The excitement of "we've discovered a huge secret" in the Council Chamber had wilted over the past few days.
The oil lamps still burned, and the scrolls still lay open, but no one spoke.
Hashirama sat at the head of the table, tapping his fingers against it intermittently, an irritating sound.
Madara leaned against the wall with his arms folded, his face black as thunder. His meaning was clear: See? I told you we wouldn't find anything useful.
Mito rubbed her temples, dark circles beneath her eyes.
Izuna sat in a guest seat. Some of his bandages had been removed, but he wasn't looking particularly energetic either.
Ryuto sat near the door, watching them discuss things. As expected of those two famously clever men from the original story. They've pretty much figured it out. Becoming a Super Saiyan wasn't easy. His body had taken several days of rest to recover, and he didn't feel like talking now either.
Tobirama stood at the far end of the long table. The copied fragments of ancient texts lay spread before him, covered in circles and marks in red ink.
After studying them for a long while, he suddenly tossed his pen aside.
Clack.
It wasn't loud, but it rang out distinctly in the quiet Council Chamber.
Everyone looked at him.
"This is wrong," Tobirama said.
"What is?" Hashirama asked.
"Our approach." Tobirama turned to face everyone in the chamber. "What have we been doing these past few days? Looking for 'who did what,' 'when they did it,' and 'how many times they did it.'"
He pointed at the scrolls. "Did we find it? Yes. The Senju, Uchiha, and Uzumaki get targeted every few decades, and only those three clans. Then what?"
No one answered.
"Then we get stuck here," Tobirama answered himself. "Because