As people grew older, they tended to become sentimental.
Lately, Hashirama often found himself reminiscing about the days when he and Madara Uchiha had played together as children.
He also often recalled the days when they had fought and slaughtered each other's clansmen.
But time passed swiftly, and in the blink of an eye, more than seventy years had gone by.
Madara Uchiha had long since become a handful of dust, while Hashirama was surrounded by children and grandchildren, his clan flourishing.
Hashirama still could not figure out who had been right or wrong back then, but he believed that protecting Konoha had not been wrong.
Now, Konoha was growing ever stronger, its scale far surpassing what it had once been. It would only continue to prosper in the future.
Hashirama could witness all of this with his own eyes, but Madara Uchiha would never see it.
Back then, the two of them had discussed their dreams atop a cliff. They had named Konoha with Wood Release and named the Hokage with Fire Release.
It had carried both their dreams and their hopes for peace in the Shinobi World.
Now, only he remained.
"Shishou, why are you getting sentimental again?"
Hashirama waved a hand. "I was thinking of Madara Uchiha. I don't even know where that old fellow died."
Torikaze nodded as well. "Neither do I. Since I never managed to kill him, he probably just died of old age."
"Anyway, he definitely didn't live as long as you did."
Hashirama burst into laughter. "That's right. That guy really was short."
Torikaze had no idea what Hashirama meant by "short," but it did not seem to be anything nice.
"Enough. Go check on Nawaki. I'll sit here by myself for a while."
After lunch, Nawaki had returned to his own