Naruto: Beyond The Dreamscape

Mayumi noticed it the moment she stepped outside.

The morning air felt… different.

There was a strange current in it—not the kind that came before a storm, but something subtler. A quiet, almost imperceptible shift in energy, like a held breath. Something had changed.

As she made her way toward the training grounds, she passed by several Uchiha adults. Their expressions, usually stern or unreadable, carried an odd gleam of satisfaction. Some nodded to one another with faint, knowing smiles. It wasn't loud or boastful. But it was there.

Something had pleased them.

By the time she arrived at the training field, the atmosphere had grown even more apparent. The usual cluster of boys her age were huddled together in the center of the yard, voices bubbling with excitement, laughter flaring louder than usual.

"Ha! Looks like the Senju got what they deserved this time!"

"They were the ones who started it! We just finished it for them."

Mayumi frowned, her steps slowing.

"What are you all talking about?" she asked, stepping closer.

The group fell silent. Heads turned.

As the only girl among them—and more importantly, the daughter of the clan head—no one was quite bold enough to speak to her with the same ease they did with one another. Respect? Maybe. Hesitation? Definitely.

Still, after a beat, one boy broke the silence.

"You haven't heard?" he said, eyes wide with barely contained glee. "Yesterday, some of our clan teamed up with the Hogoromo and pulled off a perfect strike. Took out one of the Senju leader's sons."

Mayumi's expression faltered. "What?"

"Yeah," another chimed in. "I think his name was… Kawasaki?"

"Kawarama," someone corrected with a smirk. "Kawarama Senju."

Mayumi froze.

So her father had gone through with it.

Just as brother Izamu had hinted.

'Hit them where it hurts.'

A coordinated strike. Executed with the Hogoromo clan's aid. It wasn't just vengeance—it was a message. One delivered with precision and purpose.

Mayumi remembered the day of Madara-nii's injury—how he'd returned with blood seeping from wounds that still hadn't fully healed, his voice ragged with pain. She remembered her own fury then—the helpless anger burning in her chest.

Back then, she had wanted justice.

But now that it had been served, she felt… hollow.

She hadn't believed her father would truly do it. That he would send men to hunt down a boy. Even in this age of blood and vengeance, even under the weight of clan pride—was there no boundary?

Apparently not.

Not for Tajima Uchiha.

Not for the men who silently smiled this morning.

It was worse than she had imagined.

Mayumi remained silent, her expression unreadable as she stared at the group of children around her—each of them laughing proudly, basking in the glow of their shared excitement.

"What are you all doing here instead of training?"

A loud voice cut through the moment as Jaiken-sensei arrived abruptly, striding toward them with sharp authority. His gaze swept over the students huddled together, and he barked the question with clear disapproval.

"S-sorry, Sensei!"

The children immediately straightened up, their shoulders tensing. They bowed their heads and hurriedly scattered, mumbling apologies as they dispersed.

---

With each powerful strike Mayumi delivered, her fists crashed down upon the wooden training dummy like silent thunder—controlled, precise, and unrelenting. Each blow landed with the weight of something deeper than muscle: quiet fury wrapped in pain she couldn't name. The rhythm of her body was here, in the training yard, but her thoughts… they were far away.

Drifting.

Kawarama Senju.

The name echoed like a whisper across the battlefield of her mind.

The son of the Senju clan's leader. A child—too young—now dead.

He had belonged to the enemy clan, yes. The same clan that had claimed more Uchiha lives than any other. The same clan whose leader had once hunted her own brother with the intent to kill. The clan that had hunted her kin, threatened her family, and come dangerously close to stealing her beloved elder brother's life.

By all reasoning, his death was retribution.

By all logic, it was justice.

It should have been a cause for celebration.

Right?

And yet…

Why, then, did her chest feel so tight?

Why did each breath taste of ash?

As laughter rang out from her fellow clansmen, as smiles bloomed in the faces of those she had known since childhood, Mayumi stood still—unmoving, unsmiling. Their joy felt distant, alien, like a language she could no longer understand. A child had died. Even if he was the son of their greatest enemy, even if his clan had bathed in Uchiha blood… the loss of a child should not have tasted like triumph.

She couldn't rejoice.

She couldn't bring herself to smile—not when her hands, though unbloodied by this act, felt complicit.

And that realization stung more than any wound.

Why couldn't she feel what she was supposed to feel?

She was an Uchiha.

She was the daughter of the clan leader.

She was the younger sister of Madara—Madara, who had nearly lost his life to the Senju.

Shouldn't she be proud?

Shouldn't she be standing taller today, head held high as her enemies fell?

Instead, her heart whispered doubts in a language no one around her dared to speak.

Instead, she felt pity—for a boy she had never met.

Instead, she felt shame—for not sharing in the joy of her people.

And worse still, an ache bloomed within her that she couldn't silence.

Because somewhere deep inside, a cruel thought had taken root:

Her father had done something unforgivable.

She tried to push it down, to banish it—but it lingered. And with it came guilt. Sharp, poisonous guilt.

Was she betraying her clan simply by feeling this way?

Was compassion a form of treason?

Her fists moved faster now—wilder. Not with precision, but with desperation—as if punishing herself.

With each blow, the wooden dummy splintered, fragments of it flying through the air in jagged bursts. Under her hands, it was reduced to a cracked, broken mess. Her knuckles, too, were torn—bleeding, bruised, raw from the force of her own inner conflict

She struck again.

And again.

And again.

Until the dummy collapsed in on itself—shattered.

Until she was the only thing left standing.

Alone in the pale morning light, her chest heaving, blood dripping from her fingers, Mayumi remained still.

Not victorious.

What did it mean to be loyal?

What did it mean to be right?

Just broken in ways no one could see.

She hadn't been training.

She had been trying to silence the war raging inside her.

And in that moment, she realized the most painful truth of all:

Sometimes, the hardest battles were the ones no one else could see.

"Mayumi… What happened to you?"

The moment she heard her elder brother's voice, she froze—then turned sharply, startled by his sudden presence. She only to find his gaze fixed on her hands—her bloodied, bruised hands.

Madara's voice was calm, as always—but the concern in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Nii-san…" she murmured.

Without answering directly, she instinctively tucked her hands behind her back, hiding the damage. Her voice came a moment later, quiet but steady.

"It was just training. I went a little too far, that's all." she said lightly, forcing a small smile.

Madara didn't respond right away. His silence wasn't judging—it was observant, thoughtful. But his eyes lingered a beat longer, watching the way she avoided his gaze.

"Something's bothering you, isn't it?" he asked gently.

Mayumi gave a small shake of her head, her smile faint and practiced.

"There's nothing to worry about. Everything's fine."

He didn't believe her.

She could tell from the way his brows pulled ever so slightly together, from the way his expression grew quiet—not cold, but distant, as if trying to figure out what she wasn't saying.

But true to his nature, Madara didn't press.

Instead, his tone shifted, softer and more contemplative.

"Mayumi… ever since I regained consciousness, there's something I've wanted to ask you."

She met his eyes warily, the tension in her shoulders returning.

"What is it?"

"That dream," he said. "The one I had before I woke up. It was… strange. Vivid."

Her breath caught.

Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.

"You remember it?"

In truth, she hadn't fully understood what happened either. That moment—the one when she reached for him in the dream—had felt both real and unreal, like her will alone had pulled him back from a place beyond reach.

"I just wanted to wake you," she said quietly, her gaze dropping to the floor. "That was the only thing on my mind."

Madara was silent for a moment longer, the look in his eyes deepening.

"Do you think your dreams—those recurring visions you have—are connected somehow?"

She hesitated.

"Maybe," she admitted. "But… The Uchiha clan has no recorded abilities related to dreams. There's no precedent. Dreams have never been considered a source of power in our bloodline."

Madara offered a faint, knowing smile.

"That doesn't mean it's impossible," he said.

"Just because something hasn't appeared in our past doesn't mean it won't emerge in our future."

His eyes searched hers—calm and curious, but beneath that, a shadow of worry lingered in the way only an elder brother could feel when his little sister stood at the edge of something powerful and unknown.

"You may be awakening something none of us fully understand. A new gift. Maybe even a Kekkei Genkai."

Mayumi blinked, startled.

"New Kekkei Genkai…?"

She echoed the words slowly, thoughtfully, turning the idea over in her mind.

"Dreams are a form of illusion," Madara continued. "And illusions… are our clan's domain. If dreams can be controlled—truly controlled—then maybe what you're experiencing isn't far from a new kind of power."

"If dreams could be controlled…" she murmured again.

Something clicked inside her.

A thought she hadn't dared give form was beginning to solidify—an understanding that perhaps her strange visions were more than burdens. Perhaps they were a path. A possibility. A power waiting to be named.

And in that moment, something shifted within her.

An idea took root.

A spark ignited.

Madara didn't say anything more, but he watched her quietly, as if sensing the shift in her. He didn't rush her.

Instead, he simply stood at her side.

Quiet. Present.

Mayumi said nothing else—but her mind was racing.

The future might still be uncertain. The dreams might remain clouded. And though her mind was full of doubts, for the first time, she felt a clarity she hadn't known she needed.

If the Uchiha had no power tied to dreams—

then perhaps she would be the first.

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