Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

Hanzo traced a finger over Konoha's emblem on the map. "But we are not idle. Danzo Shimura has… enlightened me to certain truths." 

"The Konoha elder?" 

"Yes. A viper in the grass. He whispers of 'security' while his Root agents poison dissenters in the Fire Daimyo's court." Hanzo's laugh rasped through his mask. "He fears the Akatsuki—those brats preaching peace. Thinks their ideals will rot Kumo from within." 

Goro blinked. "The orphans Jiraiya trained? They're barely more than chunins." 

"And yet." Hanzo plucked a report from his desk, its pages detailing Yahiko's growing influence in the slums. "Even a weed can crack stone if left to spread. Danzo wants them eradicated before they inspire… inconvenient hopes." 

"Shall we strike?" 

"Patience. Let Root bleed themselves chasing ghosts. We'll watch. Wait. And when the time comes…" Hanzo crumpled the report, his salamander stirring as its tail lashed the pillar. "…we'll remind the world why only the strong survive." 

===

Madara sat slumped against a jagged rock, his once-imposing frame reduced to a skeletal husk draped in tattered black robes. Every laboured breath rattled like dry leaves in a gale, his pallid skin stretched taut over bones that seemed moments from piercing through. Only his eyes—twin crimson orbs, dulled by age but still sharp as shattered glass—betrayed the ferocity that once made nations tremble.

A faint drip-drip-drip echoed from stalactites overhead as Zetsu emerged from the shadows, his amorphous form oozing upward from the floor like tar-given sentience.

"The Kage Summit is imminent, and Kumo is threatening Konoha. They claim that Renjiro… that he killed the Two-Tails jinchūriki."

Madara's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing the half-darkness. He leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous. "Did he truly do it?" he demanded, a bitter edge in his tone.

For a long moment, there was silence, the only sound the faint drip of water from the ceiling. Then, Zetsu's voice emerged, slow and deliberate, "I witnessed the encounter with my own eyes. Renjiro was desperately trying to escape as the Two-Tails attacked him with full fury. I saw it all. Even though the jinchūriki was new, the boy… he fought back. He even managed to control her transformed beast form for a few seconds with his Mangekyo."

Madara's lips twitched, a ghost of approval flickering across his face. "A Sharingan prodigy… born outside the clan. How… ironic." He coughed violently, flecks of blood spattering his chin. "The Uchiha grow stagnant in their pride. Yet this outsider…"

"He's the fifth since Daichi," Zetsu interjected, his voice dropping to a venomous purr.

At the mention of Daichi's name, Madara's expression darkened. He leaned back, the torches casting deep shadows over his timeworn features. "That bastard is deluded," he spat, his voice dripping with scorn.

A silence fell over the chamber as Madara's words reverberated off the stone walls. After a moment, he fixed Zetsu with a piercing gaze. "What do you think, Zetsu? Could this boy truly serve our purposes?" he asked, his tone a blend of curiosity and veiled menace.

Zetsu's reply was measured, his voice devoid of emotion. "It could work. The boy is not originally from Konoha, which gives him a certain unpredictability. Bringing him into our fold could accelerate our plans." His words slithered through the air, each syllable deliberate, like a snake coiling around its prey.

Madara's lips curled in a slow smile, and he nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed," he said. "The fact that he possesses the same ability as the Nine-Tails jinchūriki is… ideal."

He paused, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Renjiro could serve as a linchpin in our other plans."

Zetsu's lips curled into a slight, enigmatic smile. "But those other plans must wait. You are nearing the end, Madara. Perhaps you may have given your eyes away for no reason. We must wait for the Two-Tails to reincarnate, for time to show its hand."

Madara's tone hardened as he replied, "I need to come back alive at some point. My sacrifice was not in vain." His voice resonated with bitter resolve.

After a long silence, Zetsu's voice, now measured and quiet, broke through. "But what if another war breaks out?" he asked, his tone carrying a note of cautious inquiry.

Madara's eyes drifted into the shadows, where ancient memories stirred. "We will do nothing," he said slowly, almost as if each word were a death knell. "The last great war was not our doing, and we lack the manpower to meddle as before. Besides, I am close to dying. My presence is a liability, and my departure will not change the tides of fate. Let the world burn if it must, for we shall have already set our plan in motion."

Zetsu's voice was a whisper of silk and steel. "Then what of the 'other' matter?" he asked, his tone laced with quiet intrigue.

Madara's gaze sharpened, and he leaned forward so that his face was barely visible in the flickering light. "If war breaks out, it will have to wait until after the conflict. We cannot afford for the other shinobi villages to suspect our true intentions. Secrecy is paramount."

A long pause followed, heavy with the gravity of unspoken schemes. Zetsu's eyes glittered as he slowly nodded, his form beginning to fade into the shadows of the stone chamber.

"Understood," he murmured, his voice a soft echo as he dissolved into the ground, leaving Madara alone with his thoughts.

Madara remained seated for a long, silent moment. The torches' flames flickered wildly as if disturbed by a sudden gust of wind, and the room seemed to pulse with a dark, latent energy. He rose slowly, his joints creaking like ancient timber, and began making his way down the long, narrow corridor leading to his private chambers.

As he walked, his gaze drifted to a symbol plastered on the rough-hewn wall—a faded emblem that bore the unmistakable mark of Kirigakure, the Village Hidden in the Mist. The symbol, though worn by time and neglect, glowed faintly in the torchlight. Madara's lips curled into a cold smile as he whispered under his breath, "Soon, you will be mine."

A part of him felt a grim satisfaction that such a talent had arisen outside the Uchiha clan. The audacity of a young jonin like Renjiro, with his raw potential and his secrets barely contained, ignited a dark spark within Madara's withered soul. It was as if fate had planted a seed, one that would eventually bloom into something he could control—or something that might one day bring him the revenge he so longed for.

In that moment, as the shadows danced and the torches sputtered, Madara's thoughts grew as clear as the chill in the air. "I must create a situation where Renjiro comes to our aid, where he owes us his loyalty," he mused. "Only then can we turn the tide of this conflict to our favor. His power, his Mangekyo—if properly harnessed—could serve as the key to controlling the tailed beasts and, by extension, the fate of the shinobi world."

A bitter laugh escaped his cracked lips. "And if the world burns, I shall rise from the ashes, and none shall dictate my fate."

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