Clang! Clang!
In the dimly lit cave, the sound of weapons clashing rang out again and again.
A small figure darted between over a dozen bandits, his movements fast and precise. Several of the enemies already bore gruesome injuries—wounds dangerously close to vital spots, yet none fatal.
Seeing their comrades fall, the remaining bandits were now blinded by bloodlust, swinging their weapons with everything they had, stirring the very air with each strike.
Hashirama's movements were sharp and agile. But there were too many opponents, and despite his natural talent, this was his first real fight. He lacked experience, and that was beginning to show.
When he once again narrowly dodged most of the incoming attacks, one strike—wild and brutal—came crashing down from his side.
A chill ran down his spine.
That instinctual fear of death made every hair on his body stand on end.
He twisted to avoid it, but he couldn't finish the motion in time. The blade came down hard—slicing past his cheek and landing squarely on the shoulder plate of his armor.
Even though ninja armor was far more durable than regular gear, designed to withstand deadly force, this blow still landed with full weight.
The impact jolted through his entire frame. Pain surged up his arm, contorting his youthful face.
But he didn't have time to dwell on it.
His heart thundered in his chest, nearly leaping out of his body.
> "So this… is what it feels like when death is close?"
His thoughts swirled, red veins crawling across the whites of his eyes, his breathing sharp and ragged.
In the face of death, the body's most primitive instinct for survival kicks in—
It forces you to act in ways you never could under normal circumstances.
From his throat came a hoarse, broken shout.
Hashirama's gaze snapped to the side.
With a sudden motion, he flung the kunai in his hand.
Whoosh!
The blade tore through the air like a black streak, far too fast for the bandit to react. It struck his left chest, right over the heart.
Shkk!
Blood sprayed like a blooming red flower.
The savage look on the man's face vanished instantly. His body crumpled and collapsed.
But before Hashirama could catch his breath, another wave of attacks was already descending on him.
In desperation, he snatched up the dead bandit's weapon and swung it around just in time to parry.
Clang! Clang!
The blades clashed again. Hashirama managed to deflect the blows and retreat, creating distance.
At his feet, the man he had just struck fell forward, blood still gushing from beneath his body.
Hashirama's eyes locked onto the man's face.
He wasn't dead.
And in those dying eyes—filled with pain, hatred, and fear—Hashirama saw something he couldn't unsee.
A wave of nausea and dread surged up inside him.
> "I still… can't do it?"
He bit down on his tongue.
Hard.
The jolt of pain helped him regain a sliver of clarity.
He wasn't a native of this world.
Even with his life hanging by a thread, he still couldn't fully bring himself to kill.
The last strike—his only true attempt to kill—had still missed.
Subconsciously, his rejection of killing had caused his hand to tremble at the moment of release, shifting the kunai's trajectory off course.
He had tried.
He'd forced himself to go through with it.
But even now… he couldn't cross the line.
The truth was, this wasn't a novel.
You don't just break a psychological wall that's been there for twenty years in a single chapter.
---
> "AAAHHH!!"
Hashirama's scream tore through the cave, his mind on the verge of collapse.
He had always tried to accept his reincarnation into this world with a "go with the flow" mindset—but now he realized he'd drastically underestimated just how harsh the Naruto world truly was.
There was no justice, no law, no structure here.
Only power and bloodshed.
> "Why…? Why do I have to do this?!"
He was crashing against the principles he had lived by for over two decades.
Reality told him he no longer belonged to that peaceful, civilized world.
This… was the shinobi world.
---
Outside the cave, the Senju elites were growing more and more confused.
That last throw from Hashirama had clearly been a killing move—yet at the final moment, he had altered the angle.
They had all faced similar moments in their first kill.
And once that line was crossed, the rest usually followed.
But Hashirama—he still hadn't crossed it.
None of them could understand what he was going through.
Because none of them knew—he came from another world.
---
> "Calm down. I have to calm down…"
Inside the cave, Hashirama's screams began to fade, and his eyes turned inward again.
This world was cruel.
But what he was experiencing now… was only the most basic rite of passage for a shinobi.
If he couldn't even handle this…
There was no way he'd survive here.
Even if this body one day stood at the top of the ninja world—praised as the God of Shinobi—that future belonged to someone else.
The original Senju Hashirama.
Not him.
He had never wanted to imitate that man's life.
He just… wanted to live.
That's all.
> "If I've already chosen to live in this world…"
He lowered his eyes.
Bloodshot.
But behind them, something was starting to shift.
---
Shff!
In the next instant, Hashirama charged back into the middle of the bandits.
---
What followed was a flurry of fierce, explosive taijutsu strikes.
His smaller frame gave him an edge—short limbs, yes, but speed and control made up for it.
Wham! Wham! Wham!
One by one, the bandits were knocked away—until only one remained.
The last man stared at Hashirama in sheer terror.
But there was nowhere left to run.
Hashirama gripped his sword with both hands and lunged.
> "RAAAHH!"
The bandit shouted and raised his weapon high, bringing it down with all his strength.
He never realized—Hashirama had deliberately slowed down.
There was no way someone like him could track a true shinobi's movements.
Hashirama stood in front of him, unmoving. The bandit's blade arced down toward his head…
And Hashirama didn't dodge.
---
> "What is he doing?!"
The Senju elites could no longer stay still.
If Hashirama didn't block or move, even his superior strength wouldn't save him from a direct hit to the head.
His arms were too short—he couldn't counter fast enough to strike the enemy's vital point first.
So the elites moved instantly.
Butsuma had ordered them not to intervene unless things became critical.
This… was critical.
---
Inside the cave, Hashirama stared up at the descending blade, fighting with everything in him not to flinch.
The closer it got, the louder the sound of death became in his ears.
His vision burned red.
He felt like he was falling into a bottomless abyss.
This…
This was what it felt like to die.
Could a person still think in the moment of death?
He didn't know.
His mind was blank.
But in that blankness—his body finally moved.
---
At the very last second—just as the blade grazed his scalp—
Hashirama struck.
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