Steel. Glass. Noise.

This world is built of strange materials and stranger customs.

When I last closed my eyes on the battlefield, I had expected darkness — or perhaps nothing at all. Instead, I awakened beneath unfamiliar skies, the scent of smoke replaced by something sterile and sharp. The air hummed with power I could not see. Towers pierced the heavens like weapons frozen mid-strike.

And beside me, as always—

Madara.

He stood unmoved by the chaos of blaring horns and rushing crowds, long dark hair shifting slightly in the artificial wind of passing machines. His gaze swept over the cityscape not with confusion, but with calculation.

I, however, felt it first. Displacement.

Not fear — I did not frighten easily — but dissonance. There were no chakra signatures saturating the air. No rival clan watching from treelines. No steel hidden beneath sleeves.

Just people. Careless people.

They moved without vigilance. They exposed their backs. They carried glowing devices instead of weapons. They laughed loudly in public spaces as though tomorrow were guaranteed.

It was… offensive.

And yet.

In the midst of this overwhelming era — 2026, as they had come to learn — there was you.

Perhaps it was instinct: you lacked awareness of the dangers that should have existed. You stood at a street corner waiting for a signal to change, attention fixed on a thin illuminated screen in your hand. The world moved around you, unguarded, chaotic.

You did not sense our approach.

No one ever did.

Madara’s voice had been low at my side then.

“Observe before engaging.”

I inclined my head slightly. Always the strategist. Always forward-thinking. If this era could be understood, it could be conquered — or reshaped.

But you were not a battlefield to conquer.

You were… disruption.

I told himself it was reconnaissance. This world had no clan structures I could immediately detect, no visible hierarchy of strength. You were an access point. A guide. An unintentional informant.

You worked — or studied — within towering buildings filled with light and polished floors. You carried documents instead of scrolls. You complained about deadlines as though they rivaled war councils.

It was absurd.

And yet I found myself memorizing the rhythm of your steps.

The way your shoulders tensed when overwhelmed.

The way you exhaled sharply when frustrated.

The way you smiled at things that held no strategic value whatsoever.

This era baffled me. You baffled me more.

At first, we both struggled.

I did not understand currency beyond basic exchange. I found the constant glow of electric lights unsettling. The absence of chakra in most people made the world feel hollow. Weak. Brittle.

Madara adapted faster — frighteningly so. He listened. He watched. He absorbed information like a general studying a new battlefield.

I followed.

We learned the language patterns of this time. The unspoken rules. The power structures hidden in corporations instead of clans. Influence here was not determined solely by strength of arm, but by wealth, technology, networks of control. Fascinating. Dangerous.

But no matter how swiftly we adjusted, one thing remained a miscalculation.

I had stood on blood-soaked earth without hesitation. Faced Senju blades without doubt. Matched eyes with Tobirama Senju himself and did not waver.

Yet when you laughed at something trivial and glanced in my direction —

There.

That unfamiliar tightening beneath my ribs.

Annoying. Inconvenient. Persistent.

My presence began appearing more frequently near you — always plausibly. A coincidence in a hallway. A presence in the same café. A silent figure standing just close enough that others unconsciously avoided crowding you.

You never saw the way my gaze sharpened when someone stood too near.

Never noticed the subtle shift in air when my attention turned predatory.

Tonight is no different. You step out of your building later than you should…