Hashirama's voice carried through the council chamber like a tired sigh made solid.
"We negotiate. We buy time."
No one liked it.
But no one had a better answer.
Konoha couldn't hand over tailed beasts.
Konoha also couldn't afford to fight four nations at once.
So the only road left was diplomacy—the kind carried out with smiles on the face and kunai behind the back.
An elder spoke hesitantly.
"Then… who do we send?"
A negotiation team needed two things:
strength to intimidate, rank to impress.
A weak envoy would invite contempt.
A strong one would look like a threat.
Another elder offered names:
"Hyūga Tennin-sama from the Hyūga clan. And Sarutobi Sasuke from the Sarutobi clan."
Both respected.
Both reliable.
"But that's only two envoys," said the head of the Mizuin clan. "There are four major nations besides us. We need four people."
Silence stretched until the head of the Zhicun clan cleared his throat.
"…Senju Tobirama is strong. And he still carries punishment for his offense. Sending him as envoy would help him redeem himself."
A heavy pause followed.
He hadn't committed a crime per se… but he had stirred instability by pushing Hashirama toward the Hokage seat too aggressively. And with Raizen missing, many elders quietly believed he'd never return.
Meaning the Hokage position was now wide open.
Backing Hashirama early was good politics.
Backing his brother was even better.
Several elders nodded.
"Let him earn his merit."
Hashirama stiffened. He almost objected—almost—but the words died in his throat. Tobirama needed direction, not shielding.
"Then who fills the final seat?" someone asked.
A voice answered with thinly veiled irritation:
"Call the Uchiha. Uchiha Madara has contributed nothing since joining Konoha. He should represent us for once."
Hashirama winced internally.
The dissatisfaction had been brewing for months.
Madara avoided meetings, avoided duties, avoided people.
And the clans noticed.
The Uchiha enjoyed elite status but offered little in return. That imbalance was beginning to curdle into resentment.
Hashirama understood politics well enough to hear the warning in those voices.
But he kept his face calm.
"…Very well. Those four will go."
The meeting dissolved. Orders were delivered. And by evening, four envoys prepared to leave in four directions.
Hyūga Tennin would go to the Land of Lightning.
Sarutobi Sasuke would go to the Land of Earth.
Uchiha Cheng (already established in canonically aligned roles) would head to the Land of Water.
Senju Tobirama would go to the Land of Wind.
None refused.
None could refuse.
Before Tobirama departed, Hashirama pulled him aside.
"Tobirama… when you reach the Land of Wind, make no promises. Understand?"
Tobirama bowed respectfully.
"I know, Brother. I won't shame Konoha."
But when he turned away, a flicker passed through his eyes. A private thought. A sharp one.
Hashirama didn't see it.
The Root of Konoha
When the envoys left, Hashirama walked alone to a secluded section of the Senju clan grounds. A hidden entrance waited there.
Tobirama's hidden force.
"Is this… the Root?"
Hashirama murmured, conflicted.
In the end, he stepped inside.
He had no choice.
Konoha had too many eyes and too many secrets.
If he wanted to hold the village together, he needed intelligence, shadows, and leverage.
Even if those shadows came from his brother's hands.
Tobirama's Ambition
As Tobirama sprinted across the desert plains toward the Land of Wind, his thoughts were not on treaties or tailed beasts.
No.
His thoughts burned bright:
"Raizen must be dead. Hokage's seat is empty. This… is my chance."
The desert wind stung his cheeks, but the thrill in his chest was colder, sharper.
He ran faster.
After days of travel, Senju Tobirama stood before Sunagakure. The village had grown dramatically since Raizen last passed through—the entire Land of Wind now unified under its banner.
The First Kazekage, Liedō, had already sent escorts to meet the delegates. Tobirama and his group entered under the harsh sun, sand crunching underfoot.
Tobirama surveyed the desert village with thinly veiled contempt.
"This is Sunagakure? Their shinobi can barely survive their own climate. How could they compare to Konoha?"
His voice was too cold, too careless.
The Sand escort heard it.
His jaw tightened.
But he held his tongue.
If a diplomat insulted you, you bowed anyway. Failure meant war.
And even weakened, Konoha was a giant.
The escort led them to a clay-walled structure—Kazekage's office.
The moment they stepped inside, loud laughter burst across the room like a crack of thunder.
"The envoys of the Land of Fire! Welcome! Welcome to the Land of Wind!"
A broad-shouldered middle-aged man strode forward, grinning like a desert storm.
The First Kazekage, Liedō.
A man who'd clawed a nation out of sand.
Tobirama met his eyes, face a frozen mask.
Two predators recognizing each other.
And neither willing to bow.
...
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