The morning sun had long since risen above the rooftops of Konoha, casting warm light across the village streets. The Senju and Uchiha clans, though still suspicious of one another, were now bound together in this new experiment—the Hidden Leaf Village. Yet beneath this fragile alliance, undercurrents of tension were everywhere.
At the center of it all stood three people: Senju Hashirama, Uchiha Madara, and Senju Tobirama.
The office Hashirama had built with his Wood Release was once again filled with silence, broken only by the faint scratching of paper and the rustling of robes. Tobirama had just laid out the results of his survey, the infamous "questionnaire" that declared Hashirama had the overwhelming support of both clans to become the village's first leader.
Madara had listened to it all without protest. He had not raged, nor had he shown disappointment. Instead, his dark eyes gleamed faintly, unreadable to Tobirama but utterly clear in their focus.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was as cold as the steel of a blade.
"You incompetent Senju Tobirama. Do you really think I can't see through your little game?"
Tobirama's body stiffened. His sharp features tightened, but he said nothing.
Madara's lips curved into the barest hint of disdain. "Does the mere status of village leader make you so restless? You scramble like a starving dog for scraps of authority. Hashirama and I—we are not like you."
For a moment, the room seemed to grow heavier.
Yes, Madara was still an idealist. Despite the cruelty of war and the blood on his hands, he held fast to the dream he and Hashirama had created together. In his mind, there was little difference between whether Hashirama or himself became Hokage. What mattered was not the title, but the purpose: the chance to stop endless conflict, to ensure children would no longer be sent to war.
Power, prestige, and recognition—these things meant little to him compared to the dream of peace.
But Tobirama… Tobirama could never understand.
"Hmph," Madara snorted, turning his gaze toward Hashirama. "Your good brother has already prepared everything for you, hasn't he? Since that's the case, I have no objections. Do it his way. Become Hokage."
The words came sharp and emotionless, but Hashirama, who knew Madara's heart better than anyone, heard the unspoken complaint buried within them.
Hashirama, I don't care about being Hokage. But your brother's schemes offend me. And if you let him run unchecked, how can I stand beside you?
There was another layer to Madara's words as well, one Hashirama caught instantly. It was a warning cloaked in coldness: I'll tolerate this for now… but tonight, when you're with that Uzumaki woman, think of me instead. You'll have to make this right.
Hashirama's expression changed. He could hear the edge of resentment in Madara's tone.
"Madara, Tobirama didn't mean it like that!" he said hurriedly. "You know I've always thought you were more suitable to lead than I am."
Madara did not reply.
The silence stretched, uncomfortable.
"Alright," Madara finally muttered, folding his arms. His crimson eyes flicked to Tobirama with disdain, then softened slightly when they rested on Hashirama. "I have other matters to attend to. I'll head back first."
With that, he turned and strode out of the office without another word.
Tobirama exhaled silently, relief flickering in his chest. Perhaps the plan had not worked perfectly, but the result was the same: Hashirama would be Hokage, and Madara had yielded. That was what mattered.
But Hashirama wasn't smiling. His heart twisted with unease. Tossing the report aside, he rushed out of the office and into the corridor.
"Madara! Wait for me!" Hashirama called.
Madara stopped, but did not turn.
"Madara," Hashirama panted as he caught up, "please, listen. I've always supported you. If you want to be Hokage, I'll step aside. I—"
Madara raised a hand, silencing him. His voice was firm, unbending.
"This matter is decided. I, Uchiha Madara, never go back on my word."
Hashirama stared at him, torn between relief and worry. Madara's words sounded resolute, but his posture—arms crossed, chin tilted slightly upward—spoke volumes. He was not truly angry about the title. No, what he cared about was something else entirely.
"Alright then," Hashirama said softly. "Do you have time tonight?"
Madara's eyes narrowed. "…Didn't you say you would spend tonight with Mito?"
Hashirama waved it off with a smile. "Another night. Mito won't mind. Since I'll be Hokage, it's only right that we discuss the village's future together. Tonight is important—for both of us."
Madara hesitated for a moment. Then, with a faint huff, he replied, "…Very well."
A broad grin spread across Hashirama's face. He slung an arm over Madara's shoulder as though the tension had never existed, then turned his head and bellowed back toward the office:
"Tobirama! Tell Mito for me—I won't be home tonight!"
Tobirama froze. His jaw tightened, and he felt a headache coming on. Great. Now I'll be the one delivering bad news to Sister-in-law. She's going to take it out on me again.
---
That evening, Uzumaki Mito waited patiently at home. She had prepared an elaborate dinner, the table groaning under the weight of steaming dishes—fish braised in soy, fragrant rice, vegetables seasoned with herbs from her homeland.
Her long crimson hair shimmered in the candlelight as she sat waiting, posture elegant, expression calm yet eager. She was a kunoichi of great strength, but tonight she was simply a wife waiting for her husband.
The hours passed.
At last, footsteps echoed outside. The door slid open.
But it wasn't Hashirama.
It was Tobirama.
Mito blinked in surprise. "Tobirama? Where's your brother?"
Tobirama swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her gaze. "Sister-in-law… Big Brother asked me to tell you that he'll be with Uchiha Madara tonight. He won't be coming home for dinner."
The silence was deafening.
Then, Mito's hands clenched into fists. Her beautiful face twisted with fury.
"That inherently evil Uchiha Madara—!!" she hissed through her teeth, words too sharp to repeat. "Again? Always him!"
She rounded on Tobirama, her fiery temper boiling over. "And you! How many times have I told you? Keep an eye on your brother! Make sure he spends less time with that man. And now—look at this! I slaved over this table of food, and for what?!"
Tobirama flinched under her wrath. "Sister-in-law… this is very difficult…" he muttered helplessly. How am I supposed to control Elder Brother when even you can't?
And truthfully, he was starving. He had worked tirelessly all day, only to watch his brother abandon him for Madara yet again. His eyes flicked toward the feast on the table, and he thought grimly: At least let me eat it, then…
"Difficult?" Mito snapped, her eyes blazing. "Then don't do it!!"
With a furious cry, she slammed her hands down, rattling the dishes. Tobirama winced, bracing himself as though he were facing an enemy shinobi.
---
Elsewhere in the village, another drama unfolded.
Uchiha Makoto lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His body ached with exhaustion, but his mind was racing too wildly to sleep. Tonight marked a turning point.
After days of relentless effort, he had finally secured sponsorship from the Daimyo of the Land of Fire.
The Daimyo, cautious yet shrewd, had praised Makoto's idea of establishing a ninja village separate from Hashirama's vision. The plan was clever: build a fallback for the Uchiha, create a counterbalance to the Senju, and gain political leverage. The Daimyo, fearful of Hashirama's ambition to unite all clans under one banner, found comfort in supporting a rival.
But support came with limits.
Financially, the Daimyo had offered one billion ryō. To Makoto personally, the figure was astronomical. Calculated at one million ryō per S-rank mission, it would take a thousand such missions to amass that fortune on his own.
And yet—for a village—it was barely enough to begin. Housing, food, weapons, salaries… everything devoured money. For a start-up shinobi village, it was like pouring a single bucket of water on a burning forest.
Makoto groaned, rubbing his temples. "Still short on money. Damn it, always short on money."
But fortune had not completely abandoned him. Through careful persuasion, he had convinced a minor ninja family, the Sato clan, to join his cause. The Sato were small—barely a dozen members—but they represented a crucial first step.
And most importantly—tonight, his mysterious system had finally activated.
"System," he whispered, his heart pounding, "activate."
At last, the path before him would change.