Ch 6 : Let's go home

It had been exactly two weeks since Madara-nii-san lost consciousness.

The air within the Uchiha compound had grown cold and still, heavy with unspoken dread.

Mayumi stood in the training field, her breathing ragged, forehead slick with sweat. She faced Takaro-sensei's clone, which flickered effortlessly around her, dodging her every strike as though reading her thoughts before she could act.

She couldn't land a single blow.

Not even close.

Her hair clung to her skin, and her fingers ached from the strain of repeated jutsu. But the clone remained untouched—poised, fluid, merciless.

He was, without a doubt, the embodiment of a true shinobi.

From the side of the field, the real Takaro watched. His gaze, though calm, held an edge of disappointment. His voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"Your attacks are sloppy, little girl. Where's your focus?"

He tapped his cane against the ground with a sharp thud, the sound echoing.

"I'm sorry, Takaro-sensei," Mayumi said, bowing her head. She wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve, her breaths still uneven.

Takaro's voice grew stern. "If you want to become a true shinobi, you must never—never—let your guard down. Not even for a heartbeat. Even if your comrades are dying right next to you, your mind should be locked onto the enemy. One moment of hesitation, one flicker of emotion—"

He stepped closer, voice low and weighty.

"—and you're already dead. Do you understand?"

Mayumi swallowed hard. "Yes, Sensei."

She did understand.

But it wasn't that simple.

Her thoughts weren't in the training field. They hadn't been for days.

They were with her brother. Her brother was dying.

He had lost too much blood, sustained too many injuries during the ambush. Every passing day blurred the line between life and death—and the medics said they'd done all they could. Now it was all up to him.

If he didn't regain consciousness within three days… there would be nothing left to hope for.

The entire household had fallen into quiet despair. Even little Izuna had noticed—and instead of throwing tantrums like usual, he'd grown quiet, solemn.

Their father, Tajima, had been locked away with the clan elders, clearly planning something. Their mother hadn't left Madara's bedside—tending to him day and night without rest.

As for Izamu—her short-tempered second brother—he had disobeyed orders and tried to sneak out to attack the Senju on his own.

He'd been disciplined harshly for it.

When Mayumi had asked, she'd learned he'd gone off to "burn something"—typical.

She called him crazy to his face.

Now, standing here in the dust of the training field, drenched in sweat and failure, she knew she wasn't much better.

Takaro dismissed her early that day.

Her feet led her home before her thoughts did.

"Mayumi… You're back early."

Her mother's voice was soft, worn. She sat beside Madara, gently wiping sweat from his brow with a damp cloth.

"Sensei let me go early," Mayumi said, quietly stepping forward. "Mother… is there any change? Anything at all with Nii-san?"

Her mother shook her head. Her movements were delicate, almost reverent—as if afraid that even a wrong breath would shatter him further.

Mayumi moved closer and sat down beside the bed. Slowly, gently, she took her brother's hand into her own. It felt cold. Too cold.

Three days left.

If he didn't wake by then…

No. That couldn't happen.

She had seen the future—hadn't she? In those strange, fragmented dreams, Madara had grown older. She remembered his face, years later. She had seen him… living.

He had lived.

Hadn't he?

…But what if the dreams were wrong?

What if they were only dreams?

Her grip tightened around his hand, desperation threatening to spill over.

"Mayumi," her mother said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Your brother will be fine… Don't worry so much."

Mayumi turned to look at her—and saw it clearly.

The sorrow in her mother's eyes.

She didn't believe her own words.

She wasn't trying to reassure Mayumi—she was clinging to them herself.

"Mother… why don't you rest for a little while?" Mayumi asked. "I'll stay with Nii-san. I'll keep watch."

Her mother hesitated.

She looked so tired—more than tired. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes sunken, and her hands trembling from exhaustion. It was as if the past few days had aged her by a decade.

"…But—"

"I promise," Mayumi said, squeezing her hand. "If anything happens, the medics are right outside. Please, just… rest."

Her mother finally gave in. "Alright. Izuna needs me too… I've barely seen him. I'll go check on him… just for a little while."

She left the room with slow, heavy steps.

Mayumi sat in silence, alone now with her brother.

"Nii-san, please wake up."

Her brother's breathing had grown shallow.

Mayumi found herself thinking—it would've been better if she had foreseen all this through her dreams.

Just then, a strange heaviness began to settle over her senses.

What's happening…? Did today's training push her too hard?

Why am I suddenly… so sleepy?

Mayumi arrived into the dream like a ghost slipping through a veil—no sound, no warning. One moment, she was sitting quietly at Madara's bedside; the next, she was standing on scorched earth, beneath a sky painted with storm clouds.

She immediately saw him—her brother.

Madara stood in the distance, breathing heavily, surrounded by flickering shadows that lunged at him again and again. His stance was firm, his hands gripping a bloodstained kunai tightly, refusing to fall despite the crimson staining his armor.

He was alone.

"Madara-nii-san!" Mayumi called, panic flooding her voice.

He didn't respond.

She shouted louder. Still nothing.

Desperate, she ran toward him—feet pounding over the broken ground. And just as she reached him, the shadows that had been attacking him vanished like mist in sunlight. Only her brother remained—on his knees now, breath ragged, covered in blood. His eyes were unfocused, his face pale.

"Madara-nii-san!" she cried again, kneeling before him. "It's me… Mayumi. Please—wake up!"

No response.

His eyes didn't flicker. His hands hung limp.

Her throat tightened. She reached out with trembling fingers, brushing the blood from his cheek with gentleness.

"Why can't you hear me?" she whispered. "Why can't you see me…? But I can touch you. I'm right here…"

Her eyes darted around the strange place.

"Where… is this?"

Everything felt off—like a battlefield built from memory and fear. A place caught between dreams and death.

Then suddenly—

"…Mayumi?"

His voice was faint—distant, like an echo trapped in a cave.

Her head snapped up.

"Nii-san? You can hear me?!"

Madara's eyes flickered slightly. His brows furrowed, as if he were only now beginning to recognize her.

"…Why are you here?"

"Why not?" she shot back. "What is this place?"

"This is… my mission," he said slowly, confused. "Ambush. It's dangerous here. You shouldn't be here, Mayumi."

She grabbed his hand.

"You're not on a mission anymore. You're home. But you've been in a coma for nearly two weeks. You didn't wake up, and everyone is so worried."

He stared at her, eyes dull with disbelief.

"…What do you mean?"

"I think this is your dream," she said softly. "I think I've somehow… entered your dream. I don't know how. But I'm here, with you."

She blinked, tears spilling freely now.

"Nii-san, please. You have to wake up."

Madara lowered his gaze. "I… don't know how."

That admission struck her deeply.

He truly didn't know. He was lost in this dream—trapped in a battle he thought was still going on. How could she guide him back?

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. Then, she stood up and held out her hand to him.

"Then come with me."

He looked at her, hesitant.

"I don't know how to explain it," she said. "But I feel it. I can lead you back. I can pull you from this nightmare. Just… trust me. Like you always have."

Madara's eyes, still clouded, slowly met hers. Something flickered within them. The faintest spark of the brother she knew.

Her fingers reached further.

"Let's go home."

For a long moment, neither moved.

Then, slowly—painfully—Madara lifted his hand and placed it in hers.

And the dream began to shift.

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