The air in the Uchiha compound's main hall was thick with the scent of incense and simmering tension. The elders sat in stern silence, while the younger clansmen fidgeted, their eyes wide after the day's unbelievable events. At the center of it all was Madara, seated in his customary chair, his posture rigid, his face an unreadable mask of stormy contemplation. The silence was heavy, broken only by the soft, sticky sound of a three-year-old chewing.
Hana, perched on a cushion someone had provided, finished her latest dango and looked around at the solemn faces. She seemed to decide the mood was entirely too gloomy. Wiping her hands on her tiny kimono, she pointed a sticky finger at Madara.
"Madara sama you really the luckiest uchiha," she began, her voice a cheerful chirp in the somber room.
Madara's eye twitched. Luck was not a concept he felt applied to him.
"the fire daimyo will be your father in law no need to worry about money nor about stinky tobirama shit head that always say evil uchiha all the time,"
A few of the younger Uchiha choked back snorts of laughter, quickly disguising them as coughs when several elders shot them withering glares. Madara's hands, which were resting on his knees, clenched into fists. The vulgarity from one so small was jarring, but the sentiment… the sentiment was one he heard echoed in the whispers of his clan every day.
"he smart yeah will try to choke our clan on politics but who is daimyo family they are the ruler of the land of fire they got there because they are master on politics,"
This gave even the elders pause. The child's simplistic analysis was brutally accurate. Tobirama's political machinations were a primary concern. Aligning themselves directly with the Daimyo, the ultimate political authority, would indeed neutralize that threat completely. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. Madara's clenched fists loosened slightly. His sharp mind, always calculating, couldn't help but follow the logic.
"so you won't worry about your children or even great grandchildren being ever defeated by stinky senju or tobirama shit head ,"
The mention of his children and grandchildren, a future he had long since buried under cynicism and bitterness, caused a strange, almost painful lurch in Madara's chest. He looked at Hana, truly looked at her, seeing not just a child, but the embodiment of the clan's desperate hope for a secure future.
Then came the next part. Hana's tone shifted to one of casual, deadly practicality.
"also if tobirama did get annoying just let him to a faraway mission then oh he dead what can we do everyone knows that ninjas might die during missions haa at least he aren't married so their won't be widow nor any child carrying his stinky blood yeah ,"
The room went deathly still. The casual suggestion of assassinating the Hokage's brother, of using the shinobi system itself to eliminate a political rival, was so baldly stated that it sucked the air from the hall. It was the kind of dark, ruthless thought many had, but none would ever voice. And here it was, spoken with a chilling lack of malice, as if she were suggesting they take out the trash.
Madara stared at her, his sharingan unconsciously activating, capturing every detail of her innocent, serious face. He saw no evil intent, only a fierce, brutal loyalty to the clan and a simple solution to a problem. It was the most Uchiha thing he had ever witnessed.
And then, she delivered the final blow. She invoked Izuna.
"izuna sama on pure land can laugh at tobirama death as tobirama dead on a mission while izuna sama dead during a war honorably protecting his clan,"
Madara flinched as if struck. The image of his brother, his laughter, the idea of granting him this posthumous victory over his killer—it was a targeted strike directly at the heart of all his rage and grief.
"also madara sama his big brother is son in law of the fire daimyo and his child is second hokage ruling konohagakure truly and the best clan head on uchiha history."
She finished and beamed at him, as if she had just presented him with a beautifully wrapped gift.
The reaction in the room was a maelstrom of suppressed emotions. The elders were pale, horrified and yet perversely impressed by the sheer, audacious scope of the future she had just painted. The younger clansmen were looking at Madara with a new, fervent light in their eyes. This was not just survival; this was supremacy. This was legacy.
And Madara?
His initial anger and humiliation had evaporated, replaced by something far more complex. He saw the raw, unfiltered will of his clan in this child. He saw a path to victory that didn't require endless war or a moon-sized genjutsu. It was a path of ruthless politics, powerful alliances, and cold, calculated power—a path he had never considered because his pride had always demanded a direct, violent confrontation.
He looked down at his hands, then back at Hana's expectant face. A slow, deep, and utterly terrifying smile spread across his features. It was not a smile of joy, but of revelation.
The little girl hadn't just been throwing a tantrum. She had, in her own bizarre way, just given him everything he had ever wanted for his clan: security, power, vengeance, and a legacy that would utterly eclipse the Senju.
He leaned forward, his voice a low rumble that silenced the entire room.
"...Perhaps... we should send a formal delegation to the Daimyo's court to... discuss the potential for an alliance."