The air shifted the moment they stepped back into the Senju Compound, the gates creaked with age, not from disrepair, but from disuse. Once, this place had been the heart of Konoha's spirit, alive with the laughter of children, the rhythmic clatter of training weapons, the soothing hum of water flowing through the koi garden Tobirama had built with his own hands.
Now, it was silent, the kind of silence that clung to the skin and sank into the bones.
Tsunade Senju, clad in green and grief, paused as her sandals hit the main path, her eyes swept across cracked stepping stones and shuttered homes. Overgrown hedges curled like unkempt hair around once-proud structures. A few scattered shinobi walked the compound's inner roads, faces tight, shoulders slumped.
The war had ended. But there was no victory here, "Still feels like a graveyard," Tsunade muttered, her voice rough.
Beside her, Mito Uzumaki didn't speak at first, her eyes traced the empty courtyard where young Senju once sparred with pride. Her hands folded neatly within her sleeves, and for a moment, she looked smaller, frail even, beneath the weight of memory.
"I remember the festivals," she said finally, "Hashirama used to carve little dragons out of wood for the children. We'd hang them from the trees."
A breeze rolled through, disturbing nothing. No children. No dragons, and behind them, walking with a purposeful silence, was Kuma Senju.
To him, the compound was both familiar and not, he had watched it in flashbacks, fillers, and fan theories, It was a sacred ruin, forgotten by the series that had once revered it, now it was his to protect.
They walked deeper into the compound, past the training yards, the scorched wall that still bore Tobirama's explosive tag damage from a long-forgotten duel, and into the ancestral hall.
Tsunade stopped beside a small shrine, her hand brushing the nameplate of her father, a small offering of faded flowers rested there, untouched.
Silence stretched until Kuma spoke, "Are you sure about the extraction, Mito-sama?"
She turned to him slowly, her expression didn't flicker, "I am."
Kuma studied her. Despite her age, her chakra was steady, her aura unwavering. Even without the Nine-Tails, he could tell she'd live far longer than any normal kunoichi, Uzumaki vitality was no myth.
He remembered how, in the fandom, people debated whether Mito had died long before Minato's reign or lived quietly into her final years. But her presence here, so near to Kushina's sealing, only confirmed one thing, she was stronger than history gave her credit for.
"I'll handle the ritual preparations," Mito added, "Kushina will be ready soon. She's adjusting well, better than I expected for someone so young."
Kuma nodded slowly, "Then I'll protect her."
Mito turned fully to him then. Her gaze was piercing, deeper than any Genjutsu, "She is not a tool," she said, "Not a weapon. She is a child. And if she is to bear the burden of the Nine-Tails… she must have a future. That's your job now, Kuma."
"I understand."
"And the Hokage?" she asked, voice soft but pointed, "What's your plan now, after publicly defying him and his council?"
Tsunade looked up at that, finally breaking her silence, Kuma didn't hesitate, "They won't act. Not yet."
He stepped forward, letting his eyes scan the old compound, "They'll monitor me. Whisper in shadows. But they won't move against the Senju. Not with the Uchiha and Hyuga watching for signs of favoritism. Not when suppressing a weakened clan makes them look desperate."
Tsunade folded her arms. "You're sure?"
"I am," Mito studied him again, her silence saying more than her words.
Tsunade raised an eyebrow, "Confident. I like that. But you're still only Jonin-level. I don't doubt your brain, Kuma, but I'm not sure if your strength is enough to back that mouth up."
She meant it without malice but the sting was there, Kuma only smiled faintly, "I'll manage."
Tsunade stared at him for a long moment and then let out a dry chuckle, "You really are different," she muttered, "Fine. I'll stay for a month. You've earned that much."
She walked off toward the guest quarters, muttering something about needing sake and a hot bath before she punched someone, her steps echoed down the hollow halls.
Kuma stood beside Mito in the stillness, watching the last sliver of sunlight slide behind the trees.
The Senju Compound needed more than rebuilding. It needed resurrection, Mito gave him one last look. "She's warming to you."
"She doesn't trust easily," Kuma replied, "She trusts loyalty. Don't lose that."
With that, she turned and vanished into the main hall, the tails of her cloak sweeping behind her like a forgotten prophecy.
Alone now, Kuma let the calm settle into his muscles, and then, a flicker, A soft ding echoed in his mind.
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Kuma's determined smile curled at the edges, he didn't need to be strong yet, he just needed time.
Kuma then made his way into the cold office, not in temperature, but in presence.
Kuma Senju stepped into the Clan Head's Office and was immediately greeted by dust, gloom, and history's long shadow. The room was wide, with a ceiling that arched like a temple but no warmth radiated from its wooden walls, the candlelight barely reached the corners, and the scrolls lining the cabinets looked like they'd been untouched since the First Hokage passed.
He let the door close behind him with a soft click, then he muttered aloud to no one, "I have to move my office. This is too depressing."
The desk loomed before him like a grave marker, Stacks of paperwork were piled high, mission reassignments, withdrawal notices, supply requisitions, budget disputes, clan census revisions. The war may have ended, but peace had brought its own brand of misery.
He dropped into the chair, groaning softly as he scanned the top page. It was a request to reroute funding from the northern Senju farms into the rebuilding of the Konoha barrier wall, again.
"I need Shadow Clones," he muttered, "Or an intern."
Hours passed, the candle flames flickered lower as he dragged his pen across paper after paper, his eyes burned, his back ached. The silence in the office was heavy almost accusatory and then it hit him again, that old thought.
He stared at the wall behind the desk, where an old, faded portrait of Tobirama Senju hung. White-haired, stern, and imposing.
Kuma leaned back in the chair and scoffed, 'You genius bastard, ' He thought it with a laugh, but it wasn't kind.
'You really thought sacrificing the clan's legacy would strengthen the village, you thought if you shared the Senju bloodline, gave our jutsu to civilians, integrated us into the masses, it would create balance.'
He snorted, 'Instead, you weakened us so thoroughly that we became disposable.'
He glanced at the census scroll resting on the floor beside his desk, his fingers unfurled it with a grim familiarity.
Senju Clan Total Population (Post-War): 2,743
Shinobi Active or Retired: 1,019
Civilians & Non-combatants: 1,724
Children under Academy Age: 117
It was all there, Kuma leaned forward, elbows on the desk, before Tobirama, the Senju Clan was a titan, en thousand strong. Warriors, diplomats, artisans, tacticians. They were the clan that stood toe to toe with the Uchiha during the Warring States.
Then Tobirama decided their strength should be shared for the good of Konoha, he integrated bloodlines, donated jutsu, sold properties, and encouraged mixed marriages. Invested in civilian growth and village infrastructure. He believed in elevating the village over the clan but what had it cost?
Thousands lost to time and obscurity. Ancient scrolls were turned over to the Sarutobi clan under the guise of recordkeeping. Senju businesses re-registered under new management, most of which just so happened to end up in the hands of Koharu's, Homura's, and even Danzo's distant relatives.
Even the Ryo once earned by Senju enterprises is now funded by policies designed to keep them from rising again.
Kuma laughed bitterly, 'You didn't just split our legacy, Tobirama. You gave it away to people who couldn't protect it.'
The image of the Third Hokage floated in his mind robed, smiling, full of that fatherly faux-wisdom he wore like a mask, he was Tobirama's student. And he inherited everything, except the responsibility.
Still, Kuma couldn't hate Tobirama entirely, the man had tried to prevent another Madara, his fear of unchecked power had blinded him to the long-term rot.
Now the rot had settled in deep, only Mito had seen it happening in real time. And only Tsunade still had the fire to do something about it.
Kuma leaned back, letting out a long, slow breath, "I'm grateful, Mito," he murmured, "Without you, she wouldn't have listened."
He closed his eyes for a moment. He could still feel it, the tension in Tsunade's shoulders, the subtle shift in her aura when she realized he wasn't some overeager child playing leader.
Now, at least, he had a little space, a little time and he planned to use it, Opening his eyes, he stared at the blank wall beside the desk.
A flicker of blue light shimmered across his vision.
[Editor System – Available Editor Points: 2,300]
He stood, the chair scraping softly behind him, "Let's go somewhere quieter."