The crowd broke into a noisy quarrel.
Voices flew back and forth, necks strained red, and for a moment it looked like it would explode into a brawl. Fortunately, the Uchiha patrol on routine rounds noticed what was happening.
They came over at once.
The lead Uchiha was as cold-faced as ever. Two-tomoe Sharingan shone in his eyes. Pointing a black iron staff at the group, he barked, "What do you think you're doing?"
"Gathering to fight in public violates Konoha's regulations."
"Do you want to come have tea with me at the Police Force?"
The moment people realized it was an Uchiha patrol, they scattered in a panic like startled birds, not daring to linger another second.
No one wanted to make enemies of the Uchiha.
And the patrol would never let rioters off lightly. Anyone who disturbed public order by brawling in the open—villager or shinobi—would be dealt with firmly.
Those people were just ordinary villagers and average shinobi. They had no way to resist and could only slink off, cursing under their breath.
"Hmph, what a timid lot."
"They bolt the instant they see us."
The captain watched the sudden disappearance of the bystanders and couldn't help a smug smile. The Uchiha behind him laughed along.
They liked the feeling of commanding awe. At first they had thought Senju Tobirama was deliberately working them to the bone by dumping all routine patrols on the Uchiha, dressing it up as "the Uchiha are founders of the village; safeguarding daily security is your duty."
Now that they'd tasted authority, their mindset was changing.
This is how Uchiha should be.
The strong inspire fear.
We protect the village.
We make the restless behave.
That is the Uchiha's responsibility.
The potential mass brawl was cut off before it began, but the core of the argument—this talk of "vicious roots"—spread even farther.
Most in Konoha still treated it as a joke. Almost no one truly believed Konoha had some inherent vicious streak.
Konoha was powerful.
What happened just now was only the blustering of a few clowns hungry for attention. Anyone who believed that talk was a fool or an idiot. Senju Hashirama didn't count; he was only naive.
But Uchiha Makoto had achieved what he wanted. A seed had been planted. All that remained was to water and fertilize it until it took root and sprouted.
Konoha began at its peak.
From the day Senju Hashirama dies, it goes downhill.
Once a village starts to slide, especially in wartime, all kinds of monsters and crackpot theories appear and multiply until they dominate.
Right now Hashirama was still wallowing in the sorrow of his failed initiative. He had never expected the village's ethos to be this bad. In just two nights, every coin in those boxes had vanished. This was a test of human nature, and human nature fails tests.
He still refused to give up. Even if Konoha really did have some so-called vicious roots, he would save it from the fire and the water. This was the village he had built with his own hands.
"Looks like I need to take missions and earn some money."
That was his thought.
Back in the Hokage's office, Tobirama had already said he would not fund such a ridiculous project again. If Hashirama wanted to pursue it, he would have to finance it himself.
Earning money didn't worry him.
Given his strength, there was no mission in the shinobi world he couldn't complete. When difficulties arose, he would simply push straight through. The only factor was distance. If the mission site was too far away, efficiency would plummet.
"I'll go find Madara. I don't think I've ever teamed up with him on a mission."
He didn't linger. By habit, he planned to work with Uchiha Madara, so he headed straight for the Uchiha compound.
"Lord Hashirama."
"Lord Hashirama, come to see Lord Madara again?"
As he passed through the compound, Uchiha clansmen greeted him one after another.
The Uchiha respected strength. Hashirama was a shinobi they had always admired. He replied to them with his warm smile.
He soon found Madara, seated on a rock and reading.
"Madara, I'm short on money lately…"
Hashirama had barely begun when Madara set down the book—Romance of the Three Kingdoms.
"Hashirama, don't come borrowing from me. You still haven't paid back the last time."
"And the time you lost all your pocket money and then hit me up again, disappeared into the gambling den all night, and crept home at dawn—Uzumaki Mito strung you up with the Adamantine Sealing Chains and thrashed you, and you even blurted out that I'd lent you money."
"After that, Mito came to see me herself. She said if I lent to you again, she'd beat me too. I think she meant it. She was grinding her teeth when she said it. You know I don't like laying hands on women. If it really came to blows, it would look awful."
Madara looked Hashirama in the eye and spoke with perfect seriousness.
He remembered Mito's gritted teeth and hateful glare that day as if it were yesterday, as if he had committed some unforgivable sin against her. He had only lent Hashirama a little money. What was the big deal?
And Hashirama's younger brother, that naturally evil Senju Tobirama, had lent him money too.
Why fixate on me?
And threaten me on top of it.
Madara wasn't afraid of Mito's threat. If she really pushed it and wanted a fight, he wouldn't just stand there. But that scene would be ugly. He had to preserve Hashirama's face—and his own wallet.
So he had to avoid that possibility at all costs. He would not lend Hashirama another coin.
His attitude made that clear. Even if Hashirama begged, he wouldn't do it. Mito had her eyes on him like a hawk.
"Madara, you've got it wrong."
"I came to invite you to take missions with me. Do you remember the charity box plan I told you about? The initiative failed. Two million ryo vanished in two days, but I absolutely won't give up."
Hashirama scratched his head, embarrassed. Getting cleaned out at the tables and then getting strung up by Mito was a bit humiliating. He would still do it next time. He believed he would win it back sooner or later.
He quickly clarified he wasn't here to borrow money but to earn it together with Madara.
"How dull."
Madara's expression eased as soon as he understood it wasn't a loan request. He wasn't scared of Mito, only of putting Hashirama in an awkward spot.
He stayed frosty all the same.
From the start he had thought the charity boxes were absurd. People were constantly moving into Konoha now. With so much foot traffic, of course some would be up to no good.
Put boxes of cash on the street and the money won't last long.
Even so, he had helped Hashirama build fifty boxes and put forty thousand ryo in each. As for checking them, he had already foreseen the result, so he didn't bother going. Better to reread Romance of the Three Kingdoms.
He figured if the boxes were set inside the clan compounds, it might work. Shinobi have some pride. They might not open their own purses, but at least they wouldn't empty the boxes in two days.
If that blockhead Hashirama kept putting them on the street, it would still be a waste of effort.
"I'm busy. The plan is meaningless. I'd rather keep up with Romance of the Three Kingdoms every day."
Madara was as tsundere as ever. The plan was a boring waste, so he needed Hashirama to plead a little before he'd reluctantly agree.
"Madara, let's take the missions first. The author only updates once a day. It's too slow. You can let it pile up. When we get back, you can binge it all at once."
"Isn't that better?"
Hashirama coaxed, and Madara really did start to mull it over.
That damn author was too slow.
"When will the three brothers finally achieve their great cause?"
He replayed the plot in his head. It wasn't a shinobi tale, but the story gripped him. The Peach Garden oath of brotherhood, the hardship, the shared struggle for a common ideal.
It made him think of himself.
He and Hashirama had achieved their childhood dream, but along the way Madara had lost his brother forever.
What you cannot have always stirs the heart.
He wanted a perfect ending in the story, where the great cause was achieved and the brothers still stood side by side, to fill the hole in his own heart.
His thoughts snapped back to the present.
"I'll reluctantly agree, though I have no hope for your plan."
The ritual was complete.
Madara put on a show of unwillingness and accepted Hashirama's invitation. Hashirama beamed and plopped down on the rock beside him.
"I haven't read today's update yet."
"How's the chapter?"
Hashirama was a devoted fan too, reading on schedule every day. He hadn't had time yet because he'd been checking the boxes.
"That damn author cut off right at the crucial moment again."
"What a bastard."
Madara fumed.
Slow updates were bad enough, and he loved to cliffhang at the key point.
"Truly a bastard."
With Madara leading the way, the mood turned lively. Between laughs, the two of them spent half an hour cursing that damn author Uchiha Makoto, then eagerly exchanged theories about the plot.
As they talked, they inevitably began to predict what came next.
"I think the three brothers' road will be rough. Rumor has it the ending is tragic. Who knows if it's true."
"Impossible."
"How can you trust rumors?"
"The author has always treated the three brothers as the protagonists. The journey has been full of hardship, but right now the plot is surging forward. The northern enemy's fierce assault was routed in flames and fled in defeat. That was the Battle of Red Cliffs."
Madara spoke with certainty.
He could not accept a lousy ending after chasing the story so long. It had to end in a way that satisfied him.
Otherwise…
"Don't get worked up, Madara. They're just rumors. I want a happy ending too, like you and me realizing our dream together."
Hashirama sensed his agitation and soothed him. As he listened, Madara's eyes dimmed. Was this really a happy ending?
Hashirama, you still have a brother, and Mito, and a son.
I have nothing.
"What's wrong, Madara?"
Hashirama noticed the change and asked. Madara pressed the feeling down and answered as levelly as ever. "Nothing. Let's go take those missions."
He rose from the rock and started walking. Hashirama watched from behind and, for a moment, felt an inexplicable loneliness in Madara's back.
He didn't dwell on it.
He decided he was overthinking it and hurried to catch up.
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