Knowing the old man before him had lost all hope and was left with only despair, Takasugi said nothing, quietly sitting nearby to listen as Madara recounted his life.
From childhood, to becoming friends and then enemies with the man named Hashirama Senju, to founding the Hidden Leaf Village they had dreamed of as children.
Then to his betrayal and defection over the Infinite Tsukuyomi inscribed on the stone tablet, and how he had used everything at his disposal for that goal.
Only now did he realize it had all been a fleeting dream.
"...Hashirama's dream lives on, but I..."
Seeing Madara's voice fade and his eyes moisten, Takasugi stared ahead and spoke plainly.
"Madara, there's another fool here just as lost as you. What's right, what's wrong—how could there ever be an answer to such questions? If that's the case, then let me destroy it. Destroy this world of shinobi."
"You want to erase all shinobi from this world? Naive brat. That won't change anything. Even before shinobi existed, humans never stopped fighting..."
Takasugi didn't reply.
Instead, he stood up.
"Madara, would you like to go up and take a look? It's been many years since you've seen the scenery above ground, hasn't it?"
...
It was a rare clear day, not a trace of gloom in the sky, as if declaring that the war that had shrouded this country was finally over.
Seated in a simple wheelchair, Madara silently gazed at the scarred land before him.
With death approaching, there was nothing left for him to hold onto.
His wishes fulfilled... no, his wishes had died.
The sun he hadn't seen in countless years, the boundless blue sky, the pure white clouds, and the occasional breeze caressing his aged face—all served to soothe Madara's already lifeless heart.
In the distance, farmers were tilling the war-ravaged land, while a few dirty, half-naked children ran about the barren fields, laughing as they played with paper pinwheels, their joy palpable.
Watching the children, Madara's lips unconsciously curled into a faint smile.
He couldn't help but recall his own childhood—had there been such carefree moments for him too?
"Humans are a race that endlessly repeats the same mistakes—this much is undeniable. But even so, little by little, they grow from those mistakes."
Madara didn't respond, his gaze still fixed on the children chasing each other, their laughter ringing through the air.
Suddenly, one child—no older than three—tripped and fell, bursting into tears as he rubbed his eyes.
"If you fall, you have to get up by yourself. How many times have Mom and Dad told you that?"
An older girl stopped running and sighed, scolding the sobbing boy.
But her words had no effect—the boy kept crying, refusing to listen.
Only when the girl, perhaps annoyed, walked away without him did he finally stop.
Peeking through his fingers, he watched her retreating figure.
Seeing that she wasn't coming back, he hastily wiped his tears, patted his bottom, and scrambled to his feet, running after her.
Soon, the children's laughter filled the air again.
"That kid actually got up on his own, hahaha—"
Tobi's laughter was abruptly cut short by a sharp look from Takasugi.
He scratched his head and lowered his gaze like a scolded child, not daring to speak.
"Let's go somewhere else."
As soon as Madara spoke, Tobi eagerly complied, pushing the wheelchair at breakneck speed!
...
They wandered the country—now nearly a year free of war—until dusk, when Madara finally said it was time to return.
Without the Gedo Statue's nourishment, this was as long as he could last.
That he'd held on this long was only because Tobi had frequently stolen Takasugi's Yakult for him.
When Takasugi handed him a small bottle of Yakult with a straw, Madara closed his eyes and coughed lightly, his aged face flushing red.
When had Takasugi figured out it was him drinking it?
"Well... I am a bit thirsty."
...
They didn't return to the cave.
Instead, they stopped at a nearby village, settling in a humble farmhouse restaurant.
Seeing the menu for the first time, Tobi was ecstatic, declaring he would order every single dish!
"Do you even need to eat?"
Tobi deadpanned.
"I can still taste the flavor, just like Shinsuke's Yakult—sour and sweet. Even Madara-sama likes it!"
"Ahem!"
Madara coughed lightly into his hands again, his arms tucked into his sleeves.
That Tobi really had no filter—how could he just blurt out such things?
"Nothing fancy here, but please make do with what we have."
The dishes were served by the shop's proprietress, while the owner, who doubled as the chef, was busy in the kitchen.
The moment he saw that vibrant red hair, Madara immediately recognized her identity—a refugee immigrant from the fallen Whirlpool Country.
Somewhat unexpectedly, despite having lost their village, they didn't wear the expressions Madara had imagined.
Normally, refugees like these were rarely accepted by other villages, and even if they were, they were seldom trusted.
Was it because Takasugi had destroyed Kusagakure?
Madara pondered this.
"Hero, please eat up."
The farmer's wife urged Takasugi, but he merely shook his head and replied indifferently.
"There's no such thing as a hero. And even if there were, once the war ends, they'd just become ordinary people again."
"Takasugi, you always talk in circles—no one can understand you!"
Tobi, standing on a wooden stool with chopsticks in hand, spoke earnestly, only to be kicked by Zetsu.
...
Night fell, and the group still hadn't returned to the cave.
Instead, they came to an open field to gaze at the stars.
Takasugi wanted Madara, who was down to his last breath, to see some of the world's beauty one final time.
Listening to Madara's increasingly labored breathing, Takasugi said softly.
"Don't worry. At the very least, our starting point is the same now. We share the same doubts. What is inheritance, anyway? It doesn't have to be a fixed ideology—this very uncertainty is part of it.
This world is full of people who want to sever the chains of hatred but don't know how, who are lost in their confusion.
They are all your successors. They are all your comrades.
There are countless people like this… no, every era will have countless such people.
So, Madara, don't feel lonely or lost. Don't blame yourself or ache over what you couldn't accomplish."
"I see… So I still have so many 'comrades'... If only I'd known sooner… I could have discussed our struggles with them, talked about what this world truly…"
Madara trailed off.
With one last glance at Takasugi, who was quietly watching the stars, he fell silent for a moment before lowering his head, closing his eyes, and smiling faintly.
Hashirama… at this final moment…
I've found my true successor and comrade.
The same doubts, the same aspirations…
With this…
I suppose… I can be at peace…
-----
Serious arc end, now back to trolling.