"Gintama, it's been a long time since you've returned," Hatake Ming said, his tone heavy. "Let me explain the state of the clan as it stands."
Gintama said nothing, only nodded faintly. Ming began his slow, grim summary.
The balance within the Hatake clan had shifted. The ninja faction had grown dominant, while the old samurai faction was fading fast. The reason was simple: shinobi could use chakra. Steel alone wasn't enough anymore. Those who clung to the samurai way were being ground into dust by the world itself.
Even the old ideals—the "spirit of the samurai"—had begun to crumble. In the chaos of the Warring States, discipline and honor meant little next to raw power. One by one, the Hatake warriors put down their katanas and picked up kunai.
And the patriarch, Hatake Resuke, had done nothing to stop it. Rather than maintain order, he let the conflict fester. He neither punished nor encouraged either side. He simply watched the clan devour itself from within.
Now, the ninja faction wanted Gintama back—to replace Resuke as the new patriarch.
"Resuke-sama is old," Ming explained quietly. "His strength remains terrifying—he's said to match even the shadows of the great clans—but the years have worn him down. The Hatake can't afford another generation of internal war."
The others around the table murmured in agreement, though Gintama could feel the insincerity behind their voices like smoke curling off wet coals. He sat silently, his eyes distant.
They spoke of loyalty, unity, and the clan's "future." Lies, all of it.
So this is what the Hatake have become, Gintama thought bitterly. They talk about peace while sharpening their knives.
He knew exactly what these men wanted. They needed a weapon, not a leader. Someone to stand at the front, draw blood, and take the fall later. A puppet dressed like a savior.
And they thought he was fool enough to play the part.
Still, Gintama's lips curved into a thin smile. "Whether you mean it or not," he said quietly, "this patriarch's seat will be mine."
He wasn't the same man who'd fled years ago. The wandering had hardened him, stripped him of hesitation. And now that he had Amamiya Raizen's word—the promise of the Amamiya Clan's support—he would seize control or die trying.
The meeting ended with loud cheers, all fake and bright. As Gintama left, he caught whispers behind him.
"It seems Gintama's not as naïve as we thought."
"How does it matter?" the Third Elder sneered. "Don't forget—his son, Hoshino, is still in our hands."
Ming sighed heavily. "He's still one of us," he muttered. "If he rises, the ninja faction rises too."
The Third Elder only chuckled. In his mind, Gintama was already a pawn on his board.
That night, Gintama finally returned to his home. Years had passed since he'd last seen his son. Their reunion was quiet but warm—awkward smiles, half-finished sentences, and the weight of too many years in between. They spoke deep into the night until Hoshino fell asleep, dreaming the peaceful dreams of a child too young to understand the wars of men.
But Gintama could not rest.
When the moon reached its peak, he opened his eyes. His chakra flickered softly as he rose, vanishing into the night without a sound.
Outside, the residence of the patriarch loomed, its guards asleep, the air thick with the scent of pine and old steel.
"...Gintama?" came a voice from within.
The old man's voice was low but sharp enough to cut through the dark. Gintama stepped into the light spilling from the doorway, kneeling before the seated figure of Hatake Resuke.
"Patriarch."
Resuke looked up. The moonlight etched his face with lines of age and quiet sadness. "It's been years," he said softly. "You haven't changed much."
"Patriarch," Gintama said, bowing his head, "I came to confirm something with you."
"I know what you wish to ask," Resuke murmured, "but I have something to ask first."
"Please, Patriarch."
Resuke's gaze hardened. "Do you intend to seize the clan head's seat through their support? You know they won't allow it. They'll use you, then destroy you."
Gintama's answer came steady, low. "I've accepted help from the Amamiya Clan. Their leader, Amamiya Raizen, gave me his word—he'll help me claim leadership."
"The Amamiya Clan?" Resuke's tone darkened. "Do you not fear that by letting outsiders meddle in Hatake affairs, you'll erase our very name? That we'll no longer be Hatake, but Amamiya's dogs?"
"I'm not afraid," Gintama said, meeting the patriarch's eyes. "Because I trust Raizen."
Resuke's lips tightened. After a long silence, he sighed. "Then I can only hope your faith isn't misplaced."
"Patriarch," Gintama said, "I need to know something in return."
"I already know the question," Resuke said quietly. "You want to know why I allowed the clan's civil war to continue all these years. Why I did nothing while your father and wife died."
Gintama's voice cracked despite himself. "Yes… That's exactly what I want to know."
Resuke closed his eyes. "Then listen carefully, Gintama. Because some truths can't be unsaid."
The night grew colder as the two Hatake faced each other—one old, one scarred, both bound by the same name and the same sins.