Tobirama's body suddenly vanished, blinking from sight.
Ryosuke's face grew sharp, though his lips curved in a mocking smile. "Flying Thunder God? That's the jutsu I taught you!"
Over the ruins, two shadows clashed in a blur. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Steel rang in rapid bursts as they struck and broke apart, only to collide again and again.
When they finally separated, Ryosuke reappeared before everyone, his eyes narrowed in mild surprise at Tobirama standing nearby, panting heavily.
Blood dripped from a cut on Tobirama's right arm, where his kunai still trembled in his grip.
Ryosuke had set aside his massive club, too heavy for close combat. Instead, his hand wielded a lightning-wreathed blade—the Sword of Raijin.
"So that's your courage. You've polished Flying Thunder God to perfection," Ryosuke said with a cool smile.
Flying Thunder God was a space-time technique, notoriously difficult to master. Tobirama had even patched its flaws.
"Hmph, don't think you're the only genius. I'm no worse than you! Ngh…" Tobirama's prideful sneer twisted into a grimace of pain, the wound on his arm burning where Ryosuke had cut him.
Despite his improvements, he had still been injured. His blade had struck Ryosuke several times, but his defense was impenetrable. Not even a scratch.
That humiliation left Tobirama looking ragged.
"You're impressive," Ryosuke admitted flatly. "But Flying Thunder God alone won't save you. I could stand here all day, let you stab me while I nap, and you'd still achieve nothing."
The scorn in his voice stung deeper than the blade. Tobirama's fists trembled with fury. Why? Why can't I ever surpass him!
"Stand down!"
Madara's voice cut across his rage. Tobirama glanced at Hashirama's stern expression, then reluctantly withdrew. Bitter though it felt, he knew the truth—Ryosuke was beyond him, even with Flying Thunder God perfected.
Now it was Madara's turn.
"Ryosuke," Madara said, stepping forward, "why push Hashirama this far? You've become a monster."
The three of them had once fought side by side. To see it come to this was almost unthinkable. Even Madara had struggled to believe Hashirama would make such a decision, or that Ryosuke would spiral into such madness.
But everything changed when Tobirama presented Hashirama with evidence. Experiments. Ryosuke had captured shinobi from four nations, and even criminals from the village, using them for forbidden research and twisted trials in his pursuit of immortality.
That had crossed a line Hashirama could not forgive.
"Me, force him? Madara, think. My clan was wiped out because of the Senju. I've bled alongside Hashirama for years. And my path is wrong? Tell me, is it wrong to unify this world by force? You know as well as I do—without unification, war will always return. Hashirama's peace can only exist within Konoha's walls. Do you really believe the other nations will ever let go of hatred? Never forget—the Land of Fire holds the most fertile land on the continent."
Ryosuke's words cut straight into Madara's chest. He had seen it too—the hate in the eyes of shinobi when they looked upon rivals from other nations.
Hashirama's dream was noble, but the world was not kind enough to embrace it.
And yet, it was also Madara's dream. Before betrayal, before bitterness, his yearning for peace had burned as brightly as Hashirama's. His brother had died in the chaos of endless war. That grief had driven him to believe in Hashirama's vision, to bury the Uchiha-Senju feud and build a new future.
Together they had founded Konoha. Hashirama, master of Wood Release, gave the village its name. Madara, wielder of Fire Release, gave its leader the title Hokage.
Looking at Madara's conflicted face, Ryosuke knew he had not yet won him over. But the seed had been planted, a thorn in his heart.
One day, Madara would break. And when that day came, he would see the truth—that only through absolute rule could the shinobi world know real peace.
Of course, Ryosuke's true ambition was to crown himself king of the world. But that and peace were not so different in his mind.