Gunaseelan K
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Chapter 4 – “You Think I’m an Old Antique?”
🕑 Added 2025-09-11 05:17:15 +0000 UTC
The corridor outside Konoha Hospital’s most secure ward was quiet, but the tension in the air felt like a taut wire ready to snap. Sunlight filtered weakly through the paper windows, leaving long rectangles of light across the polished floor. Here, Senju Tobirama waited, his expression a mask of composure that hid the calculations behind his sharp eyes.
Inwardly, though, the Second Hokage was anything but calm. He sincerely hoped that Emiya Shihara—the mysterious healer from an age long past—would keep the secrets of ancient times to himself, especially from Tobirama’s elder brother, Senju Hashirama. Tobirama knew his brother’s nature far too well. If Hashirama discovered that the ancestors of the Senju and Uchiha had once been brothers, and that both clans descended from the Sage of Six Paths, his natural compassion would drive him to extend even greater tolerance toward the Uchiha. That kind of leniency would shatter Tobirama’s carefully laid plans to keep the Uchiha under control.
If it were up to him, Tobirama would have preferred Shihara to reveal only the darkest parts of history—Indra’s rebellion, the cursed origins of the Uchiha’s power. That would make his policy of suppression easier to justify. But Shihara was no schemer. He was an upright, almost naïve gentleman who clearly saw such manipulations for what they were. He would never agree to present only half the truth.
So Tobirama chose his words with extreme care.
He straightened, cleared his throat, and said in a tone heavy with responsibility, “Lord Emiya…”
Shihara raised an eyebrow slightly, waiting.
“The situation in Konoha is… unstable,” Tobirama began. The lie slipped from his tongue smoothly, without the slightest hesitation. “If these ancient secrets were leaked, they would stir endless debate and mistrust. Although Uchiha Madara sought to destroy our village, many Uchiha have joined Konoha in good faith. We consider them our comrades.”
He lowered his voice, adding a note of concern. “If the villagers hear the story of Indra—the ancestor who turned against his people—they’ll suspect that all Uchiha are born evil. Rejection and hatred will only grow.”
Across from him, Emiya Shihara’s expression shifted into something unreadable. His eyes glinted with faint amusement, as if to say, Are you bullying me because you think I’m some old antique? He had only been dead for a long time, not rendered blind or foolish.
Konoha’s Second Hokage speaking of compassion for the Uchiha? That was almost comical. Wasn’t Tobirama the very man who started the village’s policy of isolating and surveilling them? Shihara held his tongue, but inwardly he marveled at the man’s skill with words.
Tobirama continued his carefully constructed explanation. “To integrate the Uchiha, my brother has always shown them special favor. But once he knows that our clans share the same blood and that he killed his former friend Madara to protect the village, guilt will drive him to draw them even closer.”
“In that case,” Tobirama went on, “the other ninja clans will see favoritism. They will call it unfair. If the people learn that our ancestors Ashura and Indra were brothers, they’ll question my brother’s impartiality. And my brother—he is the First Hokage of Konoha. The alliances we’ve forged are fragile. If trust in his fairness collapses, so will the peace we’ve built.”
He exhaled slowly, then delivered his conclusion. “Your Excellency Emiya, for the sake of Konoha and the entire ninja world, I must ask you to keep these ancient secrets sealed.”
The words were spoken with perfect gravity and moral weight. Shihara could hardly refuse without looking like the villain. Tobirama’s appeal was a form of polite blackmail cloaked in the language of duty and peace.
It’s so hard to be a good person these days, Shihara thought wryly. If you try, someone will use your conscience as a weapon against you.
But he was not helpless. If Tobirama could play at moral pressure, so could he.
“I can only try not to say the wrong thing,” Shihara said at last, shaking his head with a carefully measured hesitation. “In our time, people often used chakra to communicate during meditation. Thoughts were shared openly; lying to one’s companions was rare. I’m afraid I’m not very practiced at hiding my true feelings.”
He softened his tone, adding a hint of apology to his face. “I truly am sorry, but I will do my best.”
For a moment Tobirama studied him. Then the Second Hokage sighed—a sound that carried genuine yearning. “I should be the one apologizing,” he murmured. “I’ve heard legends about the Sage of Six Paths, about a time when people respected and understood one another. I didn’t think any of it was real…”
Shihara rubbed his brow, a touch embarrassed. “It wasn’t absolute,” he admitted. “For example, no one in the Ninja Sect could understand Indra’s thoughts. He left, believing he could use the power of the Sharingan to destroy the village. In the end Ashura gathered everyone’s chakra to defeat him.”
“What!” Tobirama’s eyes snapped wide, outrage flaring. “That innately evil Uchiha ancestor!”
The outburst was so instinctive it almost made Shihara laugh. Tobirama’s reaction to Indra was exactly the same as his reaction to Madara. Both, in Tobirama’s mind, were proof that Uchiha blood carried ruin in its veins.
“Speaking of brothers,” Shihara said smoothly, changing the subject, “you seem to have a good relationship with yours. A harmonious bond like that is rare.”
“As it should be,” Tobirama replied, a flicker of warmth passing through his stern expression. He remembered how Hashirama had protected him as a child, how his elder brother’s faith had carried them through the war-torn years. “My brother has always taken care of me.”
In that moment Tobirama felt almost wistful. Based on Shihara’s demeanor, he began to imagine that the ninja of the ancient times had all been like this—principled, openhearted. Perhaps that lost era had truly been a kind of paradise… aside from that cursed Uchiha ancestor.
He drew in a breath, steadying himself. “Let’s go in.”
With a respectful nod, Tobirama slid open the ward door. His manner toward Shihara had grown notably more humble. “We can do nothing for my brother’s injuries. We can only entrust him to you, Lord Emiya.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Shihara replied, waving a hand as he stepped inside. His back straightened, his posture becoming serious. “Don’t worry. I’m a medical ninja. I won’t let my patient down.”
The room smelled faintly of flowers, an attempt to mask the antiseptic scent of medicine. On the bed lay a man with long black hair, his body wrapped in heavy bandages. His eyes were closed, his breathing even but faint.
Senju Hashirama—the First Hokage. Undoubtedly the strongest ninja of this era, now reduced to stillness.
“My brother has never been this weak,” Tobirama said quietly, standing beside Shihara. “His battle with Madara nearly exhausted his chakra.”
“Let me see.” Shihara’s fingers slid to Hashirama’s wrist, feeling the pulse of life and chakra beneath the skin. His brow furrowed slightly. “Wood Release…?”
He sank into thought. “In theory, the source of Wood Release is the power of the sacred tree. Ashura awakened it with the chakra bestowed by the Sage. This kind of power should be impossible to inherit.”
“My brother awakened Wood Release only after adulthood,” Tobirama offered quickly, noting Shihara’s words with interest. “Sir Emiya, how is his condition?”
“Don’t worry.” Shihara lifted his gaze to meet Tobirama’s. “His self-healing ability is extraordinary. He’s merely exhausted his chakra, which is why his injuries linger. Once his chakra recovers, he will recover as well.”
Tobirama narrowed his eyes. He had already assessed his brother’s state; Shihara’s optimism sounded almost like a platitude. But before he could voice doubt, Shihara continued.
“However…” The ancient healer’s voice deepened. “He has overused his self-healing. His cells have been dividing and regenerating at an accelerated rate, damaging his lifespan. He has also drawn too heavily on his life energy to empower his Wood Release. This is… troublesome.”
“Troublesome?” Tobirama repeated, but instead of tensing he allowed himself a small exhale of relief. “Then Lord Emiya can solve it?”
“In ancient times, it would have been a small problem.” Shihara’s eyes narrowed, a glint of regret crossing his face. “I would simply have used the power of Yang to heal him. But in this state, I am no different from a dead man. I cannot wield Yang Release.”
If only I could truly resurrect, he thought. If only I could draw on my full power…
Tobirama said nothing, but his mind spun with new calculations. Even weakened, Shihara had knowledge and skill beyond any living medic. Perhaps, with guidance, he could still save Hashirama. Perhaps Tobirama’s gamble—summoning this man from the grave—would pay off.
Shihara placed a hand gently on Hashirama’s chest, closing his eyes to feel the ebb and flow of chakra beneath the bandages. “Rest now,” he murmured under his breath, though neither brother could tell whether he spoke to the patient or himself.
Behind him, Tobirama stood like a statue, watching, measuring, hoping.
The faint fragrance of flowers drifted through the ward. Outside, the village moved on, unaware that within this quiet room the past and future of Konoha were converging.
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