At the same time, across Konoha’s Second Division’s hideouts for the wounded, Tsunade was moving with the medical corps shinobi she had brought along, while the rest of the unit remained in Orochimaru’s central base.

She was mainly partially responsible for diagnosis and giving instructions on treatment, though at times she even stepped in directly to heal the most severe, demanding cases.

She pressed a hand over the shinobi’s chest, felt the damaged lung under her chakra, and spoke evenly.

“Stabilize his breathing, regulate the chakra flow here. Don’t force it, keep the pressure steady.”

She pulled back, letting the two medics beside her carry on, already shifting to the next cot.

Her words came naturally, her movements disciplined, yet something at the back of her mind nagged.

It was faint at first, like a flicker at the edge of her senses, as if her instincts were being disturbed by something.

She ignored it, thinking, “I’m just imagining things. Too much strain, too little rest.”

She carried on, moving from patient to patient with practiced diligence.

Despite how far she had fallen into drinking and gambling, despite how much of her life she had wasted drowning in sorrow, she still cared about the outcome of this war.

Not for expansion or conquest like the last one, but for survival.

She knew this was the hardest war Konoha had ever faced.

She knew exactly what it would mean if the village fell now, what would happen to every person and close people living there, to the place she had grown up in, the village her grandfather and clan had helped build, the same one Nawaki and Dan had given their lives for before. 

“Even if I’ve lost faith in almost everything else… I can’t let that happen.”

That was why she was here again, despite the weight of her memories from the last war.

She leaned over another cot, scanning the damage, and said quietly,

“This tendon is torn through. Stitch it, then feed chakra slowly into the surrounding tissue. No more than two minutes each round, or it will collapse.”

She stood, brushing her hands together, but the sensation gnawed at her again.

Unlike before, it hadn’t faded. It had only grown stronger.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “This isn’t just in my head.”

Finishing her last instructions, she straightened fully.

For the first time in a few hours, her expression hardened, and she let her focus sharpen.

The air felt heavier, the pull at her senses undeniable now.

She exhaled once, low, then decided not to ignore it any longer.

This time, she would investigate.

Quietly, she activated her sensory mode.

After it spread out, she immediately picked up something faint but deliberate.

A signal.

It wasn’t a random chakra flare or the noise of distant combat, but a focused presence pulling at her awareness.

The direction was clear, diagonally out toward Kumo’s zone.

Her brows knit tighter.

She honed in, pouring more concentration into that one point.

She had a window of free space now, so she could probe it for longer, and with every passing second, the signal grew sharper, stronger, like it was closing the distance rapidly.

Her frown deepened. “What is this…?”

The pulse wasn’t just a random chakra. There was intent behind it. Rough, unrefined, but unmistakable. A call. The meaning pressed against her instincts until she couldn’t deny it.

“…Help. It’s asking for help. From me, specifically.”

Her eyes narrowed, surprise flashing across her face.

For a moment, her thoughts turned cold. “Could it be a trap? Kumo luring me out?”

It made sense to be cautious.

Especially considering her circumstances at the moment and her value to Konoha’s side.

Her raw fighting strength also wasn’t what it used to be, making her an even more logical target of such schemes.

Leaving herself exposed would be reckless.

But the logic didn’t hold when she thought about it more.

No enemy could have pinned her location with this precision.

Only someone inside Konoha’s sensory barrier network could know her previous precise position or that she was on this front, unless there were no spies involved.

And even then, who could send a signal like this?

It wasn’t just strength, it was technique.

She pressed a hand to her chin, thinking quickly.

“Kumo doesn’t have anyone like that. And in truth, neither do we. Kushina is on another front. Konoha doesn’t have a sensor of that level here.”

Tsunade herself wasn’t that exceptional in sensing.

Her bloodline gave her good affinity, but her skill was limited since she was never focused on that point specifically.

After all, you can’t master every discipline like her medical arts.

Even so, she could feel it.

Which meant the sender’s signal was powerful enough on its own.

The doubt gave way to intrigue for some reason, suddenly.

“Kushina… Me…? Bloodline affinity…”

“Yes, it’s hard to achieve that level normally without it…”

Something stirred inside her then, old instincts from countless battlefields and all the years of watching people live and die.

Her intuition refused to let her turn away.

“It costs me nothing to check,” she thought, her expression hardening.

“I’ll approach carefully, from a safe distance, and investigate who’s sending this.”

Decision made, she moved without another word.

No instructions to her subordinates, no explanation.

She knew if she spoke, they would only try to hold her back, urge her to stay, and she had no way to explain this sensation quickly.

It wasn’t something words could cover.

So she slipped out, body light, speed hidden behind careful chakra suppression.

This wasn’t the main base, just a small hideout for the wounded.

Leaving it didn’t compromise much.

Her boots barely brushed the ground as she accelerated.

Whatever this was, it was urgent. And she needed to know.

Tsunade moved swiftly through the forest of the Land of Hot Water, each step carrying her closer to the source.

The signal hadn’t stopped since she first felt it.

Hours had passed, and yet it kept burning toward her, relentless, desperate.

Whoever was sending it wasn’t just alive; he was decently strong.

To keep moving like this under supposed pursuit, to keep sending that kind of chakra pulse without collapsing, meant his reserves and stamina were exceptional.

Her thoughts darkened as she narrowed her focus, spearheading her entire sensing on him alone. At first, it was a vague impression, a voice in the distance. Now it was unmistakable.

She stopped briefly on a tree branch, eyes sharpening. “…This chakra aura…”

The more she felt it, the colder her stomach became. It wasn’t just familiar. It was Senju.

Not the watered-down traces she had sometimes felt in villagers whose ancestors had long since mingled with civilians, but something solid, vibrant, and pure.

Even the way his chakra waves molded and dispersed was Senju.

The signal for help he was sending, the rhythm, the push, was identical to how her clan had once signaled one another in the field.

Her breath caught. “This… shouldn’t exist.”

The realization disturbed her to her core.

Every step forward felt like she was walking toward something that would shatter the world she had built around herself.

For a moment, she hesitated, her body tense against the trunk.

A flicker of subtle fear ran through her, not physical fear, but the kind that dug deeper, into old scars and brittle certainties.

“What if it’s real? What if I’ve been blind all this time?”

She clenched her fists.

The idea that someone with this kind of chakra, at the age that she slowly guessed as they neared closer to one another, could exist in Konoha, without her knowledge, felt absurd.

She was one of the Legendary Sannin, the Hokage’s closest disciple, and the last great Senju standing.

How could she not know?

Yes, she knew of the scattered families, of those who had chosen to mix with the civilian population, but this was different.

His bloodline wasn’t mixed; it was pure.

And not just pure, it was strong.

Which meant his lineage might have been one of the great ones, hidden away.

Her jaw tightened. “If he truly is a Senju of that talent, how the hell was he kept from me?”

She didn’t want to believe it, but the answer clawed at her.

If she didn’t know, if the village didn’t know, then it was hidden deliberately, possible only by one person.

And the weight of that made her chest feel heavy, as if something inside her was breaking.

Even if the boy had abandoned the Senju surname like the rest, how was it possible she had never heard of him?

Not even as one of the village’s promising young talents.

By her position alone, she had heard of others in the past; their names reached her easily.

Even if she was outside the village for most of the time.

But his? Nothing.

“Why would sensei deliberately and totally hide and erase this? From me? From all of us?”

Many questions flooded her.

Anger, confusion, fear, even strange, rising guilt.

But she knew answers wouldn’t come until she stood face to face with him.

The pulses were growing clearer now, closer, his cries for help carrying desperation that no enemy could fake.

Her hesitation vanished.

She no longer simply wanted to check.

She needed to see him, solve his trouble, which would allow her to question him.

To understand who he was, why he was hidden, and what he meant for her clan.

Her eyes sharpened as she pushed off the branch, moving faster, more decisively than before.

“I’ll meet him. I’ll see this through with my own eyes.” And this time, she wouldn’t turn away.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep