"Hashirama, look at that! You can't even throw stones as beautifully as I can," Madara bragged.
"What did you say!?"
The future God of Shinobi and the future Ghost of the Uchiha were headbutting each other like rival deer, yelling in the riverside clearing.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
A stone skipped across the water—again and again, seemingly endless.
"Losers," Muzan said flatly, watching from the shore, arms folded.
"What did you say, you girly-looking boy?!" Madara barked, stepping forward to fight—but Hashirama grabbed his shoulder, holding him back.
"Girly-looking…" Muzan muttered, glancing down. He was still a child. Maybe that's why they saw him that way.
Still, he eyed Madara carefully. That fire, that pressure of his future self—it wasn't there yet.
"My my… looks like we have an unexpected guest," a calm voice said from the woods.
"Who's there!?" Madara shouted, immediately flinging a rock in the voice's direction.
A man stepped out from behind a tree. He caught the rock midair like a toy and rolled it between his fingers. He looked to be in his twenties, with a long priest-like robe, a lazy grin, and a distinct stitch mark across his forehead.
"Geto Suguru…?" Muzan thought, startled. "No… that stitching. That's Kenjaku."
"Now then," the man said smoothly, "why don't you boys introduce yourselves?"
"Why should we?" Madara snapped, tugging Muzan and Hashirama back with him. "Hashirama, Muzan—run!"
He quickly flashed through hand signs.
"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!"
A massive flame shot toward the man.
BOOM!
Smoke and steam erupted—but when it cleared, the man was completely unharmed.
"Now now… that's not how good little children behave," Kenjaku said calmly, brushing off his robes.
"He looks like a priest," Madara muttered.
"Yeah… a pedophilic priest," Muzan added. "Who the hell does he even worship?"
"That face… definitely racist," Muzan thought darkly.
"Sweet~ I found you," Kenjaku cooed from above.
The man was now riding a giant pink stingray, floating in midair as he stared down at them.
He ignored Muzan entirely.
"Hmm… Sage Body and Sabari Fan…" he muttered under his breath, eyes locked on Hashirama and Madara.
Muzan heard it clearly.
"Madara, Hashirama—he's after you," Muzan said coldly. "Go home. Now."
"We're not abandoning our friend!" they said in unison, stepping in front of him.
"You really shouldn't make friends so easily," Muzan muttered, but a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Fine. Give me a minute."
They nodded and took defensive positions beside him.
Kenjaku smiled. "Oh, the sons are coming to me willingly. Wonderful."
⸻
Within Muzan's mind…
"Muzan… why are you here?" a gentle voice asked.
He stood before Tamayo, her eyes filled with pain and fury.
"Tamayo… why did you betray me?" Muzan asked, voice trembling.
"Betray? Betray?! Because of you, I had to betray humanity!" she shouted. "I… I…"
Her voice cracked.
He reached toward her, tendrils snaking out from his arms.
"Muzan, if you die, you die," Tamayo whispered.
Behind her, a man lunged.
Sun Breathing.
Demon Art.
"Blood Bewitchment," Muzan whispered—and then opened his eyes, jolting from the memory.
⸻
Back in reality.
Stab!
Muzan drove a sharp bone into his own arm, bas blood dripped from his had creating images and illusions.
The world blurred. He stood in the clearing again, steam rising.
Both Madara and Hashirama were unconscious.
They weren't dead—but close.
Muzan didn't wait. He grabbed them both, one under each arm, and unfurled his bamboo umbrella.
"Run. Run. Run," he muttered, rushing through the forest. "The illusion will only last thirty minutes at most…"
"ZETSU!" he called.
From the ground, a dark figure emerged.
"Return them to their clans," Muzan said, throwing the boys like potato sacks into Zetsu's arms.
Zetsu nodded and melted back into the earth.
"Was that really… Kenjaku?" Muzan thought.
"Boy…" a voice echoed in his mind, dark and low.
"Accept me. Defeat the Whale. Destroy the Dinosaur."
"You just want my body," Muzan muttered.
He looked down at his chest. The delta tattoo pulsed faintly.
"If that's what you believe," the beast whispered, "then continue onward."
⸻
Muzan blinked and found himself deep in a thick forest. Dense, silent… until—
Swish! Swish! Chit! Chit!
Senbon needles rained down.
Bone chains burst from Muzan's back, spinning wildly, deflecting them all.
"Oh?" Muzan said. "A Hagoromo clan member? I thought you guys went extinct."
"You!" a boy yelled, leaping forward, sword in hand.
SLAP.
Muzan backhanded him so hard he tumbled across the dirt.
"Stand down. You can't cook," Muzan said coldly.
The boy gritted his teeth.
"You have a flame inside you," Muzan continued, voice softer. "Do you want vengeance?"
"YES!" the boy screamed. "I'll kill those damn red-eyes and wood freaks!"
"But you're weak. You don't even have the power to defeat me."
Muzan stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Do you want power?"
This was what Muzan did best. Manipulate. Control. Turn pain into loyalty.
That's how he got Kokushibo.
"Power…?" the boy whispered.
"Yes. Power for revenge. Against those bastards who took everything—your brothers, your mother, your father… even your grandma."
"Grandma…" the boy muttered, eyes trembling. "My brothers… my sister…"
Tears welled up in his eyes.
"How can you help me…?" he asked.
"You'll sign a contract with the devil," Muzan said. "Your soul will be mine. But the power… will be yours."
"…Sure," the boy said.
"What's your name?" Muzan asked, extending a clawed finger.
"Ryusuke… Hagoromo Ryusuke."
Muzan stabbed his finger into the boy's forehead.
"If you survive the next three days, come find me. And beware… the sun."