Hashirama looked at the battered morale of the shinobi army and the carnage strewn across the battlefield. His head ached.
From Ryosuke's calm bearing, it was clear—he had hardly used any stamina yet. This was not how the plan was supposed to go.
We must keep draining him. Otherwise this battle cannot be won, Hashirama thought grimly.
"Hashirama, are you certain? Even at your peak, you cannot handle Ryosuke?" Madara frowned.
Back in the days of clan wars, Ryosuke—raised among the Senju—had fought the Uchiha many times. For Madara, who regarded Hashirama as his closest friend, Ryosuke had always been the rival he resented most.
Every time he saw the seamless teamwork between Ryosuke and Hashirama, Madara's fists clenched. In his heart he roared: Hashirama's best friend should be me, Uchiha Madara, not you, Sato Ryosuke!
He had to admit that Ryosuke's ferocity matched his own temper, yet Madara still refused to concede. To him, Ryosuke was only a companion they picked up along the way—a comrade, perhaps, but never Hashirama's equal.
He had fought Ryosuke over fifty times, and he did not believe Hashirama couldn't handle him. After all, Madara himself had been bested by Hashirama more than once, though he would never admit Ryosuke was stronger.
If anything, Ryosuke's existence had only driven Madara to train harder, desperate to prove that he was Hashirama's true partner in ending the Warring States era.
Hashirama's brows furrowed. "Madara, it will be up to you next."
But then another voice cut in. Tobirama stepped forward. "Wait, brother. Let me try. I want to use that jutsu."
"You're joking! Tobirama, don't forget—the one who first created that technique is the very man you want to fight!" Hashirama protested.
Tobirama fell silent. It galled him to admit that the so-called stray his brother had raised had already surpassed him by so much. Yet the rivers of blood before his eyes left no room for denial. Ryosuke was far ahead.
"Even if I can't defeat him, at least that jutsu can drain him!" Tobirama gritted his teeth.
The truth was, Tobirama had always burned with jealousy. Hashirama was his elder brother, yet everyone said Ryosuke was closer to him, as if Tobirama were the outsider. That thought seared his heart like fire.
Now, finally, Hashirama and Ryosuke had turned against each other. Tobirama would not miss the chance to stand at his brother's side.
But Hashirama still underestimated him, and that stung bitterly.
"I'll try. With that jutsu, he won't be able to kill me." Leaving a marking on Hashirama's body, Tobirama stepped out onto the battlefield.
Ryosuke's eyes lit with amusement. "Well, well. The brat wants another beating? But this isn't childhood anymore. Hashirama may not be able to save you this time."
Ryosuke chuckled. Tobirama had always been hostile to him. Ryosuke knew why, but when he was weak, he had no choice but to cling to Hashirama or end up as another war orphan corpse. Only when he bared his own fangs had things changed.
Even so, Tobirama had never shaken off that resentment.
Though they no longer clashed openly, barbed words had always passed between them. But if Hashirama in his prime could not subdue Ryosuke, what made Tobirama think he could?
Tobirama scowled at the taunt, but his every move radiated caution. He knew this was no place for recklessness. To challenge Ryosuke with that jutsu, one mistake meant disaster.
Yet he had to prove himself. To show the shinobi world that beyond the Three Gods of Konoha, there was also Senju Tobirama.
He had been hailed a genius from youth, yet overshadowed by Hashirama, eclipsed by Ryosuke, and beaten down by Madara. His pride burned for recognition.
And here, in front of all, he would carve his name.
Ryosuke tilted his head. "Brat, you're not seriously thinking of fighting me, are you?"
He knew Tobirama too well. Most of Tobirama's jutsu had been taught—or stolen—from him. Ryosuke could predict them all. If Tobirama had any sense, he would back down. Otherwise, what card could he play that Ryosuke didn't already know?
"Don't call me a brat!" Tobirama flushed red with anger.
"You never learn. Every trick you have came from me. Even your so-called original techniques are just copies." Ryosuke shrugged, unconcerned.