Hana stared at Hashirama, struggling to process what she had just heard.

"…I'm sorry," she said slowly. "Could you repeat that?"

Hashirama grinned, entirely too pleased with himself.

"I said," he repeated, "you'll be training under Madara while Tobirama is away."

Hana blinked rapidly.

She had prepared herself for unpredictable training methods, for Hashirama's usual exuberance, for the possibility of him dragging her into some wild nature-based chakra exercise.

But this?

This was something she had not expected. She opened her mouth, closed it, then exhaled.

"…Why?"

Hashirama tilted his head. "Why not?"

Hana almost choked. "Because," she began, choosing her words very carefully, "I… don't believe Madara-san has any interest in training me."

Hashirama waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, he'll be fine! He's just grumpy about it."

Hana stared at him. That did not make her feel better. She already knew exactly how this would go.

Madara didn't like her. He didn't dislike her, either—but that was almost worse. He simply regarded her with mild indifference, as though she were a background detail he had no reason to acknowledge. And now, she was supposed to train under him?

She hesitated. "…Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Hashirama laughed, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry! Madara's one of the strongest shinobi in the village. This will be a great learning opportunity for you!"

That wasn't what she was worried about. But Hashirama wasn't listening.

"It's settled, then!" he said cheerfully. "You start tomorrow!"

Hana sighed.

This was going to be a disaster.

Madara's POV

Madara had trained many people in his lifetime.

He had taught his own clan's warriors and had guided young Uchiha who sought to master their strength.

But this? This was ridiculous. He crossed his arms, staring impassively at Hashirama, who stood before him looking entirely too satisfied with himself.

"…No."

Hashirama sighed dramatically. "Madara—"

"No."

"She needs someone to oversee her training while Tobirama is away."

Madara's expression didn't change. "Then do it yourself."

Hashirama chuckled. "You know I'd get distracted."

Madara clicked his tongue. That was true.

But still. His gaze flickered toward Hana, who stood beside Hashirama, visibly uncomfortable with the situation but maintaining her composure. He could tell she wasn't thrilled about this, either. At least they agreed on something. He sighed sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"…Why me?"

Hashirama smiled. "Because you're the best at what you do."

Madara scoffed. "Flattery won't work."

Hashirama's smile widened. "Tobirama would trust no one else with this."

Madara paused.

Damn him.

Hashirama knew exactly what to say to get under his skin.

Madara exhaled, his gaze settling on Hana again. She was watching him carefully, waiting, probably bracing herself for rejection. And maybe he should reject the idea.

But—There was something almost intriguing about it.

Tobirama had been training her extensively, and from what Madara had observed, she was determined. Capable. And if nothing else—It would be interesting to see what she was made of.

"…Fine."

Hana's eyes widened slightly as if she hadn't expected him to agree.

Hashirama beamed. "Great! You two will get along just fine!"

Madara ignored him. Instead, he turned toward Hana, arms still crossed. His gaze was sharp, unreadable.

"If you're going to train under me," he said coolly, "you'd better be prepared."

Hana straightened. "I am."

Madara tilted his head slightly.

"We'll see."

The next morning, Hana stood at the designated training ground, arms folded, waiting. She was nervous—but she refused to show it. This was happening whether she liked it or not.

And then, Madara arrived. He approached casually, his presence impossible to ignore, his expression impassive as ever. He stopped a few feet away, assessing her.

Then—without warning—He flicked a kunai directly at her.

Hana reacted instantly, chakra surging through her system as she sidestepped, barely avoiding the blade as it embedded itself in the ground behind her.

She whipped her head toward him, eyes wide. Madara raised an eyebrow.

"Good reflexes," he mused. "But too slow."

Hana bit the inside of her cheek. So this was how it was going to be.

Fine.

She refused to be underestimated. Straightening, she met his gaze head-on.

"Again."

Madara smirked. Maybe this wouldn't be so boring after all.

The first week under Madara's tutelage was—brutal. Not because he was cruel. But because he was relentless. Madara did not believe in wasted effort or useless theory. He didn't teach with long-winded explanations or detailed step-by-step guidance.

Instead—He forced her to adapt. To respond. To either master control or suffer the consequences.

And Hana—She refused to break.

Day One: The Cliffside Test

Hana panted, her arms burning as she clung to the rock face.

Below her—nothing but empty air.

Above—Madara, standing effortlessly on the sheer cliff wall, watching her with infuriating calm.

"Why are you struggling?" he asked, arms crossed.

Hana scowled. "Because you—" she gritted her teeth, "—threw me off a mountain."

Madara smirked. "You landed safely."

Hana bit back a curse. He had warned her, of course. He had told her that chakra control wasn't just about balance and refinement.

It was about instinct. Reflex. And apparently—Trusting that when your so-called instructor shoves you off a cliff, you won't die.

"Your control is inconsistent," Madara continued. "You regulate your chakra too much—hesitation makes you weaker."

Hana huffed.

Madara crouched down slightly, his onyx eyes narrowing.

"If you don't fix that," he said simply, "you'll fall."

Hana narrowed her eyes.

Then—*without hesitation—*she pushed more chakra into her limbs and launched herself upward, gripping the wall with ease.

Madara's smirk widened just slightly.

She was learning.

Day Four: The Water Walking Challenge

The second test was worse.

Madara had taken her to the river near the outskirts of the village.

"Walk across," he instructed, standing easily on the rushing surface, the water barely rippling beneath his feet.

Hana had expected this. She had practised walking on still water before. But this river was anything but still. The current was strong, the uneven flow disrupting her chakra every time she tried to step forward. After the third time she sank, she clenched her fists, glaring at him.

"You're doing this on purpose."

Madara tilted his head. "Doing what?"

Hana scowled. "Making it harder than necessary."

Madara simply raised an eyebrow.

"If you think that's unfair, then maybe you shouldn't be training under me."

Hana exhaled sharply. She wasn't going to quit. So instead—She steadied herself. She stopped forcing the control and instead flowed with it. She adjusted. And slowly—She took her first stable step forward.

Madara watched her carefully. "…Better."

Hana smirked. "I know."

Day Seven: The Unexpected Compliment

By the end of the first week, Hana had made incredible progress. Her chakra control had improved significantly—even she could feel it.

But what truly surprised her—Was that Madara noticed.

They were sparring near the forest edge, a simple exercise in chakra manipulation—deflecting kunai mid-air using only chakra threads. Hana had struggled with it days ago.

But now—she moved with ease. She caught one of his kunai mid-flight, sending it spiralling back toward him with perfect accuracy.

Madara blocked it easily, his expression unreadable. Then—after a long silence—

"…You're not bad."

Hana froze. Slowly, she blinked.

"…Did you just—"

Madara clicked his tongue. "Don't make me regret saying it."

Hana's lips twitched. A compliment. A real, actual compliment. She smirked. "I'm going to remember this moment forever."

Madara rolled his eyes. "Tch. Annoying."

But—He didn't deny it.

Something shifted in the second week. Madara wasn't just testing her anymore. He was teaching her. At first, he had been dismissive—only training her because Hashirama had asked.

But now—There was something different in the way he interacted with her. He didn't just point out her mistakes. He offered solutions. When she struggled with fine chakra manipulation, he showed her alternative methods—ways the Uchiha controlled their energy, ways she could refine her technique. And when she asked questions—He answered them.

And Hana noticed something, too. Madara wasn't as cold as he pretended to be. He was sharp, yes. Blunt. Relentless. But beneath that, there was something else. Something that reminded her of Tobirama. A mind that saw everything, that calculated before speaking, that didn't waste words unless they mattered.

And that realization—Made her respect him.

A Moment of Understanding

By the third week, their sessions had become almost… comfortable.

Not friendly. Not warm. But not distant, either.

And then—one evening, after a particularly difficult session—Madara did something unexpected.

Hana had been catching her breath, brushing dirt from her sleeves, when he spoke.

"You're improving."

Hana looked up sharply. It wasn't a passing remark. It wasn't dismissive. It was genuine.

She tilted her head. "You almost sound like you're impressed."

Madara scoffed, crossing his arms. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

Hana smirked. But something about the moment lingered.

A shift. An acknowledgement.

Maybe, just maybe—

Madara Uchiha didn't completely dislike her after days stretched into weeks, and before Hana even realized it, training under Madara Uchiha had become… routine. Not easy. Never easy. But the sharp edges of discomfort had dulled, replaced by a silent understanding between them.

Madara still pushed her ruthlessly—demanding perfection in her chakra control, challenging her instincts, and forcing her to adapt. But now—Hana rose to meet his expectations.

She was learning. Faster than before.

And it hadn't gone unnoticed. Hashirama Notices the Change. Hashirama found Hana in the training grounds one morning— hadn't seen him approach. She had been too focused, balancing multiple kunai mid-air using only delicate chakra threads, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.

Hashirama watched in quiet fascination. She was completely in control. There was no hesitation, no wasted energy. Her chakra, once erratic and overwhelming, had been shaped into something refined and precise.

He let out a low whistle. "You've improved a lot." Hana was startled, nearly dropping her kunai as she turned toward him.

"H-Hashirama-sama!"

He grinned, stepping closer. "No need for formalities, Hana! I'm just admiring the progress."

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she deactivated her technique. "I've been training hard."

Hashirama hummed, tilting his head. "You sure it's just hard work?"

Hana blinked. "…What do you mean?"

Hashirama's smile turned mischievous.

"Oh, nothing," he said casually. "It's just—you're moving like a Uchiha these days."

Hana froze.

Her control, her movements, even the way she instinctively reacted in combat—it had been shaped by Madara's teachings.

Hashirama smirked. "So… how's my dear friend treating you?"

Hana hesitated. Madara wasn't cruel. But he was unyielding. And yet—she had come to understand him. He wasn't just harsh for the sake of it. He pushed because he expected greatness. And Hana had started expecting it from herself, too.

"…He's a good teacher," she admitted.

Hashirama's eyes widened slightly. Then, he threw his head back and laughed.

"Oh, I wish Tobirama was here to hear that."

Hana groaned. But before she could argue—A sharp presence entered the training field. And just like that, the atmosphere shifted.

Madara had arrived.

His crimson gaze flickered over Hashirama before settling on Hana.

"You're late."

Hana sighed. "I wasn't aware I was on a strict schedule."

Madara raised an eyebrow.

"Excuses won't help you."

Hashirama grinned, watching their exchange with barely contained amusement.

Hana groaned, rubbing her temple. "Why do I feel like I walked into a trap?"

Madara ignored her. Instead, he stepped forward, standing at the centre of the training ground. "You've been making progress," he said, his voice calm. "But it's not enough."

Hana straightened. She had expected this. She had been waiting for this. Madara never let her grow too comfortable. She knew that by now.

"Then what's next?" she asked.

Madara smirked. "Stop holding back."

Hana tensed. She had been pushing herself harder than ever. But Madara—Madara wasn't satisfied. And she knew exactly what he meant.

Her chakra had always been overwhelming. Too massive, too erratic, something her father spent years suppressing.

Tobirama had helped her refine it.

Madara?

Madara wanted her to unleash it.

Hashirama, who had been quietly observing, rubbed his chin. "Ooh, I like this idea."

Hana glared. "You would."

Hashirama chuckled, stepping back to give them space. "Alright, alright, I'll let you two handle this."

Madara's gaze didn't waver. "Are you ready?"

Hana exhaled slowly. Then—she nodded.

Madara didn't hold back. And for the first time—neither did Hana.

The training field shook as her chakra surged outward, no longer restrained, no longer carefully contained. The ground beneath them cracked as she met Madara's force head-on, her movements sharper, stronger—more precise than ever.

Madara smirked. This was what he had been waiting for. She was finally getting it. Finally learning that control wasn't about weakening herself. It was about mastering her power—without fear. And for the first time since they started—

Madara saw it.

That shift. That moment of realization in her eyes. And he knew—She was ready for more.

The Aftermath

When the dust settled, Hana was exhausted. But she was satisfied.

Madara stepped forward, his usual smirk in place. "Well?" he asked.

Hana, still catching her breath, gave him a tired smile.

"…Not bad."

Madara snorted. "You're lucky you're improving. Otherwise, I'd have no patience for you."

Hana laughed, despite herself. Their training sessions had been brutal, but something had changed. They had become accustomed to each other. Their interactions weren't tense anymore. They had fallen into a rhythm.

And for the first time—Hana didn't mind it.