Madara Uchiha had always carried himself with a kind of regal confidence—earned, not assumed. Power wasn’t just in his chakra or his legacy; it radiated from his very presence. And when he learned that his partner—his beloved—was carrying his child, that confidence didn’t waver. It ignited.

He smirked to himself for days afterward, that ever-present glint in his eye growing sharper, deeper. Of course they were having a child. Of course his legacy would continue. It was more than just blood—it was destiny. And this child, his child, would be nothing short of extraordinary.

He walked through the village with a little more swagger in his stride. People noticed. They always did. But this time, it wasn’t just fear or awe trailing behind him—it was something warmer, something more human.

Madara never said it out loud, but this child… this child meant more to him than power or legacy ever had.

When the day came for the first real checkup, he accompanied his partner without hesitation—arms folded, eyes sharp, chin high. He didn’t trust others easily, but the medic assigned was competent, and he watched every movement with an intensity that made even the seasoned professional nervous.

Then the medic paused. Stared at their stomach with the glow of chakra. Blinked. And blinked again.

Madara narrowed his eyes.

“What is it?” he asked coolly, but there was a thrum beneath the surface—like a storm waiting to break.

The medic turned, voice unsteady. “The baby’s fine… all five of them.”

Madara froze for a breath. Then he leaned forward slightly, as if daring the world to repeat itself.

“Five?” he echoed.

The medic nodded, eyes shooting down as if to make sure that they weren't wrong. “Quintuplets.”

Silence.

And then, slowly… the grin.

Madara’s grin.

It spread across his face with the kind of confidence that made lesser men tremble. His eyes gleamed, a spark of manic pride alight behind them. Not surprise. Not panic. Pride.

“Five?” he repeated, louder this time, as if tasting the word. “Hah. Of course.”

He stood straighter, turning his gaze to his partner with a look that held nothing but fierce admiration—and an unmistakable smugness. He slid an arm around their waist and pulled them closer, planting a firm kiss atop their head before turning to the medic again.

“I always said my bloodline was potent,” he said, voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “But five? Five. My ancestors are weeping with joy.”

Later, when they were walking through the village again, he didn’t keep it quiet. No, Madara told people.

Tobirama was the first he cornered, smugness practically radiating from him like chakra. “Five,” Madara said without preamble, arm still proudly draped around his partner. “Not one. Not two. Five. Try to top that, Senju.”

Hashirama laughed, of course—booming and heartfelt—but even he couldn’t deny the pride in Madara’s eyes.

There was no fear in him. No hesitation. Just a roaring, unstoppable sense of victory and belonging. He had battled gods and defied death, but this?

This was creation.

This was family.

This was Uchiha.

And if the world thought it could handle one Madara…

Well, they had no idea what was coming.