Apology

Sasuke's question echoed through the empty underground shrine, carrying a weight that did not belong to someone his age.

Hashirama sat cross-legged opposite him, the cracks of Impure World Reincarnation across his face resembling the patterns on ancient pottery. He did not rush to answer. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes resting on Sasuke—not appraising him, but observing him as though he were a sapling Hashirama had once planted, now grown into a strange and unfamiliar tree.

"You asked what a shinobi is." Hashirama repeated the question, the smile at his lips fading somewhat. "My younger brother would probably give you an entire set of theories in answer."

Tobirama snorted coldly but said nothing.

"But I've lived this long." Hashirama raised his grayish-white hand and turned it over before his eyes. "I lived through the Warring States Period, the founding of Konoha, and the First Shinobi World War—yet in the end, I still couldn't give myself an answer I was satisfied with."

Sasuke's pupils contracted slightly.

"If even the First Hokage couldn't do it, what makes you think I can find the answer?" It was not a provocation. It was Sasuke's genuine confusion.

"I never said you could." Hashirama lowered his hand, his gaze calm. "But you're asking. That already makes you better than most shinobi."

Hiruzen stepped forward a few paces and stopped beside Hashirama. His expression was more complicated than those of the other three Hokage—when the Third looked at Sasuke, there was an indescribable mixture of guilt and exhaustion in his eyes.

"Sasuke." Hiruzen spoke, his voice hoarse. "You asked why we failed to bring about true peace. I spent my entire life thinking about that question. From the day I took up the Hokage's hat to the day I died in the Konoha Crush—forty