Madara found himself trudging through life's ups and downs. He'd recently bid farewell to Konoha, his once-beloved home now tainted by betrayal. His own clan turned against him like a pack of ninja-trained wolves. Why?

Because he had some differing opinions with ol' buddy Hashirama. Madara was all about alliances, but not the touchy-feely kind. Nope, he preferred the 'swear-your-allegiance-or-else' approach, while Hashirama was all rainbows and unicorns with his compassion gig.

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After weeks of aimless wandering, Madara stumbled upon a sleepy little town in the middle of nowhere, south of the Land of Fire. The rain was pouring down like it had a personal vendetta against him, and the air was thick with that distinct scent of rain, tasting as gloomy as his mood.

Soaked to the bone, and seeking shelter from the rain, he ducked into a dimly-lit tiny tea house, the only beacon of civilization in sight amidst the podunk village.

And who does he find running the show?—A woman. Of course... Madara couldn't help but roll his eyes. Of course, it had to be a woman.

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Madara, never one to hold back his opinions, couldn't help but sneer a bit, especially when this particular woman seemed to be barely holding onto her teapot with those spindly arms. And to top it off, she wasn't even married, slaving away at some dead-end job in a no-name village, a pawn in life’s cruel game.

Talk about a meaningless life—this woman seemed to embody everything he disdained.

Grumbling to himself, Madara plopped down at one of the wooden tables, begrudgingly placing his order. "Give me a cup of your finest green tea," he muttered, more to himself than to the poor soul behind the counter.