"To earn complete trust, you must make a man believe you are his friend. In short, you must stand behind someone before you can strike from behind… There are petty men among the Senju."
Madara Uchiha's brows drew together as he tasted Uchiha Makoto's words.
Someone I trust… would stab me in the back?
Did Makoto mean Hashirama—would Hashirama do such a thing to me?
No.
Absolutely not.
That was Makoto's prejudice born of clan hatred, slandering Hashirama Senju.
First, Hashirama isn't that kind of man.
Second… he's Hashirama. Third… I am Madara. Hashirama and Madara—one hundred years, unchanging.
In a heartbeat, Madara denied the possibility in his mind.
Hashirama would never. A petty man would.
Are there petty men among the Senju?
By Hashirama's own account, in theory none, in reality some.
Then who is that petty man?
In an instant, Tobirama Senju's figure rose in Madara's mind.
If it were Tobirama, that possibility did exist.
"But only as a possibility."
"I'll snuff that out with my own hands."
From the bottom of his heart, Madara looked down on Tobirama. In his eyes there had only ever been Hashirama.
A mere Tobirama Senju couldn't stir real waves, not to Madara.
"Uchiha Makoto, you worry too much."
"I will protect the Uchiha. I promised Izuna myself."
"And I have already spoken with Hashirama. He loves peace."
"Hashirama will never indulge petty men in the Senju. He and I will handle such matters."
Madara spoke with utmost seriousness.
He truly believed in Hashirama Senju—and truly believed that together they could make the Uchiha and Senju clasp hands in peace.
But—
Makoto only nodded perfunctorily while cursing inwardly.
Damn it.
Hashirama, Hashirama—everything is Hashirama with you.
Your brother Izuna begged you with his last breath to avenge him.
Hashirama poked himself with a little kunai, that's all. With his inhuman recovery, a stab like that scabs over in seconds.
I've got nothing to say to a lovesick fool.
"Lord Madara, I know you and Hashirama are open with each other and want to build a joint village for the Uchiha and Senju, but that only turns a war in the open into a struggle in the shadows."
"I know the Uchiha are at a disadvantage now… but swallowing our pride and bowing our heads—forget it. The shinobi world is vast. There's room for the Uchiha somewhere."
"Once the village is built, you in me and me in you… that's where the Uchiha's future will go wrong."
Makoto drew a deep breath and pressed on.
Even knowing Madara had been captured heart and soul by that Senju charmer, dead set on bringing the Uchiha as "dowry" to rekindle the old bond, he still had to persuade him. If it proved impossible, he'd have every reason to "set up his own stove."
The Uchiha were a starved camel still bigger than a horse. If he was going to venture out and start his own enterprise, Makoto wanted to take a little of the family property along.
Even a little would be precious. He had no desire to start as a one-man army with a catastrophic opening.
More importantly, these warnings were a long-term investment.
Because not many years after Konoha's founding, Madara would fall out with Tobirama and Hashirama and walk straight out the front gate, defecting from the village—and not a single Uchiha would follow him. For a clan head to sink that low was truly miserable.
When that day came, who would Madara remember?
No question.
The great prophet—himself.
Madara, furious, would turn to him, set against his old "beloved" Hashirama. The thought alone promised merriment.
And there was no need to fear Madara "seizing the throne."
Madara had no real interest in the village leader's seat; otherwise he wouldn't have left Konoha outright.
If he had truly wanted to compete with Tobirama for Second Hokage, Tobirama likely couldn't have beaten him—because the gap in raw strength was too great.
Before absolute power, the schemes of that innately malignant Tobirama were empty tricks.
Besides—
Imagine Konoha looking for a second-in-command, with Madara's good brother bringing sake and meat to seek the First Hokage's support—Hashirama would be thrilled to wave the banner.
Toward Madara—
Hashirama: "I support Madara Uchiha. He spoke of achieving peace in the shinobi world."
And Tobirama at his side—
Hashirama: "Tobirama, you have enough people backing you without me."
Pity that Madara wouldn't have it.
He took one look at the ancestral stone tablet and, as if witless, believed the nonsense carved upon it, letting himself be spun round and round by the Otsutsuki scion, the shinobi world's millennium schemer—Black Zetsu.
So Madara's future was already set.
Lord Madara, you will come into my arms.
Even if he wanted Makoto to join him in the Eye of the Moon Plan, Makoto would go all in by his side.
He'd squeeze Madara's value first. By the time Madara awakened the Rinnegan, he would already be decrepit, on the verge of death.
Makoto had a cheat.
There was no reason he couldn't outpace Madara's growth.
Madara listened in silence to Makoto's words.
He turned them over in his mind.
They sounded plausible enough—but Madara had already been captured by the Senju enchantment.
"Alarmism. Utter alarmism."
"The Uchiha are mine to handle; the Senju are Hashirama's. We have bared our hearts to each other. With the two of us working together, what in the shinobi world could we not accomplish?"
Madara spoke out, supremely confident. Makoto simply stood there, watching him put on a show—looking forward to the day the slap would land.
On that day he'd ask: "Lord Madara, when you failed to become the Second Hokage, why didn't you look for the problem in yourself?"
"Answer me."
"Look in my eyes."
"Tell me why."
"Why, baby, why."