New Konoha, Old Roots

Spring, Year One of the Hidden Leaf Village.

The space had once been saturated with the nauseating stench of blood and rust, as if the scents of death and decay were tightly entwined, suffocating all who drew breath. Yet, at this moment, that odor had gradually dissipated, replaced by something entirely different.

It was the fresh scent of turned earth, as if the land itself were breathing, releasing the fragrance from its depths. Intermingled with it was the aroma of shaved timber—the life force of trees radiating a faint, woody perfume. These two scents wove together to create a uniquely refreshing atmosphere.

Within this freshness lingered the slight bitterness of green grass, the smell of nature itself, evoking the vigor and vitality of life. The faint, warm hint of cooking smoke added a touch of human domesticity to it all, bringing a sense of comfort and peace.

This brand-new scent was so foreign to Uchiha Sou that he could not help but feel a moment of trance. He had grown accustomed to the stench of blood and rust, and this fresh air made him feel a sense of relaxation and ease he had never known before.

He stood on a newly demarcated plot of land, behind him several wooden houses with frames just erected, still unfinished. This would be the new residential district for the Uchiha clan, located on the... outskirts of the Hidden Leaf Village. It was quiet; one could clearly hear the murmuring of the Naka River in the distance, and the faint yet lively clamor drifting from the center of the village further away.

His black eyes scanned the surroundings calmly. His clansmen were busy, most of them wearing an expression he rarely saw—a mixture of exhaustion and hope. Children chased and played in the open space, their laughter crisp and clear; no adult rushed to nervously bark orders at them or drag them back behind cover. All of this was a miracle brought about by the man named Hashirama Senju.

It was also a cage being meticulously woven by the man named Tobirama Senju.

Tsang's gaze drifted past the busy clansmen, landing on the rugged mountain in the distance that was currently being carved—that would be the Hokage Rock. It was said that Hashirama's face would be the first to be sculpted, as a symbol of the dream.

A cold, imperceptible arc tugged at the corner of his mouth. As Madara's nephew, he perceived the vastly different temperatures of the two Senju leaders earlier and more clearly than many of his kin.

"Tsang, don't just stand there, come give us a hand!" A booming voice interrupted his thoughts. It was an elder of the clan, carrying a thick beam, sweat on his brow, yet his eyes were bright.

Tsang collected his thoughts, his face assuming a perfectly measured, slightly distant warmth as he replied, "Coming."

He stepped forward and easily took the other end of the beam. His control of his strength was excellent; it displayed the prowess expected of an Uchiha elite without being overly shocking. At the dawn of the village's founding, keeping a low profile was a necessary rule for survival. Especially under the watchful eyes of that keen-sensed Second Hokage—oh, no, for now, he was still just the Hokage's brother and strongest aide.

Labor could bring peace of mind. Tsang worked with his clansman to set the beam in place and hammer it into the mortise and tenon. His movements were precise and efficient; though his Sharingan was not activated, his superhuman dynamic vision and muscle control made these tasks effortless. His mind, however, had already drifted far away.

Uncle Izuna... if you were still alive, what would you think if you saw this scene today?

The image of his young uncle lying in the arms of his uncle Madara, gasping his last breath, flashed through his mind, along with that silver-haired, red-eyed man standing to the side with a cold expression: Tobirama Senju. The cold light of the Flying Thunder God Slash seemed to still pierce his retinas even now. That bone-deep hatred did not stem merely from the sacrifices of his clansmen, but from the loss of his kin. It had never dissipated with the arrival of peace; instead, like strong liquor sealed away, it had grown more mellow and scorching in the depths where no one could see. He simply buried it deeper, wrapping it in layers of calm and silence.

Just then, a cold and powerful chakra perception swept over the area, faint as a ghost.

Tsang's movements did not falter in the slightest, nor did his expression change by even a fraction; he remained focused on his work. But every nerve in his body tightened in an instant.

He did not need to look back to know who it was.

Sure enough, a moment later, several figures appeared at the entrance of the residential district. Leading them was Hashirama Senju. He was not wearing his Warring States-era armor, but had changed into the white Hokage haori that symbolized his status, with a dark ninja outfit underneath and a conical hat inscribed with the words "First Hokage." His face was filled with an infectious, brilliant smile, and he was loudly greeting every Uchiha clansman he encountered, even patting the shoulder of a nervous Uchiha youth who was tripping over his own feet, causing the boy to blush furiously.

And following half a step behind Hashirama was Tobirama Senju.

He had short silver hair and still wore his blue layered armor, designed for ease of movement. His face was stern, and his sharp red eyes, like the most precise instruments, scanned the construction progress, the distribution of personnel, and the demeanor of every individual without a hint of emotion. His gaze, like a scalpel, attempted to dissect the facade of warmth and harmony to peer directly into the interior.

When that gaze inadvertently swept over the direction where Tsang stood, Tsang was just bowing slightly, picking up a wedge from the ground, perfectly avoiding direct eye contact.

His heart beat steadily, and his breathing rhythm did not change in the slightest. Yet, beneath his lowered eyelids, a flash of icy, lethal sharpness crossed the depths of his pupils. The killing intent, like a viper's tongue, had barely flickered out before he forced it back into its cold cage. He could not look. He could not reveal anything unusual. In the face of Tobirama, any flicker of emotional fluctuation could be captured by that terrifying perception.

Hashirama and Tobirama did not linger long; after a brief inspection and a few words of encouragement, they headed toward the next clan's district. Hashirama's laughter faded into the distance, but the invisible pressure left behind by Tobirama seemed to linger in the air.

"Phew... Lord Hokage and Lord Tobirama seem to really care about us," a young clansman nearby said, sounding relieved, his tone tinged with a sense of being flattered.

Tsang straightened up, watching those retreating backs, especially Tobirama's conspicuous silver hair.

Care?

He sneered inwardly. Hashirama might. But Tobirama? He had come only to confirm whether the bars of the cage were secure, to assess whether this group of "beasts" that had just been penned up showed signs of being tamed. He could even guess what the next move of this Senju second-in-command would be. Grant power, while simultaneously granting isolation. Elevate the Uchiha high, then pull the ladder out from beneath them.

"Alright, let's get back to work," Tsang said calmly, his voice devoid of ripples. "Let's get our homes built sooner."

He did not look into the distance again, refocusing his attention on the wooden mallet and the mortise and tenon in his hands.

The hammering sound rang out, steady and rhythmic.

What he was hammering was wood, but what he was burying were cold, resilient roots that no one knew of. Roots belonging to the old era, planted deep beneath the soil of the new, waiting in silence for the day they would break through the surface.

He knew that peace was merely an illusion. The battle had never ceased. It had simply shifted to the method he was best at—hiding and lying in wait.

He raised his eyes, taking one last look at the Hokage Rock being carved.

His gaze was as calm as a deep pool.