"My name—Uchiha Madara!!"
The domineering, prideful voice echoed endlessly in Kaede's ears, filling his mind with thunderous impact.
His eyes widened as his heart surged with adrenaline.
Uchiha Madara.
He hadn't recognized him at first — the man's appearance was different from the aged face he remembered from the stories and images decades later.
But that voice... that arrogance, that absolute confidence — there could be no mistake.
It fit his image perfectly.
Kaede lowered his gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips as his eyes burned with a growing resolve.
"The Ghost of Uchiha… heh, the day we meet again won't be too far off."
Madara's sudden appearance had struck him like lightning.
A wake-up call.
The shinobi world was merciless — a place where order was nothing more than an illusion. Even in Konoha, under its peace and prosperity, shadows churned beneath the surface.
To survive in this world, one could rely only on strength.
He'd been living too comfortably, too peacefully. And that peace had dulled his edge.
Kaede stood frozen in thought for a long time. Then, with a quiet laugh, he turned and walked away — his back straighter, his footsteps heavier, as though carrying an unseen weight upon his shoulders.
---
When he returned home, his usual bright energy was gone.
For once, Kaede said nothing. He simply walked straight to his room without a word.
Kinomoto Sakura blinked in surprise.
"What's wrong with him?"
Hoshino Yota shrugged casually.
"No idea. He went out fine and came back like that."
That careless answer earned him a sharp glare. Sakura's soft hair fluttered as she turned on him, fury glowing in her eyes.
Seeing that, Yota let out a nervous laugh and quickly made his escape — straight into Kaede's room.
He knocked once. After hearing a faint "come in," he opened the door.
Inside, Kaede was hunched over, staring intently at a stack of ninjutsu scrolls — the ones his father had given him. His focus was unbroken, eyes scanning line after line.
Yota opened his mouth to speak, but Kaede interrupted without looking up.
"Dad, I'm fine."
"…Alright," Yota said softly. "Just remember to rest."
Seeing his son so serious, he couldn't bring himself to disturb him further. With a quiet nod, he stepped back out.
Silence filled the room once again.
Kaede's eyes stayed fixed on the scrolls, studying every jutsu his father had passed down.
Yota was a jutsu-type shinobi — a veteran Elite Jōnin — proficient in a wide range of techniques, including several S-rank ones.
Most of the scrolls contained B-rank and A-rank ninjutsu, but as Kaede flipped through them, one entry at the end made his pulse quicken.
Flying Raijin Jutsu.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
Dad has this?
That was a space–time ninjutsu — a legendary technique.
It was the creation of Tobirama Senju, later perfected by Minato Namikaze, and it had turned the tide of countless wars.
But this jutsu was classified as forbidden — sealed within the Scroll of Seals, heavily guarded by the village.
Even for an elite shinobi like Yota, earning access to it should have been nearly impossible.
As Kaede frowned, lost in thought, the door slid open again.
Yota stepped in, noticing his son's puzzled expression.
"What's wrong? Having trouble understanding something?"
Kaede, too absorbed in the scroll, answered instinctively.
"I was just wondering… why this jutsu is even here."
As soon as he said it, he realized his mistake and looked up.
Yota met his gaze, then chuckled, ruffling his hair.
"Don't overthink it. Lord Tobirama sent it himself. He said it might suit you."
So that's it…
Kaede nodded slowly, realization dawning.
Of course — it was likely because of his time-based Kekkei Genkai. Tobirama must have thought the jutsu complemented it.
Still, Kaede couldn't help but mutter internally—He trusts me that much? Giving a kid one of the hardest techniques in existence?
The Flying Raijin Jutsu was notorious for its difficulty. It didn't just require chakra precision — it demanded mastery of space–time theory, and a single mistake could be fatal.
In all of history, only Tobirama and Minato had ever truly mastered it.
"By the way, Dad," Kaede said suddenly, "can you help me buy some training weights? I want to strengthen my body."
Yota blinked, surprised.
Training weights weren't something most kids asked for.
Kaede continued firmly, "Even with a Kekkei Genkai, the body is the foundation of everything."
He wasn't wrong. Though taijutsu was often undervalued in favor of ninjutsu, Kaede knew better.
Didn't Might Guy nearly end the war by opening the Eight Gates?
If that didn't prove the power of taijutsu, nothing would.
Yota rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"We have some weights at home, but they're too heavy for you. I'll go to the market later and get lighter ones."
But Kaede shook his head.
"I want to test them myself. If they're too heavy, I'll stop."
Yota sighed. He knew his son — calm on the outside, stubborn to the core. Once Kaede set his mind to something, no one could stop him.
"Alright," he relented. "But don't push yourself."
They rummaged through the storage room until Yota pulled out an old set of weights.
"Try these. But be careful — don't overdo it."
He lifted one experimentally and smirked inwardly.
He knew they were far too heavy for a child, but maybe this would convince Kaede to ease up a little.
Kaede took them, and as Yota released his grip, he immediately felt the crushing weight.
So heavy!
The bands around his limbs easily made up a third of his body weight — an enormous burden for a five-year-old.
Still, he tightened them around his wrists and ankles. Altogether, they nearly doubled his total weight.
"Enough, Kaede," Yota said, his brow creasing as he watched his son's flushed face and labored breathing. "This isn't good for your body. Training should be gradual."
"I… I'm fine," Kaede gasped. "I know… my limits. Don't… worry."
Every word cost him effort. Sweat ran down his temples as his small frame trembled under the pressure.
Yota's throat tightened. He wanted to say something, to stop him — but in the end, he only sighed deeply.
Kaede took one unsteady step forward. His knees buckled, almost collapsing, but he steadied himself just in time.
The sudden strain made every muscle scream in protest. Still, he pushed on, step by step.
Under the blazing sunlight, beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks and hit the ground with soft, rhythmic taps.
Time passed slowly — an hour, maybe more.
But by the end of it, Kaede was walking steadily, his body adjusting to the weight. The pain hadn't vanished, but he'd adapted.
It was a start — a solid foundation.
Yota, who had quietly watched the entire time, felt his chest tighten with emotion.
Talent and determination — his son had both.
And in that moment, he knew: the will to endure pain — that was the first step toward true strength.