Gunaseelan K
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Chapter 7 – My Allies’ Pawns Are My Pawns
🕑 Added 2025-09-11 05:25:38 +0000 UTC
Madara. Madara. Madara.
What good was that accursed Uchiha Madara?
Senju Tobirama clenched his jaw as he glanced at his elder brother. Even now, even at a time like this, Hashirama’s mind still lingered on Madara. Tobirama’s thoughts were sharp but silent—he would never voice them openly in front of an outsider such as Emiya Shihara. His brother’s pain was obvious, but it still frustrated him.
“Brother!”
Tobirama stepped forward and pressed his palm onto Hashirama’s shoulder, trying to calm the trembling man before him. Hashirama’s brow was beaded with cold sweat; his whole body was taut with the lingering echoes of a nightmare.
“Calm down a bit…” Tobirama’s voice was low and firm.
“Who!” Hashirama’s eyes shot open. Instinctively he raised his head, searching the room as if expecting an enemy.
“It’s me—Tobirama.”
The moment Hashirama’s gaze focused on his younger brother, the panic in his eyes began to fade. He exhaled shakily, remembering the dream he had just woken from.
“Tobirama…” His voice was hoarse.
He lowered his hands and stared at his palms as though they belonged to someone else, as though they were still stained with blood. “I dreamed that I… killed Madara.”
Tobirama stiffened. “Big brother!”
But Hashirama only shook his head slowly. “No… that wasn’t just a dream.”
His body sagged, shoulders drooping under the invisible weight of his grief. Unspeakable pain carved itself across his features. He covered his forehead with both hands as tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks.
“Tobirama. I… really killed Madara.”
For a moment Tobirama could not speak.
On one hand he was satisfied—relieved even—that Madara had been slain. But he also knew the cost of that act for his brother. He had seen, with his own eyes, the improbable friendship forged between Hashirama and the dark Uchiha amidst a feud stretching back generations. His brother had fought so hard to preserve it.
And yet, in the end, Hashirama himself had severed it.
With his own hand, he had struck down Madara Uchiha—the comrade who had once dreamed of peace beside him. The bond born in the Warring States Period was finally destroyed.
Tobirama laid a hand on his brother’s trembling shoulder. His voice was solemn. “Brother, don’t forget—Madara wanted to unleash the Nine-Tails to destroy Konoha. You killed him to protect the village we built together.”
“To protect the village…” Hashirama repeated, his eyes unfocused.
It was that single thought which had driven him past the point of no return.
Konoha—the village they had built together. Even the name had been Madara’s suggestion. Yet in that final confrontation, Madara had shown no true intent to kill him. The Uchiha’s arrogance was familiar, almost childish, as though he believed another tantrum would make Hashirama surrender and bend to his will, destroying everything they had created.
But Hashirama had already chosen. His love for Konoha outweighed his friendship. He had vowed to protect the village, even at the cost of his closest bonds.
And so he killed Madara.
The decision left a wound deeper than any blade. He had sacrificed years of trust and companionship for an ideal, and the pain of that sacrifice now consumed him.
His hands clenched the quilt as he sat on the bed, tears flowing freely, mind drifting back to memories of Madara—the boy who had once skipped stones across a river with him, the comrade who had once spoken of peace.
Emiya Shihara, who had been watching silently, finally spoke. “Let the patient rest. He is restless now and should be left alone for a while.”
He glanced at Hashirama with clinical precision. “Also, do not let him use his chakra to accelerate his healing. Excessive cell division could harm him further.”
“Understood.” Tobirama gently guided his brother back onto the bed.
Hashirama slumped down without resistance, hardly noticing the outsider standing nearby. His tears stained the pillow.
“Brother,” Tobirama said softly. “Rest for a while. Do not use chakra. Control your body’s self-healing.”
But Hashirama suddenly grabbed his brother’s wrist. “Tobirama… has Madara’s body been brought back to the village?”
Tobirama’s eyes flickered. “The body has been processed and buried.”
It was a lie.
In truth, Tobirama had hidden Madara’s corpse deep within the mountains. As the strongest Uchiha, Madara possessed the Mangekyō Sharingan—an unmatched specimen. To Tobirama, the body was a priceless opportunity to study the secrets of the Uchiha’s power and perhaps find a way to control it.
He had despised Madara since childhood and felt no qualms about using the corpse for research. But his brother could never know.
Unbeknownst to Tobirama, Emiya Shihara had already seen through him.
The time traveler watched the Senju brothers’ exchange closely, noting the slight flicker in Tobirama’s eyes. It reminded him of something very interesting.
He knew this era’s history from his previous life. He knew exactly what Tobirama had done with Madara’s body. And if nothing had changed, he also knew the whereabouts of a certain ally from a thousand years ago.
A slow smile curved Shihara’s lips.
“My pawn… no, my ally…” he murmured inwardly. “The pawn in my ally’s hand is also my pawn. I only hope my ally, Mr. Black Zetsu, can forgive my betrayal. In this era, I will atone…”
Far away, deep within the mountains of Konoha, a hidden cave lay in silence.
From the cold stone floor a pitch-black figure slowly rose—a creature shaped like tar and shadow. This was Black Zetsu, the very ally Shihara had named. Its life force was so unique it had survived for more than a millennium.
Black Zetsu stood before a coffin in the dim chamber, staring at it in disbelief.
“How did Uchiha Madara die?” it whispered. “How could he be killed?”
Madara had been the most promising pawn Black Zetsu had found in centuries. Before him, the best had been Emiya Shihara a thousand years earlier—a genius with ambitions so grand they surpassed even Indra’s.
But that pawn had been too naive. Convinced by Ashura’s ideals, Shihara had believed the ninja world could become a paradise of healing and unity.
Naive, foolish dreams.
Chakra was never a blessing. Humanity’s nature was to fight for resources. Power inevitably became a weapon.
Black Zetsu almost mourned the loss. Shihara had been so intelligent, yet so soft-hearted. In the Wet Bone Forest he had even allowed his own summoning slug to experiment on his body, gaining fragments of the Divine Tree’s power and the Sage of Six Paths’ strength. They had come so close—close to defeating the Sage himself.
But Shihara’s obsession with his ideal made him vulnerable. It allowed Ashura’s influence to sway him. He had entrusted his dream to Ashura, and in doing so had ruined everything.
“If only he were still alive,” Black Zetsu thought bitterly. “He would regret trusting that idiot Ashura.”
To this manipulator who had shaped history for millennia, Shihara remained the favorite pawn—brilliant, innocent, kind to a fault. In comparison, Uchiha Madara was arrogant and conceited. Yet even Madara had seemed a viable vessel for the plan.
Now, with Madara’s death, that hope had collapsed.
“Madara is dead…” Black Zetsu’s eyes narrowed. “Do I wait again? Or take his eyes now? At least the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan can be salvaged…”
Just then, a faint tremor came from within the sealed coffin.
Black Zetsu froze, then instantly melted back into the earth like ink into water. Even as it retreated, it kept a thin tendril of itself hidden in a crevice of the chamber, watching the coffin intently.
Something was moving inside.
The long game was not over yet.
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