"Why do you think the Hatake Clan still exists in this blood-soaked era?!"
Hatake Resuke's voice cracked through the silence like a drawn sword. His sharp eyes locked onto Gintama's face, weighing him like a soldier measures steel.
"Because of strength!" Gintama shot back instantly, his answer firm and instinctive.
Resuke nodded once. "Exactly. The reason our clan can still stand in this endless war is power. Strength is the only law the Warring States understand."
But then his tone shifted—low, deliberate, dangerous.
"Yet the world is changing, Gintama. We Hatake are a samurai clan. And if we cling to that identity, one day we'll vanish like ash in the wind. Our only chance of survival… is to become shinobi."
Gintama froze. His heartbeat stuttered. The man before him—Resuke, the iron-willed patriarch who had upheld the way of the sword his entire life—was now saying the unthinkable: abandon it.
He tried to speak. "Patriarch, why—"
Resuke cut him off with a glance sharp enough to silence kunai midair.
"You're wondering why I let the clan tear itself apart, aren't you?"
Gintama clenched his fists. "Yes."
Resuke's expression softened, but his voice didn't.
"A clan is not a single will. Every member carries their own spirit. I may believe the Hatake must evolve into shinobi, but not everyone agrees. Some still cling to the samurai's way—even those who already wield chakra. That spirit… doesn't die easily."
He stood, slowly pacing as he spoke.
"The samurai ideal was born a century ago, forged from pride and discipline. It's weak now, maybe even obsolete—but it still burns in our blood. To strip it out by force would destroy the very core of who we are."
Gintama fell silent. He understood. The samurai fought with honor, face to face beneath the sun. Shinobi killed from the dark, unseen and unsung. If you forced one to become the other, you'd get neither—a warrior too hesitant to kill, too proud to survive.
Resuke's voice turned cold.
"To change the Hatake, we must bleed for it. Not in an instant—but through battle, through struggle. Let the clan itself become the crucible. Only then will those who survive understand what it means to be shinobi."
His gaze hardened, a storm of age and conviction.
"You were raised as a ninja, Gintama. You understand what that means. But strength alone isn't enough to lead this clan. To stand as patriarch, you must have a heart colder than the steel you carry."
Resuke drew his sword, the faint shimmer of chakra rippling along its edge.
"If you want the seat of clan head," he said quietly, "then kill me. Step over my corpse and take it."
The words hit harder than a blade. Gintama's breath trembled. For a moment, he saw only the frail outline of an old man who'd fought too long, lost too much. Then he met those eyes—unyielding, waiting for death—and the pity died in his chest.
His jaw tightened. "Then I'll defeat you… and kill you with my own hands."
Resuke smiled, thin and tired. "Good."
In the next instant, his presence vanished—gone like a shadow at dawn.
Gintama stood alone in the empty courtyard, the echo of the patriarch's words burning in his mind.
If you want to lead… kill the one who raised you.
So this was the price of survival.
He returned home silently, the weight of it all pressing down. The house felt smaller now. His son's faint breathing in the next room was the only thing grounding him.
"I'll do it," he whispered into the dark. "I'll become patriarch… no matter what."
"Nice momentum," a voice said behind him.
Gintama froze. Every nerve went cold. Someone had gotten this close without him noticing.
"Who's there?!" he snapped, hand on his blade.
"It's me."
The air rippled like heat on stone—and a figure materialized before him. Eyes crimson, three tomoe spinning lazily in each.
"Patriarch?!" Gintama gasped. But then he saw the eyes—those weren't ordinary Sharingan. They felt deeper, older… alive.
Raizen's lips curved faintly as he let the Mangekyō fade away. "So, how's the clan?"
Gintama exhaled shakily. "I've seen enough. The patriarch… Resuke-sama… he's already chosen death."
Raizen's eyes narrowed. "I see. Then keep working with the ninja faction. When the time comes, I'll step in."
Gintama hesitated. "If we hand everything to the ninja faction, the clan will lose balance. Once they take power, there's no turning back."
Raizen gave a small, knowing smile. "Don't worry. If we crush every rival faction before they can react, balance won't matter, will it?"
Gintama drew a long breath. "You mean… defeat everyone?"
Raizen's grin widened. "Exactly. A clean sweep."
The idea was madness. Ruthless. Perfect.
"I understand," Gintama said at last.
"Good." Raizen's form blurred, twisting into mist as he vanished into the night, leaving only the faint smell of ozone behind.
Gintama stood there long after he was gone, staring into the darkness.
The path ahead was clear now.
Bloody, but clear.