Time seemed to stand still.
Madara Uchiha's body was as stiff as stone, and even the slight trembling that had been there before had completely stopped.
He slowly—very slowly—lowered his head.
Those shattered, blood-stained, scarlet Sharingan eyes fixed on the face of the "younger brother" in his arms.
Akira—or rather, Izuna—was also experiencing a surge of emotions at this moment.
Holy crap?!
Was that sound made by me?
I can't move, can I?
Could it be a side effect of the system activating? Did it slightly restore control of my vocal cords?
He tried to make some noise again—something like, "Brother, I'm not completely dead! Quickly find a medical ninja!"—but his throat remained sealed as if packed with cement. He couldn't move at all.
That sound must have been an accident—an instinctive twitch triggered by the system's energy.
But Madara obviously didn't think so.
The sadness in his Sharingan eyes receded like the tide.
Instead, utter shock, disbelief, and a faint glimmer of hope—suppressed by madness—flickered within them.
"Izuna…?"
Madara's voice trembled violently, even more than when he'd been weeping. "Was that… you just now?"
He held his breath, waiting.
The only sound in the cave was the crackling of torches.
Akira was frantic:
It's me! It's me, Brother!
Quickly realize it! Quickly figure out I'm still alive!
Use that invincible brain of yours—the reincarnation of Indra—and think!
But he couldn't give any outward sign.
After several long seconds of silence, the flame of hope in Madara's eyes dimmed, replaced by deeper pain and bitter self-mockery.
"…A hallucination?" he muttered, voice low and hoarse. "Because I wanted you to be alive so badly… I imagined your voice…"
It's not a hallucination! Akira screamed inwardly. It's not, Madara!
Your younger brother, Uchiha Izuna, has had his soul replaced!
I just want to lie down and rest! Get me a doctor—now! It'll be too late if we wait any longer!
He strained to concentrate, trying to channel the faint warm current of the system to break through the blockage in his throat—but it barely responded.
The system was like a stingy landlord, only willing to maintain the bare minimum required to keep him alive, giving nothing more.
Madara looked down at the pale, lifeless face in his arms. His back, which had straightened slightly moments ago, hunched over again.
He let out a bitter laugh, shook his head, and tears silently streamed down his cheeks once more.
"As expected… it was just my imagination…"
He pulled Izuna close again, burying his face in his brother's cold neck, shoulders trembling as if he'd returned to being nothing more than a grieving older brother.
Akira felt utterly hopeless:
It's over. Communication failed.
What good is this damn system if all it gives me is mind-reading? Let me move!
Just as he raged at the system's uselessness, Madara's body stiffened again—more sharply than before.
He snapped his head up, eyes wide with confusion and uncertainty.
He scanned the empty cave. Only he and the "corpse" in his arms remained.
"Who?!" Madara barked, voice edged with vigilance—and a trace of panic. "Who's speaking?! Show yourself!"
Akira froze.
Wait… what? Who spoke? Who is he talking to?
The cave was silent.
Madara's Sharingan spun wildly, chakra senses stretched to their limit—but he found no intruder.
Yet he'd clearly heard a voice: a young man's voice, unfamiliar, speaking strange words like "corporate slave," "lie down," "doctor," and "it's over." Though he didn't understand all the terms, he felt the raw anxiety, despair, and frustration behind them.
And the voice… seemed directed at Izuna.
Evil ninjutsu? Madara thought, dread turning to fury. Some soul-targeting technique? Someone is spying on Izuna's body?!
A terrifying killing intent erupted in his eyes. Anyone who dared touch his brother—even in death—would pay dearly.
"You cowardly rat hiding in the shadows!" Madara snarled, voice icy and oppressive. "Come out!"
Akira finally understood.
Passive mind-reading!
It's working! He heard my thoughts!
Relief flooded him—then panic.
But he thinks it's an enemy!
I need to make him realize the voice is coming from me!
He focused inward, shouting mentally:
Madara! Brother!
Look at me! The voice is coming from your arms—it's your dear brother, Izuna!
Madara's pupils contracted.
He looked down, his gaze sharp as a blade scraping over Izuna's still face.
This time, he was certain.
That chaotic, sarcastic voice… came from Izuna's body. From his consciousness?
How?
Izuna was dead—breath gone, heartbeat stilled, skin cold. He'd confirmed it himself.
Yet there was thought. Active, frantic thought.
Could it be… residual will? The lingering chakra of a powerful shinobi after death? Izuna had wielded a mature three-tomoe Sharingan. Such a phenomenon wasn't unheard of…
Hope surged in Madara's chest, tangled with grief and confusion.
The murderous intent faded. He leaned closer, voice barely a whisper:
"Izuna… is… is that you?"
"Is your soul still awake?"
Akira nearly sobbed with relief (if he could).
Yes! It's me!
You finally got it, Brother! That was way too hard!
It's so hard to communicate with you anime characters!
He poured out his thoughts:
Listen, the situation's complicated—I can't explain everything now!
But I'm not dead yet! There's still hope!
Stop crying and go find a medical ninja—the best one!
Seal my wounds first! Keep me stable!
If we wait any longer, I really will meet the Sage of Six Paths!
Madara caught fragments—"Sage of Six Paths" he knew, but "anime characters"? The tone was wrong. The Izuna he remembered was calm, loyal, dignified.
This voice was frantic, modern, laced with slang and despair.
Is this truly Izuna? Or something wearing his skin?
Suspicion flared—then faltered as he looked at his brother's familiar face. Regardless of what it was… the voice came from Izuna's body. That was enough.
He took a steadying breath, ignoring the incomprehensible phrases, focusing on the core plea: Save me.
"You… can still be saved?" he asked aloud, voice rough.
Yes! Absolutely! Akira urged. Every second counts!
Madara's eyes hardened with resolve. He gently laid Izuna on the ground—no longer with the stillness of grief, but with purpose.
"Good," he said, voice low and firm—as if swearing an oath. "I won't let you die, Izuna. Your brother will save you."
Hands flew through seals. Chakra glowed at his fingertips as he began the Uchiha sealing technique—stabilizing the wound, halting decay, preserving what little life remained.
Akira exhaled mentally.
Finally… we got through to that stubborn Uchiha…
Then, the system chimed:
[Ding! The host's inner thoughts have been heard by the key character 'Uchiha Madara,' triggering intense emotional fluctuations: shock, confusion, hope, murderous intent, determination.]
[Congratulations! First exposure reward unlocked!]
[Reward calculation in progress… based on fluctuation intensity and plot impact…]
[Rewards: Accelerated bodily function repair (24 hours), +10 to ocular prowess, passive mind-reading range increased to 15 meters!]
[Exposure Points +50!]
Warmth flooded Akira's body—stronger than before. The agony in his chest eased; his limbs tingled with returning sensation. Beneath closed lids, his Sharingan pulsed faintly, the tomoe sharpening as if reawakening.
It works! he rejoiced. Exposure makes me stronger! So that's the mechanic!
As long as my thoughts are heard and move someone emotionally, I grow!
But then he hesitated.
Does that mean… I can't just rant freely anymore?
He watched Madara—this man who would one day seek to burn the world—now working desperately to save his brother with trembling hands.
A strange tenderness rose in Akira's chest.
Brother… he thought softly, even if I'm not the Izuna you knew… I've received your kindness.
From now on, let me—your "younger brother"—help you avoid the path of hatred.
We won't let history repeat itself.
Madara's hand paused mid-seal.
He'd heard that voice again.
This time, no complaints—only solemn resolve.
He looked at Izuna's peaceful face, Sharingan swirling with uncertainty.
Izuna… what happened to you?
The question took root in his heart like a seed.