Chapter Text
The nausea had come again that morning. Persistent. Familiar.
Madara stood by the window of his home, one hand resting absently on his stomach. The dull churn in his gut didn’t bother him today. Instead, there was a quiet sort of warmth. A new chakra pulsed faintly beneath his own—small, barely-formed, but there.
He had known for two days now. He hadn’t told anyone—not even Hashirama.
But today, he would.
He could already see the look of joy that would light up Hashirama's face, how he’d take Madara into his arms, laughing like a boy, promising they’d raise their child together. Hashirama had spoken of their future so often—how they’d mark each other during Madara’s next heat, how they’d unify not only clans but souls.
They had a future. He was sure of it.
As he stepped out into the streets of Konoha, the sun was bright and the air buzzed with hushed whispers. Something about the Uzumaki delegation arriving soon. Madara barely registered it. Politics always moved in the background, but this… this was personal.
Still, he didn’t take chances. He knew Tobirama was a sensor—a skilled one. If anyone could detect the tiny chakra signature hidden in his belly, it would be him. So Madara carefully masked it, weaving chakra around it so tightly that even Tobirama would feel nothing but his own presence.
As he neared the Hokage’s office, his steps slowed. He could already sense the chakra inside—Hashirama… and Tobirama.
He entered without knocking.
Tobirama stood with his arms crossed, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips—more smug than amused. A victory smile. Madara’s brow twitched.
Tch. That smile again. He hated it. He hated how Tobirama always looked at him like he was something that could be outmaneuvered.
Hashirama stood from behind his desk, looking… tense. That wasn’t right. Hashirama was never tense when Madara entered a room. Madara’s heart gave a faint, warning thud.
“Madara,” Hashirama said softly. “Can we speak alone?”
Tobirama raised an eyebrow and gave a knowing glance to Madara before turning on his heel and walking out. He closed the door slowly behind him.
Silence fell. Heavy. Crackling.
Madara stood before Hashirama, arms folded loosely, waiting. “What is it?”
Hashirama swallowed. “The Uzumaki delegation is arriving within the week. Their clan has agreed to help us with sealing techniques… protection for the village.” He hesitated. “As part of the alliance, I’ve decided… I’m going to marry Mito.”
Madara blinked.
Hashirama kept speaking, words falling like stones, one after the other. “It’s what’s best for the village. This alliance will give us strength, a reputation… she’s a noble omega, she’ll carry strong children. This isn’t about—”
Madara wasn’t listening.
A rushing sound filled his ears. His fingers clenched. His heart didn’t break—it snapped.
He saw Izuna's face in his mind, his brother’s warning: "They'll always choose their own first. Senju don't know loyalty to anyone outside their blood." The clan elders had said it, too. The whispers. The warnings. Madara had ignored them all. He had believed Hashirama was different.
“I see,” he said.
Hashirama faltered. “Madara—”
“Congratulations.” His voice was steady. Cold. Detached.
He rose from the chair. Didn’t look at Hashirama again. Didn’t let himself speak the words he wanted to scream: I’m pregnant with your child. You promised to mark me. You said we’d be together.
He opened the door.
Tobirama was standing there, arms still crossed. Smirking. Madara paused.
He saw now. The Smile .... That was victory. Tobirama knew.
Madara brushed past him without a word.
---
When he reached the Uchiha compound, he let the mask fall. The door clicked shut behind him, and with it, the fragile control he’d held until now shattered. He staggered forward, hand catching the edge of the table as he dropped to his knees. His breath trembled out of himThe child’s chakra shimmered gently beneath his palm. He sat down in silence, the ache in his chest hollow and raw.
The moment Madara stepped inside his home, the walls felt like they were closing in.
He had prepared so many things to tell Hashirama—had even imagined their child’s name, how it might look like both of them. How proud Hashirama would be.
Instead…
“I was a fool,” Madara whispered, his voice hoarse. “I trusted him.”
He buried his face into his palms, the weight of the betrayal crashing through him in waves. It was always Tobirama. He could see it now—Tobirama’s smug grin, the cold amusement in his eyes. Madara had never trusted that man, but… he’d trusted Hashirama to stand against him. To put them first.
But Hashirama had always followed Tobirama’s lead. Always done what was good for “the village.” Always sacrificed himself—and Madara—for a dream.
I was never his first choice.
The realization hit hard.
The child stirred faintly within him—still too small to be anything but energy, but Madara felt it. A soft, innocent reminder of what could have been. He wrapped his arms around himself, curling in.
“I won’t let him take you,” he murmured. “He doesn’t deserve to know. Not you. Not anything.”
His body trembled with grief, but his mind—his mind had already begun to move.
He couldn’t stay. Not in this village. Not as an unmarked, pregnant omega. The scandal would tear the Uchiha apart. His position as clan head would be questioned, possibly stripped. His child—viewed as a stain. Unclaimed.
Madara felt sick at the thought.
The village was never a haven. It was a cage dressed in ideals. And he had walked into it willingly. He had thought peace meant sacrifice—but the only thing sacrificed was him.He will never make his child suffer
He stood up slowly, every joint feeling heavy.
This village was built on lies. And now, it would continue without him.
Hashirama picked his choice , Now he will Pick his .
He went to his office, took out a scroll. Ink met paper in fast, sharp strokes—his clan seal pressed firm at the end. He tied it and summoned a hawk, sending it soaring into the air.
It was a call for every Uchiha elder, captain, and council head.
A full clan meeting. Tonight.
Madara looked out the window, the last rays of the sun dying behind the Hokage monument. That cursed face carved in stone.
He would be gone before morning.
He would not stay here.
Not in this village.
Not with them
Not with him.
Whispers stirred across the Uchiha district like wildfire.
A sudden clan meeting? Called by the clan head himself, without warning? It hadn’t happened in years—certainly not without some political development to accompany it. Members murmured as they gathered, worry etched into their brows.
Madara was waiting when they arrived—composed, but distant. As though the room were already a memory to him.
Hikaku sat closest to him, frowning. He had known Madara since they were boys, and something was wrong—he could feel it like a storm behind his cousin’s eyes.
When the room settled, Madara stood.
“There’s no easy way to say this,” he began, voice steady. “As of tonight, I am resigning as the head of the Uchiha clan.”
A wave of stunned silence followed, broken only by confused gasps and the low rumble of disbelief.
“I have made many mistakes,” Madara continued, bowing low in front of them all. “I didn’t always listen to your warnings. I trusted when I should have questioned. And for that, I ask your forgiveness.”
His head remained bowed longer than necessary.
“I have lost hope in Konoha,” he said quietly. “But I pray the clan remains united—even if I no longer stand beside you.”
“Madara-sama—!” someone started, but he raised a hand.
“I have chosen Hikaku to succeed me as clan head,” Madara continued. “He is capable, loyal, and has the strength to guide the clan where I cannot.”
Hikaku’s eyes widened. “Wait, no—Madara, what are you talking about?!”
But Madara didn’t respond
He looked out over them all, each face carved into his memory.
He bowed again, deep and final, before turning and walking out of the room without looking back.
He didn’t need to.
They would all be watching his silhouette disappear into the night.
---
Hikaku followed.
He found Madara in his home, calmly rolling up scrolls and placing them into a pack. His cloak was already folded beside him, and the air in the room was far too still.
“You’re leaving?” Hikaku asked, voice low with disbelief.
“Yes.”
“Madara—what the hell is going on?”
Madara didn’t look up. “I already said what needed to be said.”
“No, you gave the clan an answer. Not me.”
Madara paused. Then he placed the scroll down and met Hikaku’s eyes.
“I need to go.”
. “Please take care of the scrolls on the desk. One is my resignation from the Hokage’s administrative council. The other… is the formal letter for the clan.”
“You were fine this morning!” Hikaku snapped, crossing the room. “You laughed. You said you were going to train the younger ones next week!”
“I lied,” Madara said softly, finally turning toward him.
Hikaku stepped forward, his fists clenched. “You’re just going to vanish? Without a word? After everything you built?”
“There’s nothing left for me here.”
“That’s not true—”
“It is,” Madara cut him off sharply, then exhaled as his tone softened. “Please. Just do this for me.”
Hikaku’s eyes burned. “You’re my only family, Madara. You don’t get to just disappear.”
Madara hesitated, then walked to him and pulled him into a tight embrace.
Hikaku froze, then slowly returned it, gripping him like a brother he was afraid to lose.
Madara’s voice was a whisper now. “You’ll be a good leader. Better than I ever was.”
Hikaku’s voice cracked. “When are you coming back?”
Madara stepped back, his expression unreadable.
He didn’t answer.
And Hikaku knew then—Madara had no intention of returning.
He watched in silence as his cousin packed only the essentials: a few clothes, money, scrolls. The Gunbai. Nothing else.
Madara paused by the door, casting one last look at the house. “Wait two days before you announce it. Let me get far enough.”
Hikaku nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.
Then Madara the co- founder of Konoha and former Uchiha clan head opened the door, vanishing into the night—alone with the weight of a heartbreak no one else could see.leaving only silence in his wake.
And the secret he refused to share.
Hashirama stood at the window of the Hokage’s office, watching the village lights flicker in the dusk like fireflies. The bottle of sake remained untouched beside him now. He had drunk too much already. His stomach turned, not from the alcohol—but from guilt.
"He didn't even yell."
Madara’s calm had been worse than rage. Worse than a fight.
The room still echoed with Madara’s last words.
“Congratulations.” . It haunted Hashirama like a curse.
So cold. So distant. So final.
Hashirama had imagined arguments. Shouting. Even Madara drawing his fan and demanding to know why.
He had not imagined... nothingness. He had not imagined Madara walking out of the office with a hollow look in his eyes, silent like a battlefield after the dead had fallen.
Hashirama slumped back in his chair, unable to breathe.
“Why would he think I wanted this…?”
His voice was quiet. Broken. And there was no one there to answer.
Tobirama had knocked once before stepping back in. He said nothing about Madara, only dropped a report on the desk and left with the quiet confidence of someone who had won a battle.
Hashirama poured himself a drink.
Just one. To calm the nerves.
Then another. To dull the ache.
By the time night fell, his desk was cluttered with empty sake bottles, and his heart was a raw, screaming thing inside his chest.
He kept picturing Madara’s face—not when he left, but when they were younger. Laughing by the river. Arguing over training. Sitting together under the trees at night, talking about the future they’d build.
"We’ll mark each other next heat," Hashirama had promised not even a week ago, forehead against Madara’s, their fingers tangled together.He only want to mark madara no one else
“He’ll come around,” Hashirama whispered to himself. “He just needs time. A few days.”
Madara needed space. Hashirama had made an impossible choice—one that he hadn’t even wanted. But how could Madara understand? How could he know the weight on Hashirama’s shoulders? The village was still fragile, and the Uzumaki were offering not only a seal alliance, but protection. Resources. Blood ties.
And if a child could be born with Mokuton—one that could help protect everyone…
Hashirama’s hand clenched against the windowpane.
“I never wanted Mito. I only ever wanted you, Madara…”
He looked down at his hands—his hands that had shaped this village. That had built peace from blood. That had held Madara like a vow.
But the elders had been clear. The Uzumaki wanted an alliance. A marriage. Sealing techniques in return for family ties and children.
Children with a chance to inherit the Mokuton. Children the village needed.
Hashirama had made his choice.
The right choice
The responsible choice.
The one that protects the village.
The one that kills him inside.
He leaned his forehead against the glass.
“I’ll give him time,” he muttered. “I’ll give him space to calm down, and then I’ll explain. I’ll tell him everything. He’ll see that I didn’t do this to hurt him. I did this to protect him , How he wants to kiss Madara
He poured another drink.
“Why didn’t he fight for us…?” he whispered.
Because Hashirama didn't understand that Madara had fought.
Every step of the way.
He fought to believe in this village. In him. He gave everything.
And now, when Hashirama finally asked him to give up the last thing they had… Madara had nothing left.