Black Zetsu × Anticipation

"I understand." Madara's voice was low and steady, with no trace of his earlier fury. "I'll find a way to get back to you about a large-scale Genjutsu as soon as possible."

Hashirama asked gravely, "Izuna, is there anything else you need us to do? Since we can't deal with Black Zetsu immediately, we should at least make some preparations."

Izuna thought hard for a moment, then his eyes lit up. "Yes! Hashirama, I want to see Mito!"

"Mito?" Hashirama was taken aback. "What do you want to see her for?"

"To learn Sealing Jutsu!" Izuna clenched his fists, his eyes shining. "Since conventional methods have limited effect on Black Zetsu, Sealing Jutsu is one of the methods most likely to trap or even destroy him right now!

"Isn't the Uzumaki Clan best at that? I want to learn as soon as possible. Even the most basic sealing formulas could improve our chances!"

He paused, then added, "Besides, Mito is very strong. When the time comes to fight, she'll definitely be an important asset too."

"All right." Hashirama nodded firmly. "I'll send someone to fetch Mito right away. No, I'll go to the Uzumaki Clan Compound myself."

With the matter settled for the moment, the three prepared to go their separate ways.

Before they parted, Izuna remembered something else. He grabbed Madara's and Hashirama's sleeves and repeatedly urged them with a serious expression, "Madara, Hashirama, remember! We absolutely must not let it show that we already know about Black Zetsu.

"Especially when we're outside, we have to act as we always have. That guy is very cunning and observant. The slightest thing out of the ordinary could put him on guard."

Izuna lowered his eyes, a look of recollection on his face. "Black Zetsu was actually lurking near the village before I even entered it. He's been watching from the shadows, looking for an opportunity."

Hashirama staggered at those words, nearly falling flat on the spot.

"What?!"

Madara's whole body jolted too. He whipped his head toward Izuna, and for the first time, horror appeared in those dark eyes.

Izuna went on, "He only left the day before yesterday. Before that, he was always hanging around near me. Looks like my return to Konoha caused him a lot of trouble, and he only held back because Madara was always there.

"But I don't know how long he'll be gone, so if we're going to prepare, we have to do it in the next few days."

Black Zetsu... had already been there when Izuna first came to Konoha?

When Izuna had first arrived in Konoha, he had faced their suspicion and probing, his eyes had been impaired, and he had known nothing about this world.

And he'd kept following Izuna afterward?! If there had been a single day when I wasn't by Izuna's side...

Madara didn't dare continue the thought.

A chill crept up his spine, while overwhelming rage and killing intent lingered in his heart.

The look he gave Izuna was full of heartache and guilt.

He had thought he was protecting his little brother, unaware that Izuna had been living under the shadow of such an enormous potential threat all along.

And Izuna had never mentioned any of it, silently bearing it until he was certain Black Zetsu had left for the time being and wouldn't return before he dared speak...

A chill ran through Hashirama's heart too. He finally understood why Izuna had warned them so solemnly to "pretend not to know."

Black Zetsu's ability to stay hidden and his patience were beyond anything they had imagined. Such a being had set his sights on Izuna and Konoha...

Seeing their expressions change so dramatically in an instant, and the heartache and lingering fear almost overflowing from their eyes, Izuna blinked, a little bewildered.

Uh... had he said something wrong? He'd only wanted to emphasize how dangerous Black Zetsu was and how well he could stay hidden.

Seeing Madara's beautiful eyes beginning to redden again and tangible black fumes starting to rise behind Hashirama, Izuna hurriedly waved a hand in front of both of them.

"Hey, hey! Snap out of it! This is no time to space out!" Izuna put on a stern little face, doing his best to look serious. "Black Zetsu could come back to check on things at any moment. We have to hurry and make every preparation we can before he appears again!"

He nudged Madara. "Madara, the Genjutsu!"

Then he looked at Hashirama. "Hashirama, Mito!"

Finally, he pointed at himself. "Me, prepare the sheet music!"

"Hurry up and get moving! Time waits for no one!" Izuna waved his hands, urging them on like a little commander.

Izuna's interruption helped Madara and Hashirama pull themselves, with some difficulty, from their shock, anger, and lingering fear.

"I know." Madara's voice had returned to its usual low, calm tone. He ruffled Izuna's hair. "Leave the Genjutsu to me."

Hashirama also took a deep breath, suppressed his turbulent emotions, and forced a stiff smile. "I'll go to the Uzumaki Clan Compound right away. Izuna, go back and wait for word."

Meanwhile, deep in the slums of the Land of Fire's Capital.

Shadows flowed soundlessly through filthy alleys and corners awash with sewage, as though they had lives of their own.

Black Zetsu's pitch-black body, somewhere between substance and nothingness, blended perfectly into every patch of darkness.

He drifted ceaselessly, like a ghost stalking prey, quietly possessing paupers, ronin, peddlers, and even nobles.

Through the mouths of these puppets, he used the plainest yet most effective words to spread a constant stream of praise in taverns, marketplaces, and even at noble banquets.

"Have you heard? That ninja musician from Konoha is a genius who only comes along once in a century!"

"The daimyo requested him by name! We have to see him at the Spring Banquet!"

"They say the sound of his pipa can make people forget their troubles. I really want to hear it for myself!"

Anticipation swelled among every class in the Capital, like a balloon being inflated ever larger.

Black Zetsu carefully manipulated this wave of public opinion, pushing it to a dangerous height.

Black Zetsu sneered. Let's see how you manage to survive this beautiful bubble this time.

The consciousness lurking in the shadows recalled what had happened a month ago.

When the fellow wearing "Uchiha Izuna's" face had appeared at Konoha's gates, Black Zetsu had paid him no mind.

He had witnessed Uchiha Izuna's death with his own eyes and felt the despair and hatred that had erupted from Madara. He knew all too well how deeply Madara was attached to his little brother.

As Black Zetsu saw it, that impostor was simply courting death. He could practically foresee Madara flying into a rage and tearing him apart as soon as he saw that face clearly.

But events had veered completely off his script.

The first person that impostor had sought out was none other than Hashirama Senju.

That move had even taken Black Zetsu by surprise. Looking back now, it was no coincidence, but a carefully considered choice.

That fellow knew perfectly well that facing an enraged Madara directly would mean certain death.

But Hashirama Senju was different. That naive idealist had an almost obsessive belief in peace and bonds.

If someone appeared who closely resembled his best friend's little brother and seemed capable of stabilizing Madara's emotions, Hashirama would never allow Madara to kill him on the spot.

He had probably had similar considerations when he later gave Tobirama a fur collar.

With that subtle gesture of goodwill, he had restrained the calm, suspicious silver-haired bastard, at least keeping him from immediately becoming an obstacle.

Step by step, each move had led into the next.

Such meticulous thinking was nothing like that of an "impostor" who had appeared in haste.

Black Zetsu had to admit that he had underestimated this intruder.

Even more unexpected was that this fellow had not only survived but, at a terrifying speed, genuinely influenced Madara and even Hashirama Senju and Tobirama Senju, whom Black Zetsu himself found difficult to deal with!

Madara was no longer immersed in grief over losing his brother or his obsessive fantasies of the Eye of the Moon Plan. He poured all his energy and protective instincts into this new little brother.

Warmth had returned to his eyes, and he had even begun building that ridiculous "Konoha" alongside Hashirama, full of hope.

Hashirama made no secret of his fondness for that fellow. Though Tobirama was awkward about it, he was clearly also acquiescing to, and even secretly supporting, the various changes the fellow had brought about.

And under the influence of that fellow's ridiculous, comical music, his silly smile, and those seemingly naive yet exceptionally effective management ideas, Konoha's clans had actually begun to overcome their divisions, just as Hashirama had described.

Amid the children's singing and the young people's interactions, the hatred and hostility he had taken such pains to stir up quietly melted away, growing ever closer and more unbreakable.

This was absolutely not what Black Zetsu wanted to see. What he needed was suspicion and division, not unity and laughter!

In Konoha as it was now, especially in the Uchiha Clan Compound, Madara's near-constant protection and that fellow's monstrous strength had left him with no chance at all to get close and strike without exposing himself.

Once he made a move, whether he succeeded or failed, his existence would be exposed to Madara and Hashirama.

With those two's strength and Tobirama Senju's intellect, once they had a definite target, even if he could rely on his special escape techniques to hide, he would inevitably face endless pursuit and vigilance.

He had no desire to waste what might be the next hundred years waiting for Madara and Hashirama to die of old age. His plan had to move forward!

"Izuna" had to die.

Once this greatest variable disappeared, Madara would fall back into the abyss of pain over losing his "brother" and become utterly disillusioned with this world.

Then the words on the Stone Tablet that Black Zetsu had altered, that false hope of the Infinite Tsukuyomi, would become the only straw Madara could grasp. Everything could get back on track.

Infuriatingly, he had racked his brains these past few days but had never found a way to safely dispose of that troublemaker inside Konoha.

Until now—a heaven-sent opportunity!

The invitation to the daimyo's Spring Banquet, the attention of noble circles, the public discussion on everyone's lips...

This was a perfect stage, one from which he could send that impostor, along with the ridiculous "harmonious" Konoha he had brought about, to their destruction!

Black Zetsu pondered coldly. His objective was simple.

He would ruin "Uchiha Izuna's" reputation at the Spring Banquet, make his music a laughingstock, and nail his "new fingering technique" to the pillory.

Ideally, it would provoke intense dissatisfaction with Konoha among the Land of Fire's nobility, leading them to question Konoha's intentions in sending such an incongruous ninja to perform, and in turn shake the fragile trust that had only just been established between the Land of Fire and Konoha.

If he could further inflame the conflict, cause divisions within Konoha over the matter, and even make Konoha fracture and return to the Warring States era, with each faction governing itself and eyeing the others with suspicion...

That would be better still!

Then Madara's and Hashirama's ideals would be shattered, their trust would collapse, and the soil of hatred would grow fertile once more.

He would have all the time and opportunities he needed to quietly erase that damned "Izuna" amid the chaos, then lead Madara down the predetermined path of despair.

"Enjoy these final days to your heart's content, you clown who stole a name."

Black Zetsu's consciousness flickered with a vicious light behind the vacant eyes of the vagrant he possessed, who was describing the legend of the "ninja musician" in exaggerated tones to a few porters squatting and chatting by a wall.

"When you fall from the highest place and are smashed to pieces, you'll learn the price of disrupting a game a thousand years in the making..."

He silently slipped out of the host and merged into the darkness at the corner of the wall, searching for his next tool to spread "anticipation."

The storm of public opinion in the Capital grew louder and fiercer under his constant prodding, like a furnace under ever-increasing pressure, waiting for the day of the Spring Banquet to burn its contents to ashes.