The usually calm streets of Konoha were suddenly filled with noise.
A group of villagers and wandering ninjas were quarreling with flushed faces, their voices echoing across the marketplace. The argument quickly escalated, with some pushing and shoving, and for a moment it looked as if fists would fly and the situation would spiral into a full-scale brawl.
Fortunately, the Uchiha clan members on daily patrol noticed the commotion. With swift movements, they rushed over and intervened.
The leader of the patrol squad, wearing the distinctive Uchiha crest on his back, narrowed his eyes. His two-tomoe Sharingan spun slowly, glowing with a dangerous crimson light. He slammed the butt of his black iron rod against the ground with a loud clang and shouted sternly:
"What do you think you're doing?!"
"Don't you know that group fighting is strictly against Konoha's regulations?" His voice boomed, sharp as steel. "Do you all want to have tea with me at the Security Department?"
The threat worked instantly.
The moment the villagers and rogue ninjas realized it was the Uchiha patrol, their bravado melted away like snow under fire. Panic spread across their faces, and in the blink of an eye they scattered like startled birds, vanishing down alleys and side streets. None dared to linger a second longer.
They all knew better than to provoke the Uchiha clan.
The Uchiha patrol did not let troublemakers off lightly. Whether ordinary villager or trained ninja, anyone disturbing Konoha's order was dragged before the Security Department for harsh punishment.
This particular group were nothing more than petty villagers and weak ninjas. Resistance was pointless. They had no choice but to flee while cursing in their hearts.
The leader of the patrol snorted, folding his arms across his chest. "Cowards. One glare from us and they run."
The others behind him chuckled with smug satisfaction.
At first, when Tobirama Senju had assigned all village patrol duties to the Uchiha, many believed it was a political maneuver meant to burden and isolate the clan. But as the days passed, the Uchiha patrols began to relish the authority it gave them.
With each encounter like this, their pride grew. The feeling of standing tall, commanding fear and respect from others, filled their chests with confidence.
"This is how the Uchiha should be," one muttered, his voice thick with pride. "Strong, unyielding, guardians of order. Let the restless scum in the village tremble before us!"
The seeds of arrogance, once planted, had begun to sprout.
The quarrel ended quickly, but the rumors born from it—the poisonous whispers of Konoha's so-called "bad nature"—spread farther.
For now, most villagers dismissed it as nonsense. After all, Konoha was flourishing. The village had never been stronger, its power unmatched among the Five Great Nations. Only fools would take such rumors seriously. (Of course, Hashirama Senju didn't count—he was far too naïve for his own good.)
But Uchiha Makoto's goal had already been achieved. Plant a seed of doubt, water it with conflict, and eventually it would take root.
History, after all, was never kind. From the very moment of Hashirama's death, Konoha had already begun its slow decline.
And decline always attracted demons in the shadows.
---
Meanwhile, Senju Hashirama sat in the Hokage's office, shoulders slumped in dejection.
He sighed heavily, his heart weighed down with disappointment.
Just two days into his "love box" project, the funds had been wiped clean. Every last coin in the cash boxes had vanished. A noble plan to test trust and nurture kindness had instead revealed the greed festering beneath.
Hashirama's broad chest tightened. This was supposed to be a test of human nature, yet the results stung bitterly.
But giving up was not an option.
Even if Konoha truly carried a "bad nature," Hashirama vowed to save it. This was his dream, his village. He would not let it rot.
"Looks like I'll need to take on missions again… earn the money myself," Hashirama muttered, clenching his fists.
Tobirama had already refused to fund the project further, calling it ridiculous. If Hashirama wanted to keep it alive, he would have to find his own way.
But that didn't worry him.
When it came to completing missions, few could rival him. Hashirama knew his strength; there was no task in the shinobi world beyond him. The only real concern was distance—if a mission were too far, it would waste precious time.
He brightened slightly as an idea came to him. "I'll ask Madara to join me. We've never really taken on a mission together before."
Without hesitation, Hashirama left the office and headed straight toward the Uchiha compound.
Along the way, the clan members greeted him with surprising warmth.
"Hashirama-sama."
"Visiting Madara-sama again?"
The Uchiha respected strength above all, and Hashirama had earned their admiration long ago. He returned their greetings with his usual bright smile.
Soon, he found Madara perched on a stone, a book open in his hands.
"Ban, I'm short on money lately—" Hashirama began, but before he could even finish, Madara snapped his book shut with a sharp thud.
His dark eyes narrowed.
"Hashirama. Don't you dare ask me for money again. You still haven't repaid me from last time!"
Madara's voice carried a rare edge of genuine exasperation.
"And don't forget," he continued, "you borrowed from me again after losing your allowance. Then you wasted the night gambling at the casino until you were dragged home at dawn—only to be strung up and beaten by Mito with diamond chains!"
Madara's expression darkened at the memory. "And then, in front of everyone, you shouted that I was the one lending you money! Do you know what happened next? Mito stormed over herself, practically gritting her teeth into dust, and warned me never to lend to you again—or she'd beat me up too!"
Hashirama scratched his head awkwardly, his laugh sheepish.
"I think she meant it," Madara said grimly. "You know I don't like fighting women. It would be… unsightly."
For once, he looked almost uneasy. Uzumaki Mito's glare had burned itself into his mind. Her jealousy was frighteningly intense, as if Madara himself had betrayed her. All for the simple act of lending money to her husband!
Madara wasn't afraid of her threats—if it came down to it, he wouldn't lose. But the idea of such a fight was distasteful, ugly, and above all, unnecessary.
That day, he swore never to lend Hashirama a single coin again. Not even if he begged on his knees.
Hashirama raised his hands in surrender. "You misunderstood, Ban! I wasn't going to ask you for money. I wanted to invite you to join me on a mission."
He paused, his voice softening with renewed determination. "Remember the 'love box' project I told you about? It failed… two million gone in just a couple of days. But I won't give up. I'll earn it back, mission by mission."
Madara's tense expression relaxed ever so slightly. As long as no borrowing was involved, Mito was not a problem.
Still, he snorted coldly. "Hmph. Boring. That project of yours was meaningless from the start."
He snapped his book open again, pretending to ignore Hashirama.
But Hashirama leaned closer, his tone pleading. "Come on, Ban. Let's go together. The book will still be there when we return. Isn't it better to save up chapters and read them all at once?"
Madara hesitated.
It was true—the author updated far too slowly. Each day's cliffhanger was torture.
His fingers tightened on the book cover.
"Fine," Madara finally muttered, standing up with an air of reluctant dignity. "But don't think I believe in your foolish project."
Hashirama grinned from ear to ear. "That's the spirit!"
He plopped down on the stone beside Madara. "By the way, what happened in today's update? I missed it."
Madara's face immediately twisted with outrage. "That damned author did it again! Stopped right at the most critical moment!"
"The bastard!" Hashirama joined in furiously.
And so, for half an hour, the two legendary founders of Konoha sat side by side, cursing the author Uchiha Jo with the kind of passion usually reserved for battlefield enemies.
Their laughter and shared complaints carried into excited discussion, theories, and predictions of what was to come.
Madara, eyes alight, declared with certainty, "There's no way the three brothers' journey ends badly. This is their story, their destiny. Even if the road is bumpy, they'll triumph in the end."
Hashirama chuckled. "I hope so. Just like us—no matter how hard the struggle, we'll achieve our dream together."
But at those words, Madara's smile faltered.
Hashirama had his brother, his wife, even a son. Madara had lost everything.
His heart sank under the weight of unspoken sorrow.
"Ban? What's wrong?" Hashirama asked gently.
"…Nothing," Madara replied at last, his voice low. He rose to his feet, cloak swaying behind him. "Come on. Let's finish this mission."
Hashirama watched him from behind, a strange pang in his chest. For a fleeting moment, Madara's back looked unbearably lonely.
But Hashirama quickly shook off the thought, hurrying to catch up.
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