The air in the newly designated Konohagakure was thick with the scent of sawdust from fresh construction and the heady aroma of hope. Banners bearing the symbol of the Senju and the Uchiha fluttered side-by-side in a breeze that felt like a promise. At the center of the gathered crowd of shinobi and civilians, on a simple wooden dais, stood Hashirama Senju, his face a mixture of humility and overwhelming joy.
Tobirama stood to his side, his expression characteristically stern but with a faint glimmer of reluctant approval. The Uchiha clan was massed together, a sea of dark hair and proud eyes. Among them was Madara, his arms crossed, his posture rigid. The weight of the moment was palpable; the end of a war, the birth of a village, the dawn of an era.
Hashirama raised a hand, and the cheerful din of the crowd began to quiet. "My friends! My comrades! My… family!" he began, his voice booming with genuine emotion. "Today, we are no longer Senju, no longer Uchiha. Today, we are all Konoha! And to guide this new village into the future, you have bestowed upon me a great hon—"
A high, clear, and utterly furious voice sliced through the solemnity like a kunai.
"I OBJECT!"
Heads swiveled. The crowd parted slightly, revealing the source of the interruption. It was a child. A tiny Uchiha girl, no more than three years old, standing defiantly with a skewer of dango held in one chubby hand like a scepter of judgment. A glob of sweet bean paste was smeared on her cheek. Her small face was scrunched up in a spectacular scowl.
Hashirama blinked, his speech completely derailed. He leaned forward, a confused but gentle smile on his face. "Uh… little one? Did you say something?"
The girl, Hana, took a fierce bite of her dango, chewed angrily, and swallowed, pointing the sticky skewer directly at Hashirama.
"You stinky Senju! You promised that Madara will be Hokage, so you need to pay compensation for going back on your word!"
A dead silence fell over the entire clearing. One could hear a leaf drop. A thousand pairs of eyes widened in shock, then flickered between the fuming toddler, a completely frozen Hashirama, and Madara, whose own shocked expression was rapidly darkening into something unreadable.
Hana, utterly oblivious to the seismic social earthquake she was causing, plowed on, laying out her terms with the impeccable logic of a three-year-old tyrant.
"Let see this founded by Madara and Hashirama so let crave both their faces at the hokage rock!"
Murmurs broke out. Carve the mountain? Now? With both of them?
"Oh also let Madara get married today so his child will be next Hokage! Let make official today!"
Several Uchiha clansmen choked. A few older women began fanning themselves furiously. Madara's eye twitched.
Hana wasn't finished. She brandished her dango skewer, outlining the financial penalties as if she were the clan's head accountant.
"If senju dare go back then we take 2 billion ryo as compensation from you senju clan!"
A collective gasp ripped through the Senju section of the crowd. Two billion? The entire clan would be bankrupt for generations!
And then, the masterstroke of her tiny, mercenary diplomacy.
"Also let get the fire daimyo be wetness he will take 1 billion ryo from 2 billion ryo compensation!"
She had just appointed the Fire Daimyo as a witness and cut him in for a fifty percent finder's fee. The Daimyo's representative, who had been watching the ceremony with bored amusement, suddenly sat up straight, a calculating glint in his eye.
Hana took a final, triumphant bite of her dango, puffing out her chest.
"Let see you stinky senju to dare go back on your words again!"
The silence that followed was absolute, profound, and utterly bewildering.
Hashirama was statue-still, his mouth slightly agape. The concept of a toddler demanding a two-billion-ryo breach-of-contract clause was so far outside his worldview that his brain had seemingly short-circuited.
Tobirama's stern face was a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. His sharp mind, which had already drafted seventeen different village administrative protocols, was frantically trying to compute this new, illogical variable named 'Hana'.
But the greatest reaction came from the Uchiha clan. Their initial shock and secondhand embarrassment began to morph. A low chuckle started from the back of their ranks. Then another. Soon, the entire Uchiha contingent was shaking with laughter—not mocking, but proud, uproarious, belly-deep laughter. They saw it: the undiluted, fearless spirit of their clan, manifested in a three-foot-tall girl with a sweet tooth and a killer instinct for negotiation. She had said what many of them felt but dared not voice, with an audacity that was both absurd and magnificent.
And Madara Uchiha? He stared at the little girl who had just demanded he be given a wife, a child, and a mountain carving all in one afternoon. A sound escaped his lips—a short, sharp, unexpected bark of laughter. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual brooding demeanor, but for that one instant, the icy bitterness around his heart had cracked. He looked from the defiant child to Hashirama's utterly lost expression, and for the first time that day, a genuine, if weary, smirk touched his lips.
The ceremony was in shambles. The schedule was ruined. But as the Uchiha laughed and the Senju stared in stunned silence, the village of Konoha witnessed its first—and certainly most memorable—political intervention.