"Did your brain get kicked by a donkey?" Xuan thought it, and to no one's surprise, he actually said it out loud.
Uchiha Madara's temper instantly flared. He had recently come to the frustrating realization that ever since he set Xuan up during that clan summit, they hadn't shared a single normal conversation. Every time he tried to discuss something serious, the younger boy would inevitably piss him off within two sentences.
"Your brain got kicked by a donkey!" Madara gnashed his teeth.
"Then it must have been crushed by a door," Xuan replied coolly, taking a leisurely sip of his green tea.
Madara cracked his knuckles, visibly restraining the urge to throw a punch. Huffing angrily, he plopped down cross-legged on the floor. "I came here to discuss serious business, not to fight with you."
I didn't want to fight you either, Xuan muttered internally.
He decided to drop the provocations, though he had to admit, casually irritating the future final boss of the shinobi world was incredibly entertaining.
"So, why the sudden urge to march to the front lines?" Xuan asked.
He shot a glance at his little maid. Understanding the silent cue, Senya Hotaru obediently closed the door, poured a fresh cup of tea for Madara, and bowed deeply before retreating to the inner rooms.
"You sure look comfortable being waited on hand and foot," Madara grumbled, picking up his cup.
"There's no special reason. Don't you feel like our progress has stagnated? The battlefield is the ultimate crucible. I know that if we deploy, the life-or-death pressure will push us to break through to the Jōnin level."
"Did the Clan Head agree to this?" Xuan asked flatly.
Ever since that fateful interrogation, he had consciously stopped referring to Uchiha Tajima as 'Uncle'.
As if a raw nerve had been struck, Madara's head drooped. He released a heavy sigh. "No. No matter how much I begged my father, he absolutely refused to let me deploy. The clan elders vehemently opposed it, too. They shot me down at every turn."
If I were in charge, I wouldn't let you go either, Xuan thought.
While it was true that children were sent to the slaughter during the Warring States Era, it only happened out of absolute desperation. As long as a clan still had standing reserves, no leader would willingly throw their next generation into the bottomless meat grinder of war.
This was a universal law among the shinobi clans.
Unless the Uchiha were locked in a completely suicidal, all-out war of annihilation with the Senju, children under the age of ten were rarely permitted on the battlefield.
This was especially true for an unparalleled prodigy like Madara; the clan would protect him at all costs until he fully matured.
Naturally, if the war reached a boiling point and manpower ran dry, the youth would be forced to step up, but they weren't there yet.
"I'm not going," Xuan stated with absolute finality.
"Huh? Why?" Madara scratched his head, completely bewildered. He had fully expected Xuan—a fellow combat genius—to be just as thrilled by the prospect of real war.
Do you think everyone is a battle-crazed lunatic like you? Xuan rolled his eyes internally.
"It's too dangerous."
Short, concise, and straight to the point. His attitude was crystal clear.
Naturally, Madara wasn't satisfied with that excuse. He felt like he was being brushed off.
Too dangerous? Wasn't teaming up to assassinate a Hyūga Jōnin dangerous? Wasn't being encircled by three elite trackers dangerous? Wasn't hunting down the Blood Ninja solo dangerous? Claiming the battlefield was 'too dangerous' was a complete joke.
"Coward!" Madara taunted, attempting a crude provocation.
"Mm," Xuan hummed, completely unfazed.
"Come to the battlefield with me."
"And how exactly do you plan on getting there?"
"We sneak out and follow the army, obviously!"
"Bullshit."
"I'll beat the crap out of you."
"Bring it."
"If you don't go, I'm staying at your house forever."
"Suit yourself," Xuan shrugged indifferently. "Hotaru, bring out a spare futon and make a bed on the floor for Young Master Madara."
Faced with such an impenetrable, shameless brick wall of a personality, a profound sense of melancholy washed over Madara.
He felt like a dog trying to bite into a turtle shell—there was simply no angle of attack.
He spent the next hour pleading, threatening, and using every manipulative tactic he could think of, but Xuan remained completely unmoved.
No matter what grand visions Madara painted, the answer was always the same two words: "Not going."
Eventually, the future legendary Ghost of the Uchiha—the man destined to one day solo the Five Kage—hung his head like a defeated rooster and trudged out the door.
His grand plan to sneak onto the battlefield had evaporated into thin air.
Once Madara left, Xuan stood up and walked over to the open window.
He reached out, catching a drifting cherry blossom petal in his palm.
It was late March. The weather was undeniably pleasant—perfect conditions for a war.
His refusal to join Madara wasn't born out of cowardice.
While the sheer danger of a massive battlefield was a factor, it wasn't the primary one.
With the Flying Raijin Jutsu in his arsenal, surviving a chaotic warzone was guaranteed.
Even if an enemy used a Jutsu to drastically alter the terrain, as long as Xuan scattered his marked kunai across a ten-mile radius, his life would never truly be in peril.
The real reason he refused was simple: he didn't believe fighting in this war would help him break through to the Jōnin tier. Why risk his neck for zero payout?
He and Madara were both Tokubetsu Jōnin, but there was one glaring difference between them: their age.
Madara was eight years old. He still had plenty of immediate physical potential to unlock, meaning life-or-death combat could genuinely forge him into a stronger shinobi.
Xuan, on the other hand, was only five.
Yet his current arsenal included the Flying Raijin Jutsu, the Rasengan, Fire Style: Dragon Flame Bomb, Fire Style: Flame Slash, Demonic Illusion: Fox Beheading, the Crow Clone Technique... and soon, he would likely purchase an exclusive Mangekyō Sharingan visual prowess.
For a five-year-old child to master all of this was already pushing the absolute limits of human biology.
Furthermore, techniques like the Flying Raijin and the Rasengan still had massive room for development.
In short, Xuan's combat strength had already hit a hard ceiling for his current age.
What restricted him wasn't a lack of experience, but his physical immaturity.
Once his body grew, his chakra capacity and physical stats would naturally skyrocket, dragging his overall power level up with them.
Therefore, he had zero interest in throwing himself into a meat grinder.
His immediate priority was to fully digest his current arsenal and quietly wait for Hashirama Senju and Madara to have their fateful meeting at the river.
Ah, but with the clan marching to war, I don't really have anything to do around here, Xuan mused, rubbing his chin.
I don't plan on taking another bounty anytime soon. What should I do to pass the time?
His eyes drifted toward the kitchen, where Hotaru was quietly washing the teacups.
A spark of inspiration hit him.
Right. I wanted to start building my own independent faction. I might as well start with the people closest to me.
However, there was no rush.
Tajima was the one who originally assigned Hotaru to him.
While the little maid seemed genuinely devoted and attached to him, Xuan's innate paranoia demanded he carefully observe her loyalty before bringing her into the fold.
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