Morning rose slowly over Konoha, and the village seemed suspended in a rare moment of calm. The sun had not yet fully climbed past the Hokage Rock, casting long shadows across ceramic rooftops and stone streets. The air carried a mixed scent of wood, damp earth, and the faint smoke of early fires being lit for breakfast.
He moved carefully, alternating between low rooftops and elevated walkways, always keeping an escape route in mind. Every step was calculated. Every pause, an observation point.
This was not childish curiosity.
It was survival.
As he drew closer to the village's center, the flow of people gradually increased. Civilians hurrying to work, shinobi on routine assignments, messengers carrying sealed scrolls. Everything functioned like a perfectly tuned machine—and like any machine, it hid the parts that were crushed to keep it running.
Then he saw it: a wide, valuable stretch of land, positioned too well to be accidental.
The lands of the Uchiha clan.
Solid buildings arranged in defined blocks. Clean internal streets. The fan symbol appeared carved into gates, lanterns, and clothing. Uchiha walked with firm posture, alert but still integrated into village life.
— *Still at the center…*
— *Before they were pushed to the outskirts like a problem to be contained.*
His gaze lingered longer than necessary.
— *Placed too close to be ignored.*
— *Too close not to be resented.*
He moved on.
Nearly opposite stood the lands of the Hyūga clan. The contrast was immediate. High walls, symmetrical architecture, carefully protected inner courtyards. Guards stationed at strategic points, eyes far too attentive to be ceremonial.
— *Sharingan on one side.*
— *Byakugan on the other.*
A subtle chill ran through him.
— *Two clans capable of seeing what no one else can… placed face to face.*
It did not feel like coincidence.
It felt like forced balance.
A few blocks later, the atmosphere shifted.
The lands of the Senju clan did not impose themselves. They blended in. Simple houses spaced apart, integrated into the natural landscape. Ancient trees grew between buildings, roots breaking through stone pathways. Small artificial ponds reflected the sunlight, and modest training fields showed signs of constant but discreet use.
— *No walls.*
— *No loud symbols.*
The founding clan of Konoha… almost invisible.
He stopped.
Something akin to discomfort settled in his chest.
— *Hashirama Senju…*
The man who believed the village could replace the clan.
That unity would erase the need for identity.
— *A noble idea.*
— *And a fatal one.*
His eyes traced the Senju lands more carefully.
— *They were not expelled.*
— *They were not accused.*
— *They were not isolated.*
They were diluted.
Mixed into the village until their name lost weight. Until their blood became just another among thousands.
— *A clan that gives up protecting itself… depends on the goodwill of others.*
His jaw tightened.
— *And goodwill does not survive politics.*
Another name surfaced inevitably.
Tobirama Senju.
— *You were not a dreamer.*
— *You were a realist.*
He created institutions. Systems. Surveillance.
He distrusted the Uchiha, yes—but more than that, he distrusted chaos.
— *And still… you failed.*
Failed to protect his own clan.
Failed to see that the danger did not come only from outside.
— *Perhaps because the enemy wore the village's uniform.*
An uncomfortable thought formed, slow and heavy.
Danzō Shimura.
— *A man who believes sacrifices are statistics.*
And then—
Hiruzen Sarutobi.
— *Too kind to act.*
— *Too comfortable to stop those who would.*
He took a slow breath.
— *The Senju have no dōjutsu.*
— *They don't draw attention.*
— *They are strong… but they die like anyone else.*
High-risk missions.
Endless wars.
"Necessary" battlefronts.
— *How many Senju died "for the good of the village"?*
If Senju blood disappeared, who would claim Hashirama's legacy?
Who could challenge decisions made in the name of an old dream?
— *Fewer Senju… more space.*
— *More concentrated power.*
— *More control.*
His stomach twisted.
— *I can't prove anything.*
— *But I can't pretend I don't see it.*
He left the Senju lands with heavier steps.
He observed the Nara territory, with open fields and deer visible in the distance.
The Akimichi homes, broad and well-stocked.
The Yamanaka area, with meticulously kept gardens that radiated an almost artificial calm.
— *Perfect balance… while it lasts.*
The Aburame residences barely showed themselves. Closed windows. Presences felt rather than seen.
The Hokage Building rose imposingly.
— *Where decisions clean on paper produce dirty deaths in the field.*
The Konoha Hospital bustled endlessly.
The Ninja Academy stood far away, almost symbolic.
And finally, the Hokage Rock loomed over everything in eternal silence.
— *Stone does not judge.*
— *But it does not speak either.*
With the village's map etched into his mind—clans, routes, blind spots, and centers of power—he moved away from the center. The crowds thinned. Buildings grew older. Nature began to reclaim the village little by little.
After discarding an abandoned training ground, he finally found the hidden clearing.
Tall trees, a closed canopy, natural stone formations forming irregular barriers. A stream flowed nearby, constant, muffling sound and cleansing the air.
Here, the world felt distant.
He sat at the center of the clearing, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. He guided his chakra carefully, feeling the energy circulate unevenly, demanding absolute focus.
Sweat dripped. Muscles trembled.
— *This world devours idealists.*
— *So I will not be one.*
When he opened his eyes, the sun already ruled the sky.
He stood slowly.
— *Hashirama dreamed.*
— *Tobirama tried to control.*
— *I… will learn to survive between the two.*
That clearing was not just a
training ground.
It was a breaking point.
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