Uchiha Ichiro watched the scene a short distance away with a smile.
Madara and Hashirama gestured as they explained everything that had happened afterward to Watanabe Ichiro, but their dry, clumsy words were no match for the sharp-tongued Watanabe Ichiro.
At that moment, the two standing there hardly seemed like the powerful ninja who could later lay waste to heaven and earth. They were merely a boy with a bowl cut who was prone to sulking and a spiky-haired boy who could never skip a stone all the way to the opposite bank.
For the first time in the shinobi world, something had appeared that even Madara and Hashirama could not handle together. They stood there awkwardly, experiencing the long-forgotten helplessness of being utterly outmatched.
Hashirama Senju scratched his head and stopped trying to explain. He fashioned a fine-looking wheelchair with Wood Release and pushed it forward. "You must be tired, Ichiro. Would you like to sit down and rest?"
"Oh my... then I graciously accept..."
Watanabe Ichiro accepted Hashirama's kindness with perfect composure and reached out to rest his hand on the wheelchair.
Watanabe Ichiro was caught off guard by his older brother's unexpected action. Guilt surfaced on his face, as though he regretted being so caught up in arguing that he had forgotten his older brother's physical condition.
He fell silent, looking deflated. Pressing his lips together, he helped his older brother into the chair, then lowered his head without another word.
Madara and Hashirama sighed in relief now that the sharp verbal attacks had stopped, only to find themselves unable to bear Watanabe Ichiro's look of suppressed hurt. Flustered, they tried to comfort him.
Well, despite all the fumbling, they had made it through this crisis.
"Enjoying the show, Ichiro? Uchiha. Ichi. Ro?"
Tobirama Senju looked