Konoha Year Two.
A dusk that would be remembered by history.
A man dressed in black as deep as the night sky, with ink-black hair thick as a waterfall, carried a sharp sickle and an ancient gunbai on his back. With firm steps, he faced the dazzling, warm afterglow of the setting sun and resolutely crossed the boundary of Konoha Village.
Bathed in the setting sun, his back appeared both proud and aloof, yet also revealed an indescribable desolation and loneliness, as if he bore the weight and solitude of the entire world on his shoulders.
This man was none other than Madara Uchiha, a shinobi who had once harbored boundless dreams and hopes.
Yet the cruelty of reality had plunged him into deep despair.
Several days earlier, he had suffered a crushing defeat in the Hokage election, watching Hashirama Senju ascend the Hokage's seat with an overwhelming advantage.
At that moment, his heart had been filled with disappointment and unwillingness to accept defeat.
The cruelty of reality stood in stark contrast to Hashirama's promises of old. He had failed to become Hokage as he had wished and instead increasingly felt the indifference and rejection of the villagers.
Those companions who had once fought alongside him now looked at him with strange eyes, as if he were an outsider, an existence they refused to accept.
He had once believed that founding Konoha would bring true peace, erasing the hatred and estrangement between the Senju and Uchiha.
Yet reality had sorely disappointed him.
The gulf between the Senju and Uchiha had not disappeared because of it. Instead, it seemed deeper and more unfathomable than ever.
Those beautiful fantasies of peace were like the reflection of flowers in a mirror or the moon in water, shattering at the slightest touch.
The village