Chapter 90: The Guest of the Civil District
The soft blue light of the dormitory was suddenly interrupted by a muffled pop and the faint scent of ozone.
Madara didn't even open his eye. He knew the frequency of that teleportation by now. "You have doors for a reason, brat," he rasped, his hand resting near the paper crane on the table.
"Doors are for people who aren't in a hurry," Rimon said, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed. He wasn't wearing his formal Sovereign robes anymore, just a simple black tunic and trousers. "Get up, Elder M. You have a social obligation."
Madara opened his eye, a dangerous glint in his Sharingan. "I am a ghost. Ghosts do not have 'obligations' to the living."
"Tell that to Yahiko," Rimon smirked. "He's been tugging on his father's leg for an hour, asking if the 'Big Bee Grandpa' is coming for dinner. Hyuga sent me to fetch you. He's already fired up the grill, and Kana made those honey-glaze buns that even Ashina would kill for."
The Unwelcome Invitation
From the floor, White Zetsu popped up like a pale mushroom, his eyes sparkling. "Honey-glaze? Does it have real nectar? Oh! Madara-sama, we must go! For research! To understand the caloric intake of the enemy!"
"I am not going to a civil administrator's home to eat buns," Madara hissed, though the mention of honey-glaze made his long-dormant stomach give a treacherous, faint growl.
"It wasn't a request," Rimon said, walking over and unhooking the stabilization module from the wall port, switching it back to its portable battery mode. "In Uzushio, when a family invites you to dinner, you show up. Otherwise, Kana will come here herself, and trust me—you'd rather face the First Hokage again than an mother who thinks you're skipping meals."
Madara groaned—a sound of genuine defeat. "This village is a madhouse."
The Transit of the Ghost
Moments later, the citizens of the Civil District witnessed a sight that would be whispered about for years.
Rimon, the Patriarch of the Whirlpool, was walking down the street. Beside him, a withered, terrifyingly pale old man with hair like a white lion was being led along. And trailing behind them, a strange, plant-like man was hopping with excitement, stopping every five seconds to sniff a flowerbed.
"Look! It's the new Grandpa!" a neighbor called out from a balcony, waving a spatula. "Eat well, Elder M! You look like you're made of twigs!"
Madara kept his gaze forward, his pride taking more damage than it had during the entire Warring States period. "I will burn this street to the ground," he muttered under his breath.
"Save it for the spicy sauce," Rimon chuckled.
Yahiko's Residence
They reached a modest, warm-looking home with a wide porch. Before they could even knock, the door flew open.
"Grandpa!" Yahiko shrieked, charging out and wrapping his small arms around Madara's knees. "You came! I saved you the seat with the big cushion!"
Hyuga, Yahiko's father, stepped out onto the porch, wiping his hands on an apron that said 'World's Best Architect'. He gave Madara a wide, unbothered grin. "Welcome, Elder M. Rimon, good to see you. Come in, the fish is just about done."
The house was chaotic. It smelled of woodsmoke, grilled sea-bass, and home-brewed tea. Kana was bustling around the kitchen, her hair tied in a messy bun. She looked at Madara and immediately pointed to a chair.
"Sit. You're too thin. I don't care if you're a legend; in this house, you're a guest who needs feeding," she commanded with a tone that brooked no argument.
The Dinner of the Titans
Madara sat. He had no choice. Yahiko climbed into the chair next to him, showing off a new drawing of a "Luffy and Strawhat." White Zetsu had somehow convinced Kana to let him "help" with the salad, and was currently fascinated by the way a cucumber could be sliced.
"So," Hyuga said, handing Madara a plate piled high with glistening, grilled fish and golden buns. "Rimon says you're going to be helping with the Academy's strategy courses. It's good timing. We're designing a new naval defense manual, and we could use a perspective that isn't... well, as 'nice' as ours."
Madara looked at the food. It was beautiful. It was real. "You ask for my advice on defense while your son uses my lap as a napkin?"
"He likes you," Hyuga laughed, taking a massive bite of his own food. "Kids have an instinct for these things. Besides, defense is about protecting this. The noise, the mess, the dinner. If you don't know what you're protecting, the strategy is just math."
Madara picked up a honey-glaze bun. He took a small, cautious bite.
His eye widened.
It was sweet, warm, and melted on his tongue. It was better than anything he had eaten in a century of war and caves.
"The structural integrity of this bun... is acceptable," Madara muttered, his ears turning slightly pink as he took a much larger second bite.
"He likes it!" White Zetsu cheered from the kitchen, holding a head of lettuce. "Madara-sama is having a second bite! Recording this for the history books!"
Rimon sat across from them, watching the "Ghost of the Uchiha" slowly dismantle a plate of fish while a two-year-old explained the 'lore' of his drawing. Through the Earth Memory, Rimon felt a wave of satisfaction. This was how you disarmed a legend. You didn't break his spirit; you gave him something to belong to.
"Don't get used to this, brat," Madara said to Rimon, his mouth half-full of honey-glaze. "I am still a warrior."
"Sure you are, Elder M," Rimon smiled, raising his tea cup. "But even warriors need to know how the fish tastes in the land they're defending."
As the night went on and the laughter of the Uzumaki filled the small house, Black Zetsu watched from the shadows of the hallway, feeling more ignored and powerless than he had in a thousand years. The "Will of Kaguya" was being drowned out by the sound of a happy family and the smell of grilled sea-bass.