Aizawa's heart hammered in his chest.
"What… are you?"
His scarf retracted slightly as he tried to piece the impossible together. His Erasure Quirk had been active—he was certain of it. Yet… the skeletal armor stood unmoved, flickering faintly in the dim light.
Madara stepped forward, eyes calm, hands still in his pockets.
"I told you before. I'm not a hero."
Aizawa's instincts screamed at him.
This boy—no, this thing—was beyond any classification.
"You're not a Nomu… and not a villain either…"
Madara smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it.
"I'm just someone who does what has to be done."
The words struck harder than any punch.
For a fleeting moment, Aizawa saw not a teenager, but something ancient… like a predator wrapped in a child's skin.
"You've killed before."
It wasn't a question.
Madara tilted his head.
"Does it matter?"
Aizawa opened his mouth—but stopped.
What answer could he give?
He wasn't naïve enough to believe the world was black and white. But this…
This boy had killed. Without hesitation. Without remorse.
And still stood here… under the banner of a student.
Aizawa lowered his scarf slowly.
"…Why U.A.?"
Madara finally turned his gaze away, his Sharingan fading back to black.
"To learn. To see if this world was worth protecting."
The answer came so naturally, Aizawa nearly forgot to breathe.
He stared for a long moment… then let out a low sigh.
"And your conclusion?"
Madara gave him a look over his shoulder.
"Still watching."
A heavy silence lingered between them, two warriors standing on opposite sides of a line neither fully understood.
At last, Aizawa spoke—his voice low.
"You're dangerous, Uchiha. Not because of your power… but because you don't fear crossing lines."
Madara's faint smirk returned.
"I only cross the lines others draw."
Aizawa nodded once, as if settling something in his mind.
"Then you'll stay under my watch… until I decide you're safe for this school."
Madara shrugged.
"As you wish… sensei."
Behind them, sirens wailed closer.
Heroes. Police. Medics.
But here—on this ruined training ground—stood two men with completely different visions of justice.
And for now… a fragile truce.