A Peaceful Everyday Life

Izuna slept like the dead, from the bright afternoon sun until the following day.

As dawn broke, the young man blearily sat up and reached for his phone out of habit, only to grasp at nothing.

He froze for a few seconds before fully waking up. Oh, right, he had transmigrated. He was Uchiha Izuna now, living in Konoha and playing the part so he could go home.

Well... whether I can actually get home is another question. Anyway, I should get up first.

Yawning, he shuffled barefoot into the kitchen.

He opened a cupboard. It was still empty, without so much as a cockroach.

All right, no hope of coffee this morning.

Still unwilling to give up, he opened the refrigerator—if it could even be called that. It was an empty refrigerated cabinet, with no food and barely any cold air.

He moved on to the bathroom. The sink was bare, with no spare toothbrush or toothpaste, and only one lonely towel that looked as though it had been used for quite some time.

Izuna stood in front of the empty sink, all traces of sleep gone.

Calm down. Don't get angry, don't get angry. You're not really his little brother, you can't...

Fuck! To hell with that!

He took a deep breath, turned around, and shouted into the empty house at a volume that could have blown the roof off:

"Big brother! How come you didn't buy anything after we moved?!!"

His voice echoed through the silent house.

No sooner had he finished than a flurry of hurried footsteps came from the backyard, and Madara appeared at the end of the hallway almost instantly.

He came up to Izuna, looking tense.

"Izuna? What's wrong?"

Seeing his brother's furious face, Madara breathed a sigh of relief, but the fire in Izuna's eyes left him a little baffled.

"What's wrong?!" Izuna rushed up to him in a few strides, no longer caring about any "awe of Brother Madara." At that moment, the deeply ingrained Chinese insistence on "living well" burned fiercely within him.

"Look at this house! The kitchen's empty! There isn't even a spare toothbrush in the bathroom! There's only one towel! Brother, how on earth do you usually live?! Do you live on thin air?! Clean your teeth with Chakra?! Is living like a caveman how the strongest gets stronger?!"

His barrage of questions came fast and furious, his finger pointing at each "crime scene" in turn. He was a force to be reckoned with.

Madara was a little stunned by the scolding that had landed on him out of nowhere.

He opened his mouth and tried to explain. "I... usually spend more time at the Hokage Building or the training grounds. I only come back to rest..."

And ever since Izuna died, "home" had just been a place to sleep. What was the point of buying things for it? He didn't say that aloud.

"All the more reason to make the place you rest comfortable!" Izuna was beside himself. "Quality of life! Do you understand?! You're the Clan Head of the Uchiha Clan and a strong contender to become the next Hokage! Is it right for your home to look like a ransacked cave?! If word gets out, people will think the Uchiha are too poor to put food on the table!"

Madara: "..."

Madara Uchiha was speechless.

Seeing his brother's cheeks flushed with anger and his eyes wide, Madara felt a strange, long-forgotten sensation of being "kept in line" rise in his heart.

Far from being annoyed, he was... a little happy. Getting angry and fussing over these little things—that was how Izuna ought to be...

After all that nagging, Izuna actually felt a little guilty. After all, the man before him wasn't really his brother. This was Lord Madara!

But to keep up the act as Izuna, he could only force himself to keep his eyes wide and stare at Madara.

"I... I'll go buy them now," Madara said stiffly, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Izuna was so anxious that he put his doubts aside and hurriedly stopped him. He looked Madara up and down suspiciously. "Do you know what to buy? The toothbrushes need soft bristles and small heads, the toothpaste should be mint-flavored, and we need at least three towels to rotate through. The kitchen..."

He paused, remembering that the currency and goods in this world might be different. "Forget it, I'll come with you!"

And so, a scene that left every early-rising shopkeeper and ninja dumbfounded appeared on Konoha's Commercial Street:

The renowned clan head Madara Uchiha was being dragged from shop to shop by a handsome young man tugging on his sleeve.

His arms quickly filled with all sorts of household goods—toothbrushes, toothpaste, towels by the dozen, bowls and plates, seasonings, fresh fruits and vegetables, and even hanging scrolls and decorative paintings that Izuna had insisted on giving him, bearing strange patterns Madara couldn't understand.

Izuna had wanted a hanging scroll for ages. He hadn't had the money for one in his original world, so shouldn't he get a few more now that he could take advantage of Madara's wallet?

Yoshitsune's Eight-Boat Leap, The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, and Tsukimiyo!

Ah... that's the charm of hanging scrolls... Too bad there isn't a Namikawa. Looks like no such master appeared in this world. What a shame.

"This... isn't necessary, is it...?" Madara poked his head out from behind the pile of packages and looked at the scroll depicting strange little figures. He hesitated. "Nobody ever comes to our house... We don't need to buy things for entertaining guests, do we...?"

"Why wouldn't anyone come? Won't we need it when Brother Hashirama and Tobirama visit?" Izuna firmly stuffed the scroll into one of the paper bags and went ahead and paid for it.

Madara sighed and served as a human shopping cart and wallet, offering an opinion only when Izuna asked, "Does this color look good?"

He occasionally noticed the suspicious, uncertain looks around them, but Izuna was completely absorbed in his enthusiasm for decorating their new home and paid the stares no mind.

Once the shopping was done and they had returned to the house, Izuna rolled up his sleeves and began a thorough cleaning.

He directed Madara to move furniture, scrub away the dust, and put up new door curtains and lay out new cushions, while he sorted and put away everything they had bought.

Madara tried to help, but Izuna kept complaining that "you didn't clean that spot properly" or "that doesn't go there."

During the cleanup, Izuna found several dusty old belongings of "Izuna" in a corner, and Madara's eyes instantly darkened.

Izuna didn't notice at all. He simply thought some of the old things were still usable, so he naturally took them out and put them to use.

Looking at the transformed home, the specks of dust dancing in the sunlight, and his brother's busy figure, Madara stood in the doorway, his heart swelling with a feeling both bittersweet and full.

He could almost believe that this was his Izuna, who had merely gone on a long journey and had now come home.

Ah... if only... if only Izuna were really still alive...

Time gradually passed into evening.

The last rays of the setting sun shone through the newly hung bamboo blinds, casting bars of light across the spotless tatami.

A small table and cushions sat to one side, with a bright red Daruma standing guard nearby, an unhappy expression on its face.

The wind chime swayed gently in the breeze, producing a pleasant tinkling sound.

Ah! The Japanese atmosphere is perfect! Now this is living!

Izuna stretched, his bones cracking faintly, and looked around the transformed house with satisfaction.

"It's finally starting to look like a home," he muttered, and his stomach gave a timely little rumble.

Madara, sitting across from him and reading an old scroll by the light, looked up.

"Hungry?" Madara closed the scroll, his voice calm.

"Of course I am. Cleaning is physical work too." Izuna rubbed his stomach and asked,

"Brother, what's for dinner? We have a kitchen now!" There was a hint of pride in his voice, and his eyes shone.

Madara was taken aback by that look, then hurriedly averted his gaze as if fleeing.

"...You decide." He paused, then added, "I'm fine with anything."

For the past six months, he had mostly made do with dinner at the Hokage Building or eaten Military Rations Pills after returning from training. His idea of what to eat at home had grown rather vague.

"How can you be so casual about it?" Izuna shook his head in disagreement and began counting on his fingers. "We just bought rice, and for vegetables we have radishes, greens, and mushrooms. There are eggs and a little meat too... Oh, right, and we have all the seasonings."

He thought for a moment and tentatively asked, "How about Miso Soup? And some Tamagoyaki? The meat... how about slicing it thin and grilling it? Too bad we don't have any fish."

Madara listened quietly. Those ordinary dishes, named by Izuna, carried a sense of everyday life that was both unfamiliar and comforting.

"That sounds good." Madara nodded, paused, then asked, "Do you need my help?" He remembered that long ago, on the rare occasions Izuna cooked, he would chase Madara out of the kitchen, saying he was clumsy and would only get in the way.

"Hmm..." Izuna rubbed his chin and looked Madara up and down, assessing him. "Brother, go wash the rice and cook it. That should be all right, shouldn't it? Add water until it's... hmm, about as deep as the first joint of your finger?"

He demonstrated, then seemed a little uncertain. "You've watched me do it before, right?"

"...Mm." Madara gave a vague reply, got up, and walked into the kitchen.

He had indeed "watched," back when Izuna was still there and their home had yet to be utterly consumed by the flames of war.

But the details had long since been buried beneath the bloodstained dust of memory.

Izuna rolled up his sleeves and began preparing the ingredients.

His movements weren't particularly practiced, but they were orderly, and the way he washed and chopped the vegetables showed he knew the basics.

Beside him, Madara washed the rice and added water according to his hazy memories. As his fingertips touched the cool water and plump grains, he felt a strange sense of unreality.

"Come to think of it," Izuna said, slicing the mushrooms deftly and speaking as though in passing, "when we got back late from missions, we often went to Amaguriama to buy Three-Colored Dango for a late-night snack. Do you remember? Sometimes Brother Hashirama and Tobirama would sneak out too."

Madara's fingers paused almost imperceptibly as he scooped water. Amaguriama? Three-Colored Dango? With the Senju brothers?

In his memories of their secret meetings by the Naka River, he might have shared food with Hashirama while they talked about their dreams, but there had never been such relaxed, ordinary moments over a late-night snack.

Much less any friendly shared memories with Tobirama Senju—the man who had ultimately gravely wounded Izuna with the Flying Thunder God Slash.

"...I don't remember it very clearly." Madara chose the safest answer, his voice steady as he put the washed rice in the pot and lit the stove.

"That's true. It was a long time ago." Izuna didn't mind. He neatly arranged the chopped vegetables. "Back then, Tobirama was always complaining that the dango were too sweet and that eating too many would give him cavities, but every time, he ate them faster than anyone."

He chuckled and shook his head.

Madara stood silently by the stove, watching the dancing flames lick the bottom of the pot.

The scene Izuna described was so vivid that he could even imagine Tobirama Senju frowning yet unable to resist reaching for a dango, looking awkward about it.

It was utterly different from the Tobirama Senju he knew: cold, rational, and viewing the Uchiha as a potential threat.

"Later, when I stayed with the Senju Clan, I found out Tobirama was actually a pretty good cook, especially when it came to stews. They didn't look like much, but they tasted surprisingly hearty.

"Brother Hashirama was hopeless, though. The things he cooked... uh, let's just say they were very 'full of life.'" He made an indescribable face.

The Senju Clan? Staying with them? That was another thing he couldn't imagine.

How could Izuna have lived with the Senju Clan? And even tasted Tobirama Senju's stew? The absurdity of it all nearly broke through the calm facade he was struggling to maintain.

In his world, had the four of them really been that close?

Would Father have allowed it? What about the hostility between the clans? Hadn't Izuna hated the Senju Clan most of all?

Izuna stole a few glances at him, said nothing more, and began heating a pan and adding oil to make the Tamagoyaki.

The sizzle of oil and the growing aroma of food filled the kitchen.

Madara stood beside him, watching his brother's intent profile, hazy in the rising cooking fumes yet incomparably real.

"Brother," Izuna suddenly spoke again, his tone light, "after dinner, want to take a walk by the Naka River? It'll help us digest. We haven't been there in ages. I wonder if that big rock we used to sit on is still there."

The Naka River. A big rock.

I see. In his world, had they already met back then?

All four of them together? That doesn't sound bad.

"All right," he heard himself say.

"It's a deal, then!" Izuna deftly took out the golden Tamagoyaki and cut it into neat little pieces, a smile curving his lips. "The rice should be ready, right?"

Madara lifted the lid, and steam rushed into his face, carrying the fresh fragrance of cooked rice.

After dinner, they came to the river that seemed bound up with their fate.

The Naka River murmured through the gathering dusk, and its peaceful, tranquil atmosphere naturally lifted their spirits.

The vegetation along the bank was lush, and the air carried the mingled scent of damp earth and the coolness of water.

Izuna and Madara walked side by side along the familiar yet unfamiliar path, soft earth and tiny pebbles underfoot.

"...You have no idea how hard I had to try not to laugh!" Izuna walked a little ahead, his voice full of undisguised amusement as he imitated Hashirama's exaggerated pose and tone from memory. "'Taijutsu Secret Art: Super Fire Style Genjutsu Slash Great Whirlpool—' Pfft!"

He couldn't help laughing again. "The name was ridiculously long, but what did it amount to? Just an empty pose! He couldn't even throw a Shuriken straight. Tobirama and I were stunned, and once it sank in, we almost laughed ourselves breathless!"

Madara followed half a step behind him, listening to the vivid account with feelings too complicated to put into words.

Yes, Hashirama had indeed said something similar, beneath a more secluded cliff downstream on the Naka River, with just the two of them there.

Hashirama had indeed come out with an absurd name for a move then, gesturing with his hands and feet. Madara still remembered how clumsy he had looked.

But in Izuna's version, there had been two more people in the scene: Izuna himself and Tobirama Senju.

"And then?" Madara heard himself ask, his voice calm, his gaze following Izuna's hair as the evening breeze blew through it.

"Then?" Izuna looked back, his eyes bright in the fading light. "Then Brother Hashirama got embarrassed and angry! While we were still making fun of his terrible naming, he went 'whoosh' and shot up there himself!

"But then, hahaha, halfway up, a loose rock tripped him up, and while he was scrambling, that poker-faced Tobirama silently scrambled right past him!

"You should've seen Brother Hashirama's face afterward. He looked just like a dog that had fallen into the water and been hauled back out, all miserable and hilarious!"

He spoke with such animation that it was as though the comical scene were right before him.

Madara's steps faltered almost imperceptibly. A Rock-Climbing Competition... That had happened too.

There had also been a false start, but Hashirama and he had been evenly matched and reached the top almost at the same time.

He hadn't expected the other Hashirama to be so sneaky too. Madara couldn't help the smile that touched his lips.

Izuna rambled on about other things: Tobirama's failed attempt to analyze Hashirama's naming logic, how they had later shaken Hashirama down for dango, and Madara's exasperation with Hashirama.

Every detail was so full it seemed to have really happened, weaving together a past that was completely unfamiliar to Madara, yet seemed... rather nice.

As they walked, Izuna's voice gradually grew quieter. He unconsciously raised a hand and rubbed around his left eye, his brows knitting slightly.

Madara immediately became alert. "Your eye?"

"Mm..." Izuna stopped, his voice tinged with irritation and resignation. "It's happening again. That... feeling like I'm wearing something that doesn't belong to me. It's really uncomfortable."

As he spoke, his fingers curled with perfect naturalness and reached toward his left eye socket.

"Wait—" Madara hadn't finished trying to stop him.

"Pop."

The sound, which made Madara's heart stop, reached his ears over the sound of the water.

Izuna had plucked out his left eye again and held it in his palm. The eye even moved slightly in his hand, as though it had a life of its own.

Madara's mind went blank.

All the calm he had struggled to build, all the reasons he had tried to use to convince himself, and all his greed as he immersed himself in the illusion of a warm everyday life were shattered by the sight before him.

"It came out again." Izuna was still oblivious as he complained quietly, "My right eye is fine... Tch, is Tobirama's technique any good or not...?"

Before he had finished speaking, a suffocatingly powerful surge of Chakra erupted from beside him!

Cold, violent Chakra, full of despair and destruction, struck Izuna like a solid wave, choking his breath and sending him stumbling back a step.

Madara's eyes had become scarlet Mangekyō Sharingan, their patterns spinning wildly as he stared fixedly at the eyeball in Izuna's palm, then snapped his gaze to Izuna's empty left socket.

His face was pale as paper, his lips trembled, and veins bulged on his neck and arms. He was like a bowstring pulled taut to the point of snapping.

"Brother Madara?!" Only then did Izuna realize something was wrong. His voice changed pitch with fright, and he instinctively tried to hide the eyeball behind his back, only to think better of it, his hand freezing in midair.

"Put it back..." Madara forced the hoarse words through clenched teeth, each one as though weeping blood. "Now! Right now! Put it back!!"

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an almost frenzied note of command, as though something terrible would happen the next instant if Izuna didn't obey.

Terrified by his reaction, Izuna fumbled in a panic, trying to push the eyeball back into its socket.

But the more panicked he became, the clumsier his movements grew. The eyeball slipped against the edge of the socket, missing its place.

"I-I'm putting it back! I'm doing it!" Izuna's voice was thick with tears, half from fright and half from genuine anxiety.

Madara looked terrifying like this. The college student, who had never faced such an overwhelming presence, was panicking so badly that he fumbled and almost threw the eye away.

Madara abruptly stepped forward and caught the warm eyeball.

With his other hand, he gripped Izuna's chin firmly and forced him to tilt his head back. The scarlet Mangekyō stared into the empty socket at close range, its patterns spinning so fast they seemed ready to fly out of his eyes.