CHAPTER 61

This time, Mizuki Ryosuke's new "appearance" signified a shift in the balance of power.

For a fleeting moment, even Uchiha Madara, the legendary shinobi, couldn't determine whether the Mizuki Ryosuke before him was the real body or merely another ice clone. While Ryosuke's words suggested that this was indeed his true form, a veteran warrior like Madara never relied on mere words—he only trusted what his own eyes revealed.

Activating his Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan to its fullest extent, Madara scrutinized Ryosuke, seeking any telltale signs of a clone. Yet, to his mild surprise, he found none. The composition of chakra, the way the body cast a shadow, even the minute shifts in movement—everything appeared genuine.

This uncertainty forced Madara into hesitation, an unfamiliar sensation for someone who had once stood against Senju Hashirama himself without a shred of doubt.

Ryosuke had won the first step in this battle of wits.

Observing that Madara had yet to make a move, Mizuki Ryosuke understood—his strategy was proving effective.

The current situation stemmed from Madara's greatest "weakness"—and that weakness wasn't his aging body or his reliance on the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path for survival.

It was his secrecy.

At this moment, Uchiha Madara existed in the shadows, presumed long dead by the shinobi world. His resurrection was an integral part of Project Tsuki no Me, and any premature revelation of his existence would unravel years of preparation.

Thus, from Madara's perspective, there were only two possible choices regarding Ryosuke:

1. Kill him immediately to prevent any leaks.

2. Make him an ally—an asset too valuable to eliminate.

Before, the first option seemed the obvious choice. Madara, in his arrogance, believed no enemy could escape his grasp once he decided to kill them.

But now?

Now, Mizuki Ryosuke had shifted the equation.

By seamlessly swapping his true body with an ice clone, he had introduced a terrifying possibility—what if the Mizuki Ryosuke standing before Madara was another clone?

What if the real Ryosuke was already gone, hiding in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to escape and expose Madara's existence?

Even Madara's Sharingan, the eye that could see through all deception, had failed to pierce through Ryosuke's technique.

The implications were profound.

If Madara launched an attack now and Ryosuke sacrificed the clone to flee, the consequences would be catastrophic.

Mizuki Ryosuke had unknowingly struck at the heart of Madara's dilemma.

Unless Madara used a large-scale destructive jutsu—one that would obliterate the entire cavern—he risked allowing Ryosuke to escape and reveal his survival to the world.

But doing so would also be self-defeating.

The sheer force required to eliminate every possibility of Ryosuke's survival would leave traces—destruction that could attract Zetsu's suspicion, Obito's concern, or even worse, draw the attention of powerful forces like the Five Great Nations.

Thus, the only logical course of action was to engage Ryosuke in conversation and assess his potential as an ally.

And so, as Mizuki Ryosuke calmly approached, Madara's murderous intent dissipated, replaced by a newfound curiosity.

"Oh? So this is your real body?"

A smirk played at the corner of Madara's lips as he leaned back slightly.

"Ice Clones… quite an intriguing technique. You are indeed an interesting one, Mizuki Ryosuke."

The bloodlust from before had vanished as if it had never existed. It was a masterful shift—a testament to the cunning and adaptability of the man who once built Konoha alongside Hashirama.

Mizuki Ryosuke, however, maintained his composed demeanor.

"You flatter me, Lord Madara." His voice carried an air of humility. "It is merely a trick, nothing more."

In that instant, the tension in the room shifted—the predator-prey dynamic had evolved into something else.

Two schemers, two foxes—one young, one old—sizing each other up.

Madara's gaze sharpened.

"Mizuki Ryosuke, I acknowledge your talent and strength. Even in the era of the First Hokage, you would have been formidable."

His tone darkened.

"You've embedded yourself into the politics of Kirigakure, manipulating the Fourth Mizukage, Yagura… I doubt it is mere ambition that drives you."

A pause.

"Tell me, is your true goal to become the Mizukage?"

Madara's piercing gaze locked onto Ryosuke's, seeking any hesitation.

But Ryosuke merely smiled.

"Mizukage?"

A soft chuckle escaped his lips.

"That is merely the beginning."

The fire in his voice carried weight—a raw ambition that even Madara could not ignore.

A flicker of interest passed through Madara's eyes.

"Then tell me… what is your real goal?"

At that moment, Madara saw something familiar in the young shinobi standing before him—a will, a conviction akin to his own from decades past.

"I will use the Mizukage's throne as a foundation!" Ryosuke declared.

"From there, I will unify the Water Country, crush the discord among the Five Great Nations, and seize control of the Tailed Beasts!

"With absolute power, I will establish true peace! A world where chaos is erased forever!"

As his words echoed through the cavern, Madara's lips curled into a smile.

For the first time in years, he felt something beyond calculation, beyond strategy—an unexpected thrill.

"Hah… hahahaha!!!!"

The sound of Madara's laughter filled the air, a mixture of amusement, nostalgia, and eerie satisfaction.

He finally understood.

This boy, Mizuki Ryosuke, wasn't just another ambitious shinobi.

He was someone who saw the world as Madara once had.

"Mizuki Ryosuke… I, Uchiha Madara, acknowledge your ambition!"

He leaned forward, his once-weary eyes now alight with a dangerous gleam.

"You asked me my purpose, didn't you? Then listen well."

For the first time, Madara truly spoke of Project Tsuki no Me—of his dream for eternal peace, a world free from the cycle of hatred, all under the infinite illusion of the Moon's Eye Plan.

And for the first time, Mizuki Ryosuke listened.

But as the illusion of Madara's vision unfolded before him, Ryosuke's mind remained sharp.

For he was no pawn.

He was playing his own game.

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