The wooden council room was lit dimly by lanterns, their glow reflecting off the polished floor. Outside, Konoha was slowly beginning to resemble the dream Hashirama had always spoken of: villagers laughing, merchants setting up stalls, and children who no longer feared waking up to raids in the night. Yet here, in the silence between two brothers, that fragile dream threatened to unravel.
"Big Brother," Tobirama said firmly, his crimson eyes gleaming under the lantern light, "I support you becoming the leader of the village."
He took a step forward, his voice steady and deliberate. "Not only I—the entire Senju Clan supports you as Hokage. Even within the Uchiha, many will follow you. You are strong, respected, and above all, your heart truly yearns for peace. No one else is more qualified."
Tobirama's gaze softened slightly as he added, "Even if you aren't always… practical, that is why I exist. As your younger brother, I will stand behind you. I will handle the burdens of governance, the strategies, the discipline. You need only embody the strength and hope the people crave."
For once, Tobirama spoke without bitterness. He believed this—believed that his elder brother, for all his naïve kindness, was the only one who could unite the village. He is foolish, yes. Too trusting. But he is also the symbol the people need. And I… I will cover his flaws with my own hands.
But Hashirama shook his head slowly.
"…Tobirama, I still think Madara is more suited than I am."
The words struck Tobirama like a blade. His jaw clenched, and the faintest twitch appeared at the corner of his eye.
Hashirama looked down, his large hands folding together. His tone was heavy with thought. "It isn't just that I lack the talent for governance. Madara has sacrificed so much to bring about this peace. For him to set aside his clan's pride and extend his hand to us… Tobirama, we owe him more than we can repay. I owe him."
There it is again, Tobirama thought bitterly. That blind loyalty. That guilt.
Hashirama's eyes softened as he whispered almost to himself, "Madara… I saw all your efforts. You didn't let me down, so I will never let you down either."
Tobirama's hands curled into fists. Compromise. Helplessness. The humiliation of watching his brilliant strategies wasted because his brother surrendered without a fight. How can I, who have planned every step, who see every danger, lose to your sentimental heart?
Aloud, he snapped, "Madara, Madara, Madara! That's all you think about! What is so great about that inherently dangerous man?!" His voice lowered into a growl, muttering half to himself, "I should never have agreed to this alliance from the start…"
But even in his fury, Tobirama knew reality. He could not allow Madara to take the mantle of Hokage. If Madara held authority, the Uchiha would dominate. And once again, the Senju—and the entire village—would live in fear of their crimson eyes.
He straightened, smoothing his robes. "Big Brother, I won't continue arguing now. But hear me clearly: I will not accept Madara as Hokage. If we cannot agree, then let us leave the matter to a vote."
Hashirama blinked in surprise. "A… vote?"
"Yes," Tobirama said coldly. "A fair, democratic vote among the clans and villagers. Let the people decide their Hokage."
Hashirama hesitated. He could see the rising storm in his brother's eyes, and knew pushing further would tear open their bond. Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. "Alright… If that is what you believe is fair."
Inside, Hashirama still thought, With his charisma and strength, Madara will surely win the people's hearts. This way, even Tobirama will have to accept him.
But Tobirama exhaled slowly, concealing his inner triumph. Finally, you yield. Very well, Big Brother. If you cannot raise yourself to the throne, I will push you there with my own hands.
---
That night, Tobirama could not sleep. He sat at his desk, scrolls unrolled across the wood, a brush tapping against the rim of an inkstone.
How do I ensure my brother's victory?
Hashirama's prestige among the Senju was unquestioned. Every clansman would vote for him without hesitation. That was the easy part. The real danger lay with the Uchiha. Though some respected Hashirama's kindness, many more stood firmly behind Madara. Their loyalty was absolute, their pride unyielding.
Tobirama's eyes narrowed. Convincing them will be the key. And if persuasion is not enough… then I will guide the outcome myself.
At first, he considered tampering directly with the ballots. But the idea was crude, too obvious, unworthy of his intellect. It would only cast suspicion on Hashirama if exposed. No—subtlety was needed. Manipulation without leaving a trace.
After hours of silent thought, an idea blossomed. Yes… not the vote itself, but the hearts of the people before they cast it. I will conduct a survey. A questionnaire that "proves" the village supports Hashirama. With carefully shaped questions, I can steer the answers to favor him. When the results are shown, the people will already be swayed before the real vote even begins.
Tobirama's lips curved in the faintest smile. A battlefield of perception, not blades.
---
The following morning, his plan began.
Within the bustling Uchiha district, a woman appeared. She was striking—poised, graceful, with long hair tied neatly and dressed in black stockings and fishnet mesh that accentuated her figure. Her voice was gentle, disarming, her demeanor approachable. Few Uchiha, especially the younger men, thought to refuse her when she approached with a polite bow and a rolled scroll of parchment.
"Excuse me, sir," she said sweetly to a passing Uchiha clansman. "Would you mind answering a few questions for our village survey?"
The man blinked, caught off guard, but nodded. "Ah—sure."
She smiled warmly and began, her brush hovering over the parchment.
"Are you worried about the increase of shinobi who cannot find missions in peacetime?"
"Of course," the man replied at once. "If shinobi lack work, some may turn to harming civilians. That would be dangerous."
She nodded, jotting it down. "Do you worry about the number of young children being sent to battle?"
"Yes," he said, his expression darkening. "I want the children of our clan to have a better future, not one soaked in blood."
"Do you believe shinobi have grown undisciplined after years of war?"
"Undoubtedly," he said firmly.
"Do you believe young people respect authority and leadership?"
"Yes."
"And do you believe they welcome challenges?"
"Of course."
Her quill paused, then she looked up with a sweet smile. "If Senju Hashirama were to serve as Hokage, would you support him?"
The man hesitated, scratching his head. "Well… I suppose I would. Yes."
"Wonderful. Please sign here."
One after another, she repeated the same script with different Uchiha. Always beginning with safe, agreeable questions, then steering the answers toward the conclusion she wanted. Many respondents, lulled by the rhythm, gave the "expected" final answer without realizing it.
By evening, she returned to Tobirama's office with a thick stack of completed surveys.
Tobirama's eyes gleamed as he spread them across his desk. One by one, he read through them, his lips tightening into a thin smile. As expected. Hashirama's support is overwhelming. More than eighty percent… enough to silence even the most vocal of Madara's loyalists.
Of course, Tobirama had no intention of presenting the surveys in their raw form. All the opening questions about missions, discipline, and children? Useless. They would be discarded. What mattered was the last line: "If Senju Hashirama were to serve as Hokage, would you support him?"
That was the result the people would see.
A lesser man might have flinched at such manipulation, but Tobirama felt no shame. This is not deceit—it is strategy. For the sake of the village, for the sake of peace, a little bending of principles is necessary. Hashirama will be Hokage. That is the only path that ensures stability.
He poured himself a cup of sake—a rare indulgence for a man who prided himself on discipline. The liquid burned his throat, but tonight, he welcomed the warmth. For once, he allowed himself to relax, leaning back as he gazed at the lantern light.
"Big Brother," he murmured, lifting the cup in a quiet toast, "I exhaust myself for you. May you one day understand."