Dawn had only just begun to break when Hashirama and Tobirama left the Memorial Stone and headed along the edge of the ruins toward the Arsenal's core district.
The rubble beneath their feet still retained the warmth of last night's bombardment, and the air smelled far from pleasant. In the distance, black smoke rose from the reactor dome while the beams of engineers' flashlights swayed through the wreckage.
Hashirama stopped, his brow furrowing even deeper as he watched the figures who had begun working before dawn.
"These people..." he said quietly. "They're all civilians?"
Tobirama did not answer. He merely stared at the ruins. He saw a team of more than a dozen people clearing away collapsed steel frames, moving with an efficiency that seemed unlike ordinary civilians.
These people could endure more than the ninjas of our time.
The two arrived before the ruins of Cooling Tower Three. An old craftsman in his fifties stood beside a heap of steel frames, his left hand wrapped in bandages as he held a wrench in his right and directed the others. "Careful! That beam can still be used. Don't bend it!"
Several young people nearby carried half a warped steel pipe, sweat streaming down their faces. The pipe weighed at least two hundred jin, yet they gritted their teeth and bore it, their steps unsteady but never stopping.
Hashirama stepped forward, reaching out to help.
The old craftsman looked up at him and waved him off. "No need for you to do the work, sir. We can handle it ourselves."
Hashirama froze.
He wanted to say something, but realized he did not know what to say.
Tobirama walked over to the pile of steel frames and crouched down to inspect the neatly cut scrap metal. The cuts were smooth, the materials