Even with all his years of battle and mastery over the Sharingan, Madara hadn’t expected the boy to grow this fast.

At first, he had thought Obito’s Mangekyō would be strong; any Uchiha broken in the right way usually was, but what he saw now went beyond that.

Obito’s ability wasn’t just powerful. It was dangerous, even to him.

Madara had seen countless Sharingan awaken through grief and hatred, but the dimensional nature of Obito’s Kamui was something different.

The technique blurred the line between existence and nothingness.

It could erase a man from the world for seconds or forever.

Even Madara had to admit that if used without restraint, it could easily rival his own Mangekyō.

‘So this is what grief can create, he thought.’

And there was something else. The Hashirama cells coursing through Obito’s reconstructed body had changed the usual rules.

Normally, such power came with a price; the Mangekyō burned its user’s life away the longer it was used.

But Obito didn’t suffer from the same weakness. The regeneration gifted by those cells gave him almost limitless stamina and delayed the blindness that haunted every other wielder of those eyes.

He had, in essence, a more ‘Yang’ type body than any Uchiha, which could sustain eternal Mangekyō usage without cost.

It made him a weapon that Madara even felt confident could manage someone like Nagato.

The most talented Uzumaki he had ever seen with his own Rinnegan.

The boy’s body healed faster than most could blink.

His strength rivaled full-grown shinobi at their peak.

His chakra reserves now matched those of Senju bloodlines, and the subtle Wood Release flickering beneath his skin hinted at what he might become if he mastered it fully.

Watching him train day after day, Madara couldn’t help but imagine the inevitable, the meeting between Obito and Minato Namikaze.

Teacher and student.

Two users of space-time ninjutsu standing on opposite sides of the same battlefield.

It would be, in Madara’s eyes, a perfect clash of ideals and power.

Minato’s Flying Raijin, on top of the perfect addition of his new ‘Rasengan’, made him the hero of Konoha, offering precision and speed beyond comprehension.

Obito’s Kamui, on the other hand, ignored physical laws altogether.

The first struck instantly; the second could make attacks meaningless.

Madara almost smiled at the thought.

If Obito could master his timing, he would not just match the Yellow Flash, he would surpass him. 

“Yes,” Madara murmured under his breath, watching the boy vanish and reappear mid-strike, each movement smoother than the last.

“When the time comes, the world won’t even see it coming.”

Obito said nothing. He simply stood in silence after the training ended, breathing evenly, the Sharingan fading back to black.

Madara studied him a moment longer.

The boy no longer looked like an Uchiha.

No pride. No warmth.

Just precision, a living ghost shaped by loss.

Exactly what he needed him to be.

Madara sat hunched beneath the roots, his breathing faint but his tone still commanding. The light from the dim crystals along the cavern walls caught the sharp glint of his eyes as he spoke.

“Nagato is nearing the limit before he fully synchronizes with my Rinnegan, and then he’ll be able to summon the Gedo Mazo. This same statue that sustains my life. When that happens, my death will follow soon after.”

Obito listened in silence, the weight of the words settling like dust in the stale air.

Madara’s lips curved faintly. “But before that, Nagato will face his trial. One that we… might have accelerated a little. The coming chaos in Amegakure will push him to awaken the Rinnegan completely. When it does, the Gedo statue will answer him.”

He paused, eyes narrowing as if seeing something far beyond the walls of the cave.

“Still, I doubt it will save him. Not from Hanzō. Not from Danzō.”

Madara leaned forward, his tone sharpening.

“That will be your task. Intervene when the moment comes. Save him. Guide him. He must believe that the real Madara Uchiha stands behind him.”

Obito nodded once.

“Be careful,” Madara warned. “You can use your Kamui once, maybe a few times at most, before exhaustion sets in. Your Wood Release is still crude, and you’re going up against men who know how to kill legends. Hanzō isn’t a fool, and Danzō… he’s worse.”

Madara’s expression hardened, his old hatred surfacing for a moment.

“That man grafted pieces of Hashirama into himself; stolen power, crudely forced to obey. He hides secrets up his sleeve, literally. Never underestimate him. I have a feeling that arm of his contains things even the Hokage don’t know about.”

He took a slow breath, and when he spoke again, his voice carried both warning and finality. “Your time will come soon enough. For now, survive. Grow. The real work starts in a few years, when your body catches up with your power. That’s when you’ll be ready to move freely, to lead, and to turn the world’s chaos into your weapon.”

Obito’s eyes flickered in the dim light, steady but unreadable.

“Remember,” Madara said, his tone now cold and deliberate, “your hatred is a tool, not a compass. Save it for when it matters. Don’t waste it on the Yellow Flash, or your clan, or Konoha. Not yet. Every personal grudge is meaningless until the dream is complete.”

He closed his eyes briefly, voice lowering. “Do you think I haven’t had chances for revenge? I’ve had more than you can imagine. But vengeance doesn’t build worlds; it only ends them. Patience does the opposite.”

His tone grew deeper, almost reverent. “This isn’t about us anymore. It’s about remaking the world itself. We will end pain, end war, end betrayal. Every move, every sacrifice, included, must serve that goal. We are not avengers. We are architects.”

For a moment, only the faint hum of the roots filled the silence.

Then Obito spoke. “I understand, Madara-sama. I won’t let emotion lead me again. Hatred is just fuel now, nothing more. I’ll act when it serves the plan.”

Madara studied him, then gave a small, approving nod. “Good. Because soon, you’ll have to start moving pieces of your own. Begin gathering those who can serve our purpose. Buy loyalties. Spread chaos where it festers easiest. The more the nations fight, the more they’ll need what we promise. Use Kirigakure as another secret base besides the Amegakure, as we talked about before.”

He gestured weakly toward the cavern’s exit. “Use the White Zetsu network. Their eyes reach everywhere. And when the time comes, the Mountains’ Graveyard is yours to command. You’ll have to step into my shadow completely until I return.”

He looked up once more, his gaze flicking between the figures in front of him. “Black Zetsu. Keep the world blind and confused. White Zetsu. Watch everything. Tobi, guard him and hide him. He is our face now.”

The three nodded in silent unison.

Madara exhaled, his voice softening for the first time.

“When Nagato’s power matures, he’ll revive me. Until that day, everything falls on you. Don’t disappoint me.”

When it was over, Madara leaned back against the roots, his eyes dimming like dying embers.

The sound of the cavern filled the space he left unspoken.

Obito stood there for a while, unmoving.

Finally, he turned away.

Coated in Tobi’s pale armor, his form shifted into that of a tall, masked man.

The last of Madara’s disciples walked toward the tunnel’s exit, the Twin Zetsu, fused, following at his sides.

The air outside was colder than he remembered.

The world above hadn’t changed, but he had.

As they moved toward Amegakure, Obito didn’t speak.

The others didn’t ask.

His mind was already racing ahead, beyond Madara’s orders.

He respected the man, yes.

But he wasn’t blind.

The old Uchiha had saved him, trained him, even given him purpose, but not out of kindness.

Every lesson, every “gift,” was a chain meant to keep him bound to someone else’s dream.

Even so, he smiled beneath the mask.

Chains could be broken.

Madara wanted to reshape the world.

Obito would do the same, but on his own terms.

Not as a follower. Not as a pawn.

As the one who would finish what the old man started and claim the dream for himself.

He would never revive Madara.

He no longer cared whether that made him savior or villain.

The world had taken everything from him.

Now, he would take everything from it.

And when it was done, when his version of peace and heaven blanketed the entire earth, he would then finally see Rin again, in the perfect dream he built with his own hands, not else’s.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep