Tsunade crossed her arms, her fingertips lightly tapping her elbow as she thought.
"It sounds like a plan worth discussing," she finally said. "Given that you already have Fugaku's approval, it's certainly feasible."
"Feasibility and execution are two different things," Roshi replied evenly. "To make it happen, we'll need the Hokage's full support."
That support couldn't just be words. Fugaku hadn't pressed the matter so far precisely because he understood—this plan required not just the cooperation of the Uchiha but also the village's higher-ups. Fugaku might agree as clan head, but would the village elders willingly extend their hand?
Roshi wasn't sure. That was why finding Tsunade was crucial—she had the presence to silence opposition when needed.
Hiruzen, on the other hand, would only act decisively when the flames were already licking his beard.
Tsunade clicked her tongue and turned her face away. The sound of the crashing waves filled the silence between them.
A few long moments passed before she spoke again.
"Then let's begin," she said at last. "First—solve my problem."
She wasn't ignorant of her condition. During her years of self-exile, she had occasionally tried to confront her hemophobia. Compared to before, when even the sight of blood could paralyze her, she'd improved somewhat—so long as the blood wasn't her own.
But when it came to blood on her body... she still ran from it.
Shizune, cradling Tonton in her arms, cast a worried glance toward her teacher. Tsunade returned a brief nod—it was time.
Without a word, Roshi unsheathed his blade, gripped the edge with his left hand, and pressed down.
Warm blood welled instantly.
Thanks to Sage Mode, the regenerative power of the Hashirama cells made his healing nearly instantaneous, but he consciously restrained it, forcing the wound to remain open as blood trickled freely.
Raising his hand, he let the crimson droplets hang suspended over Tsunade's arm.
The first drop fell.
It landed on her bare skin—hot, wet, alive.
Tsunade's entire body stiffened. Her breath caught in her throat as the blood's warmth spread. She could feel every sensation—the stickiness, the weight, the metallic tang in the air.
A shiver ran through her, but she gritted her teeth and stood firm, though her face had gone deathly pale.
"C-Continue," she forced out between clenched teeth.
Roshi pressed the wound again. More droplets fell, tracing red lines down her arm, pooling, sliding over her skin like liquid fire.
Her breathing grew ragged. Cold sweat glistened on her forehead. Her pupils shrank as the smell of blood filled her nose.
She was still standing—but just barely.
Then Roshi took another step forward. He placed his bleeding hand directly against hers, palm to palm.
The warm, viscous sensation enveloped her hand completely.
"Ah—!"
A muffled cry escaped her lips. Her instinct screamed to pull away, but Roshi's grip tightened—unyielding, firm, inescapable.
Every sense burned. The sticky texture of blood, the metallic scent, the oppressive warmth—it overwhelmed her.
Her vision wavered. The edges of the world blurred into darkness as broken fragments of memory flashed through her mind.
Her eyes reddened, veins visible, and her body trembled violently. Her legs buckled, and she half-knelt on the ground.
At the edge of collapse, she lifted her gaze—meeting Roshi's calm, unflinching eyes.
"Grandfather's… ideal…" she rasped, voice hoarse and broken. "Is there… truly… hope for the future?"
Roshi's expression didn't waver. His hand remained pressed against hers.
"Yes," he said simply. "Keep moving forward. We—and everyone who still dreams of peace—will endure."
Shizune rushed to Tsunade's side, catching her trembling body in her arms. Tonton nudged against her, squeaking softly.
"Lady Tsunade…"
For a moment, Tsunade leaned into her disciple's embrace, her breathing shallow, her skin clammy with sweat. Then, slowly, she straightened, closing her eyes.
When she opened them again, the fear hadn't vanished—but something else flickered within it. Resolve.
Gently, she stepped out of Shizune's arms. Roshi released her hand, and the blood-streaked fingers slid apart.
Her hands trembled as she looked down at them—slick with crimson.
Then, she began to form hand seals.
Faint, flickering blue light gathered at her fingertips. Unstable at first—then, slowly, it steadied.
Roshi exhaled quietly. It was working.
Without warning, Tsunade drove her fist into his abdomen.
The blow landed hard.
Roshi didn't dodge—he took it head-on. A dull thud echoed, and pain exploded through his gut, forcing him to hunch over with a grunt.
"This," Tsunade said coolly, shaking her fist, "is my way of saying thanks—for your encouragement these past days."
Her gaze lingered on his pained but composed face, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.
Straightening, Roshi managed a faint smile. "You're welcome."
Being Hokage was never an enviable position. Unlike ordinary shinobi who could move freely, a Kage was bound to the Village—burdened with endless duties, responsibilities, and sacrifices.
Freedom was the price of leadership.
Even Minato, with all his power, might have lived long had he not borne that mantle.
And now, for his own goals, Roshi had dragged Tsunade back to that same path. One punch was a small price to pay.
"Hmph. At least you're self-aware," Tsunade muttered. "My hands are sticky with blood. Shizune, come—we're washing up."
"Yes, Lady Tsunade," Shizune said, though she cast Roshi an apologetic glance before hurrying after her master.
Tonton lingered a moment, nudging Roshi's leg with its snout.
"Pupu."
"Are you swearing at me?" Roshi asked dryly.
"Puff!"
"I'll eat you, you know. I know several good pork recipes."
"Puff?!!!"
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