The next morning came with a pale golden sunrise stretching over the newly built village. Birds chirped softly outside, and dew clung to the leaves like fragile pearls. The village was still young, still finding its balance after years of war. Within this fragile peace, the dreams of the two founding clans—Senju and Uchiha—were colliding and intertwining.
Senju Tobirama rose early, as he always did. Discipline had been drilled into him since childhood, and today was no exception. He had barely rested, his mind busy calculating, strategizing, planning. His sharp eyes glimmered with determination as he headed toward the office his elder brother, Senju Hashirama, had just established—a simple yet grand building erected through Hashirama's Wood Release.
This office represented something greater than a building. It was the foundation of authority, the center of decision-making for what they hoped would become a lasting village. And Tobirama was determined that his brother, and not that accursed Uchiha Madara, would sit at its pinnacle.
As soon as Tobirama stepped inside, his steps slowed. His crimson gaze immediately landed on a figure standing near the window. The man's long, untamed black hair swayed slightly in the morning breeze, and his aura filled the room with quiet oppression. Even without looking directly, Tobirama knew who it was.
Uchiha Madara.
Their eyes met for the briefest of moments.
"Tch," Tobirama sneered inwardly. Naturally evil Uchiha Madara. Always lingering, always in the way.
Madara's own lips curled slightly, as if he had the same thought. Senju Tobirama. Persistent nuisance. Forever whispering poison into Hashirama's ears.
Though neither spoke, the air was heavy with hostility. To outsiders, it might have seemed like a simple glance, but beneath it lay years of mistrust and silent accusation.
Hashirama, ever the mediator, either did not notice or chose not to acknowledge the tension. Tobirama, suppressing the urge to confront Madara outright, walked past him with stiff dignity and laid a bundle of papers on his brother's desk.
"Elder Brother," Tobirama said in a voice carefully balanced between respect and urgency, "these are the results of the questionnaire report I collected over the past few days. Please look them over."
Hashirama blinked, tilting his head. "Questionnaire?"
"Yes," Tobirama confirmed, straightening. "I believed it necessary to consult the clans directly, to ask their opinion on who should lead the village."
Hashirama accepted the thick stack of papers with visible curiosity.
Madara, naturally, leaned closer, his dark eyes glinting with intrigue. If Hashirama was interested in something, then so was he. Even if it was trivial, even if it was, as he thought privately, a piece of discarded parchment—if Hashirama gave it attention, then so would he.
As Hashirama's gaze fell upon the first page, bold letters caught his eye:
"Regarding Senju Hashirama Becoming the Village's Leader: Questionnaire Report."
The meaning was clear.
Madara's eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly. Tobirama, however, showed no fear. On the contrary, he felt triumphant.
This time, he had prepared meticulously. Each answer had been gathered personally, and every Uchiha who responded had signed their name. To prevent accusations of forgery, he had even arranged for neutral witnesses during the process. The results were, in his mind, an ironclad case—evidence strong enough to withstand the scrutiny of history itself.
His lips curved into a subtle, confident smile. Now, Madara, let's see how you react when you realize even your clan doesn't support you. This is the strength of statistics! The will of the people! The Hokage's seat belongs to my elder brother, not you.
Hashirama's brow furrowed slightly as he began flipping through the questionnaires.
"'Agree,'" he read aloud softly. "'Yes.' 'I think it's fine.'" Page after page, the results repeated in the same direction. Hashirama's eyes widened in genuine surprise.
"Am I truly… that amazing?" he muttered, scratching his head. "It's expected that the Senju would support me, but the Uchiha… I didn't think they would."
Madara remained silent, his gaze unmoving.
Inside his mind, however, his thoughts were not as calm. So, they believe in Hashirama, do they? Hmph… perhaps I should have expected this. Hashirama's light is difficult for anyone to resist. Even the Uchiha, burdened by their pride, are drawn to him. It seems… the day of true unity might not be as far as I feared.
Time ticked by. The atmosphere in the room thickened with unspoken tension. Finally, Hashirama reached the last page.
"In conclusion," he read aloud, "'according to the survey, Senju Hashirama has gained approximately eighty percent support. The facts prove that Senju Hashirama becoming the village's leader is the will of the people.'"
The words had been written in Tobirama's precise hand.
Closing the report, Hashirama exhaled slowly. "I see… so that's how it is."
Tobirama's eyes gleamed with sharp satisfaction. The trap was complete. Now came the moment he had been waiting for—the sight of Madara's fury, his pride shattered by his own clan's betrayal.
Yet… it never came.
Instead, Madara's expression remained unreadable. No clenched fists, no grimace, no flash of crimson fury. If anything, there was a flicker of something else in his gaze. Excitement? Anticipation?
Tobirama's heart skipped. What? This isn't right! He should be furious! Any clan leader would rage at such betrayal—his clan supporting another, refusing to back him for the highest position? Even if they feared retribution, they should at least show outrage. Why does he look so calm?
His stomach twisted. Madara was no ordinary man—he bore the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan. A man like that could not be measured with common sense. That thought chilled Tobirama more than he cared to admit.
Still, he forced himself to steady his breathing. It doesn't matter. Everything is in my control. The evidence is clear. This time, Madara has no path forward.
Clearing his throat, Tobirama spoke loudly, his words ringing with certainty.
"Elder Brother, I've said it before. You becoming the leader is not only the best choice, but it is the will of the people. No one—no one—is more qualified than you."
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Madara again, expecting—hoping—for some reaction. But Madara remained as still as a statue, offering only disdainful silence.
Hashirama, in his usual manner, chuckled awkwardly. "Well, I don't know about that. Madara, perhaps you might be better suited than me. What do you think? Why don't you take the role instead?"
Tobirama almost choked.
"Elder Brother, what are you saying?!" he exclaimed, panic cracking through his careful composure. "The Senju support you, the Uchiha support you—everyone believes in you! And yet you—"
His words tumbled out in desperation, cutting Madara off before he could answer.
Elder Brother, I've worked tirelessly for you. I've gathered reports, organized surveys, bent every rule to make this foolproof. I've cooked the meal, chewed it, and spoon-fed it to you! And you—without a second thought—you turn and offer it all to Uchiha Madara?! What about me? What about everything I've done?
His frustration boiled, though he dared not voice the full extent of it.
Madara, for his part, looked at Tobirama with an expression that was neither anger nor sadness. If anything, it was something colder—an unspoken disdain, a judgment beyond words.
That look pierced Tobirama deeper than any insult.
For a fleeting second, it seemed as though Madara could see through him entirely. His schemes, his bitterness, his barely concealed hatred—all of it laid bare before those dark, unreadable eyes.
And in that moment, Tobirama realized with dread:
Uchiha Madara had seen through his thoughts at a glance.