Late at night, in the solemn stillness of the Konoha cemetery, an old, white-haired man walked slowly toward the tombstone of the first Hokage, Hashirama Senju. His eyes were slightly narrowed, and he carried a single bottle of wine in his hand.

"Old friend," he murmured, his voice a low whisper carried on the wind, "I've come to see you."

This man was Uchiha Madara, his form cloaked in a transformation jutsu, his true identity hidden from the world.

Moonlight streamed down like water, scattering across the weathered stone that bore Hashirama's name. Madara stood before the grave, the wine jug in his hand gleaming faintly. He gazed at the familiar characters, a bitter smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hashirama," Madara spoke softly, his voice thick with a nostalgia that spanned decades. "Even after all these years, I still remember us as children, skipping stones across the river. You were always so foolish, always losing to me."

He tilted his head back, taking a long sip of the wine. "You know, I sometimes wonder… if you had never founded this village, if I had never left, what would we be now? Perhaps we would still be arguing over who should be Hokage."

Madara's fingers gently traced the inscription on the tombstone. "You said you wanted to create a world where children would no longer have to fight on the battlefield. But look at Konoha now. It is about to face another storm of blood and fire. Your ideals… they were ultimately too naive."

"Forget it. Let's not speak of such things." The night wind rustled through Madara's long hair, his eyes becoming as deep and dark as the night sky. He knelt, slowly pouring the remaining wine before the grave. "This is the vintage we used to sneak away to drink when we were boys. I remember you always complaining that it was too strong, your face scrunching up with every sip. Now that I think about it, those days were probably the closest we ever came to true peace."

He stood, his gaze shifting to the Hokage Rock in the distance. "Hashirama, I will see your ideals to their conclusion, but I will do it in my own way. Perhaps one day, you will understand my choice."

"That is all I came to say. Goodbye, old friend."

Madara turned to leave, the moonlight stretching his shadow long and thin behind him. After taking only a few steps, he suddenly stopped. He turned his head, his expression shifting as he focused on the edge of the cemetery.

"One… two… five. Five of them."

Through his chakra sense, Madara realized that five individuals were sneaking into the cemetery, avoiding the main gate. What business could they have here so late at night? A flicker of interest lit his ancient eyes, and Madara faded into the shadows, his curiosity piqued.

Soon, five figures crept into the hallowed ground, making their way to the tombstones of the past Hokage. The five were none other than Orochimaru and his loyal subordinates, the Sound Four.

"Here we are," Orochimaru hissed, his long tongue flicking out to lick his lips. "The First and Second Hokage… what perfect experimental material. Tsk tsk… When I imagine the old man's face when he has to fight them in a few days, I find myself quite excited."

"Lord Orochimaru," Sakon warned in a low voice, "shouldn't we hurry? What if we're discovered by a patrolling Anbu squad?"

"Hehehe…" Orochimaru let out his signature, sibilant laugh. "Do not worry. I have already erected a barrier around this area. Even if we were to make a great commotion, no one outside would hear a single sound."

Just as the Sound Four were about to begin their work, an old but powerful voice echoed through the graveyard, freezing them in their tracks.

"Young man, to be digging up graves in the dead of night… is that not in poor taste?"

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