Goodbye, Hashirama

Time flowed like fine sand in an hourglass; the setting sun gradually dipped below the horizon, slipping away like a ripened persimmon. The afterglow draped over the earth like a thin golden veil, only to be swiftly swallowed by the encroaching darkness. Night descended silently, like a vast, heavy black curtain shrouding the entire world.

At this moment, the lights in the courtyard flickered to life, their dim yellow glow resembling stars in the night sky—faint, yet warming to the heart.

Within this pool of light, two children could be seen panting heavily, swinging wooden swords with all their might. Their movements were slightly unrefined, yet every swing was brimming with power.

Shadows cast by the lights danced and leaped across the ground, creating a bustling scene. These shadows intertwined and scattered, as if a group of mischievous sprites were playing to their heart's content.

Their presence added a touch of life and vitality to the otherwise quiet courtyard.

Just then, Madara, who had been watching silently from the side, spoke up: "Kagami, your training for today is finished." As he spoke, he reached out to pick up a scroll that had been resting beside him and flicked it with a light motion, sending it flying accurately toward Kagami.

Kagami hurriedly reached out with both hands to catch the incoming scroll. Upon closer inspection, he saw the four large characters "Dragon Flame Song" written clearly on it. A look of ecstatic joy bloomed on his face, and his voice trembled with excitement: "Thank you, Clan Leader!"

In truth, Madara had initially intended to brush Kagami off with a common A-rank scroll.

After all, to Madara, Kagami was merely a nobody, so an A-rank scroll was more than enough. However, as time passed, Madara began to notice the perseverance and talent Kagami displayed.

Furthermore, Madara had keenly sensed that although Qile appeared cheerful on the surface, he still harbored a deep-seated loneliness within.

Even when recalling his own childhood, he at least had... by his side.

But what about Qile now? He had no one; he was entirely alone.

Additionally, within the Uchiha clan, while it was theoretically possible for any clansman to learn any ninjutsu, the reality was far from simple. To truly master high-level ninjutsu, clansmen had to earn the right to learn them through sufficient merit.

Kagami's father was merely a guard for one of the clan elders, so his merit was naturally quite limited, far from enough to secure many precious ninjutsu scrolls for Kagami.

Beyond that, the scroll Madara gave Kagami held special significance.

According to clan rules, once a clan leader bestowed a scroll upon someone, that person was permitted to practice the technique. Moreover, provided Kagami agreed, he had the full authority to share this ninjutsu with anyone he deemed appropriate.

"In the future..." Madara was about to continue, but suddenly, as if sensing something, his gaze darted to the side. Not far away, a figure stood in the darkness.

Because Kagami only needed to perform stance training for an hour and a half and swing his sword two hundred times, he was now exhausted from finishing his daily training. But when he saw the mysterious scroll clutched tightly in his hand, all his fatigue seemed to vanish, replaced by irrepressible excitement.

He wished he could sprout wings and fly home immediately to tell his father this incredible news. As if knowing his thoughts, Madara's voice reached Kagami's ears without making him wait long: "You may go home first."

Kagami, already impatient, bowed deeply to Madara before turning to face Qile, who was still swinging his sword with all his might, and shouted: "Qile, I'll come find you to train together again tomorrow!" Before the words had even faded, he took off like a wild horse, his feet kicking up dust, and vanished in the blink of an eye.

Watching Kagami's retreating figure, Qile shook his head helplessly and shouted at the top of his lungs: "Remember to come early tomorrow morning! We still have to practice hand seals."

After Kagami left, Qile turned his head to look at Yeling, who was standing to the side, and asked: "How many times have I swung the sword now?"

Yeling didn't even think about it, blurting out: "Two hundred and thirty times!"

Learning he was still seventy swings short of his goal, Qile exhaled a breath of stale air, loosened his aching shoulders, adjusted his stance, gripped the hilt with both hands, and swung the long sword again without hesitation.

"Hahaha, not bad, not bad! Although your sword-swinging posture is a bit clumsy and ugly. But once you adapt for a few more days, you can have Madara teach you the proper form." Accompanied by a bold and hearty laugh, the voice arrived before the person.

At this moment, Qile, who was focused entirely on swinging his long sword, heard the familiar voice and jerked his head up, his gaze instantly locking onto the figure not far away.

When he realized the visitor was Hashirama, Qile couldn't help but let out a cry of slight confusion: "Hokage?"

However, before Qile's question could fully escape his lips, a thin whip struck him, landing with pinpoint accuracy.

In an instant, a searing pain spread throughout his body, causing Qile to wince and grit his teeth. Yet, he dared not slacken; enduring the pain, he quickly adjusted his state and threw himself back into his training.

Watching Qile persist despite the pain, Hashirama wore a satisfied smile, then burst into hearty laughter. After laughing, Hashirama walked over to the stone stool beside Madara and sat down, watching Qile's determined form with great interest.

Time passed quietly, and before he knew it, Qile had swung the sword two hundred and sixty times in a row.

By now, although his body was utterly exhausted and his arms were trembling uncontrollably from overexertion, his mind remained clear. Even he was surprised; after all, only about ten days had passed since he began training, and he hadn't expected to be able to grit his teeth and persist to this extent.

However, during these final forty swings, his consciousness began to blur, and he felt dizzy. At the same time, his once-powerful arms began to spasm and cramp uncontrollably, each swing accompanied by piercing soreness and a sense of powerlessness.

Finally, when the task of three hundred swings was arduously completed, he did not faint as he usually did. But his condition was no better; the intense spasms and soreness in his arms were agonizing, a pain like thousands of ants gnawing at his muscles.

Furthermore, his chest felt as if it were being crushed by a heavy boulder, making breathing exceptionally difficult; every breath was a struggle. His stomach churned and roiled, causing waves of unbearable nausea.

"Ugh..." Finally, a large amount of bile spewed from his mouth. After this bout of vomiting, the overwhelming discomfort eased slightly.

Seeing this, Hashirama, who had been watching closely from the side, stepped forward without hesitation. He placed a palm gently against Qile's back.

In an instant, Qile felt a cool, comforting energy flowing through his body like a gentle stream. This miraculous power not only greatly reduced the pain in his arms but also seemed to dissipate his physical fatigue in an instant.

"Hashirama! That's enough. He needs to get used to this feeling!" Madara, who had been silent until now, slowly stood up and said in a stern tone.

Hearing this, Hashirama naturally understood what Madara meant. Although he wanted to continue helping Qile alleviate the pain, he knew well that Qile ultimately had to rely on himself to gradually adapt to such high-intensity training and the exhaustion that followed.

"Yeling, go tell Yan to have someone send over some food, and tell Yan that starting tomorrow, he is to assign someone to deliver meals to the house," Madara said in a flat tone.

Yeling did not leave immediately; instead, she gently helped Qile up before turning to depart.