The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to slice with a kunai. Conversations halted as a masked man materialized, his arrival as silent as it was unnerving. The Sharingan gleamed ominously in his right eye, a beacon of dread that sent shivers down even the most hardened shinobi's spines.
Sharingan? An Uchiha?
The way he appeared—seemingly bending space to his will—was enough to put everyone on edge. Seasoned warriors were no strangers to danger, but this was different. This was unsettling.
"Everyone, stand back! He's... Akatsuki!" Tsunade's voice cut through the silence, commanding and sharp. She stepped back herself, her sharp eyes locked on the intruder, studying him with the precision of a battlefield tactician.
Spatial distortion... Time-space ninjutsu? Great, just what we needed—another absurdly overpowered headache.
"Akatsuki?" The murmurs of the assembled shinobi filled the air briefly before being replaced by the rustle of movement as they instinctively created space between themselves and the masked man. The Akatsuki name alone was enough to command wariness. Every member was a walking anomaly, wielding powers so bizarre they bordered on supernatural.
Mifune, the veteran samurai, stepped forward with his blade unsheathed. Wind chakra rippled along its edge, a deadly hum resonating through the room. His voice was calm but authoritative, carrying the weight of decades on the battlefield. "To capture the Two-Tails and then dare to show your face here? You've got guts."
The Raikage, however, was never one for measured words—or actions. Lightning chakra crackled and danced around his body, forming an armor of raw power. His muscles tensed, his eyes burning with uncontained rage. "Go to hell, bastard!" he roared, launching himself forward like a bolt of lightning, the room erupting in a crackling flash of blue.
Lariat! The Raikage's signature move closed the distance in a heartbeat, his fist driving toward the masked man's chest with the force of a thunderclap.
And yet... nothing.
The Raikage's arm passed through the masked man's body as though he were a phantom. He hurtled into the wall behind him, demolishing it in a shower of rubble and dust. The crash echoed ominously.
"What the...?!"
Shock rippled through the crowd. The Raikage emerged from the debris, his face twisted in confusion. "An illusion?" Terumi Mei, ever analytical, voiced the question that hung in the air.
Ohnoki, floating above the chaos, shook his head grimly. "No. There's no fluctuation in our chakra. This isn't genjutsu. It must be his bloodline ability."
The pieces began to fall into place, though no one liked the picture they were assembling. Sharingan. Time-space manipulation. An Uchiha with this level of power? Ohnoki's frown deepened as he shot a wary glance toward Tsunade.
This wasn't just any Uchiha.
"Does it matter who I am?" The masked man's voice was low, dripping with indifference. He leaned back slightly, his Sharingan sweeping the room like a predator assessing its prey. "Since you're all so curious, let's just say... you've probably heard of me."
Rumors. Whispers. Ohnoki's stomach twisted as memories surfaced—stories he'd long wished to forget. Surely not him. Surely it couldn't be him.
Before anyone could voice their fears, a sudden sound broke the tension.
"Mmm, strawberry cake. So good."
All eyes turned to Gojo Satoru, seated casually at a table in the corner, a slice of cake in his hand. He was a glaring contrast to the tension-filled room, his demeanor as carefree as a child's on a sugar rush.
The masked man's eye twitched. Even he seemed momentarily thrown off by the sheer audacity of Gojo's casual munching. "Gojo," he said, his tone exasperated. "You never change."
Gojo glanced up, wiping a crumb from his lip. "What can I say? Cake waits for no man." He gestured toward the masked man with his fork. "Anyway, don't let me stop your big bad monologue. I'm just here for the snacks."
Kurenai, meanwhile, had her kunai at the ready, her instincts screaming at her to act. "This guy—he's Uchiha—"
Before she could finish, Gojo shoved the remaining slice of cake into her mouth, silencing her protests.
"Mmpph! Mmmphh!" Kurenai flailed, her cheeks puffed out as she tried to spit out the overly sweet confection.
Gojo wagged a finger at her, grinning. "Tsk, tsk. Villains work hard on their dramatic reveals. Let's not ruin the man's moment, yeah?"
Kurenai finally managed to swallow, glaring daggers at him. "Ugh, it's too sweet! And what's wrong with you, Gojo?!"
Gojo chuckled, leaning in to tug playfully at her cheek. "Relax, Kurenai. If you interrupt now, karma will drop a meteor on you later. Trust me, I've seen it happen."
The masked man exhaled slowly, his patience clearly thinning. "Are you done?"
"Not quite," Gojo replied, standing and brushing cake crumbs from his uniform. "But hey, the spotlight's yours. Knock us dead—figuratively, if you don't mind."
Tsunade, meanwhile, had pieced everything together. Her sharp gaze never left the masked man. She already knew his identity, thanks to Gojo's earlier intel. This was Obito Uchiha—the true leader of the Akatsuki.
Beside her, Terumi Mei tilted her head, her curiosity genuine. "So... seriously, who is this guy?"
Gojo cupped his hands around his mouth and called out dramatically, "C'mon, big guy, don't keep us in suspense! Drop the name. Make it epic!"
The masked man chuckled softly, his voice carrying a chilling confidence. "You want to know who I am?"
He stepped forward, his presence filling the room with an oppressive aura. His voice echoed as he made his declaration.
"Madara. Madara Uchiha."
The room fell silent.
Even the Raikage, ever the first to act, hesitated. Ohnoki's face paled, memories of his youth flashing before him. The name alone carried a weight that suffocated the room.
Madara Uchiha. The man who once brought the ninja world to its knees. A legend whose shadow loomed over history itself.
Ohnoki's fists clenched tightly, his jaw tightening as a familiar voice echoed in his mind. "Surrender to the power of Uchiha," Madara had once said, his voice calm yet filled with absolute dominance.
The air seemed heavier, the room colder. If this masked man truly was Madara, then they weren't just dealing with an enemy. They were facing a force of nature—a nightmare incarnate.
Gojo, however, broke the silence with a lazy yawn. "Madara, huh? Cool name. Sounds like a bad guy in a fantasy novel." He leaned back, grinning. "So, do we fight now, or do we let the drama simmer for a bit?"
The masked man's Sharingan glimmered dangerously. "I suppose you'll find out soon enough."