The Hatake clan was not a famous one. In fact, its numbers were so small that few even considered it a true clan.
But one man changed everything for this unremarkable family.
Hatake Sakumo—known throughout the ninja world as Konoha's White Fang. His mastery of the blade was legendary. Even the renowned Three Sannin were said to fall short of him in both experience and skill.
Yet, because his battlefield achievements were too great, he drew the attention of the shadows beneath the village—the organization known as Root. Their interference led to a failed mission, and soon malicious rumors began to spread.
It was whispered that even the Third Hokage had tacitly allowed it to happen.
Unable to bear the crushing weight of betrayal and scorn, Sakumo took his own life.
After his death, his son—Hatake Kakashi—rose to fame.
He graduated from the Academy at five, became a Chūnin at six, and reached Jōnin by twelve. His growth was nothing short of miraculous.
Father and son alike—both geniuses who elevated the prestige of their once-forgotten clan.
But fate was cruel. One died under the weight of guilt; the other lived haunted by memories of loss.
Thinking of this, Kaede couldn't help but feel a trace of sympathy as he looked at Hatake Isshin, the man before him.
The older man chuckled softly, a touch of self-deprecation in his tone.
"When you get old, you start rambling too much. Don't mind me."
In a world where most died young, calling himself "old" was no exaggeration.
Kaede smiled. "Not at all. I actually like listening."
He then asked curiously, "Uncle, can you forge ninja blades here?"
Isshin blinked, surprised by the sudden change of topic, but nodded.
"Of course. Do you need one for your family?"
"No," Kaede said with a grin. "I want one for myself."
Isshin frowned. "For you? You're far too young. Ninja swords aren't toys, kid."
He knew too well that a single careless swing could lead to tragedy. A child shouldn't be wielding such a weapon.
Seeing the man's hesitation, Kaede quickly added,
"I've already refined my chakra! My family agreed!" —a complete lie, of course. If his mother saw him with a sword, he'd be in for a long lovely 'Education'.
Isshin raised an eyebrow, studying him carefully. A faint look of surprise crossed his face.
He wasn't lying. The boy's chakra really was refined—dense and powerful.
At his age… this amount?
Isshin inhaled sharply. "Incredible."
Though he wasn't a shinobi himself, his experience told him what he was sensing. This child already had chakra reserves on par with an elite chūnin.
"Alright," Isshin said at last, smiling faintly. "Come back in a few days. I'll forge it for you—and I'll even give you a twenty percent discount."
Kaede beamed. "Thank you, Uncle!"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of coins.
"I'm not sure if this is enough. I can make up the rest next time."
Isshin took only part of the payment, then gently pushed the rest back into Kaede's hand.
"This will do."
Kaede counted in his head and frowned. "Uncle, you didn't take enough."
"Haha! Consider the rest a meeting gift."
Isshin laughed, clearly amused by the boy's honesty.
"But…" Kaede started to protest, but Isshin had already turned away, pretending not to hear.
With no other choice, Kaede accepted the kindness and called out loudly at the doorway,
"Thank you, Uncle Isshin!"
He wasn't sure if the man heard—but the smile on Isshin's face inside the house said he did.
"Quite the decent kid," Isshin murmured to himself.
Just then, a woman approached him. "What's wrong? Did those troublemakers bother you again?"
"No, not them," Isshin replied with a faint smile. "Just… met an interesting boy."
He shook his head and added, "We'll talk about it later. I think that kid and I are bound to meet again."
The woman nodded softly, trusting her husband's instincts.
---
Meanwhile, Kaede hummed cheerfully as he walked home. His mood was bright—he'd not only met Hatake's ancestor but also commissioned a custom ninja blade.
Every boy dreamed of holding a weapon one day. He hadn't had that chance in his previous life; this time, he was going to make up for it.
Lost in thought, imagining himself striking cool poses with a sword, he didn't notice someone walking straight toward him.
Bang!
Kaede smacked headfirst into the stranger, the impact sending him sprawling onto the ground.
"Ow… that hurt!" he groaned.
"Sorry about that—I wasn't paying attention," Kaede said quickly, brushing off the dust and bowing apologetically.
"Hmm… so you're the kid Hashirama took as his student?"
The man's voice was calm but laced with disdain. His eyes scanned Kaede from head to toe, unimpressed.
Kaede froze for an instant, then slowly looked up, his expression wary.
"And who are you?"
His entire body tensed. The chakra he'd expended earlier hadn't fully recovered, so he couldn't sense this man's strength precisely—but the sheer aura rolling off him told him one thing clearly: this was someone far stronger than his father.
A powerful shinobi.
"Good awareness," the man said coldly. "But too slow. If I were an enemy, you'd already be dead."
His words were sharp and merciless, with no regard for Kaede's age. It wasn't malice—just brutal honesty.
"Right now, Konoha isn't as peaceful as it seems. Spies lurk everywhere. If you met one now, you wouldn't stand a chance. As Hashirama's disciple, you're far from qualified."
As he spoke, an overwhelming pressure erupted from his body.
Kaede's blood ran cold. It was as if the air itself froze. His chest tightened; his body refused to move. The weight of that killing intent pressed down like an avalanche.
But even as his limbs trembled, Kaede refused to bow. His eyes burned with defiance.
The man's gaze flickered briefly—just a flash of acknowledgment—then the suffocating aura vanished as suddenly as it came.
Kaede collapsed to his knees, drenched in sweat, gasping for air.
"You're too weak," the man said flatly, stepping forward to look down on him. "Right now, you're nothing but a stain on Hashirama's name."
Kaede's legs shook, but he forced himself to stand.
Though his body wavered, his voice was steady.
"No one's strong from the beginning. Everyone grows. One day—I'll surpass my teacher. I swear it!"
The conviction in his voice was unwavering, burning like a flame.
Anyone else might have laughed at such arrogance.
But the man only smirked slightly, his expression unreadable. He gave Kaede one last look, then began to walk away.
"I admire your confidence," he said over his shoulder, "and at the same time, I despise it."
"Let's hope that day you speak of truly comes."
Kaede clenched his fists, shouting after him with all the breath he had left:
"Tell me your name! I'll prove it to you someday!"
The man paused, his back still turned. His voice, deep and commanding, echoed like thunder down the street:
"My name—Uchiha Madara!"
And before Kaede could even blink, the man was gone—vanishing from sight, leaving behind only the crushing weight of that legendary name.