Three days after returning from the tournament, Roku was eating breakfast.
This was not unusual.
What WAS unusual was the commotion outside.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S AT THE GATE?!"
"I MEAN HE'S AT THE GATE! MIFUNE! THE ACTUAL MIFUNE! LEADER OF THE LAND OF IRON!"
"WHY?!"
"HE SAYS HE'S HERE TO SEE ROKU TANAKA!"
Roku looked up from his rice.
"Huh. That's nice of him to visit."
Samehada hummed in agreement from its position against the wall, scales rippling with lazy contentment.
Sparky materialized beside him, her expression carefully neutral but her lightning crackling with something that might have been concern.
"The greatest swordsman in the world has traveled to Konoha. To see you."
"We had a good fight! Maybe he wants a rematch?"
"He bowed to you as an equal. Masters do not seek rematches with equals. They seek something else."
"What?"
"I suspect we're about to find out."
The scene at Konoha's main gate was chaos.
Well-organized chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
ANBU had deployed in standard defensive formation, their masks betraying nothing but their body language screaming tension. Jounin clustered on nearby rooftops, hands near weapon pouches. Chuunin kept the growing crowd of civilians at a safe distance. The Hokage himself had been summoned from his office, still clutching a half-finished stack of paperwork that an aide was desperately trying to retrieve.
And standing calmly in the middle of it all, completely unbothered by the defensive response his arrival had triggered, was Mifune.
He wore simple traveling clothes—a marked contrast to the formal robes he had worn at the tournament. His sword hung at his side, the same unadorned katana that had nearly killed Roku three days ago. His expression was serene, patient, utterly untroubled by the small army that had assembled to greet him.
"I mean no harm," he said, his voice carrying easily despite its conversational volume. "I am here on personal business."
"Personal business?" The gate guard's voice cracked on the second word. "You're the leader of the Land of Iron!"
"I am. But today, I am simply a swordsman seeking a student."
The whispers started immediately.
Student?
Did he say student?
Mifune is looking for a STUDENT?
In KONOHA?
Who could possibly—
Oh no.
It's going to be HIM, isn't it?
The Third Hokage arrived slightly out of breath, his pipe clenched between his teeth with the desperate grip of a man who needed something to hold onto.
"Ah. Mifune-san."
"Hiruzen." Mifune inclined his head with the respect of one leader acknowledging another. "It has been many years."
"It has. Though I don't recall the last time you left Iron Country for anything short of a world war."
"There has not been reason to. Until now."
"And that reason would be...?"
"Roku Tanaka."
Hiruzen's eye twitched.
Of course it was Roku.
It was ALWAYS Roku.
Every time something unprecedented happened, every time the natural order of things was upended, every time someone had to write an incident report that made the reader question the nature of reality itself—there was Roku at the center of it, smiling cheerfully and asking if he'd done something wrong.
"What business do you have with my ninja?"
"I wish to train him."
The words landed like stones dropped into still water.
Ripples of shock spread through the assembled crowd. The whispers became murmurs, the murmurs became exclamations, and somewhere in the back, someone fainted.
Mifune—THE Mifune, the greatest swordsman of the modern era, the man who had won more single combats than most people had witnessed—wanted to train someone.
He hadn't taken a personal student in over thirty years.
The last person he trained personally was now the supreme commander of the samurai forces, wielding authority over thousands.
And he wanted to train a Konoha ninja who had failed the Academy forty-seven times.
"That's... an unusual request," Hiruzen managed, his diplomatic training kicking in even as his mind reeled.
"It is unprecedented. As is your ninja."
"I can't simply hand over one of my people to a foreign nation. There are procedures. Protocols. Political implications—"
"I am not asking you to hand him over. I am asking permission to teach him. Here, in Konoha, if necessary. Or wherever he chooses. The location matters little. The teaching matters much."
Hiruzen puffed on his pipe, buying time to think.
This was a diplomatic nightmare. The leader of a neutral nation, appearing without warning, requesting to personally train a Konoha ninja. The implications were staggering. Other villages would question the alliance. Politicians would demand explanations. The council would have collective heart failure.
But it was also a diplomatic opportunity. Closer ties with Iron Country. Access to samurai training techniques. A gesture of goodwill that could strengthen Konoha's position on the world stage.
And then there was Roku himself.
The boy—man, really, though it was hard to remember that sometimes—who had somehow become the most powerful being in the known world while maintaining the personality of an enthusiastic puppy.
"We should discuss this in my office. Privately."
"Of course."
"And someone should probably fetch Roku."
"I believe," Mifune said, his gaze shifting to look past the Hokage, "he is already here."
Roku walked through the crowd, Samehada strapped to his back, Sparky floating beside him in her human form.
The sea of people parted before him automatically now. Three days ago, they might have simply moved aside out of habit or politeness. Now they moved with purpose, with awareness, with the instinctive deference that came from witnessing true power.
They had seen the tournament. They had watched him fight Mifune to a standstill and emerge victorious. They knew, on a fundamental level, that the cheerful young man walking toward them could probably destroy them all without meaning to.
But Roku didn't notice.
He never noticed.
"Mifune-san! You came to visit!"
"I did."
"That's really nice! Do you want some breakfast? I was just eating, but I can make more!"
Mifune's weathered face creased into a genuine smile. "Perhaps later. First, we should talk."
"Okay! About what?"
"About your future."
The Hokage's office was crowded.
Hiruzen sat behind his desk, pipe firmly in hand, projecting calm authority despite the chaos churning in his mind. Mifune stood before the desk with perfect posture, his presence filling the room despite his lack of movement. Roku had been given a chair—someone had hastily dragged one in from the waiting area—and sat with the relaxed confusion of someone who wasn't entirely sure why everyone was so tense.
Sparky occupied a corner, her form flickering between solid and electric, her attention fixed on Mifune with the intensity of a predator evaluating potential threats. Kakashi leaned against the wall near the door, ostensibly reading his book but fooling absolutely no one.
"I will be direct," Mifune said. "I wish to take Roku Tanaka as my personal student."
"Your personal student," Hiruzen repeated, as if saying the words again might make them make more sense.
"Yes."
"You haven't taken a personal student in thirty years."
"There has been no one worthy. Until now."
Hiruzen looked at Roku.
Roku looked back, his expression open and curious. He didn't seem nervous about the attention or overwhelmed by the significance of the moment. He was simply... present. Waiting to understand what was happening.
"What exactly would this training entail?"
"The sword arts as I know them. Technique. Philosophy. History. The accumulated wisdom of sixty years dedicated to the blade. Everything I have learned, everything I understand, everything I believe about the nature of combat and the soul of the warrior."
"And in return?"
"Nothing."
That single word hung in the air.
"Nothing?" Hiruzen pressed. "You would offer training that nations have begged for, that warriors have killed for, and you ask nothing in return?"
"I do not seek political advantage or military alliance. I do not ask for favors or considerations. I seek only to pass on my knowledge to someone who can appreciate it. Who can carry it forward. Who can become something greater than I ever was."
The Hokage studied Mifune's face, searching for the hidden agenda, the subtle manipulation, the trap that must be concealed within such an extraordinary offer.
He found nothing but sincerity.
And somehow, that was more unsettling than any deception would have been.
Kakashi spoke up from his position by the wall, his visible eye sharp despite his casual posture.
"Why Roku? With respect, Mifune-sama, he beat you in a tournament. That's impressive, but there are other skilled swordsmen in the world. Other prodigies. Other wielders of legendary blades. Why travel all this way for a Konoha Genin?"
"There are skilled swordsmen," Mifune agreed. "Many of them. I have fought most of them. Trained some of them. But none of them showed what Roku showed."
"Which was?"
"Growth."
The word resonated through the room.
"In our fight, I watched him adapt. Not react—ADAPT. Learn. Improve. Transform. He began the match as talented but raw, relying on instinct and the guidance of his blade. He ended it as something approaching a master."
"In fifteen minutes."
"Yes. In fifteen minutes, he compressed what takes most swordsmen decades to achieve. That kind of potential... I have never seen it before. I suspect I never will again. And I refuse to let it go untrained, unshaped, undeveloped. It would be a crime against the art I have dedicated my life to."
Roku shifted uncomfortably in his chair, clearly unused to being discussed in such grandiose terms.
"I'm not that special, Mifune-san. I just... reacted. Did what felt right."
"That is precisely what makes you special," Mifune replied without hesitation. "Most people cannot 'just react' at the level you demonstrated. They are limited by their training, by their expectations, by their fears. They overthink, hesitate, second-guess. You have none of those limitations. Your mind is clear. Your heart is pure. Your potential is limitless."
"I have LOTS of limitations! I failed the Academy forty-seven times! I can't do jutsu right! Half the things I try to do end up causing international incidents!"
"And yet you defeated me." Mifune's smile was patient, almost paternal. "The contradiction is what fascinates me. You are simultaneously the worst ninja I have ever encountered and the most promising swordsman I have ever seen. I wish to understand that contradiction. To nurture it. To see what you might become."
Hiruzen puffed on his pipe, considering the situation from every angle.
The benefits were obvious: Roku receiving training from the greatest blade master alive, closer ties with Iron Country, the prestige of having Mifune personally invest in a Konoha ninja.
The risks were... less clear. Mifune had no history of deception. His neutrality was legendary. And his offer seemed genuinely selfless.
Which, of course, made it suspicious.
But sometimes, Hiruzen reminded himself, people really did mean what they said. Sometimes offers came without strings. Sometimes the world surprised you.
And if there was anyone in the world capable of inspiring genuine selflessness in others, it was probably the oblivious young man currently trying to offer the leader of Iron Country a rice ball.
"Roku, what do you think about this?"
Roku paused, rice ball still extended toward Mifune, and actually considered the question.
For a long moment, he was quiet.
Not his usual cheerful silence, filled with unspoken enthusiasm. This was genuine contemplation. Careful thought.
Everyone in the room noticed.
"At the tournament," he said slowly, "I learned something. About myself. About what I want to be."
"And what is that?"
"A real swordsman. Not someone who accidentally does impossible things. Not someone who wins because the universe decides to break in their favor. Someone who earns their skill. Step by step. Day by day. Someone who can look at their victories and know they happened because of work, not luck."
He looked at Mifune.
"You're the best swordsman in the world. Everyone says so. If I want to learn to be a real swordsman, I should learn from the best."
"So you accept?"
"I accept."
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Then Mifune bowed.
Not a small bow—a full, formal bow that bent his ancient frame nearly parallel to the floor. The bow of a master acknowledging a student. The bow of one warrior honoring another.
"Then I am honored to teach you, Roku Tanaka. I will give you everything I have."
Roku bowed back, though his bow was awkward, unpracticed, the bow of someone who hadn't been raised in formal traditions.
But it was sincere.
And in the end, that was what mattered.
The next hour was spent on logistics.
Kakashi took notes. Hiruzen asked questions. Mifune answered with patient precision.
Where would training occur? A specially designated area outside the village, far enough from civilians to minimize collateral damage but close enough for emergency response if needed.
How often would Mifune visit? Weekly, with extended sessions monthly. He would delegate most Iron Country duties to his subordinates—a task that was apparently long overdue anyway.
What about Roku's ninja responsibilities? Reduced mission load, with Kakashi's team operating as a three-man cell when necessary. Roku would remain available for emergencies, but his primary focus would be training.
How would this affect international relations? Positively, hopefully. It would be framed as a cultural exchange, a sign of deepening cooperation between Konoha and the Land of Iron. Other villages might grumble, but the benefits outweighed the political complications.
Through it all, Roku sat quietly, still processing.
Still not quite believing this was happening.
Kakashi noticed the unusual silence and moved to stand beside his student during a lull in the negotiations.
"You're being unusually subdued."
"I'm thinking."
"About?"
"About why Mifune-san would want to teach me. I'm not... I'm not like his other students. I didn't grow up training. I didn't dedicate my life to the sword. I just picked it up a few weeks ago."
"And beat him in single combat."
"By accident!"
"Was it, though?"
Roku blinked. "What do you mean?"
"At the tournament, you specifically chose NOT to use your unusual abilities. You didn't summon gods. You didn't break reality. You didn't accidentally create new techniques. You fought as a swordsman. You WON as a swordsman. That wasn't an accident, Roku. That was a choice."
"I guess..."
"Mifune sees something in you. Something real. Something that goes beyond the reality-breaking powers and the cosmic entities and all the impossible things you do without trying." Kakashi's visible eye crinkled in what might have been a smile. "Maybe you should trust his judgment. He's had sixty years to learn how to evaluate potential."
Roku considered this.
Then he nodded slowly.
"Okay. I'll do my best."
"That's what worries everyone." Kakashi returned to his book. "But in this case... I think it might actually be a good thing."
Training began the next morning.
Mifune had traveled light—just himself, his sword, and a small pack of supplies. He needed nothing else. Masters rarely did.
They met at the designated training ground as dawn painted the sky in shades of gold and pink. The air was crisp, cool, carrying the fresh scent of dew on grass. Birds sang in nearby trees, unaware that they were providing the soundtrack to an unprecedented moment in martial arts history.
"Before we begin," Mifune said, "I must ask you something."
"Okay."
"In our match, you held back. Deliberately. You chose not to use the powers that make you unique."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Roku thought about how to answer. The question was simple, but the answer was complicated—layered with emotions he was only beginning to understand.
"Because I wanted to know if I could be good without them. If I could be a swordsman, not just someone who accidentally wins. For so long, everything I've done has been by mistake. I wanted just once to do something on purpose. To earn it."
"And now?"
"Now I don't know. I want to learn. Really learn. But I also can't pretend the other stuff doesn't exist."
Mifune nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful.
"A wise answer. Many would try to deny their nature. To suppress what makes them different. To pretend they are ordinary when they are clearly extraordinary. That path leads only to frustration and failure."
"So what should I do?"
"Integrate. Your unusual abilities are part of you. So is your potential as a swordsman. The goal is not to choose one over the other, but to harmonize them. To become whole."
"How?"
"That," Mifune said, drawing his blade with a fluid motion that made the action seem effortless, "is what we are here to discover."
The first lesson was deceptively simple.
Basic forms. The building blocks of sword technique. The same exercises that Mifune had taught to hundreds of students over the decades.
He demonstrated each movement with precise economy. No wasted motion. No unnecessary flourish. Just the pure expression of technique refined over six decades.
Roku repeated them, Samehada humming softly in his grip.
"Your stance is too wide."
Roku adjusted.
"Your grip is too tight."
He loosened.
"Your breathing is erratic."
He focused on steadying it.
"Better. Again."
For three hours, they did nothing but basics.
No advanced techniques. No philosophical discussions. No earth-shattering revelations about the nature of combat or the meaning of the warrior's path.
Just practice.
Just repetition.
Just the slow, methodical work of building a foundation.
"You're frustrated," Mifune observed during a brief rest.
"A little. I thought we'd do more... I don't know. Cool stuff?"
"Cool stuff comes later. Much later. First, you must master the fundamentals."
"But I kind of already know the fundamentals. Samehada taught me."
"Samehada taught you instinct. I will teach you understanding."
Roku tilted his head, curious despite his frustration. "What's the difference?"
"Instinct tells you WHAT to do. Understanding tells you WHY. One is reactive, responding to situations as they arise. The other is proactive, anticipating and preparing. A swordsman who relies only on instinct will eventually be overwhelmed by an opponent who understands patterns. A swordsman who relies only on understanding will be too slow against an opponent who acts on pure instinct."
"So I need both."
"Precisely. And since you already have exceptional instinct, we will focus on understanding. When your instinct and understanding work together, you will be truly formidable."
Roku nodded slowly.
"That makes sense."
"Good. Now. Again. From the beginning."
Far from the world of the living, in a realm where the dead found rest, Madara Uchiha was having a crisis.
This was not particularly unusual—Madara had been having crises of varying intensity for weeks now—but this one felt different. More profound. More... final.
He paced through the formless expanse of the Pure Land, his ethereal form flickering with agitation. Around him, other souls drifted in peaceful oblivion, content to simply exist in the afterlife's gentle embrace.
Madara had never been content.
Content was for the weak. For those who had given up. For people who didn't understand that the world was broken and someone needed to fix it.
But now...
"You're pacing again," Hashirama observed from his position of eternal relaxation. The First Hokage lay on what might have been a spiritual representation of grass, hands behind his head, watching clouds that existed only because he wanted them to.
"I am not pacing. I am contemplating."
"You're definitely pacing. I've counted. Thirty-seven laps so far."
"Shut up, Hashirama."
Madara stopped moving.
He stared at the formless expanse—the infinite nothing that stretched in all directions, interrupted only by the presence of other souls. Somewhere out there, in the world of the living, things were happening. Important things. Things that made his centuries of planning seem... small.
"He's training with Mifune."
"Who?"
"The boy. The anomaly. The one who catches lightning and befriends primordial entities and APOLOGIZES while breaking the laws of reality."
"Oh! Roku!" Hashirama's face lit up with genuine enthusiasm. "I like him. He seems nice."
"OF COURSE you like him. He's exactly the kind of naive idealist you always admired."
"He's not naive. He's sincere. There's a difference."
Madara turned to face his eternal rival, his eternal friend, his eternal annoyance.
"He is DESTROYING everything I built."
"You haven't built anything. You've been dead for decades."
"My PLANS. My contingencies. The pieces I put in place for my eventual return. The Akatsuki. The Tailed Beasts. The carefully orchestrated chaos that would culminate in the Infinite Tsukuyomi."
"And?"
"And they're POINTLESS now."
Hashirama sat up, his expression shifting from lazy contentment to genuine curiosity. "Why?"
"BECAUSE." Madara's voice cracked with something that might have been despair. "Because even if I returned—even if I gathered all the Tailed Beasts, reformed the Ten-Tails, and activated the Infinite Tsukuyomi—HE would stop me. ACCIDENTALLY. While being NICE about it."
"You don't know that."
"I DO know that! I've watched him! Through the gaps between worlds, through the whispers of the dead, I've WATCHED!" Madara's form flickered with agitation. "He defeated a primordial horror by asking it to reconsider its life choices! He befriended the TEN-TAILS! He won a sword tournament against the greatest blade master in history, and he did it by LEARNING! By GROWING! By being exactly the kind of person I've spent centuries believing couldn't exist!"
Hashirama was quiet for a moment.
"So what you're saying is... he's proof that you were wrong?"
"YES! EXACTLY!" Madara froze. "Wait. No. That's not—I wasn't—"
But it was too late. The words were out. The admission had been made.
And Hashirama was SMILING.
"Don't you DARE—"
"I'm not saying anything."
"Your face is saying PLENTY."
"My face is simply expressing appropriate emotions for the situation."
"Your face is SMUG. Your face has been waiting for this moment for DECADES."
"My face is merely observing that my oldest friend appears to be having a breakthrough."
"I am NOT having a—"
Madara stopped.
Because he WAS having a breakthrough.
And denying it wasn't going to make it any less true.
He sat down heavily—or the spiritual equivalent of sitting down—and put his head in his hands.
"I devoted my life to the belief that humanity was fundamentally broken. That peace could only be achieved through control. Through the elimination of free will. Through a world where I decided what was real and what wasn't."
"And Roku?"
"Roku exists. Just... exists. Being kind. Being genuine. Making people BETTER just by being around them. Without manipulation. Without force. Without any of the tools I thought were necessary." Madara's voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. "He changed Orochimaru. OROCHIMARU. The man who would experiment on children, who sought immortality through the most depraved means imaginable—and Roku made him RUN. Made him SURRENDER. Made him GIVE UP on his plans just by existing."
"That's impressive."
"It's IMPOSSIBLE. Or it should be. Everything I understood about human nature, about the darkness that lurks in every heart, about the necessity of control—it's all being contradicted by a failed Academy student who thinks everyone deserves a second chance."
Hashirama moved to sit beside his old friend.
"You know, I always believed there was good in you. Even when you were trying to destroy everything I built."
"You were an idiot."
"Maybe. But I was right, wasn't I?"
Madara looked at him.
Really looked.
At the man who had been his friend, his rival, his enemy, and somehow all three at once. The man who had founded a village on the belief that peace was possible. The man who had never stopped hoping, even when hope seemed foolish.
"I spent my entire existence believing that people like you were exceptions. Anomalies. That genuine goodness was rare and fragile and ultimately destined to be crushed by the weight of human nature."
"And now?"
"Now I'm watching a boy—a MAN—who fails at everything except being kind. Who can't perform a simple jutsu without breaking reality, but who never, EVER fails to see the good in people. Who has somehow accumulated more allies, more friends, more genuine connections than I managed in centuries of planning and manipulation."
"That sounds like jealousy."
"It's not jealousy. It's..." Madara searched for the right word. "Revelation."
"Revelation?"
"I was wrong, Hashirama. About everything. About humanity. About peace. About what the world needed." The words came slowly, painfully, dragged from somewhere deep. "The world doesn't need the Infinite Tsukuyomi. It doesn't need someone to control it. It needs people like Roku. People who believe in others. People who refuse to give up. People who make everyone around them want to be better."
Hashirama was silent.
This was unprecedented.
Madara Uchiha, admitting he was wrong?
Madara Uchiha, abandoning decades of planning based on the example of a single person?
Madara Uchiha, having an actual, genuine change of heart?
"I'm done," Madara said finally.
"Done?"
"Done. With the plans. With the scheming. With the eternal belief that the world needs me to fix it."
"What will you do instead?"
"I don't know." Madara laughed, and it was a strange sound—not his usual bitter mockery, but something almost genuine. "For the first time in my existence, I genuinely don't know what to do. And that's terrifying. And somehow liberating."
Hashirama smiled.
"That sounds like growth."
"It sounds like surrender."
"Same thing, sometimes."
They sat together in companionable silence—two legends of a bygone era, looking toward a world that no longer needed them.
"He's going to change everything," Madara said quietly.
"Probably."
"Not through force. Not through power. Just by being himself."
"That's the best way to change things."
"I hate that you're right."
"I'm always right. You just never listened."
"Shut up, Hashirama."
"Never."
For the first time in decades, Madara Uchiha laughed.
Really laughed.
And somewhere, in the world of the living, Roku Tanaka sneezed without knowing why.
Weeks passed.
Training continued.
Every day, without fail, Roku met Mifune at the training ground as dawn broke. They worked until noon, then rested, then worked until sunset. The routine was relentless but not punishing—Mifune understood the difference between pushing someone to their limits and breaking them.
Roku learned.
Not with his usual accidental brilliance, where impossible things happened without warning or explanation. He learned the old-fashioned way. Making mistakes. Recognizing them. Correcting them. Building skill through repetition and analysis and gradual, incremental improvement.
It was frustrating sometimes.
It was wonderful always.
"Your form is improving," Mifune observed after a month of training.
"Thank you!"
"But you're still relying too much on instinct. When you don't know what to do, you fall back on Samehada's guidance."
"Is that bad?"
"It's a crutch. A useful one, but a crutch nonetheless. You need to develop your own understanding. Your own ability to read situations without external assistance."
Roku nodded slowly.
"How do I do that?"
"Practice. Analysis. Study."
"Study?"
"Theory." Mifune sheathed his blade. "Tomorrow, we begin a new phase of training. Less physical practice. More mental work."
"Mental work?"
"Learning WHY techniques work. Understanding the principles behind them. Building a framework that allows you to adapt to any situation."
Roku's expression flickered with uncertainty. "I'm not great at studying. I failed all my Academy exams. Forty-seven times."
"You failed because you couldn't control your power. Because every time you tried to demonstrate a technique, something impossible happened instead. This is different. This is about understanding combat, not executing jutsu."
"But—"
"Trust me." Mifune's voice was firm but kind. "I have trained many students. I know how to teach. And I know you are capable of more than you believe."
Roku was quiet for a moment.
Then he smiled—a small, sincere smile.
"Okay. I trust you."
"Good. Now. One more hour of forms before we finish for the day."
"Yes, sensei!"
The Roku Appreciation Society was in emergency session.
Their numbers had grown considerably since the tournament. What had started as a handful of women with unrequited feelings had become something larger. Something organized. Something that required formal meetings and a treasury and, as of last week, a rented hall.
Ayame stood at the front of the room, consulting a scroll that contained membership records, meeting minutes, and a disturbingly detailed schedule of Roku's daily activities.
"One hundred and forty-seven members," she reported. "We had to rent the community hall."
"This is getting out of hand," Kurenai observed from her seat in the second row.
"It was out of hand before the tournament. Now it's just... more out of hand."
The hall was packed with women of all ages and backgrounds. Kunoichi in standard uniform. Civilians in everyday clothes. Merchants. Nobles. At least three women who had traveled from other nations specifically for this gathering.
And in the front row, her lightning form barely contained in her human shell, sat Sparky.
"The topic of today's meeting," she announced, "is the Mifune situation."
"Situation?" someone called from the back.
"The greatest swordsman in the world has become Roku's personal mentor. They spend hours together every day. ALONE."
Murmuring spread through the crowd.
"Are you saying Mifune is... competition?"
"No. He is old and clearly views Roku as a student, not a romantic interest. The concern is DISTRACTION."
Anko leaned forward in her seat, her expression calculating. "What kind of distraction?"
"Roku is focused on training. More focused than I have ever seen him. He talks about sword techniques at dinner. He studies combat theory before bed. He practices until his arms shake and then practices more. He is OBSESSED."
"That sounds... healthy?"
"It IS healthy. That is the problem."
Confused silence.
"Previously," Sparky explained, "Roku was oblivious to romantic attention because he did not understand it. Now, he is oblivious because he is too busy training to notice ANYTHING. He could walk past a parade in his honor and he would be thinking about sword angles."
"So he's still oblivious."
"Yes. But for different reasons. And this kind of oblivion may be PERMANENT."
The implications settled over the crowd like a heavy blanket.
Roku, finally developing focus and drive.
Roku, with a clear goal and dedicated practice.
Roku, too absorbed in self-improvement to notice the hundred and forty-seven women desperately trying to catch his attention.
"This is worse," Ayame said quietly. "This is so much worse."
"Agreed."
Hinata raised her hand timidly from her seat in the middle of the hall. "M-maybe we could support his training? Bring him lunch? Help with his practice?"
"That is actually a reasonable suggestion."
"We could take turns!" Ino added from the row behind Hinata. "Create a schedule! Organized support that happens to involve romantic proximity!"
"A supply line of affection disguised as practical assistance."
"Exactly!"
The mood in the room shifted from despair to determination.
"All in favor of Operation: Supportive Romance?" Ayame called.
One hundred and forty-seven hands went up.
"Motion carried. We support Roku's training while simultaneously maintaining opportunities for romantic development."
"Efficient. I approve."
Months passed.
Roku trained.
Every day, without fail.
Forms. Techniques. Theory. Analysis. The endless, methodical work of building mastery.
He read books on sword philosophy—texts that Mifune had brought from Iron Country, some of them centuries old, all of them dense with wisdom that required careful contemplation.
He studied the histories of famous swordsmen—their victories, their defeats, their insights.
He practiced until his body ached and then practiced more.
And slowly, gradually, he became something new.
Not the cheerful accident who stumbled into impossible victories.
Not the confused young man who didn't understand why things happened around him.
Something more deliberate.
More controlled.
More HIMSELF.
"You're improving faster than any student I've ever had," Mifune observed during one of their sessions.
"Really?"
"Really. Most people hit walls. Plateaus. Points where their growth slows and they must struggle to advance."
"And I'm not hitting those?"
"You hit them. But you break through almost immediately. As if the limitations that bind others simply don't apply to you."
Roku considered this.
"Is that the weird power stuff?"
"Partially. But not entirely." Mifune sheathed his blade. "You have something else. Something rarer than raw power."
"What?"
"Love."
Roku blinked.
"Love?"
"For the sword. For the art. For the process of growth itself. You don't train because you want to be strong. You train because you ENJOY training. You love the practice as much as the result."
"I do enjoy it."
"That joy is transformative. It turns work into play. Struggle into flow. Most students burn out eventually, crushed by the weight of their own ambition. But you..."
"I'm having fun?"
"Precisely. And fun is sustainable. Fun is eternal. Fun is what separates the good from the great."
Roku smiled.
That new smile—the quiet one that had emerged after the tournament.
The one that spoke of growth and purpose and a future worth fighting for.
"Thanks, Mifune-sensei."
"Thank yourself. I only show the path. You are the one walking it."
Six months after Mifune's arrival in Konoha, something unexpected happened.
A messenger came from the Pure Land.
This should have been impossible. The dead did not send messages to the living. The barrier between realms was absolute, inviolable, one of the fundamental laws that governed existence.
And yet, here was a figure—ethereal, translucent, clearly not of this world—standing at the gates of Konoha with a scroll in its hand.
"I seek Roku Tanaka."
The gate guard stared at the apparition, his training completely inadequate for this situation.
"Who... what... how..."
"I am a messenger. I bear words from the other side. Is Roku Tanaka available?"
Twenty minutes later, after a flurry of confused reports and emergency summons, Roku stood before the ethereal figure in the Hokage's office. Sparky flanked him on one side, her lightning crackling with protective intensity. Kakashi stood on the other, one hand near his kunai pouch. The Hokage watched from behind his desk, his pipe forgotten.
"You're from the Pure Land?" Roku asked with his characteristic directness.
"I am."
"That's neat. I didn't know that was possible."
"It is not, usually. Special circumstances were required. A great deal of spiritual energy was expended to make this communication possible."
"By who?"
"By one who wishes to speak with you. One who has watched your journey and wishes to acknowledge it."
The messenger extended the scroll.
Roku took it carefully.
"Who is it from?"
"Madara Uchiha."
The reaction was immediate and explosive.
Sparky's lightning flared to dangerous intensity, illuminating the entire room. Kakashi's hand completed its journey to his kunai, drawing the weapon in a single smooth motion. The Hokage's pipe clattered to the floor as he shot to his feet.
"MADARA?!"
"Yes."
"THE Madara? The legendary villain? The architect of countless schemes to destroy everything Konoha stands for?"
"The same. Though he would dispute the 'villain' characterization. At least, he would now."
Roku looked at the scroll in his hand.
"Should I read it?"
"Perhaps not," Sparky said, her voice tight with tension. "It could be a trap."
"It is not a trap," the messenger said calmly. "It is a surrender."
Silence.
Absolute, complete silence.
"A surrender," the Hokage repeated.
"Yes. Madara Uchiha, architect of countless schemes to control the world, formally and permanently surrenders. All plans are cancelled. All contingencies are dissolved. All machinations cease."
"Why?"
"Because of HIM." The messenger gestured at Roku. "Madara watched his journey. Saw his growth. Witnessed what kindness and genuine effort could accomplish. And he concluded that he was wrong. About everything. That the world does not need control. That people can choose to be better. That the future he planned for is already being created by a failed Academy student with a legendary sword and an impossibly good heart."
Roku unrolled the scroll and read.
The message was short.
Roku Tanaka,
I have spent centuries believing that humanity was broken beyond repair. That only I could fix it. That control was the only path to peace.
You have proven me wrong.
Not through power—though you have that in abundance. Not through defeating my plans—though you would have, accidentally, while apologizing.
You have proven me wrong by existing. By being kind. By growing. By showing that the best of humanity is not a fantasy, but a choice available to anyone willing to make it.
I surrender. Not to you specifically, but to the truth you represent.
The world doesn't need saving. It needs people like you.
Keep being yourself. That is more powerful than any technique I ever devised.
—Madara Uchiha
P.S. Hashirama says hello. He's very annoying about being right.
Roku looked up from the scroll.
"He seems nice."
Everyone stared at him.
"NICE?!" Kakashi sputtered. "He's responsible for countless deaths! Wars! Conspiracies spanning GENERATIONS!"
"But he apologized. And he admitted he was wrong. That takes courage."
"It takes—Roku, this is MADARA UCHIHA. The eternal enemy of our village. The man whose shadow has hung over us for decades."
"I know. And he's trying to be better. Isn't that what we want? For people to grow and change? For enemies to become allies? For hate to give way to understanding?"
Sparky studied Roku's face.
"You're not surprised by this."
"Not really. I've met a lot of people who seemed scary at first but turned out to be hurt and lonely. Madara sounds like one of them. He wanted to save the world so badly that he convinced himself he was the only one who could do it. That's what lonely people do. They think they have to carry everything alone."
"He was not merely 'hurt and lonely.' He was an apocalyptic threat to all existence."
"He sounds lonely, though. Planning to control the whole world because you think you're the only one who can fix it? Spending centuries scheming because you can't trust anyone else to help? That's incredibly lonely. I feel bad for him."
The Hokage had recovered enough to pick up his pipe.
"This is unprecedented."
"That word keeps coming up," Roku observed.
"Because you keep BEING unprecedented." Hiruzen took a long drag, trying to center himself. "Madara Uchiha, the eternal enemy of our village, has surrendered. Because of YOU. Because he saw your journey and decided that maybe—just maybe—the world didn't need his twisted version of salvation."
"Is that good?"
"It's..." The Hokage paused, considering his words carefully. "Yes. It's good. It's very good. Generations of ninja have lived in fear of Madara's potential return. Plans have been made. Defenses prepared. Resources allocated. And now that fear is gone. Just like that."
Roku smiled.
"Then I'm glad."
That evening, Roku sat on the roof of his apartment, looking at the stars.
The scroll from Madara was tucked into his pack. He had read it several times, trying to understand the mind of a man who had spent centuries planning to control the world.
Samehada hummed beside him contentedly.
Sparky sat on his other side, her presence warm and electric.
"You changed Madara Uchiha's mind," she said quietly.
"I didn't do anything. I just lived my life."
"That WAS doing something. That was doing EVERYTHING."
Roku leaned back, looking up at the infinite expanse of stars.
"I don't understand why I affect people like this. Why ancient evils give up. Why legendary swordsmen want to train me. Why primordial goddesses fall in love with me."
"You are genuine. In a world of masks and manipulations, in a world where everyone has an angle and no one says what they mean, you are exactly what you appear to be. That is rarer than you know. And more powerful than you understand."
"But I'm not special. I'm just me."
"'Just you' is someone who failed forty-seven times and never gave up. 'Just you' is someone who sees the good in everyone, even cosmic horrors and legendary villains. 'Just you' is someone who chose to become a swordsman through effort rather than accident. 'Just you' is someone who catches lightning and befriends the Ten-Tails and wins tournaments without ever losing the ability to be surprised by kindness."
She leaned against his shoulder.
"'Just you' is the most extraordinary person I have ever encountered. And I have existed since the first lightning split the primordial darkness."
Roku was quiet for a long moment.
"I still don't understand romantic love. Not really. People talk about it, but I don't feel what they describe. My heart doesn't race. My thoughts don't become consumed. I just... care about people. The same way I care about everyone."
"I know."
"But I think I'm starting to understand why people care about ME. Why you stay. Why Mifune-sensei teaches me. Why Madara surrendered."
"And why is that?"
"Because I don't give up on people. And I don't let them give up on themselves."
Sparky's lightning flickered in something like a smile.
"Yes. That is exactly it."
They sat together in comfortable silence, watching the stars wheel overhead.
A swordsman and his goddess.
A man and his sword.
And a future stretching out before them, full of impossible possibilities.
"Sparky?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks. For everything. For being patient. For staying even when I don't understand what you want from me."
"I do not 'want' anything from you, beloved. I simply want to be near you. To watch you grow. To see what you become. That is enough. That will always be enough."
"That's really nice."
"I am not nice. I am a primordial goddess of divine lightning. I am terrifying and ancient and beyond mortal comprehension."
"You're nice to me."
"...Perhaps. But only to you."
Roku smiled.
And somewhere, in the Pure Land, Madara Uchiha felt something he hadn't felt in centuries.
Peace.
END CHAPTER 10
Next Chapter: "The World Reacts (And Nobody Knows What To Do About It)"
Preview:
"So Madara surrendered. The Akatsuki is disbanding. Three separate death cults have converted to Roku Appreciation Societies. What happens now?"
"Honestly? I have no idea. The geopolitical landscape has fundamentally changed because one guy is really good at being nice."
"That's not a strategy."
"It's HIS strategy. And apparently it works."