Uchiha Madara's Visit

Uchiha Sou drifted into a fitful sleep on the medical ward's cot, only to be repeatedly jolted awake by the stinging pain of his wounds and bizarre, fragmented nightmares. His dreams were filled with the cold glint of kunai, the horrific sight of high-pressure water jets slicing through flesh, and those emotionless eyes of Tobirama Senju that seemed capable of piercing through everything.

When he struggled to open his eyes again, the faint light of dawn was already filtering through the paper windows. The medical ward remained thick with the scent of medicine, but it was much quieter than the night before, save for the occasional pained groans of a few severely wounded men.

The sharp, throbbing pain in his chest served as a grim reminder that everything from the previous night was no nightmare. He tried to wiggle his fingers; fortunately, although his body was weak, it seemed to have regained a sliver of strength.

Just then, a set of footsteps sounded outside the door—incredibly light, yet they seemed to cause the very air to stagnate. It was not a deliberate attempt to be quiet, but rather a natural presence, powerful and restrained, carrying an unquestionable majesty.

The subtle noises within the medical ward vanished in an instant. Every clansman who was awake, whether a wounded soldier or a medical ninja, subconsciously held their breath, their gazes turning toward the door in awe.

The curtain was pulled aside.

A tall figure walked in.

His long, black hair hung loose, and his cold, stern face betrayed not a ripple of emotion. His red, layered plate armor was still damp with dew, as if he had just returned from patrolling the perimeter. Most striking were his eyes—calm and profound, yet possessing an inherent air of disdain for the world. Without any deliberate display, he made the surrounding air feel heavy.

Uchiha Madara.

He had actually come to the medical ward in person.

His gaze swept across the room like a physical force, finally landing on Uchiha Sou, who was struggling to sit up.

"Clan Leader!" The head of the medical ward and the mobile wounded scrambled to offer their respects.

Madara waved his hand dismissively, signaling them to forgo the formalities. He walked to Uchiha Sou's cot in a few strides, looking down at him, his eyes calmly scanning the thick bandages on his chest.

"It seems the Grim Reaper's scythe grazed your neck and missed." Madara's voice was low and resonant; it was impossible to tell if he was pleased or angry, yet it carried an inherent pressure.

Uchiha Sou endured the pain of his wounds being pulled, forced his spine straight, and lowered his head. "Clan Leader... I have brought shame upon you and the clan."

"Shame?" Madara raised an eyebrow slightly. "Surviving an encounter with Tobirama Senju is no easy feat in itself. Izuna saved you; he did well."

His tone was flat, as if stating a simple fact, yet when he mentioned Izuna, his eyes seemed to soften for the briefest of moments.

"Yes... thanks to Uncle Izuna," Uchiha Sou said in a low voice, though he felt both flattered and under even greater pressure due to Madara's personal visit. It was highly unusual for a clan leader to personally visit an injured low-ranking ninja.

Madara's gaze lingered on his face for a moment, as if scrutinizing something, pausing for an extra second on his eyes, which had failed to activate the Sharingan due to his weakness.

"Izuna has already told me the details," Madara said indifferently. "Tobirama targeting you specifically... that is interesting."

He used the word "interesting," causing Uchiha Sou's heart to tighten sharply.

"I... I don't know the reason," he could only repeat, half out of truth and half to conceal his deepest, most unsettling suspicions.

Madara did not seem to expect an answer, merely continuing to himself: "That man, Tobirama, never does anything without purpose. Since he chose to strike at you at that moment, he must have had his reasons. Perhaps the potential you displayed caught his attention, or perhaps... it was something else."

His words were pregnant with meaning, carrying the calculations and considerations of a superior, making Uchiha Sou feel like a chess piece being observed under a magnifying glass.

"Rest and recover," Madara said, not pressing further, his tone returning to its previous indifference. "The future of the Uchiha needs every capable person. Grow stronger as quickly as you can—strong enough that the next time you meet, you can make Tobirama pay for his recklessness."

The words were like a direct command, yet they carried a faint, imperceptible note of encouragement.

"Yes! Clan Leader!" Uchiha Sou suppressed his excitement and replied solemnly.

Madara nodded slightly, said no more, and turned to leave the medical ward. He came and went like the wind, yet the pressure he left behind lingered long after.

Not until his figure had completely vanished did the people in the ward seem to exhale, though whispers soon began to ripple through the room.

"The Clan Leader actually came in person..." "It seems Tsang really has been targeted by Tobirama this time..." "To be noticed by the Clan Leader, I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse..."

Uchiha Sou lay back down, his heart surging. Madara's personal visit and those words were undoubtedly a form of recognition, but they also pushed him into a more conspicuous position. This meant more attention, and it meant... greater risk.

He knew that after last night, his status and level of scrutiny within the clan had quietly changed. He had gone from a promising junior to a "special" one who had been "specifically targeted" by Tobirama Senju and had even drawn the personal attention of the Clan Leader.

In the afternoon, Izuna arrived. His face was still somewhat pale, but his spirit seemed much improved, and he had changed into a clean set of clan robes.

He waved the others away and sat by Uchiha Sou's cot.

"Big Brother was here?" he asked directly.

"Yes," Uchiha Sou nodded.

"What did he say?"

"He told me to rest and recover, and to get stronger as soon as possible."

Hearing this, a cold, sharp arc appeared at the corner of Izuna's mouth. "Correct. Big Brother is right. This matter cannot be let go! That mad dog Tobirama must die!"

The fires of hatred burned fiercely in his eyes once more.

"Does the clan... have a decision?" Uchiha Sou asked cautiously.

Izuna snorted coldly. "Big Brother is furious. The Senju's actions this time are a naked provocation and a conspiracy. The clan has already begun a thorough investigation into whether the mission details were leaked, and we will also intensify our retaliation against the Senju."

He looked at Uchiha Sou, his tone turning serious. "As for you, Tsang. You have been targeted by Tobirama; you must be even more careful when going out on missions in the future. I will arrange for someone to protect you in the shadows for a while. You must also strive for yourself. Having survived this disaster, your Sharingan should have made some progress, right?"

Uchiha Sou felt a stir in his heart and attempted to gather his chakra. A familiar, faint heat emanated from his eye sockets; although it was somewhat dim due to his physical weakness, the rotation of the single tomoe was indeed smoother than before, and that barrier was growing thinner.

"Yes, Uncle Izuna. I feel... the next evolution is not far off."

"Very good!" A flash of satisfaction crossed Izuna's eyes. "That is how an Uchiha should be! Hatred and pain will both become the source of our power! Remember this humiliation and pain; it will drive you to become stronger!"

He gave a few more instructions regarding his recovery before leaving in a hurry, clearly burdened by a massive amount of clan business.

Uchiha Sou lay alone on his cot, ruminating on the words of Madara and Izuna, feeling the contradictory sensation of his physical weakness against the growth of power in his eyes.

The result of the clan council was clearly to launch a retaliation, and the hatred toward the Senju would only deepen. As for himself, because of that targeted attack by Tobirama, he had been dragged into the center of an even deeper vortex.

Misfortune may be a blessing in disguise, and blessing may be a mask for misfortune.

He closed his eyes and began to try to guide his meager chakra, carefully nourishing and sensing those eyes that hungered for evolution.

A storm was brewing in the outside world, and he had to gain the strength to stand firm within it as quickly as possible.

The two-tomoe Sharingan was his only clear goal for now.

The dark clouds over the clan grounds seemed to have grown even thicker.