Madara stepped through the gate, trailing closely behind the boy named Yuuya. The moment he crossed the threshold, the world shifted.
A strange sensation washed over him, like passing through a veil of cool water, and then he was somewhere else entirely.
The portal had transported him to a new space—a dimly lit room cloaked in shadows. Despite the darkness, his Sharingan pierced through the gloom, revealing every detail as clearly as if it were bathed in daylight.
The room was unlike anything he had expected. It was cluttered with oddities: shelves lined with dusty weapons, some rusted and others gleaming faintly; strange masks hung on the walls, their carved faces frozen in eerie expressions; and scattered across the floor were crates overflowing with trinkets and scrolls.
But what caught Madara's attention most was a glowing red cube hovering in the center of the room. It pulsed with a faint, otherworldly light, floating without support, as if defying the laws of the world.
Madara's crimson eyes narrowed as he took in the sight. His vision, sharp and unhindered, scanned every corner of the room.
The darkness was no obstacle to him; it was as if the shadows parted to reveal their secrets. He could see the faint scratches on the weapons, the faded paint on the masks, and the subtle hum of energy radiating from the cube.
This place was no ordinary storage—it felt like a vault of mysteries, a chamber holding relics of power.
Yuuya, standing a few steps ahead, turned to face Madara. His round, sweat-streaked face looked uneasy under the weight of Madara's gaze.
"This… this is the room where I found the door today," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "The one that led to that house in the other world."
Madara's interest deepened. A dimensional gate, a wormhole capable of carrying someone across worlds—this was no small feat.
He could open portals to other dimensions using his Rinnegan if he wanted, but the chakra required was immense, even for someone of his caliber.
The drain was significant, a cost that demanded careful consideration. Yet this gate, this unassuming doorway in a shabby house, had been functioning for who-knows-how-long, effortlessly bridging worlds without any apparent source of power. The implications were staggering.
He turned his piercing gaze to Yuuya, who flinched under the intensity. The boy was a mess—his clothes tattered, his body bruised and battered, his fat frame trembling like a cornered animal. Madara's lip curled slightly in disdain. "And where is this room located?" he asked, his voice low but commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.
Yuuya answered immediately, his words spilling out as if compelled. "It's… it's my grandpa's house. He's dead now, and he left it to me. So, it's in my house."
Madara's eyes flicked back to the glowing cube, his mind racing. A house inherited by this pathetic boy, hiding a room like this? It was almost laughable.
Yet, the cube's eerie glow and the gate's impossible function told him there was more to this place than met the eye.
His grandfather, whoever he was, had clearly been no ordinary man. This room, with its weapons, masks, and that strange floating object, was proof of that.
He stepped forward, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with an energy he couldn't quite place.
It wasn't chakra, nor was it the mana he'd learned about in this world. It was something else—something older, perhaps.
His eyes lingered on the cube, its red light casting faint reflections on the walls. What was it? A power source? A relic? A weapon? The possibilities intrigued him.
"Kid," Madara said, his voice cutting through the silence. "What do you know about that cube?"
Yuuya shuffled nervously, his hands fidgeting. "I… I don't know much. I just found this room today, like I said. The system—it told me it's some kind of… artifact. It didn't say what it does, only that it's important."
Madara's brow furrowed. The system again. This mysterious interface Yuuya kept mentioning, the one that gave him information and warnings. It was starting to irritate him.
He had tried summoning a "status window" as the boy described, but nothing had appeared. Was it because he lacked this system, or was it something unique to Yuuya? Either way, it was a puzzle he intended to solve.
He circled the cube slowly, studying it from every angle. It hovered perfectly still, its surface smooth and unblemished, emitting a faint hum that seemed to vibrate in his bones.
He reached out, his fingers stopping just short of touching it. A faint ripple of energy pulsed against his skin, like a warning. He withdrew his hand, his expression unreadable.
"This room," Madara said, turning back to Yuuya, "what else is in here? What did your grandfather leave behind?"
Yuuya swallowed hard, his eyes darting around nervously. "Just… just what you see. Weapons, masks, some old books. I haven't looked through everything yet. The system said there's more to find, but I… I didn't have time."
Madara turned away from the glowing cube and strode toward the door that connected this strange room to the rest of the house.
The door was simple, made of worn wood, but it stood out in the cluttered, shadowy space filled with weapons and relics. He pushed it open with ease, stepping into the main part of the house.
The air changed immediately, carrying the faint scent of old wood and dust. The house itself was modest, built entirely of timber, with creaking floorboards and sturdy beams.
Yet, the room he had just left seemed impossibly large compared to the humble exterior, as if the space itself defied logic.
Yuuya trailed behind him, his heavy footsteps thudding awkwardly. The boy moved like a servant, hovering close, ready to answer any question or follow any order Madara might give.
His round face was slick with sweat, and his nervous eyes darted between Madara and the floor, as if unsure whether to speak or stay silent.
Madara's sharp gaze swept over the house. The main room was plain but functional—a small table in one corner, a few chairs, and shelves lined with jars and faded books.
Sunlight filtered through a single window, casting long shadows across the floor. Despite its simplicity, the house felt solid, like it had stood for years, untouched by time.
"It's a good house for kids," Madara said, his voice low but clear. He stepped further inside, his boots barely making a sound as he inspected the space.
His eyes lingered on the sturdy walls, the high ceiling, and the faint carvings etched into the wood—symbols he didn't recognize but noted for later.
He turned to Yuuya, who was still hovering behind him, clutching his hands nervously. "And you live here alone by yourself?" Madara asked, his tone calm but carrying an edge that demanded an answer.
Yuuya nodded quickly, his head bobbing like a puppet. "Yes," he said, his voice soft and hesitant. "My mom and dad… they don't like me much. Because of how I look." He paused, his eyes dropping to the floor, as if ashamed to admit it.
"Even my brother and sister… they act like I don't exist. In a way, they all pushed me out of their lives. They wanted this house, though. After Grandpa died, they planned to sell it and split the money. But Grandpa… he made sure that wouldn't happen. He put the house in my name, and he set it up so it can't be sold. Even if my parents tried to force me, it wouldn't work. It's like… like Grandpa knew they'd try to take it from me."
Madara listened in silence, his expression unreadable. The boy's words painted a clear picture—a family that discarded their own for something as shallow as appearance, greedy enough to fight over a house they had no claim to. It wasn't surprising.
People were often weak, driven by selfish desires. He had seen it countless times in his own world, and this one was no different. Still, the grandfather of this kid intrigued him.
A man who planned so carefully, who built a house with a hidden room and a gate to another world—he was no ordinary person. Madara's mind churned with questions about who this man had been and what he had known.
After thoroughly exploring the house, Madara decided it was time to see more of this strange new world.
The wooden house, with its hidden room and mysterious gate, had revealed some secrets, but he needed to understand the world beyond its walls.
He turned to the kid, who stood nearby, fidgeting nervously as always. "Kid," Madara said, his voice sharp and commanding, "you're going to guide me. Show me the outside world."
Yuuya nodded quickly, his round face paling slightly under Madara's intense gaze. Without a word, he scurried toward the door, ready to obey.
Madara followed, his steps silent and purposeful, his mind already analyzing what he might find outside.
They stepped onto a paved road, and Madara immediately froze. Strange metal objects roared past, moving faster than any cart or horse he had ever seen.
They gleamed under the sunlight, their surfaces smooth and polished, with people sitting inside them.
From Madara's perspective, they were like beasts made of steel, roaring with a power he couldn't yet comprehend.
He had never seen anything like them—not in the Shinobi world, not in the forests of this new land.
His crimson eyes narrowed as he watched them speed by, their wheels spinning against the ground.
Madara glanced down at himself, feeling slightly out of place. He was no longer wearing his crimson armor, which he had left back in the house.
Instead, he was dressed in clothes borrowed from Yuuya's grandfather. The old man's wardrobe was the only option, as Yuuya's own clothes—designed for his short, stocky frame—would never have fit Madara's tall, lean build.
The modern attire felt foreign: a plain black shirt, loose pants, and a jacket that hung slightly off his shoulders.
The fabric was softer than he was used to, and the style was strange, but it allowed him to blend in, at least for now.
As they walked along the road, Madara's sharp eyes took in everything. The world around him was alive with movement and sound. Metal vehicles zoomed by, their engines humming loudly.
People crowded the streets, moving in every direction—some rushing forward, others lingering, talking, or staring at small glowing objects in their hands.
The noise was overwhelming: voices, footsteps, the rumble of those metal beasts, and a constant hum that seemed to come from the city itself.
Buildings loomed on either side, their surfaces made of glass and stone, reflecting the sunlight in dazzling patterns.
People poured in and out of these structures every second, entering through wide doors only to exit moments later, as if the buildings themselves were alive, breathing with human activity.
Madara's gaze swept over the scene, his mind racing to process it all. It was magnificent in its chaos.
The sheer scale of it—the towering structures, the endless stream of people, the strange technology—was unlike anything he had ever witnessed.
These buildings were far taller than any castle or temple in the Shinobi world, stretching so high they seemed to scrape the sky. And yet, they were filled with people, bustling with life.
What struck him most was the attitude of the people. They moved without fear, their faces relaxed, some even smiling.
There was no tension, no wariness, no sense of danger. In his world, every step was calculated, every glance a potential threat.
Shinobi lived in a constant state of vigilance, knowing death could come at any moment. But here?
These people seemed carefree, as if they had no enemies, no battles to fight. Madara's eyes narrowed slightly.
Was this world truly so peaceful, or was there something he wasn't seeing?
He noticed something else: there were no shinobi. No chakra, no jutsu, no hidden weapons or subtle signs of training in this people.
The people here were ordinary, their movements untrained, their postures soft. It was strange to see a world so full of life yet so defenseless.
Even the children in his village had been taught to sense danger, to wield a kunai by the time they could walk. Here, the children ran and laughed with their parents, oblivious to any threat.
Madara's thoughts churned as he walked, Yuuya trailing behind like a shadow. This world was a marvel, but it was also alien.
The towering buildings, the metal things moving, the fearless people—it was all so different from the blood-soaked battlefields he knew.
Yet, beneath his calm exterior, a spark of curiosity burned. What kind of power allowed this world to thrive without warriors? And what secrets did it hold that could aid him in his own goals?
"Keep moving," Madara said, his voice low but firm, glancing back at Yuuya. "Show me more."
As Madara and Yuuya continued through the city, his eyes were drawn to massive screens mounted on the towering buildings.
The screens glowed brightly, displaying moving images of people talking, laughing, and holding up objects—a bottle, a piece of clothing, a strange device.
Their voices boomed through the air, urging passersby to buy these things.
Madara's brow furrowed slightly, but to his surprise, he understood every word. The language was familiar, as if he had always known it.
He didn't question it for long; his focus was on the strangeness of the screens themselves, like windows to another place, yet flat and lifeless.
The city around him was a stark contrast to the world he had just left. There were no slaves chained in cages, no dense forests teeming with monsters, no children forced to toil in labor.
The wooden inns, with their creaking floors and smoky air, were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the streets were clean, the buildings sleek and modern, the people moving freely without fear.
It struck Madara as a vision of peace—a true, lasting peace, the kind he had once dreamed of creating in his own world.
His crimson eyes scanned the crowd, searching for any hint of conflict, but found none. It was almost too perfect.
An hour later, the bustling heart of the city gave way to quieter streets. The crowds thinned, and the noise of the metal vehicles faded to a distant hum.
Madara and Yuuya walked along a sidewalk lined with small shops and trees, their leaves rustling in a gentle breeze.
The shift in atmosphere was noticeable, and Madara's sharp gaze swept over the area. "Where does this road lead?" he asked, his voice calm but expectant.
Yuuya, still trailing behind like a nervous shadow, answered quickly. "This way goes to my school," he said, his voice soft but clear.
Madara's interest piqued. "School?" he repeated, glancing at the boy. "What happens at this place called school?"
Yuuya scratched his head, his round face scrunching as he thought of how to explain. "It's… a place where teenagers go to learn stuff. Like math, science, history. They study different things. And… they make friends, too. That's what it's about, I guess."
Madara's mind latched onto the word "learn." Learning was valuable—he had spent years mastering jutsu, strategy, and the arts of war.
But Yuuya's explanation lacked something crucial. There was no mention of training, no hint of preparing for battle or survival.
In his world, children were taught to wield weapons and sense danger from a young age. This "school" sounded soft, almost frivolous.
He turned to Yuuya, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Does this school train teenagers to kill? Or for missions?"
Yuuya blinked, clearly confused by the question. His mouth opened, then closed, as if struggling to process Madara's words.
"Kill? No, no, nothing like that," he said, shaking his head. "It's just for learning. Like, books and stuff. But there are sports, too—people play games, like running or kicking a ball. And there are clubs. That's where people make groups to do things they like, like drawing, music, or… I don't know, collecting stuff."
Madara's expression remained unreadable, but his thoughts churned. A place for learning without combat training? Sports and clubs for… enjoyment?
It was a foreign concept. In the Shinobi world, every lesson served a purpose—survival, power, victory.
Even friendships were forged in the crucible of battle. Yet, this world seemed to value knowledge and connection for their own sake.
He glanced at the quiet street ahead, imagining this "school" filled with carefree teenagers. It was a strange thought, but not entirely unpleasant.
For a moment, he wondered what it would have been like to grow up in a world like this, free from the constant shadow of war.
Madara listened to Yuuya's words, his mind turning over the idea of this "school" and the world it belonged to.
For the first time, he felt a spark of clarity about what true peace might look like. This place—this world without war, without children forced to kill—was a living example of the vision he had once chased.
A place where kids could grow up carefree, laughing and playing with friends, their hearts free of hidden agendas or fear.
It was the opposite of the Shinobi world, where children were molded into weapons, trained to spill blood and sent on missions that often claimed their lives.
In his world, the higher-ups never hesitated to sacrifice the young for their own gain, treating their deaths as mere numbers in a game of power.
Madara's old plan, the Tsuki-no-me, had been his attempt to force peace by trapping everyone in a dream.
But now, standing in this bustling yet peaceful world, he saw it for what it was—a flawed, desperate solution born of a narrow mind.
The result he had sought was right here, in a world where people lived without the shadow of war. His heart stirred with a new sense of purpose.
This was the peace he had wanted to create, not a false dream but a real, breathing reality.
A faint smile curved his lips, a rare expression for someone like him.
"At last," he murmured, his voice soft but resolute, "I've found what true peace is like. This… this can be the start of a new goal for me. I was lost after the Tsuki-no-me failed. A dream… how foolish I was."
He stood still, his crimson eyes scanning the quiet street, the distant hum of the city a reminder of the life thriving around him.
For the first time in a long while, Madara felt a flicker of hope—not just for himself, but for the possibility of building something better.
But his moment of reflection was shattered by a loud, mocking voice. It wasn't directed at him, but at Yuuya, who flinched behind him.
Madara turned, his sharp gaze landing on a group of teenagers approaching. Their hair was a mix of bright colors—red, blue, green—but it was the one in the center who stood out.
A blond boy, his hair slicked back, one eyebrow raised in a sneer. His eyes glinted with malice as he locked onto Yuuya.
"Well, well, if it isn't our favorite disgusting punching bag, Yuuya," the blond boy said, his voice dripping with scorn. He spat out a curse, his lips twisting into a cruel grin.
"I was in a good mood, but seeing your ugly, fat face just ruined it. Guess this fugly pig's gonna have to take the blame."
The group behind him—five or six others—joined in, their voices piling on with venom. "Yeah, you're so gross, Yuuya," one said, smirking. "Fat pig," another added, laughing.
"You're making us all feel bad just by existing. Pay up for the mental damage, or we're gonna beat you so bad you won't walk for a week."
Yuuya shrank back, his round face paling, his hands trembling. The group closed in, their taunts growing louder, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of intimidating someone weaker.
Madara stood still, his expression unreadable, but his crimson eyes burned with a quiet intensity as he watched the scene unfold.
"And who exactly is this wild spiky-haired boy?!" the blonde man sneered, eyes narrowing. "Did you call him to complain about us, or were you whining to him about us?" A bitter laugh followed.
"How disappointing. After everything—we took you in, treated you like one of our own punching bags. When no one even wanted to touch you… or even be near you."