The clan had survived the crisis, and Raizen continued his relentless training within the Amamiya family grounds. Over a month of brutal, unrelenting practice had passed. He had grown—both in skill and resolve—but now, at six years old in ninja terms, he faced a bottleneck. No matter how much he pushed, he couldn't break through.
Finally, he made a decision. "Time to see the Warring States for myself," he muttered.
"You want to leave the clan to travel?" Patriarch Amamiya Gen asked, voice calm but heavy with caution.
"Yes. Staying here… I can't make progress fast enough. I need to see the world for myself." Raizen's eyes gleamed with the kind of stubborn determination only a reincarnator could carry.
Gen regarded him silently for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well. But remember—you carry the hope of the Amamiya clan. Don't forget that."
"I won't," Raizen replied solemnly.
With the patriarch's permission, he packed his essentials, bowed to the sky, and left the Amamiya residence. The bottleneck pressing on him was more than just frustration—it was a wall that forced him to step into the wider world.
He wandered aimlessly, letting the roads of the Warring States guide him. Eventually, he stumbled upon a small mountain village.
"Woohoo! Kill them all and get out quick!"
Raizen groaned inwardly. Bandits. He'd seen this too many times already. "Great… peak reincarnator experience," he muttered, stepping forward.
A group of rowdy bandits laughed cruelly, pressing the terrified villagers into submission. Without hesitation, Raizen's kunai flicked out. One precise throw, and the head of the nearest bandit rolled across the dirt, a flash of shock frozen on the man's face.
"Who—!"
The bandit leader whirled just in time to see a wooden spike shoot through his chest. His scream ended abruptly as his body collapsed. Raizen blinked.
"Wood Style?" he murmured, scanning the battlefield.
A boy in red armor stood beside the fallen leader, eyes sharp and alert.
"It's… you! Senju Hashirama!" Raizen said, wariness rising.
Hashirama froze, then instinctively stepped back, sizing him up carefully.
Before either could act further, the bandits—stunned by their leader's death—rallied with a roar. Raizen and Hashirama exchanged a glance, silently agreeing: kill the immediate threat first, questions later.
Under their combined assault, the bandits fell one by one. Their resistance was negligible against two fully trained ninjas.
When the dust settled, Hashirama finally broke the silence. "I… I'm Senju Hashirama. And you are?"
Raizen smirked slightly. "Amamiya Raizen." No need for subterfuge; the Senju already knew his reputation, thanks to the daimyo's warnings.
"Were you… here to wipe out these bandits?" Hashirama asked, curiosity in his eyes.
"No. Just passing by. Saw a village under attack—decided to intervene."
They stared at each other, silently parsing motives.
"Why do you bother?" Hashirama finally said. "If no one cares, it doesn't matter."
Raizen's eyes flicked to the trembling villagers. "It's not meaningless," he said firmly. "Even if I'm just one hand in this world, their lives matter. Someone has to care. Someone always cares. And if someone cares, then what I do… has meaning."
For Raizen, ordinary people were not expendable. Unlike the shinobi around him, whose focus often lay solely in politics or strength, his perspective was alien. Being a reincarnator in this era changed the game entirely—he didn't live by their rules, and that difference would define him.