Madara Uchiha's Choice

Dusk settled over the courtyard, a thin sheet of paper trembled slightly.

There was no evening breeze to stir the letter; it was Hashirama's hand that trembled slightly.

Ban stood quietly half a step away from him, never glancing back, yet taking in every subtle reaction of the other.

The edges of the letter were pinched into fine creases by her fingertips. Her previously steady breathing suddenly stopped, and after a long while, she slowly exhaled, as if carefully avoiding the thorns hidden between the lines.

My gaze fell on those glaring words. " In the Battle of the Valley of the End, you lost to Hashirama Senju."

The lips Hashirama moved slightly, but ultimately made no sound.

He forced himself to keep reading: Forbidden Technique to prolong life, decades of stagnation in darkness, Black Zetsu's scheming, and the destiny of becoming a sacrifice for Kaguya Otsutsuki's resurrection...

He recognized every single word, but the ending that they formed felt strangely unfamiliar, tinged with absurdity and chilling coldness.

Finally, his image froze on those last words.

Madara Uchiha from another world lived a tumultuous and tragic life, leaving behind only one regret before his final moments. "My biggest mistake in this life was never trusting Hashirama."

Hashirama slowly raised his hand and gently placed the letter on the stone table.

The movements were so gentle, as if the slightest force would crush a heavy yet real past.

The courtyard fell into a deathly silence. The evening breeze swept through the courtyard, and the wind chimes under the eaves tinkled, breaking the tranquil night again and again.

After a long silence, Hashirama lowered his eyes, staring intently at the flattened letter. His voice was dry and hoarse, as if sandpaper had been rubbing against his throat, each word uttered with difficulty, almost suffocating. "Madara... the me of that world killed you. I killed you with my own hands..."

He never dared to look up.

Her eyes were churning with extreme panic and guilt. She was afraid to meet Ban's eyes and see resentment and alienation, and she was also afraid that if she looked up, she would not see even a glimmer of hope.

Ban still gazed at the dry landscape garden in the corner of the courtyard. Dusk completely enveloped the rockery, turning the scattered rocks and vegetation into a dark, inky color.

There was no anger, no sneer, no mockery, not even the slightest ripple.

His expression was as calm as a deep pool that had accumulated over half a lifetime, plain yet profound.

"Yes, you killed me." Madara's voice was calm and even as he recounted this tragic past. "After that, you were bound by this sin for the rest of your life, yet you still guarded Konoha and your lifelong ideals."

Later, you passed away early, Tobirama over the Hokage Position, and his disciple succeeded him, passing the throne down from generation to generation until the day the Uchiha was completely wiped out.

That's not me!

Hashirama suddenly straightened up, his movement accompanied by a soft thud.

The stone bench beneath him scraped against the bluestone slab, producing a sharp, piercing dull sound that shattered the silence of the courtyard.

His eyes reddened, not from tears, but from the feeling that his heart was being gripped tightly by an invisible hand, with anxiety and guilt stuck in his chest, unable to be released.

"My version of myself from that world doesn't count! I would never lay a hand on you, never—"

"I know."

Madara gently interrupted his argument. He finally turned his head slowly, and in the Dusk, his signature Sharingan did not glow crimson, but remained deep and calm, silently locking the distraught Hashirama place.

"If I didn't believe you, I wouldn't be standing here safely right now."

He bent down, picked up the letter from the stone table, folded it deftly with his fingertips, and carefully tucked it into his pocket.

His movements were calm and composed, as if he were carrying not his tragic fate, but merely a trivial piece of writing.

Looking up into the distance, the outline of Konoha gradually sank into the deep night. One by one, lights were lit in each household, and the soft, warm light spread out in a scattered pattern. In the distance, the faint sounds of laughter and the warmth of cooking smoke drifted over.

"Hashirama, I have never questioned the essence of your ideals." Madara spoke slowly, his words clear and resounding. "To keep children away from the battlefield, to let the ninja clans put aside their blood feuds and cease their killing—this vision has always been incredibly sincere. But I have always known that it is too fragile."

"It depends on your lifespan, relies on your absolute military power to suppress conflicts, and barely survives on everyone's trust in you."

But this stability has no foundation. As soon as you pass away, as soon as you leave the stage, the peace you built with your whole life will collapse like a sandcastle on the beach when the tide comes in.

He withdrew his gaze from the distance and fixed it firmly on Hashirama. His tone was calm, yet every word carried immense weight, striking straight to the heart. "Natsu said that my other self's dying regret was that I never believed you. But Hashirama, I want to tell you another truth."

"If one day in the future you actually turn your blade against me, then the peace you've pursued all your life will be a real joke."

"It's not because you killed me. It's because the moment you had to end me with your blade, it meant that the path you'd upheld your entire life had already reached its end."

Each word was like a cold iron nail, firmly driven into the Hashirama's heart.

He wanted to refute, to say with certainty that he would not let the tragedy repeat itself, to say that he could resolve all barriers and stabilize everyone's hearts, to say that this peace would never collapse easily. But all those words stuck in his throat, and in the end, he swallowed them all back.

Because Ban is right. This peace, maintained by one person's own efforts, is inherently fragile and easily destroyed.

After a long silence, Hashirama slowly relaxed his clenched fist, his outstretched fingertips carrying a hint of resolute relief. His hoarse voice, devoid of all panic, was filled only with an unprecedented solemnity. "Then I will ensure that day never comes."

"Neither will I die. We will walk side by side, paving this difficult road with our own hands, until everyone willingly believes in this peace."

Ban gazed at him silently for a long time, the coldness that had settled in his eyes gradually dissipating, revealing a subtle warmth.

He reached out and picked up the bottle of sake that Hashirama was sitting on the table. He gently lifted the bottle and lightly bumped it against another bottle of sake that was sitting still on the stone table. The crisp sound broke the Dusk.

I'll trust you this once.

Don't let me down.

Hashirama paused for a moment, then his eyes lit up. He hurriedly grabbed the bottle and slammed it against the other side, the sound of the bottles colliding clear and crisp.

Dusk settled completely, darkness swept across the land. The courtyard was silent, save for the evening breeze and the gentle chimes of the wind chimes. Two figures sat side by side on the veranda, drinking wine in silence.

In turbulent times, with unpredictable hearts and a long road ahead, they are simply two fools willing to gamble their remaining lives for each other and for this unwavering belief.

A gentle evening breeze blew under the eaves as the two sat facing each other, drinking and while away most of the night. Only when both bottles of sake were empty did Hashirama slowly rise.