Teach Me

Tsunade pulled a pair of dice cups from who knows where.

She squatted on the ground and patted the spot beside her.

"Sit here."

She spoke like a three-year-old mimicking an adult, her voice trying to sound fierce but coming off as adorable.

Kitahara Kaede didn't sit there; he sat cross-legged directly opposite her.

Tsunade's face fell. "I said sit here!"

"I can see clearly from across."

Tsunade glared at him for two seconds.

It wasn't enough, so she added another second.

Finally, perhaps deciding it was beneath her to argue with such an disobedient person, she huffed and began explaining the rules.

"We take turns shaking the cups and guessing big or small. Guess right and you win, guess wrong and you lose. The loser gives the winner a piece of candy."

She pulled a handful of candies from her pocket and dumped them in the middle with a clatter.

They were colorful and sparkled in the sunlight.

She counted them once.

Not satisfied, she counted them again.

Then, taking advantage of the moment Kitahara Kaede was looking down at the dice cup, she quietly slid a few of the largest ones over to her side.

Her technique was very clumsy.

Her mindset was very seasoned.

"These are the stakes." She looked up at him, acting perfectly justified. "Do you have any?"

Kitahara Kaede felt his pockets.

Empty.

"No."

Tsunade scanned him up and down.

That look clearly spelled out two words: broke loser.

But at least she didn't say it out loud.

After a moment of hesitation, she pinched five candies from her pile and pushed them over.

"I'm lending them to you. You have to pay me back if you lose them all."

"Fine."

"Double."

"...Fine."

Only then was Tsunade satisfied.

She grabbed the dice cup, held it with both hands, and shook it vigorously.

She closed her eyes and muttered something, though it was impossible to tell what.

Clap. She slammed it upside down on the ground.

"Big!"

She lifted it: eleven.

Tsunade covered her mouth and giggled, her eyes curving into crescents as she pointed her chin toward Kitahara Kaede.

"Your turn."

Kitahara Kaede gave it a casual shake and slammed it down.

Three.

Tsunade's hand moved as fast as a thief's, and one candy was already on her side.

The next two rounds went much the same way.

The curve of Tsunade's mouth grew wider, and the pile of candy in front of Kitahara Kaede grew smaller.

By the end of the third round, he only had two left.

Tsunade laughed until she was swaying back and forth. "You're so stupid!"

She didn't hold back at all.

Kitahara Kaede didn't say a word.

At that moment, a system notification rang in his mind.

[Side Quest: First Meeting]

[If you want to become a "white moonlight," how can you not leave a deep impression? Please take the initiative, Host, and give the future Fifth Hokage a little shock.]

[Rewards will be granted based on performance rating.]

Kitahara Kaede glanced at it and closed the panel.

A "white moonlight" isn't something you get by letting someone win.

Relying on letting her win?

No, that's what Hashirama would do.

Kitahara Kaede knew very well—what a person remembers most in their life is never the moments when things went smoothly, but the first time they were truly and thoroughly beaten.

"Again."

Tsunade was stuffing a piece of candy into her mouth, saying vaguely, "You're almost out, you know."

"I'm serious this time."

She scoffed, sugar crumbs still clinging to the corner of her mouth.

"You weren't serious be—"

She didn't finish her sentence.

Kitahara Kaede picked up the dice cup, gave his wrist a light flick, and slammed it down.

He lifted it.

Two sixes.

Tsunade's chewing stopped.

"...Lucky."

She shook the cup with unconvinced vigor, slammed it down: seven.

Kitahara Kaede picked up the dice cup again.

Same technique, same angle.

Slam, lift.

Two sixes.

The smile on Tsunade's face faded.

On the third round, she shook with extra effort, muttering some kind of spell, slammed it down hard, and lifted.

Eight.

That was already a high number.

She turned to look at the person opposite her.

Kitahara Kaede flicked his wrist.

Two sixes.

The pavilion went quiet for a moment.

Tsunade stared at the two dice for three seconds, not making a sound.

Then she silently picked up the dice cup, covered the opening tightly, closed her eyes, and shook it for a long time.

She used all her strength when she slammed it down.

"BIG!!"

She lifted it.

Five: small.

She froze there.

Meanwhile, Kitahara Kaede had already slammed his cup down.

He didn't even call big or small; he just lifted it.

Two sixes.

The space in front of Tsunade was empty.

Even the copper coins she had won from Hashirama earlier were gone.

On Kitahara Kaede's side, the candies were piled into a small mountain.

She lowered her head, looking at the empty space in front of her.

Then she looked at him, her lips moving, but no sound came out.

Kitahara Kaede muttered to himself—Oh no, I won too much.

But Tsunade didn't cry.

Kitahara Kaede had expected her to wail.

A little princess raised in the lap of luxury, crying when she loses—it was only natural.

But she didn't.

Her lips were bitten tight, her small fists clenched, and tears swirled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

That spirit was exactly the same as the Fifth Hokage in the original story, who stood tall even after being run through by Uchiha Madara's Susanoo.

Kitahara Kaede didn't press his advantage, nor did he show a smug expression.

He just sat there quietly, waiting for her.

After a long while.

Tsunade sniffled, her voice muffled.

"You cheated."

"No."

"Liar." She looked up and glared at him, her eyes red. "It's impossible to get two sixes every time."

Kitahara Kaede looked at her.

"It is two sixes every time."

Tsunade was stunned.

She had a belly full of retorts, all of them stuck in her throat.

She had expected him to quibble, expected him to laugh, expected all sorts of responses.

The only thing she hadn't expected was for him to simply admit it.

"...That's cheating!"

Kitahara Kaede didn't explain, nor did he argue.

He reached out and pushed the mountain of candy back in front of her.

Tsunade wiped her face hard with the back of her hand, staring at the pile of candy, then staring at him.

"...You don't want them?"

"I don't like sweets."

She blinked.

"Then why did you win against me?"

"You said you wanted to play."

Tsunade was choked for words.

She couldn't squeeze out a single syllable for a long time.

It was true; she was the one who had dragged him into playing.

She was the one who set the rules. She was the one who lent the candy to him.

Her three-year-old brain spun for a long time, unable to navigate this logic, so she simply gave up on reasoning and went straight for the core question.

"Then how can you get two sixes every time?"

Kitahara Kaede didn't answer immediately.

He picked up the dice cup and put one die inside.

Then he flipped it over.

Opening facing down.

The die didn't fall out.

Tsunade's eyes went wide.

His four-year-old hand wasn't much bigger than hers, but the die stayed perfectly still inside the inverted cup, not moving an inch.

She reached out to touch it instinctively.

Kitahara Kaede blocked her gently.

He flipped the cup upright, set it down, and lifted it.

Six.

Tsunade stared at that die for several seconds without blinking.

Then she looked up abruptly.

She didn't ask, "How did you do that?"

What she asked was—

"Does my grandfather... know how to do this too?"

The pavilion suddenly went quiet.

Kitahara Kaede looked into her eyes.

Three years old, only three years old.

But she already understood everything.

Those gambling matches that never lost.

Those dice rolls that were "just" a little higher than her grandfather's every single time.

That man who always wore a troubled expression, spreading his hands to say, "I lost again."

She was asking, but in truth, she already had the answer.

She just didn't dare to confirm it yet.

Kitahara Kaede simply gave a slight nod.

Tsunade didn't make a sound.

She lowered her head, looking at the pair of dice on the floor.

Then she turned her head to look toward the direction of the main hall.

It was quiet for a long time.

A single tear splashed onto her knee.

Then a second, a third, sliding down her cheeks; she didn't even seem to notice.

It wasn't a wailing sob, nor was it a cry of grievance.

It was like a child who had suddenly realized something and didn't know how to process it, so the tears just ran out on their own.

After a while, Tsunade wiped her face fiercely with her hand.

She looked up at him.

Her eyelashes were still damp, but her gaze had brightened once more.

"Teach me."

Kitahara Kaede glanced at her.

"Teach you what?"

"That thing you did just now." She pointed at the dice cup. "The one that kept the dice from falling."

Kitahara Kaede felt a slight stir in his heart.

He stood up, walked around to her side, and sat down.

"Hold the cup first."

Tsunade reached out with both hands, cradling the dice cup in her palms.

Her hands were too small; the cup wobbled in her grip, ready to slip out at any moment.

She looked up at him.

"And then?"

Kitahara Kaede reached out and gently steadied her wrists.

"Don't rush."

"Take it slow."