Chapter 28
Madara Uchiha
Number 27, Madara Uchiha thought as he pretended to read the funeral pamphlet.
It took seven months, but he had finally done it. The final funeral. The last driver that died seven months ago at Sarutobi High.
The funeral took place in a Ninshū church like the others. The main church hall was wide and grand. Huge, colorful stained glass lancet windows ran across each of the white, side walls. The hall had a vaulted ceiling laying as high as 50 feet above with gilded patterns that spread across them. White, marble pillars reached down from each arch in the ceiling, and the white plinth of each pillar had an intricate, flowery design that was too colored gold. The hall was lit by huge, crystal chandeliers that would sparkle in the candlelight that lit them. Two columns of dark, wooden pews filled the hall, and at the front was the dark wooden dais. Behind the dais was a huge arched, stained-glass window that was designed to image the two deities of the Nenshū religion. Kaguya and her son, the Sage of Six Paths. The glass imaged a scene that was referred to as the Enlightenment. Kaguya, towering over her son, stood behind him and looked down at the Sage while holding the Chakra Fruit, a purple circular fruit that came to point at the top, resembling a tear drop. Below Kaguya, the Sage looked up at his mother, his head possessing a bright, white halo, his hands reaching out to the Chakra Fruit she was passing down. The light from the setting sun outside made the window shine bright and beautiful, the different colors of the stained glass reaching down onto the white coffin that sat in front of the dais, covering the it in colors of purple, green, blue, yellow, and even more white.
On the dais stood a large, gilded podium with the top lined with different colorful, expensive jewels. The brown dais was covered in a fancy, red rug. However, unlike the church he sat within, the priest that stood at the podium wore plain, brown robes that lacked design. Madara found it laughable. When Madara was younger, he had asked a priest why they wore such drab clothing, to which the priest said with much piety in his voice “To remind us of our humility. That the gift of quirks was given to us by the Sage. We are merely servants to the Sage and Kaguya’s will.”
It was ridiculous because the church he sat in now must’ve cost millions. The cars these priests drove alone costing almost as much. When the priest came up behind the podium to do his sermon, Madara wanted to scoff. But he couldn’t. He was being watched. By whom? Everyone. His supporters and his enemies. The news and the news watchers. The politicians and the constituents. So, when the priest said to pray, he prayed loudly and passionately. When the priest said to sing, Madara sang beautifully. When the priest said to read the holy book not just in the church halls but outside of them, Madara did exactly that. He would pray, sing, and read even when he was sure no one watched. Because even when he was sure no one was watching, someone surely was.
As the priest continued his sermon, Madara felt grateful it was the last funeral. It had been a messy seven months. After they had killed Hiruzen Sarutobi, Madara had to act fast. He called his advisors and demanded they bring as many speedsters as possible to the school to clean up the mess Tsunadae made. He had wanted to find Naruto quietly, but the speedsters had screwed up the job and left a body behind. So, he had to go to plan b and tell the media it had been Naruto who killed Hiruzen and all his bodyguards. It was said that the bodyguard tried to protect Hiruzen but Naruto with the help of Tsunadae and Jiraiya, killed all of them and managed to escape. Madara made up a story where the guards had chased after Naruto and disappeared. Slowly, throughout the months, bodies would finally appear again. Madara did it this way to explain why there weren’t any bodies at the school. It wasn’t ideal, with many of his advisors and political partners somewhat suspicious of him. But nobody could prove his story was false and the story was true. Tsunadae and Jiraiya (mostly Tsunadae) had killed his guards. The only false detail was the chasing that happened. Investigators concluded that Jiraiya with some help had caught the guards chasing them and were holding them hostage, killing them one at a time. It was a good enough answer for the police, for the guard’s families, for Madara’s constituents, and for his political rivals.
Stupid, he thought as the priest grew more passionate during his sermon. You stupid fucking idiot. You should’ve done more research about the fox spirit beforehand but no. To think that would’ve gone any other way was idiotic.
It still bothered Madara to this day, seven months later. He didn’t care who Naruto was. He didn’t care that he was Minato’s son. All he wanted was the fox spirit. The country’s weapon had been missing for fourteen years and was a huge point of contention during his first term as president. He had to work hard for reelection because many voters were concerned as to why the spirit hadn’t been found yet. Certain politicians questioned his leadership capabilities for being unable to find it. News media would even say that the neighboring countries of the Suna Kingdom and Ame Kingdom might even consider the Konoha weak and vulnerable without this weapon.
I get the fox spirit and then this aspect of my political career that has been plaguing me is gone. I get another win under my belt for my campaign and cement my presidency. The Konoha is made whole again. There would no longer be any resistance to me. The Uchiha name is cemented as the greatest clan to exist. To think I wouldn’t need the Uzumaki’s Party endorsement with this move. You idiot.
Now everything was a shit show. Madara spent the next seven months going back and forth between the Uzumaki’s to make up for his comments at the rally. He’d been generous with them, promising certain bills to pass, signing executive orders, even promising to endorse some of their candidates that were running in more local elections. But the party wouldn’t budge. All they promised Madara was that they wouldn’t have a candidate to run against Madara. Good, but not great, he thought, trying to not let his frustration show on his face as family members began giving eulogies. Was this even worth it? To think being a president would be this hard. Just when things seem to be going well, something happens. And of course, there’s no one to blame but me. Fucking idiot.
His mind wandered back to that fateful day fourteen years ago. He remembered having a dying Minato in his arms as Madara’s own brother died in his seat alone only a couple feet away. He regretted caring more about appearances than comforting his brother in those last moments. Madara had tears come down his cheek and land atop Minato’s purple face that looked up at him, his expression blank, unable to breathe because of the poison he just consumed. His body convulsing, fighting to just breathe. Did Fugaku die the same horrific way, Madara had thought at the time, knowing the answer to that question was yes. Fugaku, my brother, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.
Seated in the pew with him to his right was Fugaku’s son. Sasuke watched with gloomy eyes as each person gave their eulogy. His hair was finally cut to an acceptable length after months of the boy refusing to leave his room. Madara noticed that the boy was growing a small mustache, and a stubble was starting to appear on his chin and jaw. He’s grown more in these past seven months than he did in the past 14 years. Sasuke took after his mother more than his father. Unlike his older brother Itachi, who looked to be his father reborn.
Fugaku’s children were troublesome. Itachi especially so. Madara promised himself that he would look after Fugaku’s children. I will turn them into great men, he thought. They will be two of the greatest Uchihas ever, I promise, Fugaku. But after his father’s death, Itachi became distant. When Madara tried to have Itachi be more involved with the Uchiha family, the kid refused and guarded Sasuke from his uncle. Itachi became rebellious throughout the years, making it impossible for Madara to live up to the promise he made. And then he disappeared, he thought bitterly. Sasuke, on the other hand…
Though Itachi was a frustrating child, one thing about the boy was that he was intelligent beyond reproach. He was always at the top of his class and was constantly receiving awards from his teachers. He also had a political mind, constantly doing interviews with journalists regarding political causes he was passionate about. These interviews always came at the expense of Madara. Sasuke’s grades were mediocre at best. He was always barely passing. He had zero passions from what Madara could tell, and rumor had it that he was known to be somewhat of a bum. But the kid obeys, Madara pondered. He is nothing if not loyal.
It was Sasuke that brought Naruto to him. When Madara lay flat on the ground, Hiruzen’s hands choking the life out, it was Sasuke who saved him. And it was Sasuke who told Madara of Naruto’s secret. Madara reflected on how his nephew had tried to get out of speaking at the rally, using Naruto’s information as leverage. He also appealed to my pride to punish that bodyguard, Madara thought. He might not be academically intelligent, but he might prove to be a cunning politician if trained right.
Madara remembered when they found the bodyguard still alive, his legs broken because of the fall he took flying off the roof. The guard had managed to crawl all the way to the fountain and was halfway through a cigarette when Madara and Tobi approached him.
“My legs are crushed,” the guard said with an annoyed tone. The audacity to lack respect in his voice irked had irked the president.
“I can see that,” Madara said, kneeling next to him. “Shun, was it?”
“Correct,” Shun responded.
He doesn’t even say sir, Madara thought, sighing. “How did you survive the rampage that went on inside the school building?”
“I- uhm…” Shun looked around with his eyes, looking for an answer. Madara knew there wasn’t a good one. It was either he was not in the building, or he was craven. Nonetheless, Madara waited for one. “I… hid from the slaughter… sir.”
Now he says sir. “So, you’re a coward,” Madara said. “Nice to know I have these types of people that are supposed to protect me. Tobi, if you don’t mind, I’ve got blood on my shoes, and I wouldn’t want to get more on my suit.”
But his nephew still had many issues. When Tobi opened up Shun’s throat with a kunai, Sasuke screamed like a toddler. Madara tried to shut him up with a slap, but Sasuke wouldn’t stop so Tobi teleported the nephew away. He’s still a child, Madara thought annoyed. He’s got promise but I cannot trust him. He’ll bend a little but not too much else he’ll break.
If it were anyone else, Madara would’ve had them dealt with like how he dealt with Shun. When Madara called the advisors, he’d made sure to have them not know the purpose of why he needed speedsters, keeping them in the dark about this as much as possible. And the two men that came with speed quirks who cleaned up the school were sent away on a “dangerous” mission a week later and never returned. Everyone involved that day was dead except himself, Tobi, and this 14-year-old kid who had spent the last seven months refusing to talk to anyone. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have such a liability around. But he promised himself that Fugaku’s children were to be taken care of. He wasn’t going to break that promise.
Plus, the boy was growing. He sat next to Madara with the beginnings of a beard on his face, and though eyebags lay under his eyes, he looked almost mature and composed. He’s ready, Madara thought. And Itachi isn’t around anymore to keep him away from me.
After the sermon, Madara walked down the aisle towards the family to give his condolences. They sat in the front row, right in front of the closed, white casket.
Tsunadae made sure every guard’s casket would be closed. If not for Tobi, I’d be in one too.
Madara approached the family with the same sympathetic face he wore to each funeral before. He shook the mother’s hand and said “Your child was an amazing guard and died fighting for this country. They protected me from an assassination attempt that would’ve surely killed me.”
The mother stood up and gave him a warm hug, tears coming down her eyes. Madara heard movement behind him and when he looked, he saw that people were opening the casket. In the coffin lay Shun.
“My son,” the mother said, still in Madara’s arms. “He was so proud to become a part of your guard. He hoped to one day to be promoted from driver and named as part of the Personal Guard.”
“I’m sure he would’ve easily been part of it,” Madara said, guilt starting to build inside him. “He served me amazingly and I imagine he would’ve achieved that.”
Afterwards, Madara went towards the coffin to pay respects to the body. He let family members and close friends go before him. As he waited, he watched as each person walked up to the coffin, faces full of grief. He saw some be completely collected until they reached the coffin to then break into a fit of despair, with many bawling and some even screaming from the sadness they felt. When it was his turn, he simply looked at the body with a sad face. The body looked incredible considering that it had been seven months since the deceased had passed. Madara had hired a healer to upkeep the bodies so they would look fresh when found. Though healing quirks could not bring someone back to life, the quirk can prevent rotting. It seemed the quirk cannot prevent overdosing on a fatal dosage of heroin to no one’s surprise as the healer was found dead in his apartment from overdosing a couple days past. The final loose end, he thought.
Madara continued to look at Shun’s body. He saw the scar Tobi’s kunai had left on Shun’s throat almost completely faded away and covered by a foundation of makeup. The bruises on Shun’s face were all gone and as Madara stood over the open casket, he saw that Shun looked to be at peace. The troubles of this world behind him. The hard work, the stress, the guilt, the regret- all gone. He was now free. A feeling of envy began to rise in Madara.
He was a coward, he thought as he stared at the body, shutting down this jealous feeling. He hid from the slaughter. He couldn’t protect you and didn’t deserve to be a part of your guard. He was weak and he hurt your nephew too. Are you weak like him? He went out like a coward. You are no coward. You are strong. You are the president of the greatest country. You are the head of the Uchiha Clan- not family, Clan! You will be the greatest leader to rule since Mito Uzumaki, this country’s founder.
As he walked away from the coffin, his mind went to his father. He remembered being younger, in the Uchiha Family Home, playing in the lemon garden that surrounded the home’s large lap pool, located in the backyard. He remembered the strong citrus smell and running around playing tag with his brothers and sister. He would climb atop the small lemon trees to escape his siblings and when he was tagged, he would hide within the bushes of those same trees, waiting for his chance. Fugaku would always fall victim to his aerial tag attack, never sensing danger from above. Madara would drop down from above when his brother thought he was safe below the tree and yell “Tag!” and would run as fast as he could away. His father would always lie on the beach chairs next to the pool and watch from afar, unable to join. An injury from his time in the military had rendered walking difficult for him. Tajima Uchiha at the time would’ve been in his twenties when injured and was forced to walk around with a cane as if he were a senior citizen. He had already started to bald, and his hair that had once been thick and black had started showing streaks of grey and thinning. One time while Madara played tag with his siblings, Tajima whistled to them and told them to come gather around him.
“Fugaku,” Tajima said once they were gathered around. His father was still lying on the chair, a newspaper in hand. He had a strong jaw and dark, red eyes, as did every Uchiha had before him. His body was strong, even though he was 44 at the time. The only indication of his age was his hair. “You fall for the same trick over and over again,” he continued. “Madara hides in the trees and catches you. Every. Single. Time. Yet you do not change your tactics.”
“I’m sorry father,” Fugaku had said. “I forget to look up.”
Madara was 10 at the time, Fugaku 11. His sister, Hazuki, was 9, and Izuna, the eldest, was too old to play with them being 14.
“You cannot forget these things,” Tajima said, looking back to his newspaper. “The Uchiha have many enemies and they are all around us. We were once a great clan who have now dwindled into a laughingstock.” Tajima said laughingstock with such disgust like he had just eaten something rotten. “A rich family, not even a political player. My great-grandfather’s generation were the last of the powerful Uchiha. I do not mean to have the future of this family continue to decay. We will make the Uchiha name great again. No more a simple family, but a clan once more.”
“It’s just tag,” Fugaku began. Tajima rolled up his newspaper and smacked him with it before the boy could continue.
“It’s never just tag,” Tajima unrolled his paper and went back to reading. “I’ve said to never trust anyone except family. Family is sacred, for Kaguya entrusted no one except her son to give us the gift of quirks. But you need to learn early on to never make mistakes. To be always think ahead.”
The next time Madara tried the same trick again, Fugaku had seen him coming and moved out of the way.
“Good job, Fugaku,” Tajima said. “We are better than falling for cheap tricks. Why? Because we are Uchiha.”
The weather was cool outside the church. The sun was beginning to touch the horizon and turned the whole world golden. The world was quiet save for a few birds chirping in the nearby trees and the occasional car vrooming from the road that lay out in front of him. The city of Saisho had a rural aesthetic to it, the buildings never going higher than five stories and the roads were old, wide, and dusty. And so much quieter than the capital, Madara thought, grateful. He took a moment on the church steps to breathe. He would’ve preferred being surrounded by more trees rather than his assistants, new bodyguards, Tobi, and Sasuke. I need a vacation. Somewhere away from these cities. I need someplace quiet. But he knew nowhere was truly quiet as long as he brought his mind with him. He could shut up everything but himself.
Luckily, the news coverage for this funeral had been minimal. Only two local reporters stood outside the church, waiting for him with very basic questions like “how was the funeral” or “any plans for the campaign?” After he was done answering them, he was in the back of a big, black limousine, with his campaign manager and his sister’s daughter, Izumi Uchiha, to his left. On his right, his main assistant though most rather called him Madara’s Vice President, Black Zetsu.
“Any updates, Izumi,” Madara said as the limo drove them to the airport.
“Well, uhm- Updates, let’s see,” Izumi scrolled through her tablet. A kid of 28, Izumi Uchiha like her fellow family members donned long hair, though hers were browner rather than having the typical black or dark blue Uchiha family members were known for. She had large, red doe eyes, a round face, and a small mole beneath her left eye. Her experience in politics were limited to local elections but her mother claimed that those elections proved her to be a very capable campaign manager. If Madara wasn’t so confident about this current election and Izumi wasn’t his niece, he would’ve elected to have someone else run his election. And now that the election wasn’t looking to be as easy as he’d hoped, he was regretting hiring her.
“Your polling is looking good,” she finally said. “KBS put out a new poll showing you to be up 5% putting you at a solid 62% approval rating. No other candidates- I mean, none from the major three clans- I mean, three clans including us, of course. Us being Uchiha. Uhm- Anyways, the Senjus and the Uzumakis have not put in a candidate. Of course, you have the ones from lesser clans. The Aburame clan’s Shikuro Aburame is still in the running, polling at 27%. He’s the closest to you poll-wise. And he’s running a grassroots uh- campaign. So doesn’t have any-.”
“Black Zetsu,” Madara rolled his eyes. I asked for updates, not stuff I already know. “Have they found Naruto yet.”
Black Zetsu was a weird looking individual. Their quirk rendered half of the face covered in black while the other half in a pale white that lacked any facial features and was mangled, making it difficult to discern where the head began and where the neck ended. The black side of Black’s face was smooth with sharp facial features. They had a bright orange eye and dark green hair that only laid on the black side of Black’s face. Black Zetsu dressed in a black suit like Madara.
“They haven’t caught him,” Black Zetsu said in that raspy voice Madara hated. It always sounded like talking was a struggle for them. “It seems that we haven’t heard anything since when that Colonel was attacked a while back. We’ve searched the Konoha extensively but the amount of money being spent to find him-.”
“We’ve already eased our efforts on finding him,” Madara said.
“I have said once before and will again; he is most probably not in the country.”
Madara groaned. Seven months and still no sign of Naruto. He’d already concluded he wasn’t in the country, but the neighboring countries have not been all that compliant with searching on their lands, each claiming that they’ll do the search themselves and getting offended at the idea of the Konoha searching for them. There’s no way they’ll be found. Especially with Jiraiya and Orichimaru with them. It was another thing to stress about on top of the current election.
I’m in a lose-lose situation. In one hand, I need my weapon back, so I need Naruto caught and brought back to me if they’re in a different country. On the other hand, if they are caught and these so-called allies find out that Naruto has the weapon inside him, then I’m never getting Naruto back at all.
And to make matters worse, Orichimaru was one of the people helping Naruto. People with telepathic quirks were rare in the Konoha, but something that has never happened before is a telepath that could not only control another person’s mind, but multiple persons, without having to touch them. Arguably, the most powerful quirk that the Konoha has ever seen is now a fugitive and probably is looking for vengeance.
“How many telepaths have we employed,” Madara said to Black Zetsu.
“Right now, you have 25 telepaths on retainer. One drives this car while the other is in the passenger seat. In each car of the Presidential Escort, you have two, making a grand total of 10 in this escort alone. But, before you ask, we have not found anyone as strong as Orichimaru. Of the 25, only 5 can utilize their quirk without having to touch someone else. As for mind control, three have that ability though it is very limited and super situational. It’s either they must make direct eye contact or touch the victim. One of them requires they eat some form of the potential victim’s DNA.”
“But you’re sure these telepaths will keep us safe?”
“I’ve been assured that even one telepath in close company would be enough to block out Orichimaru’s quirk. Telepaths are all equipped to send out brain waves that block Orichimaru’s mind control signal.”
Madara looked out the window and pondered. Will it be enough? He was doubtful that these telepaths could keep him safe. How could they block out a signal? What if Black Zetsu himself was being controlled to say these things?
The Uchiha have many enemies and they are all around us, the words rang in his head. Never trust anyone except family. Family is sacred.
He remembered Minato’s purple face again. The cries from the people around him as guests rushed from their seats to get help. The dinner party that hosted the biggest political influencers in the Konoha turned into the dinner party that killed them. The band had stopped playing, the sound of instruments crashing to the floor, making disjointed melodies to accompany the vocals of terrified people. Tears came down his cheeks, crying for the brother dying beside him as a man he was indifferent to died in his arms.
“Madara, we’re here,” Izumi said, snapping him out of his daydream.
“Where,” Madara responded, but he knew. The airport. “Sorry, I mean, can I have a moment alone with my nephew and son.”
Izumi and Black Zetsu exited the vehicle. Madara looked to his nephew, who seemed to be lost in a daydream as well. Though he took after his mother, Sasuke still had the red eyes of the Uchiha and the long, dark blue hair of one as well. It was trimmed to still be long, but now smooth and not the unkempt mess it was previously.
“Sasuke,” Madara said, snapping his nephew back to reality. “Today is an important day. We’ll be going somewhere you haven’t been before.”
“W-We’re not g-going home,” he responded, his voice a bit squeaky.
That stutter, Madara thought. He is an Uchiha, we speak with confidence. We do not stutter. Another thing we’ve got to work on.
“We are not going to your home, Sasuke,” Madara put a hand on the boy. “We’re going to our home now. It’s time you met the other Uchihas. It’s time you go to the Uchiha Family Home. Time for you to meet my father.”