36

Uchiha Madara knew no fear. He feared neither heaven nor earth. But he was, it turned out, completely powerless against his son acting spoiled. Looking at Shiro's pleading, aggrieved expression, Madara's resolve crumbled.

"You can learn it. Of course, you can learn it."

Madara pursed his lips, his voice strained with distress. "Son, you must think carefully. Learning Wood Release comes at a price. It will be painful. Can you accept that?"

"Okay!" Shiro nodded with a fierce determination. He was almost impatient. He puffed out his small chest and declared, "Father, believe in me! I am your son! What is a little pain? I want to become stronger so that one day, I can protect you, just as you have always protected me."

The simple, earnest words struck Madara's heart with the force of a physical blow. After so long as a lonely, forgotten old man, nothing was more healing than the heartfelt devotion of his child.

"So good, my dear son."

"Alright! Come back with your father. I will ensure you suffer as little as possible. I will be with you." When he said this, Madara's expression was solemn, as if he had just made a decision that would change the course of his own destiny.

Inside the secret base, Madara gently carried Shiro to his bed.

"Son, Wood Release is unlike any other ninjutsu. It requires the cells of another to be transplanted into your body. The process itself is excruciatingly painful. You…"

"It's okay, father! I can handle it!"

"Hehe," Madara smiled helplessly. "Child, of course I know you can. But your father cannot bear to see you in pain. It would break my heart."

"So, I am going to place you under a genjutsu. Within the illusion, everything will be under my control. You can enjoy yourself for a while. Seeing you sleep peacefully is far better than seeing you suffer."

"But father…" Shiro looked at Madara's empty eye sockets. "Your eyes…?"

"It's alright. Do not underestimate your father." Madara sat on the bed and took Shiro's small hand in his. "An illusion does not require the Sharingan to cast. Because I am Uchiha Madara."

"Go to sleep now, child." Madara raised his hand and formed a single, elegant seal. The next moment, Shiro's vision blurred, and he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, a faint smile gracing his lips. From the look of it, the dream was a pleasant one.

"Madara, let me handle the rest," White Zetsu said, walking over and placing a hand on Shiro's chest, preparing to inject the Hashirama cells from its own body into the boy.

"Wait!" Uchiha Madara's voice was sharp. "I do not need your help! I will handle my son's affairs myself!"

Under White Zetsu's astonished gaze, Madara grabbed the front of his robes and tore them open, revealing the pale muscle of his chest and the grotesque, living face of Hashirama Senju embedded within it.

White Zetsu was shocked. "Madara, are you going to…?" It finally understood why Madara had refused its help.

"White Zetsu, you are merely a construct, an artificial human created from Hashirama's cells. You are not pure. The flesh on my chest… these are the true cells of Hashirama."

"Although Shiro is my adopted son, over these past few years, I have come to see him as my very own. How could I bear to let him use a defective product?"

"And… in truth, I have a selfish motive for this."

"I will transplant my own blood and cells into Shiro's body along with Hashirama's. Shiro is still young; his own chakra is no match for the First Hokage's power. Only by infusing the cells with my own will can I help him. I believe it will alleviate much of his pain."

"I want Shiro to be my son in truth!"

White Zetsu was aghast. "But… Lord Madara! Your physical condition was already so poor! You have only just begun to recover! Now you will cut away not only Hashirama's cells, but a piece of your own flesh as well? Will the progress of the last few years be for nothing?"

"So what of it!" Uchiha Madara had made up his mind. "The vitality I have regained was a gift from my son. It is only natural that I give it back! As long as my son can suffer less, I would do anything!"

As soon as he finished speaking, Uchiha Madara took a kunai and slashed it across his own chest, carving out a piece of bloody flesh. One half was the living face of Hashirama, the other was his own. Blue chakra rose from his palm as he endured the searing pain, pressing the piece of flesh against Shiro's small body.

"Lord Madara, let me help you stop the bleeding!"

"Get back! Let it bleed for now!" Madara gritted his teeth, his face slick with cold sweat, but he paid it no mind. He focused all his will on controlling his chakra, carefully integrating the flesh and blood into Shiro's body, bit by bit. It was a delicate, intricate process that required perfect control. The more harmonious the fusion, the less burden it would place on Shiro's body.

As if feeling a distant echo of the pain, Shiro frowned slightly in his sleep, but Madara's genjutsu was too strong. He did not wake, still lost in his pleasant dream.

"Son, be patient. It will be over soon," Madara whispered, his voice strained. "Your body will now contain the blood of both Hashirama and myself. From this day forward, you are the child of us both."

Half an hour later, the transplant was complete. The moment he retracted his chakra, Madara felt a wave of dizziness, his legs trembling so badly he almost collapsed.

"Lord Madara!" White Zetsu rushed to support him.

"Haha… I am old and useless, as expected," Madara smiled weakly.

"This has nothing to do with age, Madara. You are suffering from anemia due to the excessive blood loss. Stay calm, I will help you stop the bleeding!" White Zetsu helped Madara into a chair and began to tend to the wound.

At that moment, a spatial vortex appeared nearby, and Obito emerged. He took one look at Madara's disheveled state and was stunned.

"What happened?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. "Madara sama, did you get into a fight with an old woman? How did you manage to get a chunk of your flesh torn out?"

"I told you, old women are magical beings. Even you, the great Madara, can't afford to offend them." Obito was gloating. It wasn't every day he got to see the legendary Uchiha looking so defeated.

Madara was too lazy to argue with him, nor did he have the energy. He simply ignored Obito and allowed White Zetsu to treat him. As the resident war correspondent, White Zetsu patiently explained the situation. "Little Obito, don't talk nonsense! Madara… he just transplanted his cells into his beloved child, Shiro."

"Huh? why would you do that?"

"Shiro wanted Hashirama's cells, so Madara transplanted his pure cells into the boy, and added his own as well."

"…" Obito fell silent. A bitter pang of jealousy shot through him. Even when half his own body had been crushed, Madara had not been willing to give him pure Hashirama cells, instead implanting him with a mass of artificial ones. But for Shiro, he had offered up his most precious treasure. Obito couldn't help but feel jealous. But the feeling quickly passed. After all, this was Shiro. If given the choice, Obito knew he would have done the same.

After a while, the bleeding was stopped, and the pain on Madara's face subsided. Next, all they could do was wait for the wound to slowly heal. The face of Hashirama on his chest began to recover with visible speed. His own flesh would take longer.

On the bed, Shiro was still lost in his dream. In the illusion, Madara had recovered his youth and strength. He was traveling the world with Shiro at his side, a figure feared and respected by all. Just as he was reveling in this perfect world, a mechanical sound echoed in his mind.

[Ding! The system has detected the successful transplantation of cells. The host now possesses the ability to use Wood Release.]

[Mission complete. Reward: Sage Mode of the First Hokage!]

The next moment, a scorching hot current surged through Shiro's entire body.

"Ouch! It's hot!"

Shiro's eyes snapped open, returning him instantly to reality. Hearing his groan, the resting Madara hurriedly stood, coming to his side with the help of White Zetsu and Obito.

"Son, how do you feel?" Madara asked anxiously.

"Father, I'm fine. Huh? Why is your chest…?" When Shiro saw the gaping wound on Madara's chest, he vaguely understood. While he had been enjoying a pleasant dream, his father had been enduring this agony for him. Two lines of hot tears burst from his eyes uncontrollably.

"Father! I never expected you to… If I had known this, I would never have asked to learn Wood Release!" Shiro was overwhelmed with guilt. He felt his father had paid too high a price for his childish whim.

"Haha, it's alright, son. This was my choice. It has nothing to do with you." Madara gently stroked Shiro's hair. "Now, we are truly connected by blood."

"From this day forward, you are my real son."

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