Starting With Saplings

Despite what Hashirama may accuse him, Tobirama truly did want peace.

He had a sneaking suspicion that most shinobi did, but had long since come to the understanding that it was impossible. They lived in a paradoxical world where their own existence meant that there would never be peace, as otherwise, the way of shinobi would falter, and then die out entirely.

To fight, cause conflicts, and to ensure that they would forever be needed, was part of their way of maintaining their own existence.

Pretending otherwise was foolishness. To trust those that had never given a reason to be granted that trust was the height of such foolishness.

So to find peace within this situation they were locked in meant many things. It meant treasuring times where he was able to turn his mind to matters that intrigued him, peeling back layers of teaching they had built over the years, and putting them back together in different ways, to relish in the way they changed the outcomes.

He had created many jutsu that way, by looking at the biases they had simply accepted as fact, because that was how they were taught, and then looking underneath the underneath, to see what foundation they were based on. Building something new on top of it.

He liked his routines, paperwork, training, mealtimes, missions. He liked factors that lined up. Variables that followed theories that had been proven once and again.

These were all things that contributed to his own sense of internal peace.

And the current mudslinging from the Uchiha was encroaching on that peace.

It didn’t make any sense. His thoughts kept coming back around to it. He didn’t trust their word, obviously. Uchiha were just as much liars as all shinobi were, if that was what let them get the upper hand. But it was a strange claim to make, especially with no way to back it up.

And it wasn’t just the Uchiha throwing around similar accusations.

None to do with the Mokuton, of course. Even if they had experienced something like that, no one would dare imply that the Senju clan head was personally going around trespassing other clan territory, and pestering civilian farmers. But the reports flooding in did have a similar vein in that they were sightings of people possessing traits and abilities from feared and old shinobi clans.

The Mokuton. A Hatake. And some vague signatures that pointed towards Uchiha, yet amorphous, and not following the laid out exit patterns agreed upon by clans.

Those last two had not been mentioned by the Uchiha or startled civilians under their protection. Rather in missives sent along their way by the Hyuuga and Yamanaka clans, who both held themselves with pride for their sensing abilities.

They didn’t even consider that the two were Uchiha, unless they were traitors to the clan. Rather, the people who had passed on the report – as part of an agreement they had forged through blood and loss, like most things were achieved in this world – had done so with the warning that these were bloodline thieves.

At daybreak, Tobirama intended to travel out to the Inuzuka, and confer with them to see if there was any sign of the Hatake coming nearby. The two canine-attuned shinobi clans regarded each other with mutual distrust, and thus the more dormant ones were always alert whenever their nomadic counterparts strayed too close.

They were not close with the Senju, and were likely to pass along their query to the Uchiha out of spite if nothing else, but there wasn’t much that the Uchiha would learn from that, so he was willing to overlook that for now.

This section of the Land of Fire was a place packed tight with the centers of many renowned clans, stepping on each other’s toes and fighting over missions that were sought out in this area. Maintaining their little games of trickery and spite was also part of Tobirama’s sense of peace. It was necessary, despite the headache it gave him.

So, that morning, he set out to do just that. A quick check through the forest, to see if he could not detect these pretenders himself, and then venturing to the Inuzuka for help.

Being that it had barely been a day since the reports had begun, and that none of the other clans had the privilege of the exact connections to the surrounding clans to warrant this information making its way back to them, no one else was being proactive about this. But appropriating clan techniques and bloodline limits was a crime of the highest order, one that might ironically push everyone in the area to unite just as Hashirama was always pushing for, to crush the pretenders.

He would simply be kicking off the search early, to strike off any major areas they might be taking refuge in.

The basis of his search hinged on one thing that the Uchiha perhaps either did not know, failed to account for, or took almost a subtle pride in: the Uchiha who had activated their Sharingan had a different chakra signature, especially centered around their eyes.

It was a subtle difference, barely noticeable to lesser sensors than him. Even the Hyuuga and Yamanaka sensors who had tipped them off about the possible Sharingan thieves had done so based off the Uchiha chakra signatures that were acting as anything but.

(Another reason he wanted to handle this first, before others got involved. If it was some underhanded Uchiha tactic, then he was best suited for dealing with it.)

But regardless, it was true. The process of awakening a Sharingan was unknown to him, but he had been nearby – on the battlefield, surrounded by bloodshed – when a fair few had been awakened, and he had grown to recognize the signatures compressing into something different, developing the same tinge of burning and bitterness that followed everyone who showed a Sharingan, and no one else.

Mokuton signatures were easy to hide – less easy, he hoped, once he had perfected the use of Sage chakra that he was currently attempting – and Hatake were known for disguising themselves. But Sharingan users could only turn off their eyes. Not remove the telltale burning that underlined their signature.

And doing a quick circuit of the large chunk of forest surrounding the nearby clan compounds and outposts, he found one. Near the civilians, many of whom were already awake – not as a matter of discipline or training, but because that was what was needed to work the fields during daylight hours.

Tobirama slipped into a Henge, suppressed his own chakra, and then wandered in to see what the pretender was trying to do.

Tobirama had to give him credit, it was a near flawless disguise. The Henge was markedly more efficient that most’s, which he had always found irritating with the amount of chakra that was brute force layered on, when there were more efficient ways to achieve that same effect.

But the flaws were there. And he found them, like hairline cracks detected only to the most delicate of touch.

The pretender appeared as a man, a respectable eighteen years or thereabouts. Clothes of fairly decent quality, not out of place amongst the servants of some small noble. Of course, none of that meant anything, nor did his features, because it was all made by a Henge. Tobirama couldn’t see underneath the paper-thin layer of chakra that acted as a disguise, but it mattered not when his actions and words would tell more about his agenda here than any appearance.

He was caught in conversation with one of the farmers, explaining to them with the charm and bluster of someone well-versed with talking to people that he had been sent out by a daimyo to offer the Senju a contract, for some job.

A very deliberate series of words, not saying too much, and probably asked by people several times a day. Could potentially be lies, on top of that, simply to get the location of even the outpost of the Senju compound that had been built to receive civilians.

Most shinobi worked alone. There was no guarantee of a team or backup nearby. But if this person was unable to hide the fact that he was replicating Uchiha kekkei genkai, it was unlikely that he was able to do that with Mokuton too. Though, the Hatake sighting was possibly just a Henge.

He had to ask on top of that: what was the purpose?

It was easy to chalk it up to people who had learnt a few tricks, and were using it in a remarkably foolish manner, thinking of it as only a joke. But it could also be a very dark attempt at inciting some sort of massive inter-clan war, more than it already was between states and personal factions.

His instincts were leaning severely to the second option, which meant for this to be a bigger operation. And even if this was the first, then someone else had to be egging on the person into taking these incredibly ill-advised actions. (He knew how teenagers were, when not carefully honed by the shinobi upbringing. Civilians sometimes thought that hiring ninja they considered to be on the younger side would be less terrifying for their own heirs.)

Both options pointed at more numbers involved in this scheme. So he watched and waited for the person to be done with the conversation, and then retract back into the forest. When he did so, Tobirama followed.

An odd choice Tobirama felt like he had to make note of, was that the person started hopping through the trees, which twitched slightly from the force he was applying on them. It didn’t seem like something that was done on purpose, rather muscle memory.

Hashirama was naturally predisposed to stealth, able to blend Mokuton in with the trees and become virtually nonexistent to anyone – who didn’t have eyes to see him standing right there. But Tobirama had trained himself to match that skill, if not beat it. Hatake were good at stealth and disguises, but that was a taught trait, like the Yamanaka with their psyche-affecting jutsu, and him being separated from the larger group meant that he never got raised in that environment.

Tobirama wondered sometimes how his self-taught methods fared against the regular Hatake. He had long passed the time when a play-fight would be considered acceptable, and as such didn’t ask any Hatake clan members to spar the few times they came by.

At least he knew that those methods worked perfectly fine against the group he was tailing now.

And yes, he now had conclusive evidence that they were a group.

Four. The one he had seen before. One with long, brown hair, straight and ending at their shoulders, chakra signature eerily still and foggy, hard for him to grasp even up close. Another one, tall and broad-framed, with silver hair that lay lopsided and chakra that spiked and flickered. No doubt their Hatake. And the last, distinctly smaller than the rest, with black hair.

The Hatake assumption held firm, even from the eyes of a skilled shinobi, and not from the testimony of a panicked civilian. His chakra had the same markings all Hatake had, though the flow was a lot more… sedate, if you could even describe a Hatake chakra signature as that. The build matched pretty close to the average build most of them had, favoring speed and lethality, with rumors of the extra bulk and them amounting to being muscled titans coming from the armor and furs that they wore.

Curiously, this one didn’t have those trappings. All of them were dressed in these identical black uniforms with sparse tan armor strapped over it, barring the one that had unknowingly led Tobirama to this point, who still had his Henge on.

When he dropped it, it revealed a man of similar age to himself, perhaps a little younger, who dropped from the trees and onto the ground with practiced ease.

“They didn’t know exactly where the civilian outpost was,” he reported immediately, and by looking at which person the pretender was looking towards, Tobirama was able to surmise that the one with the Hatake characteristics was the leader. Interesting. They didn’t cooperate with other shinobi much, but in the fair few times the Senju had run search missions with them, the Hatake shinobi had tended to hang back and follow instructions.

“But I have the general idea, two clicks southwest from the village, between three and four kilometers out,” the Uchiha pretender finished. “They warned me that we should probably come with a lot of cash, because shinobi missions can run pretty steep.”

“Do you think they’ll check for cash before we’re allowed inside?” the smallest one asked. This told him two things: that they were indeed planning on entering with false pretenses, and that they didn’t have enough money to be able to bypass that hurdle.

“A more important question for the success of the mission is that if they will consider our plea if we don’t have the money to pay for our request. Assuming that it’s only about entering the compound is short-sighted,” the one with long, brown hair corrected.

“That won’t be an issue,” the Hatake said with a certainty that seemed entirely unfounded. “He’s of a curious nature. Once we explain to him what the situation is, and show him the seal, he’s going to go along with it all. He values progress above all else, really.”

“Almost all else,” the Uchiha pretender corrected, “He’s still a shinobi at the end of the day, and priorities have to be made accordingly. Especially when it comes to information control, or profit margins.”

“You all have just been told the terrifying stories about him,” the Hatake insisted, “He’ll make an exception for cases he sees as exceptional. And we can take advantage of that. It’s simple enough, to find that civilian outpost. Let’s give that a try first, and see if we have to try a different tack.”

A lot of interesting tidbits were being passed around. Not enough to make a full picture, but he could see that they were laying out some kind of trap, in the most obvious, yet tricky way possible, by heading through the mission-ordering channels, and laying out some sort of lure, in the shape of a… seal?

People were naturally wary of seals. Few would approach them. And this group clearly had one in mind.

A Senju, notorious for being terrifying, to the point where these outsiders had heard of it, yet who also had a reputation on the side for being curious and searching for progress, to the point of being able to look past financial and informational interests, plus who would have the seniority to make such a call.

All the pieces were laid out, and pointed towards one man. Senju Hashirama.

It was all he needed, really, to Body-Flicker down and towards the leader, sword drawn to take off his head.

Tobirama was fast. One of the fastest shinobi alive, who did not have the benefit of the Sharingan to heighten his reflexes. He had already crossed the gap between himself and the Hatake by the time his hapless victim turned his head around to realize he was under attack.

The rest darted back, putting ground between them to assess the situation, before undoubtedly unleashing a counterattack.

His hands came up, in an attempt to weave a jutsu perhaps, but it mattered not, because his head would be on the ground before he put his hands together, let along formed the first sign.

But then the Hatake was quickly looking to the side, to where one of the shinobi was standing, barely managing a single syllable, just a harsh, clipped, “No-”

It was pure instinct, not his finely honed chakra sensing, that had been twist to the side, right before a thousand spiked vines burst from the ground where he had been standing.

Mokuton.

Tobirama looked between the group, trying to guess which one was responsible.

The one with the long brown hair, who felt eerily blank before, and now was bristling with rage. Tobirama had overlooked him before, but was now caught in fascination, interested to see how he would fare in a fight.

Anything that could escalate, however, was cut off by the Hatake barking out, “Tenzou. Don’t.”

It was like a thread snapped. The Mokuton user stepped back without word, using Tobirama’s own Body Flicker, he noted with some interest. Had they become capable of a level of replication that escaped even the Uchiha?

He was going to have to study them. Regardless of their intentions towards Hashirama, this level of jutsu advancement could be revolutionary.

For their part, the shinobi were still sizing him up, no one making any moves to attack him. Smart. He would have felled them all otherwise.

“So,” the Hatake was the one to speak, weighing his words cautiously. “We have a request for you.”