Danzo seethed with anger. He could feel his instincts urging him to kill the disrespectful brat in front of him on the spot—but he managed to restrain himself.
This is Konoha, and Mito still lives. Forget the outcome of the fight; if he killed Hoshiyomi, even advanced in rank, his reputation would be ruined. People would say he bullied a kid and lost.
With Mito's influence, he'd lose every drop of credibility. That's not how he planned to rise in power.
So he forced himself to endure—for now.
I'll wait 'til Mito's gone.
Once she's out of the way, Danzo could use his ties with Hiruzen and his secret allies to seize influence. With power, even if Gekkō Hoshiyomi was strong, he would only be good for dying quietly.
He calmed himself, rounded his shoulders, and turned back to Hoshiyomi.
"Gekkō Hoshiyomi, one day you'll regret walking away from this choice."
Classic villain line delivered with cold calm.
Without waiting for a reply, Danzo simply turned and walked away.
Hoshiyomi let him go. After all, Danzo was the Second Hokage's direct disciple. Though suppressed by Mito's influence, his position could not be dismissed.
Besides, Danzo was still powerful. This wasn't the crippled old schemer relying on Izanagi—this was Danzo at full strength, with years of cunning behind him.
Hoshiyomi didn't yet have the firepower to kill him—nor the clout to pull it off and walk away. So he didn't pursue. Let Danzo leave.
Once he was gone, Hoshiyomi strolled home at an easy pace. Whatever grudges Danzo has in mind didn't bother him. He's growing too fast—the gap's only getting wider.
If Danzo still dares act like the arrogant scumbag from canon, then I'll happily prove him wrong.
...
Later that evening, while Hoshiyomi enjoyed dinner with his mother, far away at the border of the Land of Fire and Land of Earth, a shadowy white humanoid figure surveyed the dense brush.
It slipped silently into the soil and sank underground.
If Hoshiyomi had been there, he would have recognized it immediately. The strange white humanoid was none other than White Zetsu, the infamous entity from the original timeline.
The figure slithered through a maze of roots and soil until it reached a dim underground cavern.
No sooner had it arrived than a voice echoed from the chambers:
"Have you found a suitable host?"
Following the gaze, White Zetsu saw an ancient figure seated on a carved stone throne, white hair bristling. Tubes emerged from his spine, feeding into a massive shadow behind him. Though gaunt and frail-looking, a terrifying aura flowed from him—especially from his eyes: pale lavender concentric rings, filled with overwhelming presence.
Just one look felt like suffocating pressure.
The location, the aura, the eyes… this man had to be none other than:
Uchiha Madara—One of the Founding Father of Konoha, Hashirama's rival-turned-friend, legendary shinobi and dancer, and the first Uchiha wielding the ultimate dojutsu.
White Zetsu bowed slightly.
"My apologies. I've been searching for a long time, but I still haven't found a suitable member of the Senju clan. As you know, the younger generation of the Senju are even weaker than the Uchiha descendants. The only ones who might survive the power of those eyes without dying instantly are Tsunade and Nawaki—but they're both inside Konoha. There's no chance to get them out."
Madara remained silent for a moment, forced to concede the point.
But without a proper vessel, his plan would stall.
His body was failing. If he used his eyes at full strength now, he'd die within three years.
Yet his plan hadn't even begun. He needed more time.
To gain those years, he would have to entrust his eyes to a host—someone to contain their burden.
He had cultivated this power using Hashirama's flesh, even going so far as to implant a normal three-tomoe Sharingan to deceive his old rival into battle. Nearly everything was in place. All that remained was finding a suitable vessel—not a backup plan.
As Madara brooded, another voice emerged from the shadows behind him:
"Lord Madara, there is a clan besides the Senju that could handle this power—and that's the Uzumaki clan in the Land of Whirlpools."
Madara turned toward the whispering shadow and allowed a faint, near-imperceptible smile to form.
"You and I are thinking along the same lines."
The figure—Black Zetsu—responded with loops of reverent tone:
"Lord Madara jests. I am the embodiment of your will, so of course I would have the same thoughts as you.."
Zetsu's expression remained enigmatic, his true motives hidden.
Madara didn't fully trust Zetsu at first—it was natural. Yet black Zetsu had never betrayed him. Even in his worst state, their minds aligned entirely, and Zetsu helped refine his plans.
A decade of loyalty had convinced Madara: Zetsu was the embodiment of his will.
White Zetsu spoke again, clearly awaiting instructions:
"Shall I proceed to the Land of Whirlpools to seek a host?"
Madara interjected, "Not yet."
"The Uzumaki are masters of sealing—they have people with unique senses. You'll have trouble infiltrating openly. I'll need more time to plan."
Black Zetsu added quietly,
"A full Uzumaki stronghold is impossible to penetrate—but what if we targeted one of their smaller ninja villages after it was destroyed?"
Madara's eyes darkened.
"You mean…?"
Zetsu nodded.
"Countless shinobi clans envy the Uzumaki's sealing expertise. And the fall of an Uzumaki stronghold benefits many."
PS: Read Advance Chapters at https://www.patreon.com/c/ReadJin