Hane Genma understood Senju Tobirama very well. That was only natural — after spending enough time together, anyone would begin to grasp the other's temperament.
But the problem was that Genma didn't just understand the Tobirama of now — he even knew the Tobirama of the future.
In a sense, his understanding of the man ran deeper than Tobirama himself.
So, when Genma noticed Tobirama's gaze lingering on the scroll in his hands and saw him suddenly fall into deep thought, he immediately realized what was going through his mind.
Genma didn't know exactly when Tobirama would complete the development of the Flying Thunder God Technique, nor when he first conceived of time–space ninjutsu, but that didn't matter.
What mattered was that, as of today, Tobirama had already begun to think in that direction —
thanks, of course, to a little inspiration from Genma.
"What's this? After getting trounced by the Hayabusa Clan's Swift Release, you're thinking of evening the score? Let me guess… you plan to use a space–time jutsu to gain an overwhelming speed advantage?"
"Huh? Me? Space–time jutsu? Develop? I… I did?"
Something wasn't right. Very not right.
Tobirama was baffled — how did the man see straight through the faint spark of an idea that had barely formed in his mind? Was he that transparent? That easy to read?
"If that's the case," Genma continued, "then I'd suggest starting from the more common and practical types of space–time ninjutsu — things like storage seal techniques, special barrier formations, summoning jutsu, and reverse summoning."
"Wait—slow down a bit…"
"Also, your strongest asset is your exceptional sensory ability. If you can precisely locate both the starting point and endpoint of a space–time jutsu, then by applying what you've learned from ordinary techniques to pierce through space itself, your development will succeed."
"Oh, right — if smooth space makes it difficult to feel the exact three-dimensional coordinates, I suggest using inscribed coordinates for targeting. For example, you could imprint your chakra and a positioning formula onto a kunai or another weapon. Then, when you throw it toward a target, you can warp to its location instantly."
"Hold on—you're not letting me get a word in—!"
Genma ignored him completely.
No matter what Tobirama's mind was doing, he could never keep up with Genma's verbal pace.
One was improvising; the other came prepared. There was no comparison.
"Oh, and one more thing — the Rasengan, which is created by taking chakra shape transformation to its extreme, would pair beautifully with a space–time technique."
"In fact," Genma mused, drawing Tobirama's sword and swinging it lazily through the air, "if you could channel the spatial ripple produced during teleportation into a blade, your strikes would gain space-cutting properties. The result would be… a blade that severs anything."
Tobirama clenched his teeth.
"Why don't you just name the damn technique for me while you're at it?"
"Already done. The basic teleportation ability can be called Flying Thunder God. And the blade technique that uses its spatial properties — Flying Thunder God Slash."
Tobirama: "…"
He felt as if something incredibly important had just been stolen from him.
The irony was, for all his smooth talk, Genma himself lacked the qualifications to develop the Flying Thunder God Technique.
First, he didn't have Tobirama's level of spatial awareness.
Second, he didn't have the chakra reserves needed for constant teleportation.
So why did he keep talking? Because this was his way of "helping" Tobirama develop the technique — and if he was helping, didn't that count as another investment of goodwill?
Unrepayable, truly unrepayable.
Tobirama lay on the bed, eyes vacant, like a corpse.
Honestly, he already had a rough idea in mind. With a bit of thought, he could have worked out everything Genma had said on his own — even the name Flying Thunder God wasn't beyond his imagination.
But now… it was too late.
The feeling he had now could only be understood by authors who come up with a brilliant plot twist, only for their readers to guess it halfway through the story.
Spoilers? No — this was far worse.
Still, it wasn't like Genma was teasing him out of cruelty.
It wasn't malice, just… the ruthless reality of intellectual property disputes.
Once the technique was complete, half the credit — half the glory — would belong to Tobirama.
Which meant the other half would belong to Genma.
"I really… can't thank you enough…"
The words rasped out from Tobirama's throat, weak and resigned.
He should have been happy — after all, he now had a clear path forward for his research.
So why did it feel so awful?
Because even though his "intellectual property" had been blatantly stolen, he still had to thank the thief.
It hurt. It hurt so much.
Before Genma could say anything more, Chihori pushed open the door to the infirmary.
And what she saw made her freeze: two bodies lying side by side on the bed — Tobirama and what looked like an actual corpse — as if they were about to be buried together.
Thankfully, Tobirama was still breathing.
"What the hell is going on here? Where did that corpse come from?"
Bringing a body into the ward was bad enough — but letting it cuddle up next to a wounded patient? Were they trying to cause an infection for fun?
"Uh, don't look at me."
Knowing he was in the wrong, Genma tossed the sealing scroll onto the bed and quickly made for the door.
Chihori sighed and got to work resealing the corpse.
"Thank you. Really… thank you."
This time Tobirama's gratitude came straight from the heart.
Driving Genma out of the room was the best thing that had happened to him in days.
"Don't mention it… Is he one of your clan?"
Tobirama nodded weakly. Chihori placed the sealing scroll beside his pillow.
"My condolences."
Having walked away with half of Tobirama's intellectual property and confirmed that the man was rational enough not to act recklessly against Uchiha Nanami in Kikyo Castle, Genma felt reassured.
Some things didn't need to be said aloud — sometimes silence was the best form of communication.
Once he was sure Tobirama was stable, Genma decided to go check on Nanami next.
His dealings with the Senju clan were important for the organization's future, and though his actions were for the greater good, failing to explain himself to others would make him seem cold and detached.
The era of the shinobi villages was approaching.
Yet, Genma still hadn't decided what path to take.
In his heart, he longed for independence — but neither his own power nor his organization's strength was enough to support that dream.
Could the Firefly Organization ever grow into a Great Ninja Village? Highly unlikely.
And ruling over a small nation wasn't any better — they'd still be at the mercy of the great villages. One day, they could be wiped out overnight.
In truth, when the Five Great Villages were first founded, only one place had the potential to become a sixth: Takigakure. Their later ability to control a tailed beast proved as much.
And yet, even Takigakure never rose to greatness.
So, the Konoha route was undeniably more practical — though the thought of losing his autonomy made Genma uneasy.
In any case, before he could decide his future path, he had to maintain a connection with the Senju.
He found Uchiha Nanami in one of the offices of the Combat Preparation Department and explained the entire situation with Tobirama, hoping she would understand.
Surprisingly, Nanami didn't seem to care.
"I've said it before — in that last incident, I was the victim. I hold no grudge. It's that Senju brat who kept coming after me like a rabid dog…"
Genma couldn't deny it.
Tobirama was a rabid dog — the kind that bites silently and never lets go.
But Genma had no interest in debating the endless cycle of Senju–Uchiha grievances.
After all, Tobirama's brother had died at Uchiha hands — but what about Uchiha Madara's brother?
Dog bites dog; there's nothing more to say.
Genma's concern was with these two individuals, Tobirama and Nanami, nothing more.
And since Nanami hadn't killed any Senju children and Uchiha Izuna was still alive, things were simple.
Adult shinobi deaths on the battlefield? Those were just casualties of war.
"You really don't mind? He chased you for hundreds of kilometers with a sword."
"Nothing to mind. Stuff like that happens all the time. As long as I'm alive, it's fine. Don't worry — as long as that Senju kid doesn't bother me again, I'll stay out of his way."
"Good to hear."
Still, if Genma had just accelerated Tobirama's development of the Flying Thunder God Technique, didn't that make him partly responsible for the death of Nanami's clansmen in the future?
Not necessarily. Tobirama would have invented the technique eventually, with or without Genma's help.
As for Uchiha Izuna's fate — well, Genma wasn't generous enough to care about the life of a stranger.
Everything was in flux.
If Tobirama and Izuna met again on the battlefield, and instead of muttering "Curse the fate of not having the Sharingan," Izuna's mind went blank — while Tobirama thought, "Curse the fate of not mastering space–time ninjutsu," — then who could say who would die first?
Such details on the battlefield determined life and death. No one could predict them.
Then again, knowing Tobirama's personality, he might die because of arrogance —
but die from arrogance? That was far less likely.
Personality determined success… and survival.
"By the way," Genma asked, "that fox you summon — where did you find it?"
Having finished the serious part of the conversation, his mind wandered back to the topic of summoning and space–time jutsu.
"Find it? I didn't. When I was practicing summoning, Shichi responded to my call on its own. You actually go looking for your summons?" Nanami said.
Genma blinked.
These people were all insane.
They could find a summoning beast with a blind summon?
"Wait, you didn't even sign a contract?" he asked. "That's… not how summoning works."
"Shichi's special. I think you could summon it yourself now — it already recognizes your chakra and should respond to your call."
"That's impossible. Even if you can accidentally summon a beast, I'd just be wasting chakra — there's no directionality to it. How could I possibly summon Shichi?"
The odds of Shichi responding to Nanami had been astronomically low. Could that kind of fluke really happen twice?
"Totally possible. Here — I'll show you the hand signs."
Though skeptical, Genma copied her sequence and tried:
Boar → Dog → Bird → Monkey → Ram.
A puff of smoke burst forth — and the square-faced fox appeared right in front of him.
"Huh? It actually worked?"
Genma stared in disbelief. Maybe this fox just appeared whenever someone offered food.
Shichi looked momentarily confused, then, recognizing the man who had once offered it fine meat and fish, relaxed and circled around Genma's legs, sniffing happily.
"See? I told you — Shichi's very smart," Nanami said.
Genma, for all his cunning, wasn't well-versed in summoning techniques, so he thought little of it.
A good thing, too — if he had, he might've started asking dangerous questions.
Just then, the door banged open.
A man burst in, flustered and excited — Fuma Goro.
"Lord Genma! The Cursed Grudge experiment has succeeded again!"
For some reason — maybe due to the influence of the Akimichi clan — the members of the organization had begun addressing him differently.
"Lord Genma" sounded more respectful yet closer than "Alliance Leader."
Genma's brow furrowed. How did Goro know he'd be here with Nanami?
"So… another unlucky—no, another lucky survivor?"
The truth was, the first success had been a complete fluke. It had taken over six months before a second success.
But with this new breakthrough, Genma was convinced — the transplantation technique was close to maturity.
"Let's go have a look."
Nanami, as usual, showed no interest in such matters.
So Genma and Goro hurried off to the underground laboratory — a facility repurposed from the previous daimyo's emergency shelter beneath Kikyo Castle.
Secure, discreet, and far from prying eyes.
For various reasons, the scene inside wasn't something one could easily describe. Genma walked forward with a furrowed brow, then suddenly paused.
"Tell me," he said, "what if we didn't do full transplants right away? What if, before the procedure, we cut off a small tissue sample and tested how it fused with the cursed flesh to gauge compatibility? Wouldn't that save a lot of lives?"
For some reason, the thought reminded him of an antibiotic skin test — a way to predict allergic reactions before treatment.
Fuma Goro fell silent.
"..."
Wasn't it a little late for that suggestion?
Honestly, it was a good idea — but such after-the-fact wisdom might have been better left unsaid.
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