Before long, Senju Hashirama seemed to suddenly startle awake from his "middle-aged man's wounded dignity" state of self-isolation.
His eyes suddenly lit up again, as if he had found a way to reclaim his face. He sprang up, grabbed Senju Makoto's arm, and pulled him toward the river again. His tone had recovered its energy, even carrying a hint of urgency.
"That last one didn't count! The wind was too strong; it affected my performance! Let's have a stone-skipping contest!"
Hashirama had gone from being reluctant to play these small games to becoming proactive. And when it came to skipping stones, he was in his element; this was the original bond between him and Uchiha Madara.
He casually picked up a flat stone from the bank and, with a seemingly effortless flick of his wrist—
"Shoo—da, da, da, da, da..."
The stone shard seemed to be endowed with life, leaping lightly seven or eight times across the water's surface, turning into a dark shadow that flew gracefully to the distant opposite bank.
His gaze suddenly drifted far away, and his voice softened: "I can reach the other side quite easily now, Madara..."
Makoto looked at the slightly dejected Hashirama. He had played this game as a child in his past life, so he bent down, picked up several stones he deemed perfectly shaped with sharp edges, and threw them hard—
The result was either a dull "thud" as they sank directly to the bottom, or a desperate struggle to bounce two or three times before giving up and falling helplessly into the water.
Seeing Hashirama's face instantly light up with pride, grinning like a child who was three years and several hundred months old, Makoto sighed.
Wiping non-existent sweat from his forehead, he spoke one word at a time with extreme solemnity, as if announcing a major decree.
"Clan Leader, I, Senju Makoto, am willing to call you—the strongest skipping stone player!"
"Hahahahaha...!"
Hashirama was overjoyed by the praise, laughing so hard his eyes turned into slits. He patted Makoto's shoulder vigorously.
The two sat side by side by the river. As the cool night breeze blew, Hashirama opened his heart and couldn't close it again. From start to finish, the core of the topic remained Uchiha Madara.
How they met, how they sparred, how they argued, how they reached a consensus, how they planned the village's future together, why the village was named Konoha, and why the leader was called the Hokage...
Makoto listened quietly, being the best possible listener, while secretly grumbling in his heart.
Good grief... how thick is this memory filter? In these stories, even his own brother, Senju Tobirama, is just a background character...
This isn't a history of the hardships of establishing Konoha; this is clearly 'My Youth Romantic Comedy with My Bestie and Rival!'
The night grew deeper, the chill from the river wind intensified, and the moon began to tilt westward.
Makoto checked the time and knew the moment was right. He knew the art of playing hard to get very well.
He stood up, brushed the grass and dust off his clothes, and spoke with just the right amount of reluctance: "Clan Leader, it's really late. You have village affairs to handle tomorrow, right? I... should head back."
Hashirama was just talking about the time he stood on the Hokage Rock with Madara, imagining the layout of the village's various districts. Being interrupted at the height of his excitement, his eyes immediately showed clear reluctance.
That look didn't belong to the God of Shinobi or the First Hokage of Konoha; it looked like a child who had just found a playmate and was afraid they were leaving.
"Oh... oh, right, it is late."
He stood up somewhat despondently. The two walked back in silence, the atmosphere heavier than when they arrived. The moonlight stretched their shadows long.
They reached the entrance of the clan compound, with Makoto's small courtyard not far away. As they were about to part, Hashirama finally couldn't help himself.
"Makoto, will we... see each other again?"
Makoto turned around. The moonlight hit half of his face, highlighting his straight nose and bright eyes, while the other half remained hidden in the shadows of the buildings, giving his expression a faint, blurry sadness.
He spoke with a steady, clear voice, but that carefully concocted, pure, and non-repulsive "manipulative" tone began to permeate the night air.
"If there's a chance... of course."
He paused and looked directly at Hashirama with "sincere" eyes. "But Clan Leader, I hope that the next time we meet, you will be happy and joyful!"
"After all..." Makoto lowered his gaze at the right moment, his thick lashes casting a small, fragile shadow. "I might not be able to... stay by your side for much longer."
Hearing this, Hashirama's brow furrowed instantly, and he quickly asked, "Why?"
Makoto didn't answer immediately. He just deepened the "sorrow" and "dejection" he was showing. He sniffled slightly, as if he had made a great resolution, before looking up and unleashing his long-prepared trump card.
"An Uchiha mixed-blood like me, living in the Senju compound... I suppose I'm just an eyesore and a burden to everyone."
"Perhaps leaving is the best choice for everyone..."
Hashirama's face instantly darkened, as if covered by a layer of frost. He looked at the youth before him who resembled both himself and Madara, seeing the premature maturity and gloom in his eyes, as well as the deep-seated self-deprecation.
Coupled with that inexplicable sense of affinity, his protective instinct and sense of responsibility almost overflowed.
"No!" Hashirama's voice was decisive, carrying the majesty of the God of Shinobi. "You have never been a burden!"
Makoto shook his head, his smile somewhat pale, his performance reaching its peak. "Clan Leader, I appreciate your kindness, truly."
"But... we are not related. For you to look after me like this, I feel I don't deserve it."
"Besides, what will the others in the clan think? They will gossip... after all, I am not a pure-blooded Senju. The blood of the Uchiha flows within me..."
Hashirama looked at Makoto—the only person who could truly talk to him since Madara died—and felt that deep attraction in his soul. He thought to himself.
I must keep him here; I must protect him!
Hashirama utilized his "extraordinary wisdom," frowning and thinking for a full thirty seconds.
His eyes, usually clear and even a bit naive, flashed with an unprecedented seriousness and determination. A brilliant, once-and-for-all solution formed in his mind.
"Since you're worried about having no ties and no official standing... then fine."
"I, Senju Hashirama, the First Hokage of Konoha, hereby formally take you, Senju Makoto, as my one and only disciple in this life!"
"This way, our relationship is the closest bond of master and student. A teacher protecting and teaching a student is only natural. In the entire Konoha, or even the Ninja World, let's see who dares to say a single word!"
It came! That was the line!
Makoto's heart raced, and his blood surged. Fearing Hashirama might regret it or that Tobirama might suddenly appear to ruin things, he spoke without hesitation.
"Disciple Senju Makoto greets the Teacher!"
Hashirama looked at him bowing respectfully, and as Makoto looked up with genuine joy and light in his eyes, a smile slowly, slowly spread across Hashirama's face.
It wasn't the practiced smile of the First Hokage, nor his usual hearty laugh, but the most authentic, softest smile—one that had cast off all burdens, coming from a place of genuine relief, warmth, and even a touch of his usual naivety.
He nodded slightly and reached out to help Makoto up.
"Good, good, good!"
Almost simultaneously—"Ding!"
A crisp notification sound, as if ringing directly in the depths of his soul, exploded in Makoto's mind.
Following that, the pale gold translucent panel that only Makoto could see surfaced abruptly before his eyes, undergoing a massive transformation.
Makoto suppressed the urge to check it immediately, controlled his facial expression, and said quickly.
"Teacher, it is late. Staying up is bad for your health. Please go back and rest..."
"Good, good. You should rest early too."
Hashirama nodded with satisfaction, liking Makoto more and more. Makoto didn't linger. He turned and walked away with a steady but fast pace toward his remote courtyard.
The moonlight was like water, spilling onto his hurrying back.
From an angle no one could see, the corners of his mouth couldn't help but curl upward. His backing was secured! And it seemed... there was an even bigger, unexpected surprise waiting for him...!