Hashirama's eyes snapped open.
The familiar ceiling greeted him—wooden beams, the quiet warmth of the Senju residence, the faint scent of medicine lingering in the air.
For a heartbeat, he thought the round table had been a fever dream.
Then memory flooded back: Ryuji. The white space. Tobirama's cold clarity. Tsunade's desperation. The future written in blood.
Hashirama pushed himself upright with surprising speed.
"I'm… back?" he muttered, half to himself.
Beside the bed, Uzumaki Mito looked up sharply. Tobirama was there too, standing with his usual guarded posture—except his expression carried a trace of confusion.
"Big brother?" Tobirama asked. "What are you talking about? 'Back' from where?"
Hashirama glanced between them and almost laughed.
They'd spoken for what felt like hours.
But here, it had barely taken a blink.
Mito sighed softly, already used to Hashirama's sudden shifts. "You startled me," she said gently.
Hashirama's gaze lingered on Tobirama.
Not the battle-hardened Second Hokage he'd just seen at the round table—this Tobirama was still younger, still a few steps away from the version that carried the village like a sharpened spear.
Same person… different moment, Hashirama thought.
Then the memory of Tobirama's plan returned.
Abdicate. Send the disciples to the ceremony. Let destiny do the rest.
Hashirama stared at his brother a little too long.
Tobirama frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Hashirama's lips twitched.
He hadn't expected Tobirama to be that ruthless.
Then again…
It was exactly like him.
Hashirama laughed suddenly, a short burst that made Mito raise an eyebrow.
Back in the old days—when Senju and Uchiha still fought like storms—Hashirama had tried to end battles with restraint, with peace, with mercy.
Tobirama?
Tobirama had always aimed for the throat.
If you didn't end the enemy, the enemy would return.
That was how he thought. That was how he lived.
Hashirama exhaled and shifted gears.
He couldn't tell them everything—not here, not now.
Instead, he asked the question that mattered most.
"Tobirama," he said casually, "how many disciples have you taken recently?"
Tobirama stiffened. The timing of that question felt… wrong.
But he answered anyway.
"Three," he said. "Sarutobi Hiruzen. Shimura Danzō. And Uchiha Kagami."
He hesitated, then added with a rare note of approval:
"Kagami is Uchiha, but he truly cares about Konoha. He's a good kid."
Hashirama nearly choked on his own breath.
Of course I know, he thought grimly. And I know exactly what two of the three become.
He kept his face neutral.
Then, with the same gentle voice he used when calming villagers, he delivered an order sharp enough to split stone.
"Dismiss Sarutobi Hiruzen and Shimura Danzō."
Tobirama blinked. "What?"
Hashirama's expression didn't change.
"Watch the Sarutobi and Shimura clans closely as well."
The room went quiet.
Tobirama didn't understand why—but he understood who was speaking.
If Hashirama said it, it meant the decision was already made.
And to Tobirama, newly accepted disciples were disposable. The village came first. The clan came first. His brother came first.
He nodded.
"…Understood."
It didn't take long.
Tobirama moved like winter wind through the village—silent, swift, and absolute.
Sarutobi Hiruzen and Shimura Danzō were expelled as disciples so cleanly it left no room for argument.
The Sarutobi and Shimura clans were stunned.
They didn't even know what crime had been committed—only that Tobirama's cold attention had turned toward them.
And in Konoha, that alone was enough to make families sweat.
The two clan heads were furious.
"What did those brats do?!" one roared.
"We're finished," another muttered, face pale. "We're done."
No one had answers.
Only fear.
Elsewhere — Tobirama's Timeline
Tobirama's vision cleared.
The Hokage office returned—maps, reports, the smell of ink, shinobi standing at attention.
For a split second, he simply observed, impressed again by how flawlessly the "chat group" returned him to the exact instant he had left.
Then his eyes locked onto the two figures in front of him.
Sarutobi Hiruzen.
Shimura Danzō.
His face darkened instantly.
Danzō shifted uncomfortably. Hiruzen's brows furrowed.
"Why do I feel…" Danzō swallowed. "Uneasy?"
Hiruzen leaned slightly toward him, whispering. "Did we do something? Why does Teacher look like that?"
Tobirama's expression smoothed out—calm, controlled, unreadable.
He spoke in a level voice.
"I will now announce my orders."
The room went tense at once.
Then Tobirama said words that hit like thunder.
"Sarutobi Hiruzen will assume the position of the Third Hokage."
The entire office froze.
Danzō reacted first—violently.
"What?!" he blurted. "Teacher—why is this so sudden?"
Tobirama didn't answer him.
He only looked at Danzō quietly.
Not a glare.
Not a threat.
Just a stare that felt like it could peel lies from bone.
Danzō's mouth closed. His shoulders tightened.
He backed down.
Hiruzen, meanwhile, took a step forward. His eyes shone, and he bowed deeply, voice steady but unable to fully hide his excitement.
"Thank you, Teacher. I won't disappoint your trust."
Tobirama almost laughed.
If I didn't know what you become, he thought, I might have believed you too.
He continued, voice still even.
"In one month, you and Danzō will lead the delegation to the alliance ceremony."
"And I will publicly announce the Third Hokage to the entire shinobi world."
Hiruzen nodded immediately. "Understood."
Danzō stood rigid, jealousy curdling into resentment.
Why him? his eyes screamed.
He didn't say it out loud—but the bitterness was written all over his face.
Tsunade's Timeline
Tsunade reappeared in her Hokage office, the familiar weight of the hat replaced by the familiar weight of reality.
For a second, she just stared.
The meeting had felt so real it was almost painful—Hashirama alive, Tobirama alive, the promise of changing everything.
She let out a breath.
"…That was insane."
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"Three months," she murmured. "Just wait three months. Then the next meeting starts… and we unlock mutual aid."
For the first time in a long while, she felt a path forward.
Then her eyes fell to the documents on her desk—the intelligence Jiraiya had died to send back.
Her expression cracked.
The smile disappeared.
"…If only this had come earlier."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Jiraiya might still be alive."
The office was silent.
And for a moment, Tsunade sat alone in that silence—holding hope in one hand, and grief in the other.
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