After parting ways with Obito, Madara Uchiha made it clear that he didn't need much assistance. He wasn't so old that he couldn't find his way around.
Seeing that "Grandpa Radama" was indeed aged but still sharp and full of vigor, with keen eyes and a firm stance—without any signs of dementia or frailty—Obito left him with confidence.
Once Obito was out of sight, Madara Uchiha leaned on his cane and slowly made his way to the game announcement venue. After this event, he had no more interest in patrolling Konoha.
As for Obito's talk about food and drinks? Madara didn't care. Water and sustenance might still be necessities, but only hamburgers, fries, fried chicken, and cola made his menu these days. Anything else—no matter how luxurious—was garbage.
Madara's food standards were exacting and pure.
He passed the ticket check and was soon inside his personal VIP booth, courtesy of Black Zetsu, who ensured that no one would disturb the great Madara Uchiha during the event.
The venue had been expanded again, now able to accommodate up to 12,000 attendees—an architectural marvel in the shinobi world.
Such a feat was only possible because of the superhuman strength of the ninja, aided by builders and craftsmen. In mere months, a few-thousand capacity hall had become a massive arena.
Just as originally intended, this venue had now become a Konoha landmark. Travelers and workers alike came just to see it, almost turning the area into a tourist spot.
Inside his booth, Madara glanced around. Though small, the room was quite pleasant. A window offered a clear view, a comfy armchair sat next to a small table laid with fruit, nuts, snacks, a water bottle—and a delicate silver bell.
Outside the booth, trained service staff waited—mostly civilians recruited and trained by the Konoha Gaming Guild. Of course, this was all orchestrated by Uchiha Kei.
Kei had long since provided the guild with comprehensive service protocols. All they needed to do was implement them through professional training.
Today's event was the culmination of months of preparation.
The staff member who brought Madara in explained everything with professional politeness, ending by pointing out that the drink on the table—cola—was a new, unreleased product.
At that moment, Madara froze.
"Cola?" he asked, eyeing the bottle.
The staff member smiled. "Yes, that's the name. It's a brand-new beverage not yet seen in the shinobi world. Developed by the First Hokage himself—once a closely guarded secret, difficult to mass-produce. But now, thanks to Lady Tsunade, the formula has been perfected and mass production is underway."
"Tsunade-sama generously offered this to us in collaboration with the Konoha Gaming Guild. It's delicious and revitalizing—refreshing the mind and body. Right now, it's not for sale yet. What you have is a VIP-exclusive preview."
Madara narrowed his eyes. "Developed by the First Hokage? Interesting…"
What a load of crap. Hashirama may have invented Wood Style, but cola? Not a chance.
This was clearly one of Kei's dimension-summoning tricks.
But Madara understood—associating it with the First Hokage gave the product a powerful origin story. If you were going to sell it across the world, attaching a legendary name helped.
Hashirama Senju—the one who ended the Warring States Era and founded the shinobi village system—was as good a brand as any.
Madara didn't know much about advertising, but he knew how it worked. If people believed the cola came from the First Hokage, they'd clamor to try it. And once they confirmed it worked, it would become Konoha's flagship export—a goldmine for trade.
"…Hmph. So Black Zetsu was right. That brat Kei really does like Hashirama's granddaughter. Gifting her all the credit like that." Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭⚫𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦⚫𝘯𝘦𝘵
Madara muttered this quietly. The attendant didn't hear and politely asked if he needed anything.
After dismissing him and requesting no further disturbances, Madara sat down.
The chair was surprisingly comfortable—far better than White Zetsu's rocky thrones.
He cracked open the bottle and tasted the cola.
His old eyes narrowed. He snorted.
The flavor was close to what the White Zetsu had "borrowed," but clearly inferior. The refreshment and energy boost were weak—barely a tenth of what the real cola offered.
This… was a knockoff.
No wonder Madara was annoyed. Who wouldn't be?
And if this was the mass-market version, Madara would rather have White Zetsu keep stealing the good stuff. Why settle for weak when you can snatch the best?
Still, the situation reminded him of genjutsu games.
The Konoha Gaming Guild sold both censored and full versions. Could it be the same with cola? Premium and basic?
"Interesting. If I'm right, that brat Kei really has a mind for commerce—not at all like a shinobi. Shameless, even."
Yes, Kei was underhanded—but the tactic worked. It made sense. The full-strength cola was a precious resource, a strategic commodity. No way it would be sold freely.
What went public had to be the watered-down version.
Even if he didn't like Konoha's current state, he had a soft spot for Kei—like a grandfather watching a clever grandson.
He downed the entire bottle and let out a satisfied burp. It might be weak, but the taste was nice.
Then he pulled out a hidden can—the real deal, stolen by White Zetsu—and poured it into the bottle. Hiding the can away, he began sipping the true cola.
Another belch—one with flavor. The good stuff.
Madara leaned back in his chair and turned his gaze to the scene outside.
It was 9 a.m. The event was about to begin. The venue was nearly full, with more attendees streaming in.
VIP guests had entered through private passageways and taken their designated spots. Some suites, like Madara's, were solo; others could hold 3–5 people comfortably.
Those were for major clan heads and business partners.
In one larger suite, the Legendary Sannin were reunited. Jiraiya sipped fruit juice and snacks, nodding.
"Delicious. The fruit's fresh, the nuts are great. Imported from the south?"
Tsunade nodded. "The Konoha Gaming Guild built a dedicated transport route. Ninja teams handle delivery. We'll have fresh produce all winter."
Jiraiya marveled. "To think they could do that. It used to cost a fortune."
Tsunade crossed her arms—her confidence on full display. "That's what prosperity brings. Soon, we'll grow our own winter crops."
Jiraiya wanted to sneak a glance at her chest but didn't dare. Tsunade was seeing someone again.
Just like he'd backed off when she dated Dan, now that she was secretly involved with Uchiha Kei, he stayed respectful.
So he kept his eyes on the fruit. "Home-grown crops? Isn't that risky? Won't other villages sabotage it?"
Tsunade scoffed. "Don't underestimate agriculture. If Konoha doesn't produce its own food, we're vulnerable. As our population grows, supply chains could be cut. That would be fatal."
"We have to plan ahead. And now, thanks to our tech, we can accelerate crop growth. If all goes well, we'll be exporting grain by next year."
Jiraiya's interest peaked. "Who made this tech? Kei again?"
Tsunade smirked and looked at Orochimaru. "Wrong. It's his doing."
Orochimaru smiled. "But Kei-kun played a part. Without him, I wouldn't have succeeded."
Jiraiya was stunned. They told him Orochimaru had developed a plant-growth catalyst while researching performance enhancers—thanks to Kei's assistance.
The real secret—research using White Zetsu—remained hidden, even from Tsunade.
The public explanation was enough.
Jiraiya was impressed—and stressed. His fellow Sannin had achieved so much. What had he done?
If he didn't create something revolutionary, could he still call himself one of the Sannin?
Fortunately, he had a path forward. Kei had shown him the way.
He thought of the game dev lessons he'd taken in the genjutsu world, and the game world Kei had given him.
His heart burned with determination.
He had a mission: to bring the great art of *eroge* to the shinobi world!
Just as he vowed to create something legendary, the background music surged and the event began.
Two emcees stepped onto the main stage, cheered by more than 10,000 attendees.
Their entrance, tone, and energy had clearly been rehearsed. Though first-timers, they nailed it.
To an Earthling, their style would seem corny—something you'd find in a YouTube cringe compilation. But in the shinobi world? Fresh. Creative. Enthralling.
Even Madara sat up straighter, his eyes gleaming.
At that moment, in a hidden corner of the venue… Root operatives arrived.