Setting Sail

On his familiar stool, Rikusei wore a crafty smile, shaking his head to reject every suggestion Tobirama put forward.

"You don't want Chakra refinement techniques, and you don't want Chakra control techniques—then what exactly do you want?" Tobirama looked at the boy before him with a headache; the lad had explicitly demanded a "consultation fee," and his earlier premonition had proven correct.

The Uchiha Clan already possessed all those things, and Rikusei wouldn't fall for Tobirama's shallow bait.

Driven to a corner, Tobirama decided to offer his own specialty to entice him: "Do you want to learn Water Release?"

Rikusei shook his head immediately, his tone troubled: "If I dared to learn your Water Release, Elder Setsuna would never let me off the hook."

Hearing this, Tobirama took off his coat and hung it on the chair, his lean, capable frame filling out his black tight-fitting ninja uniform. His powerful fingers tapped against the desk, dispelling the image of a certain masked man from his mind.

Turning his body inadvertently, he caught the hidden amusement in the boy's eyes and realized, belatedly, that the lad had known what he wanted all along and had deliberately let him guess for so long.

Tobirama sat upright and nodded slightly, his gaze filled with anticipation to see what new trick the boy would pull: "Speak, what have you set your sights on here?"

"Is the sample still here?"

Rikusei's question made it clear to Tobirama what he wanted, and he hurriedly retrieved the tea kettle from his drawer and placed it on the desk.

"So it was this." Tobirama toyed with the tea kettle, feeling the unique texture of the metal in his hands, his eyes glinting with gossip as he lowered his voice: "Are you looking to forge blades, or are you having them reforged for your little girlfriend?"

Rikusei's smile faltered for a moment, and he lowered his voice as well, preparing to turn the tables: "Does Teacher Tobirama mean to say that, during the process of forging these sealed ninja tools, you didn't keep any materials for yourself?"

The smiling Tobirama froze slightly; he knew he had guessed right. He continued softly: "Teacher, please wait a moment, I'm going to find Naori."

As the boy's back disappeared from view, the red eyes that had been blooming with an inexplicable light slowly closed. Tobirama relaxed his body and leaned back contentedly, the silver strands of his hair rustling against his coat.

In the quiet classroom, Naori sat lazily at her desk, her purple hair scattered casually over her shoulders as she focused intently on reviewing her class notes.

Yesterday, Rikusei had whispered in her ear, urging her to bring her ninja blade, saying there was an opportunity to "fleece the sheep."

As she turned a page, she flickered her gaze upward and spotted the boy sitting beside her. Her cool, clear voice held a hint of apology: "I was a bit lost in thought; Teacher Tobirama's lecture on practical shuriken techniques was truly excellent."

"It is I who kept you waiting too long." Rikusei shook his head and glanced at her drawer, "Come with me now."

Naori slung the long cylinder containing her short blade over her shoulder. The white strap couldn't hold back her shimmering purple hair as it swayed with her light jog, and the blade handle inside the rattling tube emitted a faint humming sound.

The leisurely Tobirama heard the footsteps outside the door, adjusted his posture to sit straight, and tidied up his cluttered desk.

It was indeed Naori.

He took the two short blades she retrieved from the cylinder, placed one on the desk, and drew the other from its sheath to examine it closely.

The hilt moved slowly in Tobirama's hand, and the snow-white blade and sheath rubbed together, emitting a crisp, metallic ring. The sharp edge cast a cold glint across the room.

A fine blade.

Tobirama thought to himself.

His red eyes were filled with satisfaction; these were the two blades he had seen at the Uchiha clan competition, and his eyes flickered slightly as he recalled the scene.

It was difficult to tell from their appearance who had been using which blade that day.

Fortunately, he clearly remembered the direction and pattern of the cord wrapped around the hilts. The snow-white blade in his hand clearly reflected the setting sun behind him.

This one was used by Naori, and the one on the desk was used by Rikusei.

Tobirama was somewhat mesmerized, discovering that their craftsmanship was astonishingly similar; it was highly likely they came from the same hand.

Rikusei watched Tobirama's rare expression of fascination with some surprise, though in his eyes, he couldn't distinguish between a good blade and a bad one—as long as it cut well, it was a good blade.

He glanced at Naori nonchalantly and found that her eyes were also shining with the adoration of a blade-lover.

No.

Rikusei decided to break the strange atmosphere that was threatening to turn into a blade-enthusiast club, saying: "What I want is for Teacher Tobirama to have the Artisan Ninjas reforge these two blades."

The abrupt voice brought clarity back to Tobirama's eyes. He slowly slid the short blade back into its sheath and placed them neatly on the desk, pondering: "Remelting and reforging? No problem. What is Naori's opinion?"

Naori, carrying the now-empty cylinder on her back, spoke with firm, gentle tones: "I would appreciate your help, Teacher."

"Leave it all to me. Any other requests?"

"Would you, perhaps, share a portion of the money from the future sale of the Tailed Beasts with me, so I can become the richest person in Konoha?"

The audacious joke made the usually stern Tobirama narrow his eyes and curl his lips into a smile, beckoning the boy to step forward.

The same trick could only be used once on an Uchiha; Rikusei wouldn't fall for it again. He hurriedly grabbed the girl, who had no idea what terrifying thing might happen next, and ran out of the office.

The evening twilight was always mesmerizing; the gorgeous, colorful clouds in the sky, lacking any fixed shape, were as full of infinite possibilities as a ninja.

Spending these days assisting Hashirama with paperwork in the Hokage's Office had given Madara a general understanding of the various affairs within the newborn village.

The dangers of fighting amidst a mountain of books and a sea of documents were no less than those on a battlefield where blood flowed with every strike.

The former was far less immediate than the latter, where every blow hit home, but the latter concerned the vital interests of the masses and the ninjas, as well as the development of the village. Moreover, major policies only showed results long after they were implemented.

The daily conflicts between various ninja clans, and the friction between common ninjas and those from clans when taking on missions, were things they were handling with increasing proficiency.

Hashirama, dressed in his robes, looked more and more like a Hokage, drifting further and further from the image in his memory of the man who summoned Wood Release to sweep across the world.

Which one was the real him? Or perhaps, every version was the real him.

"What's wrong, Madara?" Hashirama stopped his pen, walked to his desk, and looked at him with concern, "I saw you looking down just now. Are you troubled by these dense lines of text?"

Madara gave him a sharp look, swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue, and glanced at the Hokage's seat; he didn't want to see him looking dejected again: "Are there any more documents? Bring them over quickly."

A joyful smile appeared on Hashirama's face as he gathered a large stack of files from his own desk, dropping them onto Madara's desk with a heavy thud.

"It's alright, I'll be finished with it soon."

Madara finally reached his limit, his mouth twitching as he desperately wanted to see the Hokage looking dejected: "I think it's actually you who's being troubled by all these dense, cramped characters!"

"There's simply no helping it; I recognize every single character, but once they're put together, I don't understand a thing." Hashirama sighed heavily, propping his chin on his hands as he stared blankly at his friend with lifeless eyes.

The atmosphere in the room was visibly drifting toward melancholy, and just as Madara was about to continue his mockery, he sensed a ninja arriving via Body Flicker.

The masked ninja stepped into the sunlight streaming through the window and delivered the report: "The location of the Nine-Tails has been found; the locations of the other Tailed Beasts are still being tracked."

After the brief report, the Anbu handed the scroll in his hand to Hashirama.

The rolled-up scroll lay quietly on Madara's desk, the character "Nine" clearly visible on its green surface.

Madara, who had been sitting in his chair, rose abruptly and locked eyes with Hashirama.

Their gazes followed the ribbon as it was untied, then remained fixed on the unfolding scroll.

A hyper-detailed map of the Land of Fire was reflected in their eyes, and as the afterglow of the setting sun spilled over them, it shone through the gaps in their spirits and deep into their hearts, the embers of the sunset reigniting the burning blood within them.