Naruto: About the Fact That my Brother is Madara - Chapter 10 -: Conspiracy, The Killing Intent Approaching the Clan

Let her shout out: “Oh handsome and sweet-talking Tokyo gentleman, I must have you. You are mine!”This is the story of how a boy from Iwate Prefecture became a Tokyo gentleman.

[ Late check-ins accepted. Abyss residues surcharges apply. ]The Last Neutral Inn, a small establishment run by a retired man named Aldous. He serves good soup, honest tea, and the only guaranteed neutral ground between the mortal world and the Abyss.He used to change the world. He doesn't do that anymore, but he has opinions about bread. He will share them.In a place where exiled gods need somewhere to sleep, demon courts require neutral venues for negotiations they can't afford to lose, and abyssal entities older than civilization occasionally need a simple word with someone who won't panic, Aldous runs the only establishment that qualifies. His guests aren't only human. His inn shouldn't exist. The Abyss stops exactly at his property line, which nobody has satisfactorily explained.Aldous makes soup. He fixes the stairs. He files the paperwork.He is no hero. No king. He runs an inn.The question nobody had the courage to ask yet is why.

The world of Wageah was vast. It was filled with ancient magic, fallen gods, legendary mages, and exciting adventures.Earthlings summoned there gained godlike power.Zeus, Odin, Count Dracula, the Monkey King. All of them were humans who returned from Wageah and became legends on Earth.But my class and I, who were summoned to Wageah?We were enslaved.We were used, discarded, and left to die.But fate gave me another chance.I woke up as a newborn on Earth with all my memories intact. And soon after…[Awakening Supreme God's Treasure: Shadow][System Boot Successful]I gained strongest weapon in existence. [Shadow]. The treasure of the Supreme God.This time, I’ll grow stronger from the cradle. And when I return to Wageah—I won’t be a slave.I’ll be the shadow that devours the gods.

Perhaps the paintings in a museum are subjected to more nonsense than you would hear anywhere else in the world.The language that comes out of an artist’s life is the painting itself. It contains the most ordinary lives that know failure, desire, recoiling in fear, and compromise.Learning is about understanding that language. We miss much of what the paintings speak because there is no way to ask the long-dead painters about the philosophy of their lives.In an alleyway in the residential area of Jongno, there’s a peculiar art gallery. This place enables us to transcend such limitations. By sheer coincidence, I ended up visiting that place and began living an entirely different life.