know," he admitted this time.
He didn't know who he was, what he wanted, if he had ever desired to live.
"Do you have something that you hold dear?" Sakura asked as Madara averted his gaze.
In a swift motion, he drew a kunai and threw it at a crawling man. As soon as the weapon hit its target, the man ceased all movement.
"My village," the Jinchūriki replied mechanically, his eyes landing on the brunette. Immediately recognizing the illustrious Bijū tamer, Uchiha Madara!
The Jinchūriki noticed the absence of forehead protectors on them. They were not affiliated with any village, but this only heightened his wariness towards them.
"Go ahead! Finish me off, that's why you're here anyway."
"We're not here for that," Sakura reassured him, gently placing her hand on the wounded man's cheek to draw his attention to her rather than to Madara.
"Then what?" the blond asked, perplexed.
"What truly matters to you?" Sakura rephrased, capturing his gaze.
"My...," he began out of reflex.
"Are you sure?" Sakura cut in, more firmly this time. "Is that all that matters? A village that mistreated you? A village that deprived you of freedom, affection, family? All of this for what, tell me? To become a sacrificial weapon?" she added with a hint of bitterness.
The Jinchūriki remained silent, unable to contradict the life picture Sakura had cleverly painted. Taking advantage of his silence, she resumed:
"Then I'll ask you again: what is important to you?" she repeated insidiously.
Sakura played on the fact that the wounded man, weakened by his injuries, was more psychologically vulnerable. Tirelessly repeating the question, reformulating it each time, subtly directed his response towards what she expected of him.
Again, the man remained silent, lost in his thoughts. No one had ever given him the opportunity to express himself like this. No one, especially not a woman, had allowed him to think for himself. Seeing his hesitation, Sakura continued her manipulation. She felt he was on the verge of letting go and freeing his own will.
"What would you be willing to do to have a family? People who love you? A place to truly protect?" she asked, pushing further.
"It's impossible," he replied.
He had accepted that he would never be loved, that he would never have a family or a home. He was a weapon used and discarded once broken. His imminent death from his injuries no longer mattered. By becoming the host of the Yonbi, his fate was sealed: a certain death and probably faster than normal.
"Nothing is impossible," Sakura reaffirmed firmly.
She herself was convinced of this truth, having witnessed many extraordinary realities since her encounter with the Rikudō Sennin. In her mind, the boundaries between possible and impossible had blurred, giving way to an infinite field of possibilities.
"Why me?" the Jinchūriki wondered aloud, more to himself than to his listeners, as death approached rapidly.
"Why you and not another?" Sakura replied, wondering if this man had been chosen like Naruto.
The question-in-the-form-of-an-answer seemed to reignite a spark in the blond man, who suddenly found the strength to speak again.
"Do you know what I am!" he exclaimed with fury. "Why did I have to live this life?! I didn't choose it! Who would? You'd have to be insane or suicidal to want it!" he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Because life is ruthless!" Sakura replied firmly. "It's tough, merciless, especially in our time. But it's up to us to fight to make it better... so I ask you again: what would you be willing to do to have the life I described?"
"Absolutely anything," murmured the blond, closing his eyes.
Exhausted, he was tired of talking, tired of everything. He desired nothing more than to fall asleep and end this life of suffering. Who was she to give him false hope, tantalizing him with a future he knew was impossible? This conversation was crueler than a quick and brutal death. But as he prepared to embrace death, he felt two hands rest on his chest and a soothing warmth flow through him. It was gentle, comforting, pleasant. Gradually, the pain faded, the suffering eased, and the fatigue began to dissipate.
Opening his eyes, he wondered if he was seeing an angel. The woman with pink hair seemed to be illuminated by a soft green light, her hair gently floating in the wind. Was this death? But his mind remained too alert to have crossed over.
"What are you doing?" he asked, uncertain of reality.
"I'm giving you a second chance," Sakura replied, infusing him with a new wave of chakra. She knew she had almost reached the limits of her abilities, but she had achieved the desired result. He would join them willingly, for they offered him a better future, where he would be respected as an individual rather than reduced to a weapon of war. This healing energy aimed to quickly close all non-lethal wounds of the Shinobi.
The Jinchūriki watched the warrior's hands in amazement: she was saving his life. No one had ever done that for him, especially not since he became a host.
"Why?" he finally asked, still in shock from what he had just experienced.
"Go to Ta No Kuni... look for the city of Heiwa! There, you will be welcomed as a hero for who you are and what you carry within you. There, you can start over without being judged for your past!" explained Sakura, a warm smile on her lips. Hearing this, the blond felt like crying again, but this time, for very different reasons.
"Why?" the Jinchūriki asked one last time.
"Because those who have been victims of life deserve a second chance... now, go! Go live your new life. Remember, you owe me a debt of life," declared Sakura, helping the man to his feet, under the scrutinizing gaze of Madara behind her. "If you want to honor that debt and give me back what I gave you, don't waste this opportunity. Live your life the right way!"
The man looked at the woman, whom he was beginning to consider an angel for what she had done. He perceived only compassion and sincerity in her gaze, no trace of falsehood. Although he had no guarantees, an inner voice told him that Sakura was telling the truth. He deserved the life she had described to him: a home, a family, the respect of a village, a true purpose to pursue.
So, he did something he never thought possible: he removed his forehead protector from Tsuchi No Kuni and stared at it for a moment. This symbol of his village... No! It was never really his village, but rather his chains! Without regret, without a backward glance, he let it fall to the ground, free!
"May I ask your name?" he finally asked the rose-haired woman.
"Sakura," she replied with a radiant smile. "And yours?"
"Akihiko."
"Well, Akihiko, I just have one last thing to say to you."
"I'm listening."
"Our meeting is no coincidence. Son Gokû would make his father proud," Sakura declared in an enigmatic tone.
Neither Akihiko nor Madara grasped the meaning of her words, remaining perplexed.
However, this message was intended for the Bijū housed within the blond man's body. Upon hearing it, he immediately understood the significance of the message. Only Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki, the father of the bijū, knew their true names. If someone uttered such a phrase, it could only be true.
Day 291
After their discussion with Akihiko, Sakura and Madara had spent the rest of the evening scouring the battlefield, retrieving weapons and armor that could be useful for the remainder of their mission. It wasn't until around one in the morning, exhausted but determined, that they found a cave to spend the night.
Once settled in, Sakura summoned a medium-sized scroll from a puff of smoke, unfolding it to reveal a minimal set of furnishings. With the immense task ahead of them, sleeping on the ground was out of the question. It would be counterproductive, weakening them for the battle to come. So, she had sealed a mattress, pillows, a blanket, and a cooking kit for preparing a meal over a campfire.
While the brunet arranged a pile of wood, ready to be lit, Madara murmured "Katon..." without making a hand gesture, simply manipulating chakra to form a fireball that ignited the wood before him.
Meanwhile, Sakura set up a cast-iron tripod over the fire and placed a pot containing vegetable broth to heat up. Thanks to Fūinjutsu, they could preserve pre-cooked meals, ready to be consumed.
Once rid of their armor and weapons, Madara and Sakura settled near the mattress in peaceful silence. Sakura placed a small stick near the entrance of the cave, an alert system to avoid surprises during the night.
With everything prepared, Sakura snuggled against Madara, reading a book on the First Shinobi War. He wrapped his arm around her as she rested her head on his chest, soaking in his comforting scent.
As the broth warmed, Sakura savored this moment of relaxation, closing her eyes in Madara's embrace, feeling his thumb gently stroke her arm.
"Sakura," he murmured softly, having dropped the "-san" honorific since they had become more intimate.
Neither of them was inclined toward affectionate gestures in public, but in the privacy of their own sphere, Madara revealed himself to be tender and affectionate. Sakura respected his authority and impassiveness in public but appreciated these moments of gentleness in private.
"Yes, Madara?" she replied, nestled against him, in a soothing whisper.
"What would you have done if he had remained loyal to his village?" the brunet asked, not taking his eyes off his book. His mastery of the Sharingan allowed him to multitask effortlessly.
"I would have freed him in another way and waited for his Bijū to manifest," Sakura replied without hesitation, even if it contradicted some of her moral principles.
"Who is Son Gokū?" Madara queried, curious.
"The true name of the Yonbi," Sakura replied automatically. Since her encounter with the Sage of Six Paths, she had shared all her secrets with him, establishing mutual trust.
"His father... Hagoromo?" Madara guessed.
"Yes... Ōtsutsuki-sama was the first Jinchūriki of the Ten-Tails. When his time came, he divided that entity into nine creatures, which he considers his children, and gave them names," Sakura explained, reopening her eyes, recalling the moment when Sasuke had sealed the Bijū with his Rinnegan. "Humans named them Yonbi, Kyūbi, and so on, based on the number of tails."
"The Ten-Tails," Madara murmured, pausing momentarily in his reading. This information seemed natural to him, thanks to the abilities acquired with his Rinnegan.
"Don't even think about it, Madara!" Sakura exclaimed, anticipating his thoughts. "You died trying to resurrect and control it," she reminded him firmly.
"Hn!" Madara grunted, and Sakura hugged him tighter. She knew it was his way of conceding on the subject without saying it outright.
Sakura released herself from his embrace to check on the dish over the fire, its delicious aroma filling the cave. Madara couldn't suppress a rumble in his stomach.
"It'll be ready soon," Sakura said, stirring the broth with a wooden spoon. She tasted a small portion, warm. Then, she resettled against Madara, who had resumed his reading.
"How do you know Kakuzu?" he asked, still seeking information for their common goal: peace.
"He's immortal," Sakura replied coldly, remembering that man from the future.
"How?" Madara inquired, intrigued.
"He managed to graft five hearts onto his soul to stay alive," Sakura explained, recalling their battle. "One heart for each element, ripped from his enemies."
"That's why," Madara understood.
"Yes... and as long as one heart remains intact, he cannot be killed," Sakura added disdainfully. "But he lives only for money," she concluded.
"I see... what did he do in the future?" Madara continued, gently stroking Sakura's arm.
"He was part of a criminal organization, mainly consisting of Nukenin, most of whom were listed in the Bingo Book," Sakura declared, a hint of weariness in her voice. She herself had faced and survived Sasori.
"And me?" the man asked, curious to hear her answer.
"In a way, you were its founder," she replied. She had no intention of hiding information from him, but she was tired, and discussing the Akatsuki was unnecessary given what lay ahead.
"I see, we'll talk more about it later," Uchiha acquiesced, sensing the young woman's desire for silence. He then immersed himself back into his reading, gently caressing his companion's skin.
After a few minutes, Sakura got up again to check on the meal cooking over the fire. It was ready. She served two large bowls filled with steaming broth.
"Interesting," Madara commented as he read a page about the First Shinobi War.
"What is it?" Sakura asked as she returned with the plates.
"Uzushio is going to be destroyed."
"Yes, the tri-alliance has sent enough men to overwhelm the Uzumaki clan," Sakura explained, recalling her history lessons.
"Very interesting," Madara approved, taking a bite of his dish with satisfaction. "Nothing like a good hot meal in winter."
"Why is that?" Sakura inquired.
"We are heading towards Uzushio tomorrow. If we can have the Uzumaki clan as allies, it would only strengthen us," Madara explained.
"That will be very difficult," Sakura objected. "The alliance between Konoha and Uzushio is strong. It will be almost impossible to convince them to turn away from Konoha to join us."
"I'll take care of it," Madara declared, placing his empty plate and the history book aside. Then, he turned to Sakura, his eyes filled with desire. Without understanding how, she found herself passionately kissed by the Uchiha. There was no doubt about the course of events: the couple would spend another night of passion and love.