Destroying a person’s reputation is always far simpler than shaping one.
Madara glanced sharply at Kakuzu.
How had he never noticed how interesting this quiet man was before?
“Obviously, he succeeded.”
This public sentiment had been quietly brewing for years, it was already entirely irreversible.
Kakuzu shook his head.
“No.
As long as you haven’t left Konoha, he hasn’t succeeded.”
As long as Madara refused to abandon Konoha, time would eventually wash everything away.
Moreover, this public discourse only discussed Madara’s faults while purposefully ignoring his great merits.
If someone truly wanted to dismantle the rumors, plenty of effective methods existed.
But given Madara’s immense pride, would he ever bother to stop and explain himself to the masses?
A man as inherently proud as Madara could be summed up in one simple sentence: those who truly understand him need no explanation, and for those who don’t, why explain at all?
If there was no rightful place for him here, there would definitely be elsewhere.
The ninja world was vast, where could a man like Madara not go?
Why endure this quiet humiliation in Konoha?
Returning to the Uchiha compound from the ramen shop, Madara suddenly figured it all out.
He looked coldly toward the distant Senju compound and scoffed.
“Tobirama, it’s not that I lack a way to defeat you, but I disdain it.
True strength never stoops to such petty tactics!”
He quickly returned to his quarters, changed into the crimson armor he wore to battle in the past, slung his heavy Uchiha Gunbai and Nine-Tails Sealing Scroll over his back, and strode purposefully toward the compound exit.
“Clan Head, do you have a mission?” an Uchiha ninja by the roadside asked cautiously.
“Are you afraid of me?” Madara cast a sweeping glance at the man who had spoken.
“No, I…” As a clansman, respecting the Clan Head was basic etiquette, but genuine fear gripped his voice.
Madara continued walking straight out of the compound, speaking as he went.
“I am leaving this place, and I will never return.”
The young clansman froze, asking without thinking, “Clan Head, if you leave, what will we do?”
“What does that have to do with me?” Madara sneered.
An Uchiha clan that had entirely lost its fighting spirit was no longer worth his protection.
He strode completely out of the compound, onto the paved streets of Konoha, and headed straight for the main village gate.
Pedestrians on the road saw Madara in full battle dress and immediately assumed he was off to fight again.
Recalling those brutal, bloody legends, passersby scattered quickly out of his way.
Madara ignored them entirely, his pace steady and completely unhurried.
As he passed Kakuzu’s ramen shop, he turned his head to take one last look, but it was nothing more than a single passing glance.
He kept moving forward until he reached the towering gate.
A middle-aged man wearing the Hokage’s ceremonial robe suddenly appeared in his path.
It was Hashirama.
‘Flying Thunder God…’ Madara looked past Hashirama at Tobirama, who wore a look of reluctance.
It was precisely with this spatial technique that Tobirama had tragically defeated his younger brother, Izuna.
“Madara, where are you going?” Hashirama asked nervously.
“I am leaving Konoha.” Madara was blunt.
There was no need to hide his intentions.
“What?!” Hashirama paled in shock.
His closest friend suddenly leaving left him completely at a loss.
“You can leave, but leave the Nine-Tails behind.” Tobirama stared intently at the scroll on Madara’s back.
It was the Nine-Tails Sealing Scroll, after all.
“Tobirama!” Hashirama sharply rebuked his younger brother.
Nine-Tails was captured entirely by Madara in the first place, he absolutely had the right to take it away.
Furthermore, while Tailed Beasts were terrifying secret weapons to other nations, in Konoha, theirs ranked only third in deterrence.
The top two were Hashirama and Madara themselves.
He looked at Madara and said earnestly, “Madara, stop joking.
Even though I am the First Hokage, I can gladly let you become the Second Hokage…”
“Thank you, Hashirama.” Madara knew that Hashirama was the only person in all of Konoha who treated him with genuine sincerity.
This was the only real friend he had in his entire life, and he cherished him.
As for becoming the Second Hokage…
Aside from Hashirama, no one in Konoha would ever let him be elected.
Without the true support of the people, how could he possibly be considered a Hokage?
“The peace in the shinobi world right now is not the peace I want.
I am going to search for ‘True Peace’.”
After speaking his truth, he brushed right past Hashirama and walked out of Konoha.
“Big Brother!” Tobirama stared intently at Hashirama’s back.
Stopping him now was still theoretically possible.
“Let him go.” Hashirama closed his eyes and sighed heavily in resignation.
He was only slightly stronger than Madara.
If Madara truly wanted to leave, it was practically impossible for him to safely hold him back.
Seeing that even the Hokage did not make a move, the elite guards could only watch helplessly as Madara disappeared at the edge of the horizon.
In a secluded corner of Konoha, Black Zetsu silently observed the entire scene unfold.
A dark, jagged grin split his mouth.
‘The Plan is getting closer to starting.’
After Madara left Konoha, finally unburdened by his clan and the village politics, he felt an lightness.
He headed south, wanting to visit places he had never been and see incredible sights he had never witnessed.
Along the rough way, he passed through numerous small towns and quiet villages.
Because they were far outside Konoha, the locals were entirely unfamiliar with Madara’s infamous appearance.
When they crossed paths, they offered polite, friendly nods.
At first, Madara was unaccustomed to this, thinking, ‘Why are outsiders so friendly?’ Whenever he encountered this basic warmth, he felt a bit awkward.
After seeing it enough, it no longer surprised him, and he slowly learned to offer polite nods in return.
One afternoon, Madara was eating tricolor dango at a small street stall.
Suddenly, a sickly, pale man approached from the southern road.
‘A wandering ninja,’ Madara thought.
He glanced at the stranger and paid him no further attention.
He had seen plenty of eccentric oddities on this long journey, had he paid attention to every single one, he would have died of sheer annoyance long ago.
“Can I sit here?”
This stranger was different.
He asked the question, his voice rough and hoarse, then sat right beside Madara without waiting for an answer.
Madara frowned, carefully evaluating the stranger again.
The man’s skin was remarkably pale, carrying a lifeless white hue.
What kind of twisted Secret Technique did one practice to end up looking like half a corpse?
Madara felt a flicker of curiosity.
Secret Techniques in the ninja world were bizarre and highly varied.
The pale man suddenly turned his head, meeting Madara’s sharp gaze directly.
“…”
Madara looked away, stood up, and wordlessly continued his journey.
The stranger stood and smoothly followed.
After a long while, Madara spoke impatiently.
“Why are you following me?”
“I thought you could tolerate my presence a bit longer.” The pale man smiled.
“The road is wide open to the sky, and each walks their own half.
Do you forbid me from taking this exact same path?”
“Hmph.” Madara drew his Uchiha Gunbai, fully ready to strike and drive the annoying man away.
“Wait,” the stranger said calmly.
“Even if you drive me away, someone will still stubbornly follow you.
Who wouldn’t be interested in the exact whereabouts of the great Madara Uchiha?”
Madara frowned deeply.
“You have accomplices?”
“Not at all.
I represent only myself here.” The pale man shook his head and whispered, “But there is definitely a black hand hidden in the shadows, always watching you.”
Compared to Hashirama in Konoha, Black Zetsu was far more likely to keep a close eye on Madara, who was wandering openly outside.
Sure enough, Black Zetsu muttered in the distance, ‘What are those two talking about?’
His stealth skills were undoubtedly excellent, but he wasn’t dumb enough to hide directly under Madara’s feet.
The highly cautious figure remained at a relatively safe distance.
However, this posed a serious problem: without telescopic vision or superhuman hearing, he could not hear a single word of what Madara and the stranger were discussing.
The pale man was Kakuzu’s Yang Clone.
His physical vessel had been completely drained of its life force by Edo Tensei, making him appear incredibly pale and utterly lifeless.
However, in an era where bizarre Secret Techniques were everywhere, his unsettling appearance was still well within reason.
Seeing Madara’s blatant skepticism, the Yang Clone quickly added, “Don’t be so tense.
My following you could be beneficialt to you.”
Madara said nothing, his stoic face showing disbelief.
The Yang Clone had fully expected this.
“Let me put it this way: I am from the future.
You can call me ‘Yang’.”
“Hah?” Madara believed him even less, heavily suspecting the man must be completely sick in the head.
Yang continued, “You want to find peace, right?
The kind of Utopian peace where everyone’s dreams actually come true.”
Although Madara did not know exactly what a Utopia was, the peace he deeply desired was what Yang described.
Otherwise, he would not become so utterly obsessed with the Infinite Tsukuyomi later on.
During this period, Madara’s ideals were still very ‘innocent’.
Hearing Yang’s specific words, Madara inexplicably suspected that this strange guy calling himself ‘Yang’ might actually be from the future.
Otherwise, how could he possibly know his most private thoughts?
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