Yan Uchiha left Fugaku's house.
He merely waved a hand at Fugaku's thanks, as though he hadn't heard them.
Ultimately, those were only the basics. If Fugaku could take a little more of them to heart, it would certainly do no harm to Yan's upcoming plans.
After a brief farewell to Fugaku and his wife, Yan headed home with a yawn.
But when he reached the Naka River and stepped onto the wooden bridge along its banks, the languor vanished from his face.
A chill surfaced in his eyes.
Yan stopped, his sharp gaze locking onto the crown of an old tree nearby. Only after watching it for a moment did he speak leisurely. "My friend."
"If I'm not mistaken, you must be our Uchiha forebear, the legendary Mr. Madara, correct?"
"Since you're here, stop hiding. Where's the fun in that?"
"If you don't mind, why not come to my house for a cup of tea?"
Even after speaking, Yan Uchiha remained perfectly relaxed.
However, he knew all too well that the Shinobi World had no shortage of crafty old schemers who liked lurking in the shadows. Ever since acquiring Observation Haki, he had kept his senses active almost constantly.
Thus, the instant Madara Uchiha appeared, Yan had already sensed his presence.
The air above the treetop suddenly distorted.
Then an aged figure emerged from thin air. His face covered in wrinkles and his hair snow-white, Madara Uchiha stood atop the tree, looking down at Yan Uchiha.
The only reason no one had seen him before was that Madara had cast a simple Genjutsu with his Sharingan.
Though he now looked thoroughly aged, the defiance in his eyes had not diminished in the slightest. If anything, they radiated an overbearing presence that weighed on the soul.
A moment later, Madara