The night had fallen, and the camp had grown quieter.

Only the muffled groans of the wounded and the low shuffle of medical staff moving in and out broke the silence.

A faint fire burned in a brazier nearby, its glow painting their faces in orange.

Ryusei sat on a wooden stool just outside his tent, posture relaxed, his slit eyes reflecting the flame.

Tsunade was beside him, seated on a crate, shoulders slouched, her green vest half-unbuttoned from fatigue.

Even like this, the sheer weight of her presence filled the small space.

They had been talking for some time, their words weaving between pauses

Eventually, their talk drifted to the Senju legacy.

Tsunade hesitated at first, but asked directly.

Ryusei leaned back against the wooden post of the hideout, his narrow eyes calm.

“At most, there might be a few dozen left who could even be called revivalist descendants. Maybe a few connected in some way.”

“But they’re weak. Weaker than me by far. Most are already dead, cut down with borrowed knives at the start of this war, or they’re about to be. It’s impossible to save them anymore. The only thing left is justice… and maybe to drag the truth into the light one day. For that, we’d need proof.”

He paused, his voice lowering as though reluctant. “My father… he left me some. Just before the end, but it needs to be expanded upon more.”

Tsunade’s breath caught. Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first.

Proof. Her chest tightened, her heart thudding like a drum.

She hated Danzo, hated Root, always had, especially now.

If there was anything that could tear that rot out of Konoha, she wanted it. Needed it.

But the name that loomed behind it all… she couldn’t force herself to say it.

Her mind spun. Root was Danzo’s creation, but Root couldn’t move without the Hokage’s shadow behind it.

Nothing that large lasted decades in the dark unless the one sitting in the chair allowed it.

Allowed him to take the blame, to do the ugly work, to stain his hands in shadows so Hiruzen’s stayed clean.

She clenched her fists on her knees. The more she thought about her past with her teacher, the more it burned.

Every smile. Every word of “guidance.” Fake. All of it.

“If he cared about me,” she thought bitterly, “he wouldn’t have let me live in ignorance for decades. He wouldn’t have hidden the truth of my clan, let me make a fool of myself while pretending to protect me.”

Her teeth ground together. A darker thought crept in.

If she had stood in his way back then, would he have moved against her, too?

She didn’t know the answer, and that uncertainty was poison in her chest.

It wasn’t hatred she felt for Hiruzen. Not yet.

But the disappointment cut deeper, heavier, than hatred could.

She no longer considered him her teacher. Not anymore.

Ryusei watched her spiral. The timing was perfect. He leaned in, voice sharper.

“Do you know what else your sensei, the Third Hokage, did? He and Danzo pushed Sakumo Hatake to his death. Spread lies, poisoned the village, forced him into a corner until the only way out was suicide. All because of some twisted idea of honor.”

Tsunade’s eyes shot wide, her whole body jerking. “What—?” Her voice cracked with shock.

Sakumo? That man? She had respected him, always. An honest man, strong, loyal.

She never imagined he had been cornered, killed not by enemies but by his own village, and that those rumors were unnatural, but now it really seemed like it, after all, who would logically blame such a hero to that extent, if not artificially?

Her chest heaved, fury bubbling. The vest strained with the force of her breaths, her bust rising and falling violently as if even her body rebelled against what she was hearing.

Ryusei’s words cut deeper, his tone merciless.

“And that’s not all. Think about your other bloodline, the Uzumaki. Do you really believe Hiruzen didn’t know? He knew Uzushiogakure was going to fall. Don’t you think it’s strange that Kushina was brought in as a backup Jinchūriki at that exact time? They let their closest allies burn.”

“But, why would the other four great nations even bother striking Uzushio, a clan hidden away on their island? Because of Konoha. Because the Uzumaki made this village too strong with their seals, as ‘allies’. So they were erased first. Before the Second War even began, wiped out in a rare joint strike.”

“And what did Konoha do? Nothing. Not even a warning, no preparation, no chance for their allies to leave heirs behind. They let the Uzumaki die in silence, just so the other villages still wouldn’t still unite against Konoha afterward.”

Tsunade’s hands trembled, her nails biting into her palms. Uzumaki… Mito’s people. Kushina.

Their clan that bled alongside the Senju from the start, for hundreds of years, cut down and scattered because Konoha, during the reign of her sensei, turned a blind eye.

Her throat burned, her voice hoarse. “How… how do you even know all this?”

Ryusei met her eyes evenly, his gaze steady and calm. “Because I was never indoctrinated like the rest. No ‘Will of Fire’ stuffed down my throat. My circumstances left me free to see the village for what it is. That’s all. Also, I had some conjectures from my father’s notes left.”

Ryusei knew these weren’t conspiracy theories.

They were hard, logical facts. The matters of Sakumo and Uzushiogakure were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Hiruzen.

In truth, they were just the largest ones already exposed.

There were likely many more hidden in the shadows, and more yet to come: Orochimaru’s experiments, the Uchiha massacre, the handling of the Kumo envoy incident with the Hyūga, and even the treatment of Naruto he was entrusted with.

That last one always even left Ryusei fuming internally at the sheer hypocrisy and brutality of this village, from top to bottom, which was supposed to be full of ‘sunshine and rainbows’.

The son of the village’s greatest hero and the Fourth Hokage, the boy who literally saved Konoha, was forced to eat expired food, without any inheritance, spat on and beaten often, and treated like garbage daily by everyone.

Instead of being honored as a savior, he was reduced to a mentally stunted child, denied proper education, denied guidance, left to stumble blindly.

He hadn’t been taught skills, discipline, or even basic social understanding; he survived mostly on sheer dumb luck.

Anyone else with that level of neglect would have been dead a thousand times over, later when they became an official shinobi.

Meanwhile, Hiruzen’s own grandson enjoyed private jōnin tutors before even entering the Academy. The hypocrisy was even staggering.

Of course, Ryusei couldn’t mention these future truths to Tsunade.

So he chose only the two most undeniable examples that had already come to pass.

Still, the thoughts churned in his mind.

Sometimes he even wondered about the author of this world.

Was he a genius, crafting a character this rotten while dressing him up as a saintly “kind grandfather,” daring fans to dig deeper and see the rot beneath the mask?

Or was it simply a case of poor writing, where Kishimoto had no grasp of real-world politics and left gaping holes behind?

Maybe it was rage bait, designed to split readers into two camps: those who accepted the mask and those who ripped it off.

But Ryusei knew one thing for certain.

In the real world, men like Hiruzen were not inconsistencies.

They were perfectly logical.

History was full of rulers who let their ministers commit atrocities, then pushed all blame onto them to preserve their own image.

Emperors, dictators, and autocrats always had control.

They only pretended otherwise when it was convenient.

Hiruzen was no different. Capable. Ruthless. Skilled at shaping public perception.

Let Danzo be the butcher in the dark, while he played the benevolent guardian in the light.

To Ryusei, that was the most terrifying part.

This wasn’t some colorful comic anymore. It was real.

Silence lingered. But in that silence, Tsunade’s world was collapsing in on itself.

Ryusei didn’t let the silence drag too long. His tone grew firmer, each word deliberate.

“If I want to survive in this village, I’ll have to replace Hiruzen somehow. Not necessarily as Hokage, but his position, his seat. The power to decide whether I live or die. That’s all that matters to me. Survival. Not revenge. If he stops sending knives at my throat, I won’t mind letting him retire in peace. But if it continues… then, sorry. I’ll cut him down myself in the future. I’d better say this to you honestly, after all, I already consider you my benefactor and the last remaining relative.”

As he said it, his narrow eyes opened fully, sharp and unwavering, letting her see the conviction behind them.

Tsunade’s breath hitched. For a moment, she was stunned, almost disoriented.

This was a thirteen-year-old boy, her clansmen, her blood, and yet he spoke with the weight of a hardened general. The sheer boldness of it rattled her.

She didn’t feel anger, strangely. No urge to strike him, no reflex to scold him for insolence.

Instead, a wave of unease settled over her. Concern. Fear.

His declaration was too far, too heavy. She thought of Hiruzen, his cunning, his endless network of allies and loyalists.

Being Hokage was never just about strength. It was political capital, influence, and decades of bonds woven through the village.

Ryusei had none of that. Only raw talent, will, and that dangerous maturity that made him feel older than his years. Could he really climb high enough to threaten Hiruzen? Could he even survive long enough to try?

Her heart twisted. For herself, the most she could do about her previous sensei now was to restrain her hands.

Not attack and try and end Hiruzen outright, despite the bile that burned in her stomach now. He had been her teacher after all. He had taught her for a long time.

Nominally, he was still her sensei, and that bond, no matter how tattered, was the only thing morally stopping her from still or ever harming him. She admitted it softly.

But she also looked him in the eye, lips tight.

“If you really do have plans… even ones that aim that far… if they aren’t just childish bravado, then I’ll support you. Even if it means replacing him.”

Her tone shifted at the end, teasing faintly, like she was testing him.

But then something hit her, and her expression darkened again.

Her lips trembled. “Ryusei… is that your dream too? To become Hokage?”

The word itself stung her tongue. Nawaki’s laugh echoed in her ears.

Dan’s voice, resolute, hopeful, now long dead. Both had dreamed of that seat. Both had ended up buried because of it.

The superstition crawled up her; if this boy, this last Senju spark, carried the same goal, wouldn’t it just be another curse waiting to claim him?

Ryusei felt the mood shift like a current. He didn’t need his senses to know what she was thinking. Nawaki. Dan. The cursed dream of Hokage in her mind.

However, he thought it was just a superstition. After all, if his identity didn’t already doom him, then carrying that ambition would additionally feel like nothing. 

But he didn’t voice any of that. Instead, his lips curled faintly into a sly grin.

“Me? Hokage? No. I couldn’t care less about that. Why should I work myself to death to protect and improve a village that’s tried to kill me more times than I can count?”

“No, I don’t need to be Hokage. I just need Hiruzen Sarutobi not to be. That’s enough for me. Whoever takes the seat after him, as long as they aren’t my enemy, I’ll breathe easier. If they’re neutral, all the better. If they’re friendly… perfect.”

Tsunade stared at him for a long moment, her chest rising and falling slowly. He resembled Takeshi so much it ached. The same sharpness, the same refusal to bend, but twisted by a different life, a different, bigger suffering. She couldn’t tell if it comforted or terrified her.

Strangely, Tsunade then began circling back, almost testing him, though she thought she was being subtle.

She pressed him about his father, about those notes he kept mentioning.

What else was written there?

Why hadn’t Takeshi ever reached out to her again before the end?

Her voice faltered, the question cracking in her throat, as if the thought alone was too heavy.

She quickly tried to cover it up, embarrassed at how it sounded.

“We were something like… childhood friends,” she explained hastily, eyes narrowing, as though warning him not to get the wrong idea.

“We knew each other for a long time. I even knew your mother. So don’t misunderstand.”

Ryusei’s lips curved in the faintest grin he hid quickly, an inward joke at how clumsy she was being with her own emotions.

He gave her a small nod and kept his tone flat, as if only speaking facts.

“I already told you,” he said. “His mentions of you were sparse. And when they came, they weren’t kind. They sounded almost disappointed.”

Tsunade’s face stiffened at the words, her breath catching.

But before the silence could sink too deep, Ryusei let out a small sigh and added deliberately, softening the blow.

“But maybe not contacting you ever again was his way of protecting you. Maybe speaking of you so little in those letters, and always negatively, was just his way of hiding how much you actually lingered in his thoughts.”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes wide, her face flushing, not just from the tears threatening again, but from the meaning behind his words.

“You… brat…” she scolded, her voice suddenly sharp, almost angry, though it shook.

“Don’t twist things like that. Don’t put ideas in my head.”

She denied it again and again, her usual temper flaring, her tone harsh as though to crush the implication.

But Ryusei could see it clearly: her anger wasn’t at him, it was at herself, at Takeshi, at what had been left unsaid.

Inside, she felt torn apart.

His words made her feel better, because maybe she hadn’t been alone in her foolishness of thinking and waiting for him for so long subconsciously; maybe Takeshi had thought of her too, even if he buried it under bitterness.

But it also made her feel worse, because he never acted on it, never explained, never reached out.

And then he had died. The chance was gone forever.

Her shoulders sank, her mood falling into shadow once more, her eyes downcast.

The conversation bled into silence and ended on that note, raw and unfinished.

Ryusei didn’t stop her when she finally excused herself and left the room.

He only watched her back, his expression calm. Inside, though, he smirked faintly.

‘It’ll take time,’ he thought. ‘Time for her to shift me into the place he once held. First as a substitute, then as something more. A slow replacement. One day, the real deal.’

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep