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moshi moshi
Upon it sat a boy—eleven years old, give or take, with eyes that shimmered with galaxies.
He leaned on one hand, grinning.
"They're doing so well."
He conjured a viewing mirror. On one side, Asher drooling in his sleep, muttering something about probability matrices. On the other, Liam babbling excitedly, already attempting chakra control before his second birthday.
"Ah, the twins," he sighed with amusement. "Both alive. Both powerful. Both completely unaware that they were sent to rival clans."
He laughed quietly.
"Will they become enemies before brothers? Will they meet as soldiers, or legends? Ahh, the suspense is delicious."
He waved a hand. Three glowing orbs floated nearby—remnants of past entertainment.
"Yoriichi. Roger. Saitama. Good shows, but too predictable. These two, though? The twins are different."
He leaned back into his throne, content.
"I'll give them time. Let them grow. Then… let the real story begin."
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Uchiha Compound – 6 months Later
Asher's POV
My progress was annoyingly slow.
Meditating in the silence of the nursery had been useful for basic chakra exercises, but awakening the Kakuritsugan or Saigengan was proving far more complicated. My attempts to jumpstart them were yielding migraines and accidental chakra bursts that cracked the crib's wood.
Still, I'd managed something small—momentary glimpses of predictive flow in my peripheral vision. Not true probability yet, but close. I was very happy that I was able to use the powers of mangekyo Sheridan Even without awakening a sharengan.
That morning, Miyako had taken me into the inner compound. I saw him.
Madara.
Still a boy. Maybe five or six. But his aura? It hit like thunder.
He was having a spar with izuna. Maybe he has returned from battle front. Madara stood barefoot, his black hair wild around his face, a wooden practice sword resting on his shoulder. He grinned—sharp, cocky, and impatient.
"You're too slow, Izuna," he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Come on. Hit me."
Izuna crouched low, eyes narrowed, sword gripped in both hands. His breathing was calm. Focused. Controlled.
Then he moved.
A blur of speed. His feet barely touched the ground as he lunged, swinging upward in a perfect arc.
Madara blocked it with ease—one-handed.
CRACK.
The wood of their swords echoed like thunder.
Izuna twisted mid-air, spinning and landing lightly behind Madara, slashing low. Madara jumped, flipped, landed on a rock behind him with a laugh.
"Better," he said. "Still not good enough."
Izuna didn't respond. He dropped into a new stance—lower, more fluid. His chakra flared faintly, enough to draw murmurs from the older Uchiha nearby.
Madara's grin widened.
"Ah. You're finally taking this seriously."
The next exchange was faster. Swords collided in bursts of sound and sparks. Madara's offense was overwhelming—swing after swing, flowing like a storm. Izuna parried each one by a hair, until—
CRACK!
His sword snapped.
Izuna staggered back, panting.
Madara raised his sword high, poised to strike.
Then—
Izuna smiled.
Madara blinked. Why is he—
Izuna dropped the broken sword and jabbed forward with two fingers—a chakra strike, straight to Madara's gut.
Madara gasped and dropped his sword, and went poof —Substitution Jutsu. He appeared behind Iizuna pointing the wooden sword at the back of izuna said " It's over"
"You cheated!" Izuna growled.
Madara looked up. Then, he laughed.
"Okay. That was good."
He looked down at me with narrowed eyes and a faint smile.
"Big Brother will protect you" Madara as he ruffled my hair.
Ouch.
Izuna, on the other hand, had beamed. "He's so tiny! Can I train him later?"
"No," Miyako had snapped instantly.
But she smiled.
POV ends
Senju Compound – Nightfall
Liam's POV
Time felt incredible slow. The fire crackled gently in the corner of the room, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Masaki had finally fallen asleep beside my cradle, a brush still clutched loosely in her fingers from combing my hair.
I waited.
My senses, dulled by this infant body, had sharpened just enough over the past week to allow me moments like this—lucid, focused. I pushed my chakra outward in thin, invisible waves, testing the limits of my control.
The wood of the cradle vibrated faintly under my influence.
"Better," I muttered internally. "Still very slow."
Even with natural affinity, I couldn't ignore the bottleneck of baby muscles and undeveloped chakra pathways. But I wasn't trying to win battles yet—I was laying the groundwork. I had time. Not much, but some.
I turned my focus inward again.
If I could refine chakra like a sage, reduce waste, create efficiency from infancy—then by the time I walked, I'd already be untouchable.
A flicker.
My chakra surged, and for a heartbeat, I could see it. Not with my eyes—but with my mind.
A red spark. Burning deep within my tenketsu.
"…Senju vitality," I whispered to myself. "This body is built for war."
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Sayonara