When Ito Akira woke up the next morning, his entire body was wracked with pain.
Every muscle screamed.
That alone confused him. Even though all of his training with Uchiha Madara had taken place inside the spiritual space, the damage he'd suffered there was being reflected clearly on his real body.
No…
Calling it "training" was generous.
He hadn't fought Madara at all.
He'd been beaten—completely one-sidedly.
Still, despite clearly suspecting Madara of venting some personal resentment, Akira had to admit something important.
Madara had taught him seriously.
After just a single night of being mercilessly battered, Akira could already feel the difference.
Madara hadn't used a single ninjutsu on him—not even the basic Transformation or Substitution techniques. He'd relied purely on overwhelming physical ability and flawless combat instincts, leaving Akira with no chance to retaliate.
It was terrifying.
The shinobi of the Warring States era truly were monsters.
Akira had sparred with his father and grandfather before—both of them were jōnin, after all. But compared to Madara, their fighting felt… childish.
Like roughhousing.
That was when Akira finally understood why Madara always asked opponents the same question before battle:
Do you want to dance?
Because Madara's fighting style didn't feel like combat at all.
It really was like a dance.
Elegant. Fluid. Beautiful.
And utterly lethal.
At that moment, Akira became even more convinced that the system's decision to grant him his first summoning—Uchiha Madara—was an incredible stroke of fortune.
There was simply too much he could learn from him.
If it had been Senju Hashirama instead…
Akira shuddered.
He probably wouldn't even have time to cry.
Hashirama would clap his hands, summon a massive wooden Buddha, and smash him straight into the ground.
Akira could even imagine it—Hashirama smiling brightly afterward and asking with genuine curiosity:
"Did I teach you well?"
The image was so vivid that Akira couldn't help but grin.
He slowly pushed himself upright and dressed carefully.
"Hiss… It feels like every bone in my body's about to fall apart," he muttered."That damn Uchiha Madara… Don't even think about touching another pig trotter."
During the previous night, Akira had discovered that Madara had developed a strange fondness for pig trotters.
He'd even asked about it out of curiosity, but Madara had hesitated, brushed it off, and—without explanation—left an absurd number of pig trotters behind in the spiritual space.
Within the Spiritual Space
After confirming that Ito Akira had left, Uchiha Madara picked up a blank scroll.
It had been created out of nothing using that same mysterious method Akira relied on.
Madara examined it carefully.
He even activated his Mangekyō Sharingan.
But no matter how he looked at it, the scroll was completely ordinary.
That alone surprised him.
That brat's methods may be far more unusual than I thought.
Still, Madara didn't dwell on Akira for long.
He opened the scroll and calmly began carving a sealing formula onto it.
For someone like Madara, creating a sealing scroll was trivial. Moments later, a fully functional seal was complete.
As he looked at the finished scroll, a strange smile appeared on his face.
If Akira were paying attention to the spiritual space at that moment, he would have noticed something unexpected—
Madara's expression held a trace of warmth.
The next instant, Madara began sealing stacks of food into the scroll.
Roasted pig trotters.Braised pig trotters.Spiced pig trotters.
Everything piled up in the kitchen vanished into the seal.
Once the scroll was full, Madara tucked it away against his body.
That brat had mentioned before that he could now form summoning contracts with the dead of Konohagakure, using that strange summoning method of his.
Which meant…
That idiot Senju Hashirama might very well be summoned here someday.
And pig trotters were his favorite.
When the time comes, Madara thought, I'll hand him this scroll.
That fool would be ecstatic.
He'd probably grab Madara, hug him, and cry in gratitude.
The thought made Madara's smile widen.
So you'd better thank me properly when that happens, you damned simpleton.
For some reason, after spending a night around Akira, the lingering shame and anger in Madara's heart had faded.
And when he thought about Akira…
It felt strangely like looking at another version of himself.
The sensation was unfamiliar.
And because of it, Madara found himself missing Hashirama even more.
Akira, of course, had no idea what was happening inside the spiritual space.
Unlike Sarutobi Hiruzen, he had no interest—or habit—of spying.
After washing up and getting dressed, Akira headed to the dining table.
His father, grandfather, and mother were already seated.
Ito Hanako glanced at her son and frowned slightly.
"Akira…"
"Yes, Mom?"
Her gaze lingered on his face.
"Did you not sleep well last night?"
"Huh? I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
She hesitated, then spoke gently.
"You have dark circles under your eyes…And you don't look very energetic."
Then she tilted her head.
"Do you have someone you like?Or… are you already in love?"
"PFF—!"
Akira sprayed rice everywhere.
"Mom! What are you saying?! I'm still a ninja academy student! Isn't that way too early? At least let me graduate first!"