By the riverbank, a young Madara skipped stones, a faint trace of confusion lingering in his eyes.
"Hey."
The unexpected call came from behind Madara.
"Who's there?"
Madara jumped. Having followed his father onto the battlefield from an early age, he was acutely sensitive to his surroundings.
If someone stood behind him, he could not even take a piss.
He spun around at once, gripping the stone he had been skipping like a shuriken, and warily watched the bowl-cut boy who had appeared out of nowhere.
"Whoa, sorry! Did I really scare you? That was quite a reaction."
Hashirama was startled by Madara's reaction instead and blinked at him.
"Who are you!"
Madara ignored his remark, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.
"I... I just saw you skipping stones here alone. I'm pretty good at it too, actually. Look..."
Madara stared blankly as this boy his age, who did not seem particularly bright, abruptly changed the subject, picked up a flat stone, and threw it across the river.
The stone bounced lightly across the surface sixteen times in all.
That was more than any of Madara's throws just now.
"Hehe, I've got a good touch today!"
Hashirama grinned brightly, but to Madara, it felt as though the boy was mocking him.
Once he was sure the boy meant no harm, Madara flicked his hand, sending his stone skimming across the river like a nimble flying insect.
Fifteen times.
"..."
"Uh, why don't you try again?"
Hashirama held out another stone.
Madara took it without expression, focused with all his might, and threw it in a perfect arc.
Tap.
It bounced a full twenty times.
"Wow, amazing."
It was only skipping stones, something so boring and childish, yet for some reason, looking at that smiling face, Madara blurted out—
"That's