One glance, a thousand years. A dream from the past.

At this moment, Uchiha Madara felt like his vision pierced through the girl in front of him and traveled back through time—to those innocent days when he and Senju Hashirama shared their dreams as childhood friends.

"Hah... when I think about it, it really has been that long..."

"And yet, those memories remain so vivid in my mind..."

"Hashirama... even after all these years, I still can't forget you..."

A sigh of melancholy—this was the youth Madara had long lost.

Of course, the girl in front of him, Muzi, had no idea Madara was being so sentimental. Seeing him freeze up and go silent, she waved a hand in front of his face.

"Hey! Hey! Hello! Radama-senpai, are you okay? Snap out of it\\~ We're about to start the match!"

Madara snapped back to reality. Fury surged in his chest—he'd actually mistaken a stranger for Hashirama. That was nothing short of an insult.

In an instant, Madara's Sharingan flared open. Though his face was still hidden behind a swirling mask, the glow of his eyes burned through the holes, giving off a terrifying pressure.

He looked down with chilling authority. "Little girl, back off."

He no longer referred to himself as an old man—not in the game. Once he got used to eternal youth, even the mere thought of aging, both in body and spirit, became intolerable.

But Muzi didn't seem to mind his hostile attitude at all. Beaming, she said, "C'mon now, don't be like that, Radama-senpai! It's rare we get to play together, so lighten up, okay?"

"Besides, this is a faction battle. If we're in the same area, it means we're on the same team. We'll be fighting side by side soon."

Madara crossed his arms and scoffed coldly. "How absurd. You, fight beside me? There is no one in this world worthy of standing beside me."

After all, Hashirama was no longer here…

Muzi laughed with her hands on her hips. "Hahaha\\~ You sure about that? Tell you what—let's make a bet. I promise my strength won't let you down. Hahahaha\\~\\~\\~"

She laughed so heartily it was almost silly, breaking the serene beauty of her still appearance with a carefree, goofy charm.

Many nearby turned to look, some blinking in confusion, others wearing expressions of pity—as if thinking, "She's pretty, but... there's something off in the head."

She gave off such innocent silliness that it made others feel like pursuing her would be morally wrong, like messing with someone who wasn't all there.

And Madara froze again. Because once more, he saw the shadow of Hashirama in her.

In his memories, Hashirama also laughed just like that—with that same carefree, hearty, slightly dumb grin.

In that moment, Muzi and Hashirama seemed to overlap in his eyes.

Yes... one's a girl, one's a guy. But both had long black hair, and to Madara, the resemblance was just too strong.

His mind went blank—and then came another wave of fury. He didn't even know why he was so angry.

Was it because she reminded him of Hashirama? Because the déjà vu felt like betrayal? Or because this girl named Muzi seemed to be imitating the only friend he ever had?

All these emotions tangled together, driving Madara to the edge. He couldn't hold back anymore. He was just about to shout at her—

When a flurry of excited voices interrupted him.

"W-Wait—isn't that the Dance King of the Leaf?! Lord Radama of the Uchiha Clan?!"

"Whaaat? That's really Lord Radama—the Dance King of the Leaf?!"

"We've won! We're totally gonna win this faction war!"

"Lord Radama, we worship you!!!"

The shouting came from four nearby players, whose excitement stirred the rest of the crowd. Confused onlookers blinked, wondering what all the fuss was about.

Also—Dance King of the Leaf?

Seriously? Who gave themselves a title like that?

Someone snorted. A tall player pointed at the four and then at Madara, laughing wildly. "What the heck is that?! Dance King of the Leaf? That's the weirdest title ever. What, is he gonna dance with the enemy on the battlefield? Hahahaha!"

That joke got everyone laughing, the whole area erupting in giggles.

But Madara's four fans weren't having it. One of them snapped, "Shut it! You don't know anything! Lord Radama is the top player at our village arcade! Before the genjutsu network even launched, he was undefeated there! Now that he's here, there's no way we'll lose this faction war! What gives you the right to laugh like that?!"

Another fan roared, "Yeah! You think 'Dance King of the Leaf' is some kind of joke? No! It's a title of respect we all gave Lord Radama at the East Village Arcade!"

"Because Lord Radama always asks his enemies in battle if they'd like to dance with him! And his movements in combat are like a battlefield waltz—elegant and deadly! No one can match his dance! How dare you mock the Dance King title that represents him!"

"You people... are unforgivable!!!"

The four of them stood united, glaring at everyone else with intimidating energy—ready to throw down if necessary.

That pressure stunned the crowd into silence. The laughter died down, and people began to recall what the four had just said. Slowly, surprised faces turned toward Madara—curious and, in some cases, awestruck.

It felt exactly like when you randomly encounter a high-level player who suddenly carries your team.

As for Madara himself, he just wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

When Muzi first called him "Dance King of the Leaf," she gave him such a strange look that it threw him off.

Normally, Madara wouldn't have cared at all. Not about nicknames, not about stares. A ridiculous title like that? Madara had too much pride to even acknowledge it.

The East Village arcade players had called him that, and he'd let them. He never cared.

But today—today, that prideful indifference came back to bite him.

Under Muzi's odd gaze, Madara felt like he was made of wax. His whole body stiffened. An awkwardness he hadn't felt in years suddenly overwhelmed him, freezing his face under the mask.

The war god of the ninja world didn't understand why Muzi made him feel this way. The sensation was exactly like what he'd felt facing Hashirama… as if he instinctively cared what she thought.

Though he still stood there arms crossed, draped in black and masked as ever, Muzi—who knew him far too well for a first meeting—could sense it: Madara was embarrassed.

She had no idea what to say. Probably thought: yep, my best bro's embarrassed.

To be honest, while Muzi was usually carefree and didn't sweat the small stuff, when she heard Madara was nicknamed "Dance King of the Leaf," even she was floored. Her brain went blank with mathematical formulas flashing through her mind, like she was being forced to calculate the mysteries of the universe.

When she came to and saw Madara all tense and awkward, she opened her mouth to say something—then stopped.

Suddenly, an idea struck. She grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

"Radama-senpai, that's a great nickname. Super unique."

Her smile was as radiant and genuine as ever—filled with nothing but goodwill.

But Madara instantly realized—she just couldn't think of anything better to say and forced a compliment out.

Even though it was their first meeting, he felt like he knew her—just like he once knew Hashirama.

"They really are... too alike..."

As that thought echoed in his mind, Madara was hit with a strange feeling—as if dream and reality, genjutsu and truth, were merging in this moment.