Senju Makoto, who was just about to pull up his pants, froze in place. He pointed at his own nose, his face a mask of genuine bewilderment and absurdity. An ocean of shock surged within him.
"Me? Your father!?"
But in the next heartbeat, Makoto figured out the reason. Senju Hashirama carried the reincarnation of Asura's chakra, while he himself... had that old man, the Sage of Six Paths, sealed within him.
Asura was the son of the Sage of Six Paths.
No wonder Hashirama had lost control of his emotions and uttered something so outrageous.
The clever Makoto instantly realized this was an opportunity! A once-in-a-lifetime chance!
Makoto's brain worked at an unprecedented speed. The alarm in his bladder, which was about to explode, was instantly muted by this staggering opportunity.
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the surging urge to urinate, and then quickly and neatly pulled up his pants.
He proactively moved closer to Hashirama to strike up a conversation, every word aimed straight for the heart.
"Clan... Clan Leader! You, you couldn't sleep tonight either?" Makoto's voice carried just the right amount of nervousness and admiration.
Hashirama didn't speak. He simply looked at him deeply with eyes that still held remnants of shock and confusion.
Makoto continued, his tone becoming more fervent and sincere: "You, who are hailed as the 'God of Shinobi,' are the faith I have chased my entire life!"
"I dream of becoming a great ninja like you and protecting Konoha!"
After finishing these words of praise, seeing Hashirama's gaze flicker slightly, he quietly shifted his tone into "pity-seeking" mode. His voice dropped, carrying an almost imperceptible loneliness.
"It's just a pity... that the blood of the Uchiha Clan flows within me."
"The clansmen don't seem to like me very much. They exclude me... perhaps, a mixed-blood like me shouldn't even exist."
In his previous memories, and even over the past few days, there were plenty of scenes of him being rejected and isolated by the Senju Clan because of his mixed heritage. Saying this now produced an outstanding effect.
In the entire Senju Clan, even in the entire Konoha, who currently possessed the most complex, unique, and unfinished obsession regarding the Uchiha Clan?
None other than Senju Hashirama.
This sentence was like a kunai, accurately and ruthlessly stabbing into the softest, most painful, and most unwilling spot in Hashirama's heart.
As expected, Hashirama's brow instantly furrowed into a knot. His previous lapse and daze were immediately replaced by a surge of intense emotion.
Hearing this, Hashirama knew almost instantly who this youth was.
Under the proposal of himself and Uchiha Madara, the Senju and Uchiha clans were encouraged to intermarry. After all these years, under heavy resistance and prejudice, this was the only successful case.
He had heard vague rumors before that this child, due to his mixed status and the early death of his parents, wasn't doing very well and was a bit... slow? He had been so busy with Konoha's political affairs that he hadn't paid much attention.
But now, the unexplainable and intense sense of affinity coming from the depths of his soul, combined with this face that looked so much like a young version of himself and Madara...
A fierce protective instinct, mixed with guilt for unrealized ideals and a longing for Madara, exploded in Hashirama's chest like a volcanic eruption.
"How can this be allowed!?"
Hashirama's voice rose unconsciously, carrying an unquestionable decisiveness that rang out clearly in the silent night.
"Konoha is the home of everyone willing to live in peace! It is the place of dreams established by me and... Madara! Excluding a comrade—something like that, I absolutely will not allow!"
The more Hashirama looked at Makoto, the more that inexplicable sense of liking and affinity soared.
He no longer hesitated. He reached out and grabbed Makoto's still-slender wrist, his tone brook no refusal: "Walk with me."
The two walked side by side along the paths of the compound under the moonlight. Hashirama was a bit silent at first, but the information Makoto possessed was a total game-changer for this era.
He deliberately guided the conversation, mentioning Uchiha Madara at every turn, talking about how great their dream was, and how the current Konoha was the crystallization of that dream... This was a guaranteed "special attack" against Hashirama.
The more Hashirama listened, the more excited he became. The light in his eyes grew brighter, and the color gradually returned to his long-dimmed face.
He felt as if he had finally found someone to confide in—a "soulmate" who could understand the memories and regrets about another person that he had never shared with anyone.
Hashirama talked incessantly, gesturing animatedly as he grew excited.
Makoto listened quietly, offering a timely agreement or asking a guided question. To the current Hashirama, he was a perfect listener, though Makoto couldn't help but roast him internally.
Good grief, is this a memoir of a rival? It's clearly a tragic youth novel. Every sentence mentions Madara; every word is about longing.
If only one of you or Madara had been born a different gender, the history of the Ninja World would have been rewritten. Why even fight at the Valley of the End? Why all the life-and-death drama?
Just use "Susanoo on a Great Buddha to wipe out the Four Nations" or "Great Fire plus Forest Emergence to make the world Konoha." A power couple sweeping the world would have achieved peace long ago.
Thinking of this, Makoto glanced at Hashirama, who was immersed in memory with a warm smile on his face, and pondered.
There are many theories about how Hashirama died in the original timeline.
I used to think he died of tetanus or rabies, but now it seems likely he was in the late stages of lovesickness, depressed and heartbroken... No matter how strong the Hashirama cells are, a person won't live long like that.
As they chatted, Hashirama's footsteps unconsciously followed a deep memory and led them to the banks of the Naka River.
The evening breeze blew over the gurgling water, bringing the scent of moisture and green grass. The river sparkled under the moonlight.
Looking at the river, Makoto remembered the "famous scene" of Hashirama and Madara's first meeting. He then felt his bladder, which had been held all day, surging with an unstoppable urge again...
He looked at the naive Hashirama beside him, whose favor toward him had clearly hit the ceiling.
He took a deep breath, his face showing a characteristic youthful, eager smile. He proposed to Hashirama in a serious tone.
"Clan Leader, how about... we have a contest? See who can pee the furthest?"
"There are no outsiders here, just the two of us."
He, Senju Makoto, swore to heaven that it absolutely, positively wasn't because he really couldn't hold it anymore! This was strategy—a clever trick to get closer, a unique bridge of friendship between men!
"Eh?"
Hearing this, Hashirama was stunned. He frowned slightly. Instinctively, he felt this contest was a bit indecent, and given his status, it didn't seem right.
But... looking at Makoto's expectant and eager eyes, he looked so much like Madara back then when Hashirama used to pester him to compete in all sorts of strange things... He simply couldn't bring himself to refuse him.
After hesitating for a long time, he forced out a muffled, reluctant sound from his throat: "Al... alright."
After saying it, he felt a bit ridiculous and couldn't help but rub the back of his head. The two stood side by side by the river, facing the water with their backs to the moon.
The night breeze blew gently, carrying a slight chill.
The result went without saying.
Hashirama nearly peed on his own shoes in the wind, while Makoto, in the prime of his youth with high energy and a healthy body—and having held it for so long—had a storage volume and pressure that were terrifying.
A bright, silver, high-impact stream of water cut through the moonlight. It was high, far, and powerful, drawing a perfect arc of "absolute victory" in the air before plunging into the Naka River far away, creating a cheerful little splash.
Hashirama looked down blankly at the pathetic traces at his own feet.
Then he turned his head to look at the "majestic" result on Makoto's side and fell into a deep silence.
In the next second, Makoto watched as a tree branch appeared out of thin air in Hashirama's hand. He silently crouched in a corner, back to Makoto, and began to draw circles on the ground with the stick.
A heavy, almost visible shadow, like black and white lines of gloom, shrouded his tall but now utterly lonely head, almost dripping with physical sorrow.
That aggrieved, self-doubting back made one feel inexplicably sad... and a little bit like laughing.
Makoto fought back his laughter, thinking to himself: The "God of Shinobi" is nothing special in front of my "big treasure"!