A swift kick. A sharp palm strike. A solid punch. A takedown. Iron Shoulder Smash.

Then—Katon: Gōka Mekkyaku (Fire Style: Majestic Destroyer Flame)!

With a fluid combo, Madara Uchiha unleashed a massive Fire Style jutsu, engulfing five unlucky enemies who’d failed to dodge after his beatdown.

Their health bars instantly dropped to zero.

Respawn phase: triggered.

Watching it unfold, Madara narrowed his eyes and muttered, “I see… so this is what the rules meant about reduced personal endurance in Faction Battle mode. Hmph. But this fragile state—makes it feel even more real.”

A satisfied grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

He was referring to one of the game’s newest mechanics: in this mode, players’ durability was significantly lowered.

At first, Madara hadn’t quite grasped what that meant. Now he did.

In short, your health bar was much shorter. You couldn’t take the same kind of punishment as in normal mode. No more surviving every hit like a tank—it was much closer to real combat.

Of course, this applied to everyone. Madara’s own durability had dropped too. A single mistake, and he could be killed.

But…

This dance on the razor’s edge, this fight between life and death—that was the thrill he lived for.

And so—

“You all… shall dance with me here and now!”

Beneath his mask, Madara’s scarlet Sharingan spun wildly as he stared down the stunned enemies—many of whom were still frozen in place from the shock of his ambush.

That commanding declaration finally jolted them back to reality.

“No way! It’s the Dance King of the Leaf—it’s Lord Radama!”

“Are you kidding me?! Lord Radama ended up on the other team? Damn it, our luck sucks!”

“This round’s a total loss! How are we supposed to beat Lord Radama?!”

“You want *me* to fight the Dance King of the Leaf? Yeah right—I’d rather be dead!”

The four players—clearly a premade squad—cried out in despair, completely convinced they had no chance and might as well surrender now.

They were obviously from the same arcade in the eastern part of the village, just unlucky enough to be placed on the enemy team.

But their over-the-top comments warped the atmosphere completely. Even knowing these guys were enemies—even knowing Madara had stormed over with lethal intent—hearing someone blurt out “Dance King of the Leaf” was enough to break the tension.

Someone couldn’t hold back a snort. Then came an actual *oink-laugh*, like a pig.

That was it.

Madara’s carefully built aura of intimidation? Crushed.

A wave of secondhand embarrassment crashed over him.

Normally, this kind of thing wouldn’t have affected him. He never cared about nonsense like this in the past.

But now?

Now he genuinely wished he could go back in time and punch his past self—the one who didn’t mind being called “Dance King of the Leaf.” And while he was at it, he’d track down the first person to call him that and incinerate them.

Why did he feel so ashamed? Why now?

Madara couldn’t help asking himself.

And then came the answer.

“I’m here! Haha\~ Radama-senpai, you already started? I won’t fall behind! Take this!”

muzi had arrived.

Seeing the scene before her, her eyes lit up. Without caring about the awkward tension in the air, she charged forward and slammed a powerful punch into the nearest enemy.

The impact launched the poor guy like a ragdoll flung into a physics engine test demo. Bones snapped, limbs twisted, and he flopped to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.

And then—he disintegrated.

Respawn phase: activated.

One punch.

Even with reduced health in Faction Battles, no one should go down in *one* punch—not even Madara had done that yet.

To take someone out like that with pure melee meant using a special ability.

Madara saw it immediately. That was the Senju Clan’s secret art—Monster Strength—the same terrifying power his old friend Hashirama possessed.

muzi had Monster Strength!?

His Sharingan tomoe began spinning furiously.

muzi didn’t stop there. She grinned and charged at another player. That one reacted fast, putting up a defense—but it was no use. Up close, muzi’s punch shattered their guard like glass. Another one-shot KO.

After that second strike, Madara was absolutely certain: this was *Monster Strength*. And it wasn’t just raw power—muzi wielded it with instinctual ease, like she’d trained it to muscle memory.

In the entire history of the shinobi world, only a handful had ever reached that level. Among them: Tsunade, granddaughter of Hashirama. And of course, Hashirama himself.

If you looked further back, there was also Mito Uzumaki, Hashirama’s wife, and Tobirama Senju, the Second Hokage—though Tobirama didn’t count as fully proficient.

Those two had the raw power, but not the natural fluency. They had to *focus* to use it.

muzi? She wielded it like breathing.

And she looked to be just fourteen or fifteen years old.

Even Hashirama wasn’t that monstrous at that age.

Add to that her identical personality and vibe to Hashirama… and Madara couldn’t help but think she was a gender-flipped, younger version of his old rival.

All things considered, muzi was just one Wood Release short of *being* Hashirama.

Could that really be coincidence?

Madara’s instincts screamed no.

Something about this felt off—too off. When coincidences pile up this hard, you have to start questioning what’s real.

Still, he kept those doubts buried for now and returned his focus to the fight—just as the enemy team launched their counterattack.

Waves of attacks crashed toward him.

Madara didn’t try to tank them. Instead, he slipped into extreme evasive and defensive mode, dodging and countering each strike with minimal motion and maximum precision.

It was like watching a master swordsman in a storm—every block, every slip, every parry was perfect.

Sometimes he’d dodge a blade with just a head tilt, or deflect a thrown kunai with the flick of a wrist—followed immediately by a brutal counter.

Maybe he’d snatch an enemy’s weapon and use it against them. Maybe he’d redirect an enemy’s blow to hit one of their own. Or if needed, he’d vanish with a Substitution Jutsu, leaving behind an explosive tag.

This kind of fluid, creative combat was only possible in Faction Battles, where players could steal gear and tools in real time. In normal mode, you kept your own loadout. Nothing could be taken.

That realism—that freedom—was what allowed someone like Madara to truly shine.

This wasn’t just a power gap. It was total domination.

Not through numbers, but through mechanics. Like tossing the strongest champion into a bronze-ranked match—it was overkill.

Madara didn’t just outfight them. He obliterated them.

Of course, that was only possible because the enemy team didn’t have any real aces. If even a mid-tier Kage-level player had been there, Madara wouldn’t have been able to run wild like this.

And yet—he still had spare attention to observe muzi.

What he saw left him shaken.

muzi was terrifyingly strong.

Every punch knocked someone out. She wasn’t even using ninjutsu—just pure taijutsu, and she was still demolishing them.

Worse yet, she had advanced medical ninjutsu.

Specifically, self-healing.

Unlike Madara’s elegant and efficient style, muzi’s fighting was more reckless. She took hits. But if they weren’t fatal, she healed them on the spot.

Her regeneration was freakishly fast—like something out of a cheat code.

Only one person Madara had ever met could do that:

Hashirama Senju.

And now muzi had another of his traits.

Madara’s eyes widened. His Sharingan spun wildly.

More and more, muzi felt like a perfect mirror of Hashirama.

She really was just one Wood Style away from being him.

“Why… why is this happening? Is it all a coincidence? Or is someone trying to mess with me…?”

“No… no one should know. Madara Uchiha is supposed to be dead. No one would set this up on purpose.”

“Then… is she really Hashirama’s reincarnation?”

Madara arrived at an answer so absurd, even he found it hard to believe.

Ridiculous. Unthinkable. Impossible.

And yet, when you’ve ruled out everything else… the impossible becomes truth.

The shinobi world had always carried stories of reincarnation—tales that most brushed off as mere legend. But Madara knew better.

He knew of the forbidden jutsu Edo Tensei (Reanimation Jutsu). He knew of Soul Transference Jutsu—techniques dealing with souls themselves.

Which meant… the idea of reincarnation wasn’t so far-fetched.

It meant that this girl named muzi could really be Hashirama’s reincarnation.

Madara’s heart trembled. For the first time in years, he didn’t know what to do.

That hesitation cost him.

In the chaos of battle, a strike slipped through. Though he dodged the worst of it, he still took damage. His health bar turned red—a few more hits, and it would be over.

Realizing this, Madara quickly refocused. The battlefield was no place for distractions.

Just then, muzi noticed his peril.

She immediately abandoned her current opponents and sprinted toward him.

Clasping her hands together, she formed a seal.

“Doton: Doryūheki (Earth Style: Earth Wall Jutsu)!”

A solid wall of earth rose in front of Madara, blocking the incoming attacks and giving him a chance to breathe.

But Madara wasn’t paying attention to the jutsu.

His eyes were locked on muzi.

She’d executed the technique with a simple two-hand seal. No need for intricate hand signs. Just like Hashirama used to do. Whether it was Wood Style or anything else, that man had only ever needed to clap his hands together.

Sure, Wood Style was Hashirama’s signature, but he’d mastered Earth and Water Style as well. He just favored Wood Style because of its sheer utility.

Watching muzi now, Madara couldn’t help but be reminded of Hashirama before he developed Wood Style—back when he used Earth Style the exact same way.

Another mirror image.

“…muzi. Who are you, really?”

Madara couldn’t help but ask. By then, muzi had already reached him, supporting his body and beginning treatment with medical ninjutsu.

His nearly-empty health bar began to fill rapidly.

Startled by the question, muzi froze. Her eyes darted away, avoiding his gaze.

“Uh… I’m just muzi. Who else would I be?”

“You’re lying… or at the very least, hiding something.”

Madara’s voice was cold and direct. His tone cut like a blade.

He’d seen that look before—on Hashirama. That guilty, flustered look he got whenever he tried to hide something.

At this point, Madara was all but certain: muzi was the reincarnation of Hashirama.

Because there’s no such thing as this many coincidences.

To be fair, it never even crossed Madara’s mind that muzi could just be Hashirama in disguise. After all, this game didn’t allow gender swaps. Everyone’s in-game avatar matched their real-life gender.

Sure, you could disguise yourself to some extent, but nothing major. So the idea of someone posing as the opposite gender was outside Madara’s imagination.

He was a hardened warrior, not some scheming tech whiz.

He didn’t know that in the real world, even the most brilliant minds could fall victim to online scams. That countless people—from CEOs to students—had been duped by someone pretending to be someone they weren’t.

So to Madara, it wasn’t even a question.

He believed muzi had a secret she couldn’t share. And based on everything he’d seen—her personality, her mannerisms, her powers—he was 80% certain she was Hashirama reborn.

And when she showed that same panicked look Hashirama used to get whenever he was caught hiding something…

Madara’s mouth twitched beneath his mask—forming a smile he himself didn’t notice.

Then he spoke coldly:

“Fine. Whatever secrets you’re keeping, I won’t pry. I’m fully healed. Let me go. They’re coming.”

As he said this, he brushed off her support and stood up straight—his battle aura fully restored.

muzi blinked in surprise, then lit up with a bright, adorable smile.

“Thank you for understanding, Radama-senpai~!”

That “-dono” warmed Madara’s soul.

Sure, she’d been calling him that from the start. But now… it hit different.

Before, it was just a formality. Now, hearing her call him that filled him with a strange joy—one that even the fizziest soda couldn’t match.

It was fulfillment.

A kind of happiness that went beyond material pleasure.

And with that joy in his heart, Madara turned to face the enemies closing in—his eyes burning with disdain.

Yes, he’d nearly died earlier. But that was then. Now was now.

He’d simply let his guard down for a moment—an old man ambushed by a bunch of kids.

Time to remind them what happens when you cross Madara Uchiha.

There was one thing he’d never admit—not even to himself:

As long as Hashirama was by his side, he always felt ten times stronger.

And now, even though Hashirama wasn’t here… there was muzi, his supposed reincarnation.

So maybe not tenfold… but fivefold? That seemed fair.

Madara could feel it.

Power surged within him, like an unstoppable tide. Battle-lust boiled in his veins, fierce as a storm.

He was ready to dance again.

Just then, a loud chorus of cheers erupted from the right.

Four figures rushed toward them.

It was the Village East arcade squad—those four noisy fanboys. They’d finally caught up.

And to Madara, that was the real disaster.

Not because they were weak—though they were.

But because the moment they arrived, they started shouting nonsense:

“For Lord Radama!”

“For the Dance King of the Leaf!”

“Who wants to dance with us?!”

It was unbearable.

Madara’s carefully cultivated presence shattered like glass. The shame hit him again—ten times worse than before.

Because now… now he saw muzi as Hashirama reborn. And in that mindset, everything those idiots did carried ten times the weight.

His fists clenched.

He wanted to punch someone. Badly.

Fortunately, muzi didn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, she lit up when she saw them.

“Radama-senpai! Looks like we’re not alone after all. Let’s go together!”

“…Yeah.”

Madara nodded after a brief pause.

He would never admit that her “Radama-senpai” was slowly becoming his weakness.

He would never admit anything.

He would only charge.

Meanwhile, on the opposing side, the mood couldn’t have been worse.

Moments ago, they’d been crushed by Madara and muzi.

The duo had run rampant—two people smashing through thirty-six players.

Sure, they had 500 total reinforcements for respawns, but what good was that if you got one-shot over and over again?

Then, after a hard-fought moment, they’d finally injured Madara. Spirits lifted. They thought they had a chance. Maybe, just maybe, they could break his invincible image.

But then muzi revealed her trump cards: monster strength, powerful medical ninjutsu, and expertly wielded Earth Style—all with barely a hand sign.

She snatched Madara away and healed him on the spot.

Enraged, the enemy team gave chase, abandoning their actual objective—capturing the fortress.

Just as they were about to catch up, they were blindsided again: not only was Madara fully healed, but now he had four new allies charging forward, screaming nonsense about “dancing.”

Their entire momentum shattered.

The battle flipped again.

With Madara and muzi leading the charge, the defenders regained the upper hand. The attackers became punching bags.

Back at the fortress, the support team had noticed something strange—the number of enemy reinforcements had dropped by over a hundred.

They were stunned. That meant Lord Radama and muzi were actually wiping out the enemy team.

The defenders adjusted their strategy immediately. Instead of holding position, they launched an all-out assault.

The tide had turned.

And with that, the battle drew toward its conclusion.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep