Tobirama was escorted away in silence, ropes biting into his arms.
Hashirama watched him go, his expression carved with helplessness. He didn't call out. He didn't defend him. He simply stood there, shoulders heavy beneath a responsibility he'd never wanted.
He knew exactly what came next.
Konoha had been calm for mere months.
Now the undercurrents he'd fought so hard to quiet would rise again—unless Raizen returned, or a new Hokage was chosen to replace him.
Neither option sat easily with him.
Hashirama walked back toward the administrative building with a distant look, his sandals dragging in the dust. "I never wanted this," he muttered under his breath. "I never wanted to be Hokage."
He had always imagined himself as a regular shinobi, defending the village from the shadows while someone wiser handled the political storm at the top.
But today's chaos had shoved him onto a cliff's edge. One wrong step, and the entire village would erupt.
Worse, rumors were already spreading—whispers that Tobirama's actions were not his own, but part of Hashirama's ambition.
That Hashirama was quietly gathering support to claim the Hokage seat before Raizen's death was confirmed.
Speculation like that could shatter Konoha.
Hashirama clenched his fists.
"…Damn it."
Physical battles never frightened him.
But this?
The subtle blades of politics, slicing loyalties and families apart?
He felt powerless.
Raizen would have cut through these undercurrents without hesitation.
Hashirama didn't have that ruthlessness.
He saw every person in this village as family.
How could he turn a blade on them?
"One step at a time," he whispered, exhaling as if to release the weight on his chest.
He reached his office, sat at his desk, and tried to work.
The brush stayed still.
His mind kept circling the same truth:
The root of all instability was the vacant Hokage seat.
"As long as that position is empty," he murmured, "this village will tear itself apart."
He looked out the window. The sun washed Konoha in warm light, children running between houses, merchants calling out prices.
Peaceful.
Fragile.
"No more chaos," Hashirama said quietly. "Not in this village."
His gaze drifted toward the massive cliff overlooking the village. Bare stone. Empty.
And then—
A spark of an idea.
"Every Hokage… must be remembered."
The thought took hold.
A symbol—not of power, but of guardianship.
Something the village could rally around, trust, look up to.
His pulse quickened.
"A monument. A stone carving of the Hokage. Right there—on the cliff."
Before he even realized it, he was standing.
"Someone!" Hashirama called.
A Senju shinobi hurried in. "Hashirama-sama."
"Is anyone in the village capable of large-scale stone carving?"
"Stone… carving?" The ninja blinked, confused.
Hashirama pointed toward the cliff. "I want to build a Hokage monument. One face for every Hokage—Raizen-sama included. Permanently."
The ninja swallowed. "Ah… there was an artisan from the Land of Craftsmen visiting recently. He might still be nearby."
"Good. Bring him here. Tell him it's urgent."
"Yes, sir!"
The shinobi sprinted out.
Within the hour, the stone-carving master was found. After hearing Hashirama's request, he paused only a moment before nodding. "I can do it."
Soon, the base of the cliff was filled with activity—craftsmen measuring the stone, shinobi assisting, the village buzzing with confusion.
"What's going on?"
"Why are they carving the cliff?"
"Is this… for the Hokage?"
When the truth spread, the mood of the village shifted.
A monument solely for the Hokage.
A symbol of unity.
A reminder that Hashirama himself was not claiming the role—he was honoring the role.
Deliberately excluding any other clan leaders or political figures.
A quiet declaration:
"I do not seek the Hokage seat."
Relief swept through Konoha like wind through tall grass.
The clans loosened their guarded posture.
Tension shimmered away.
And under the sculptor's skilled hands, the first great face emerged from the stone:
Amamiya Raizen.
The First Hokage.
Even unfinished, it radiated strength.
People stopped to stare.
Some smiled.
Some bowed.
Many who resisted believing Raizen dead now felt their hope crack.
A month and a half had passed.
Search teams returned with empty hands.
The monument only deepened the feeling that Konoha's founding father was truly gone.
But Hashirama knew the truth wasn't finished.
Because as craftsmen worked the cliff, three worlds were already shifting.
Hashirama descended toward the dungeon—to speak to his imprisoned brother.
Uchiha Madara stood alone in a field of white snow, fingertip brushing faint lingering chakra.
And somewhere far beyond, disguised among ordinary travelers…
Raizen walked the earth again, tracking the trail of the Ōtsutsuki threat in silence.
The storm of history was finally unfolding.