A moment later, within the Hokage's office.
The space in the room seemed to warp for a fraction of a second, the air itself groaning in protest before settling. Amon and Senju Hashirama now sat facing each other, the heavy oak desk between them. Outside the door, Tobirama's chakra signature burned like a cold, anxious flame. He wasn't even attempting to mask his presence; the Second Hokage-to-be was pressed against the doorframe, listening with every fiber of his being.
Hashirama let out a weary sigh, the sound carrying the weight of a man perpetually exasperated by his brilliant but overzealous younger brother. He shot a mildly apologetic look at Amon.
"Do you require me to erect a sound-dampening barrier?" Hashirama asked. "My brother's… protectiveness can be… intrusive."
"It's unnecessary," Amon replied, his voice calm. The Samsara Eyes, those concentric circles of cosmic power, remained passive but observant. He had no intention of hiding the conversation. His entire strategy hinged on convincing Hashirama himself. If he could achieve that, Tobirama's objections would become a secondary concern, a stubborn eddy in the current of his brother's will.
"Very well," Hashirama said, his posture shifting from that of a friendly village leader to the formidable Shinobi God. "What is it you wish to discuss?"
"The future of the entire shinobi world," Amon stated, the gravity of his words hanging in the air between them.
Hashirama's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh?"
"To keep this fair, and to show I mean no deception," Amon proposed, "let's take turns. One question each. You may refuse to answer, and so shall I. No force."
Hashirama considered this. The offer was reasonable, a gesture of good faith from a being of immense and unknown power. It appealed to his sense of fairness. "Agreed. You may begin."
Hashirama hesitated for only a moment before asking the question that burned foremost in his mind. "Your eyes… they are unlike any I have ever seen. What are they?"
"They are the Rinnegan," Amon stated without pretense. He needed the credibility they offered. "The legendary ocular power of the Sage of Six Paths himself."
Hashirama's breath caught. The Sage was the stuff of myth, the foundational figure of their entire world. To see proof of his existence staring back at him was staggering. "The tales are true… then… you and the Sage…?"
"I know of him. I am not his agent," Amon clarified, choosing his words with the care of a man walking a tightrope. It was not a lie. Every fan knew of the Sage. The distinction was crucial.
To Hashirama, the implication was terrifying. This man spoke of the founder of ninshū with a casual familiarity that suggested an ancient, perhaps even eternal, perspective. Could he have lived since that era? The Rinnegan seemed to confirm it.
"Then, who are you, truly?" Hashirama asked, his voice laced with a new, profound caution.
"I am a… custodian," Amon said, the word feeling alien yet fitting. "A being who exists between worlds, tasked with a singular purpose. You could say I am an aspirant to a higher state, and my mission is the key to achieving it." He let the mystery hang, a half-truth more compelling than any elaborate lie.
Hashirama's mind raced, already devising ways to verify these incredible claims without provoking a conflict. He filed the information away for later.
"It's my turn," Amon said. "Aren't you concerned about keeping your… friend… waiting?" He carefully avoided the term Madara had used.
Hashirama waved a dismissive hand, a genuine, confident grin breaking through his solemnity. "Madara? He'll wait. He's impatient, but he'll wait for me." His faith in their bond was absolute, a cornerstone of his being.
Amon allowed a small, knowing smile to touch his lips. It vanished as quickly as it came. "Very well. First Hokage, Senju Hashirama… what kind of world do you wish to create?"
The question transformed Hashirama. His shoulders squared, and his dark eyes gleamed with a fervent, idealistic light. This was his life's work.
"A world of peace," he declared, his voice resonating with conviction. "A world where children are not forced onto the battlefield. Where brothers do not have to bury each other over clan rivalries."
"And you believe this village system—this alliance of clans—is the path to that peace?"
"Yes!" Hashirama's passion was palpable. "Look at what we have built! The Leaf, founded by the Uchiha and the Senju, is a beacon. Iwa in the Land of Earth has formed, its leader taking the title Tsuchikage. Others will follow! This system will replace the chaotic bloodshed of the Warring States era. Ninjas will have a home, a purpose beyond clan warfare. The endless battles will cease!"
He spoke from experience. The memory of his brothers' graves was a permanent scar. The average life expectancy during the Warring States period was a brutal, unforgiving number. He had lived that horror, and he had ended it. He was a man of action, not just dreams.
"And how will you ensure this system endures?" Amon pressed, his Rinnegan fixed on Hashirama. "How will you prevent these very villages from clashing on a scale far greater than any clan war?"
Hashirama's fervor dimmed slightly, replaced by the pragmatic worry of a leader. "I cannot see the future. But I know this system is saving lives now. And I am exploring ways to maintain balance… to restrict the potential for large-scale conflict."
"The tailed beasts," Amon stated.
Hashirama looked surprised, then nodded. "The thought has occurred to me. A balance of power. But the village is still in its infancy. I planned to seek them out in the coming years, once Konoha was stable." It was a sober, calculated plan, belying the often foolish persona he projected.
"One final question for this round," Amon said, leaning forward slightly. "Who is it you seek to protect above all else? The village… or your family?"
Hashirama opened his mouth to answer immediately, then stopped. The reflexive answer—the village—caught in his throat. Over a year into his reign, the complexities of leadership had begun to reveal themselves. The needs of the many versus the needs of the few. He hesitated.
"Don't answer yet," Amon said softly. "First, hear the future of Konoha."
He began to speak, his voice a flat, relentless drumbeat of destiny.
"In the seventeenth year of Konoha's founding, the First Great Shinobi War will erupt."
"In the thirty-seventh year, the Second."
"In the forty-fifth year, the Third."
"And in the sixty-eighth year, the Fourth."
Each statement landed like a physical blow. Hashirama's face paled.
"Each war will be fought between these great villages you helped create. The casualties will number in the tens of thousands. The brutality, the loss of young life… it will make the Warring States period seem like a skirmish by comparison. Is this the peace you built?"
"No…" Hashirama whispered, the word a breath of denial. He had feared conflict, but never on such a horrific, cyclical scale. "This… how can you know this? Can your eyes truly see the future?"
"Do you believe they can?" Amon countered.
"I do not want to believe it," Hashirama admitted, a tremor in his voice. "For as long as I live, I will pour every ounce of my strength into preventing such a thing!"
Amon's gaze was pitiless. "You are correct to think your presence would prevent it. You died in the sixteenth year of Konoha. The war began the year after your death."
"Impossible!"
The door slammed open. Senju Tobirama stood there, his face a mask of cold fury, his hand on the hilt of his tantō. He had heard enough. "Brother, do not listen to this liar's poison! There is not a shinobi alive who could kill you! This is a trick!"
"Tobirama!" Hashirama's roar was not one of anger at the interruption, but of raw, primal fear—fear that the words he was hearing might be true.
Tobirama ignored the command, his sharp red eyes locked on Amon. "You speak nothing but lies!"
Amon turned his chilling gaze upon the Second Hokage. "Senju Tobirama. Do you wish to know how you die?"
The question was so blunt, so utterly disrespectful, it stole the air from the room.
Tobirama froze. "What?"
"You are cornered. Outmaneuvered. You sacrifice yourself as a diversion to save your students. And you are killed by the Kumo ninja of the Gold and Silver Brothers."
The absurdity of it broke Tobirama's stunned silence. "Lies! Absolute fiction! You think I, the inventor of the Flying Thunder God and a hundred other jutsu, would fall to a handful of Cloud shinobi? 'Kumo'? What even is that? You reveal your own deception!"
Yet, while Tobirama reacted with arrogant fury, Hashirama's reaction was different. A pressure began to build in the room, a suffocating, vegetative energy. The wooden floorboards beneath Hashirama's feet splintered, tiny vines sprouting from the cracks in his anguish. The air grew thick with the scent of a forest after a storm. The love for his brother was the core of his being.
"Explain," Hashirama said, his voice dangerously low, all pretense of the cheerful Hokage gone. This was the man who had fought Madara to a standstill. "Explain this to me. Now."
"Some truths are too shattering for words," Amon said, rising to his feet. The Rinnegan began to glow with a soft, otherworldly light. "They must be witnessed."
"What are you doing?" Tobirama demanded, falling into a defensive stance.
Hashirama looked at Amon, seeing not a trickster, but an oracle delivering a terrible fate. He gave a single, grim nod.
"Showing you the cost of the peace you built."
Amon placed a hand on Hashirama's shoulder. Space twisted around them, folding in on itself like parchment thrown into a fire.
Fwhoom!
In the blink of an eye, the Hokage's office was empty. The only evidence of their departure was the splintered floor and the scent of ozone and damp earth.
Tobirama stood alone, staring at the empty space where his brother had just been, his scientific mind utterly failing to process the event. It wasn't the Flying Thunder God. It was something else entirely. Something ancient and terrifying.
A cold dread, colder than any of his water-style jutsu, began to seep into his bones. For the first time, a sliver of doubt pierced his heart.
What if it wasn't a lie?