The Uchiha household was shrouded in the early morning quiet. Four-year-old Madara sat at the dining table, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His thick black hair was naturally messy, and his large dark eyes watched the steam rising from the miso soup with intense focus.
"Madara, eat your food quickly, or you'll be late for preschool," his mother said affectionately, placing a bowl of steamed rice in front of him.
Madara picked up his spoon with his small hand. He wasn't a talkative or hyperactive child like the other boys his age who filled the air with constant shouting. He preferred silence and observation.
"Yes, Mother," he replied in a small, innocent voice, beginning to eat slowly and methodically.
His father folded his newspaper and looked at him with a smile. "Are you ready for today? I heard the teacher is letting you play in the outdoor yard all morning."
Madara shook his head with a look of boredom while chewing. "The boys shout too much there. They are annoying."
His father laughed out loud. "You always love your peace and quiet, don't you? Maybe you'll grow up to be a doctor or a researcher like your grandfather."
Madara wasn't thinking about medicine. He was thinking about a scene he had watched on the news the day before. A strange sensation had come over him—a feeling of faint heat flowing in his stomach that he couldn't explain, as if something inside him was moving.
In the evening, the moment every child in Japan waited for arrived: a special documentary about the Symbol of Peace, "All Might," on television.
Madara sat on the rug close to the screen, hugging his knees, his eyes fixed in wonder.
On the screen, All Might appeared, laughing his famous laugh, saving people from the middle of a massive fire. He struck the air with his fist, and the flames scattered as if hit by a hurricane; he changed the city's weather with a single punch.
The children on the TV cheered enthusiastically: "He's amazing! He's the strongest!"
Madara didn't cheer. He opened his mouth slightly in genuine awe. His eyes shone with a pure childish spark mixed with deep respect.
"How does he do that?" Madara asked in a low voice. "How does he change the air with his hand?"
His mother replied from the kitchen while washing dishes, "Because he trains hard every day, and he has a very powerful Quirk, honey."
Madara squeezed his small hand so hard his knuckles turned white. He wanted to be like that. Not because he wanted fame or money, but because he felt that kind of power was "cool." When All Might strikes, everyone falls silent and watches. Power commands silence and respect. This presence was what attracted little Madara.
He whispered to himself with a firm decision: "I will be strong like him."
The doctor's office smelled sterile and boring. Madara was playing with a small robot toy, moving its arms idly, while the doctor spoke to his parents in low tones. He didn't understand all the complex medical terms, but he understood the tone of voice. It was a sad tone—the tone of an apology.
"I'm sorry," the doctor said, looking at Madara with clear pity. "Madara does not have a Quirk. The extra joint in his pinky toe is present. He belongs to the old generation... a completely normal child."
The robot toy fell from Madara's hand onto the cold floor.
He looked at his mother and saw tears gathering in her eyes. He looked at his father, who seemed devastated, as if a heavy weight had dropped onto his shoulders.
"Normal?" Madara asked innocently, his eyes moving between them. "Does that mean... I won't be like All Might? Fire won't come out of my mouth like Dad?"
His father leaned down and hugged him tightly. "It's okay, champ. It's okay. You can be a policeman, or a firefighter. They are heroes too, they help people."
Madara didn't cry. He felt a sharp lump in his throat, but he felt something else too. That warmth in his stomach he had felt the day before. It was moving now with more intensity, as if it were angry at his anger.
"But Dad..." Madara placed his small hand on his chest. "I feel something hot here. Like fire, it's moving."
The doctor smiled sadly and shook his head. "It's probably just indigestion or a child's vivid imagination, little one. X-rays don't lie. Science is precise."
Madara knitted his small eyebrows stubbornly. He knew what he felt. Adults didn't always understand. They saw bones, but they didn't see energy.
The playground atmosphere was tense. Katsuki Bakugo was showing off his power as usual, surrounded by his followers.
There was another child, with messy green hair and a face full of freckles, standing tremblingly with his arms open to protect another crying child behind him. It was Izuku Midoriya.
"Stop it, Kacchan!" Midoriya cried out in a shaky voice, tears in his eyes. "You're hurting him! This isn't what heroes do!"
Bakugo laughed mockingly and struck his palm with his other hand to produce a small explosion. "Stay out of my way, Deku! You're useless and Quirkless. Do you really think you can stop me?"
Madara was sitting far away under the shade of a tree, watching the scene coldly. He saw Midoriya crying and trembling, and he saw Bakugo shouting.
Both are annoying, Madara thought. The weak one cries, and the fool shouts.
Bakugo noticed Madara sitting alone and decided to expand his mockery.
"Oi! Look who's here too," Bakugo pointed at Madara. "I heard you joined the 'Useless' club with Deku. Is that right, Madara?"
Everyone turned toward Madara.
Midoriya wiped his tears and looked at Madara with sympathy and fear. "Madara-kun... run away, Kacchan is angry today."
Madara stood up slowly and brushed the dirt off his shorts. He didn't run, and he didn't tremble like Midoriya. He walked calmly toward them.
"Shouting is a sign of weakness, Katsuki," Madara said in a very calm voice, causing the children to fall silent. "And Midoriya..." he looked at the green-haired boy, "stop crying. Your tears won't stop his punch."
Midoriya was shocked by Madara's blunt and realistic words.
Bakugo grew furious. "What did you say?! Are you mocking me, you weakling?"
Bakugo lunged at Madara, his right hand primed for a small explosion in his face. "Die!"
Midoriya screamed, "Madara-kun! Look out!"
In that moment, the "heat" inside Madara ignited and flowed toward his feet and eyes. Time seemed to slow down slightly. Bakugo's movement looked wide and full of openings.
Madara wasn't a trained fighter—he was a child—but his instincts were sharp.
Madara leaned to the left with amazing lightness, dodging Bakugo's hand which passed right by his ear. With a fluid motion, he stuck out his leg and tripped the charging Bakugo.
BAM!
Bakugo's face slammed into the ground hard, and dust kicked up.
Total silence fell over the playground. Midoriya's mouth hung open, his eyes wide with shock. Bakugo, the strongest among them, had fallen before a "Quirkless" child.
Bakugo stood up, his face red with anger and embarrassment, dirt covering his nose. "You... how did you do that?!"
Madara took a step back, his heart beating fast, but he kept his face expressionless.
"All Might doesn't hit people just to show off," Madara said, looking at Bakugo, then turned to Midoriya, who was still stunned. "And you, Midoriya, if you want to be a hero, learn to defend yourself instead of trembling."
Madara left them and walked away as the teacher ran toward them to break up the conflict.
Midoriya looked at Madara's back with a mix of admiration and fear. He's Quirkless like me... but he isn't weak.
On the weekend, Madara escaped the noise of the world to the backyard bordering the woods.
His mind was still replaying that moment in the playground. How had he moved so fast?
He entered the trees, where the air was fresh and still.
He stood before a massive oak tree. He closed his eyes tight, squeezing his face in childish concentration.
"Come out... move, power!" he whispered to himself.
He visualized the warmth in his belly, that "fire" the doctor had mocked. He pushed it toward his feet.
He felt a tingling sensation in the soles of his feet.
"Go!"
He bent his knees and jumped with all the childish strength he could muster, trying to touch a low branch.
WHOOSH!
Madara shot up like a rocket.
"Waaaaah!" A cry of surprise escaped his mouth as he saw the ground receding rapidly. He passed the low branch and reached the middle of the tree!
He had jumped at least three meters high!
He lost his balance in the air and crashed through the leaves, but his small hands grabbed a thick branch by survival instinct. He swung slightly and then pulled himself up to sit on the branch, panting heavily.
"Hah... hah..."
He looked down. The ground was far away.
He felt his legs; they were shaking, not from fear, but from the effort.
A wide smile spread across Madara's face—a genuine smile of victory.
"I'm not normal..." Madara laughed in a happy, childish voice, his eyes shining. "The doctor is wrong! And Deku is wrong... and Bakugo is wrong! I have power!"
Madara stood on the branch carefully, looking out over the city from above. He felt the wind playing with his hair.
"I'll call it... Chakra," (a word he had read in one of his father's old books about myths, and he liked it).
He raised his small fist toward the sky.
"I will train every day. I will be stronger than Bakugo, and stronger even than All Might."
Madara jumped from the tree, landing with a simple roll he had learned from TV, and then ran back home.
On that day, a different kind of hero was born. A hero who didn't rely on a "Quirk," but on a hidden energy that no one else could see.
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