At this moment, Shouta Kazuki had already entered the vast and eerie spiritual space. A place of nothingness, yet filled with the lingering presence of a legend.
Uchiha Madara was reclining lazily on a rocking chair, his legs crossed as he gnawed on a large pig's trotter with an air of indifference. For the once-mighty warrior who had shaken the foundations of the ninja world, this space was nothing short of a prison. There was nothing to fight, no enemy to vanquish, and certainly no Hashirama to exchange fists with. All he could do was chew on pig's trotters… an indignity for a man of his stature.
Just as he was about to take another bite, his sharp Sharingan flickered as he sensed an approaching presence. He turned his gaze toward the intruder—none other than the young troublemaker, Shouta Kazuki.
Madara's face twisted slightly in irritation.
"Tch, you again?" he muttered, still chewing, his tone dripping with disdain.
Shouta, however, wasn't the least bit fazed. He had long grown accustomed to the old man's temper. Instead, his attention drifted toward the astonishing sight before him—an entire mountain of pig's trotters stacked high, glistening with oil.
His lips twitched.
"…Madara, did you seriously prepare this entire mountain of pig's trotters yourself?" Shouta's eyes darted between the legendary warrior and the absurd amount of food.
A faint flush of embarrassment flickered across Madara's face, but it was gone in an instant.
"Mind your own business, brat!" he snapped, hastily stuffing another bite into his mouth.
Shouta smirked. "Wait a minute… that blank scroll I gave you before… Don't tell me…"
His voice trailed off, realization dawning upon him.
Madara scoffed and turned away, clearly avoiding his gaze.
Shouta's smirk widened. "No way… you actually used it to create a storage seal for your pig's trotters?! The great Uchiha Madara, storing food like a housewife preparing for winter?"
The veins on Madara's forehead twitched. "Say another word, and I'll personally kick you out of this space."
Shouta wisely decided to change the topic before the legendary shinobi lost his patience entirely.
"Madara, I should be considered… at least half your disciple by now, right?"
At this, the older Uchiha raised an eyebrow. "And what of it, brat?"
He didn't refute the claim. After all, he had been guiding Shouta to some extent. And in an odd way, the kid reminded him of his younger self—reckless, ambitious, and endlessly determined.
Seeing that Madara didn't object, Shouta's expression turned serious.
"Our class is organizing a ninja combat training exercise this afternoon."
Madara waved a hand dismissively. "So what? What does that have to do with me?"
Shouta's lips curled into a devilish grin. "Everything."
Madara barely had time to react before the boy slammed his hand down on the armrest of his chair, his voice booming with exaggerated urgency.
"Think about it, Madara! You've already acknowledged me as your half-disciple, right? That means I represent you—the legend, the Shura of the ninja world! Now tell me, what would happen if I went out there and got my ass kicked by a bunch of mere academy students?"
Madara remained silent, his crimson Sharingan narrowing.
"It wouldn't just be my shame—it would be your shame! People would say, 'Oh look! Even the so-called disciple of the great Uchiha Madara can't defeat a few greenhorns!'"
Madara's fingers twitched.
Shouta wasn't done. His words came like rapid-fire.
"And imagine if Senju Hashirama were still around—he'd never let you hear the end of it! 'Oh Madara, your disciple lost to a bunch of kids? Maybe you should've let me train him instead!'"
The veins on Madara's forehead bulged. The mere thought of Hashirama mocking him was unbearable.
"So," Shouta concluded triumphantly, "teach me a few techniques!"
Madara exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples. This brat… was exhausting. But damn it, he had a point.
"…Hmph," the legendary Uchiha finally muttered. "Fine. I'll teach you some ninjutsu. At the very least, I can't have you embarrassing me."
Shouta's face lit up. Success!
Madara eyed him sharply. "But before that, let's confirm something. Do you even know what chakra nature you have?"
Shouta hesitated for a moment. "…No?"
Madara scoffed. "Tch. Of course, you don't. Typical brat."
With a flick of his fingers, Madara's eyes glowed ominously, analyzing the young shinobi before him. A moment later, he clicked his tongue in mild irritation.
"Damn it, you lucky brat," he muttered under his breath.
Shouta blinked. "Huh?"
"You have all five chakra natures from birth," Madara stated flatly. "That's extremely rare. Most shinobi can only master one or two. If they want more, they have to train for it. But you… you already have them all."
Shouta's jaw nearly dropped. All five?!
Even among prodigies, such talent was almost unheard of.
Madara folded his arms, his expression a mix of pride and annoyance. "Hmph. Since you already have the potential, there's no reason for you to remain weak. Let's begin your training."
Before Shouta could react, Madara vanished from his chair and reappeared in front of him, his foot swinging forward with the speed of a hurricane.
"Wait, Madara, I'm not ready—"
BAM!
Shouta was sent flying, chair and all, crashing into the ground with a painful thud.
Madara cracked his knuckles. "Lesson one: Never let your guard down."
Shouta groaned from his spot on the floor. This was going to be painful.