Shouting. Smoke. Steel on steel.
And through all of it, Senju Hashirama stared at the dying Konoha shinobi like he'd just been punched in the soul. The man's last words still hung in the air, raw enough to carve into bone.
"Is that… the Will of Fire?"
I never liked that phrase. Too idealistic. Too poetic for a world where kids got shuriken in the ribs.
But as I crouched behind a broken trunk, chakra buzzing along my nerves, I could see exactly what cracked Hashirama open.
Somewhere in that head of his, he'd gone back to being a scrawny boy beside Raizen.
Back when my past life's mouth apparently said things that sounded way cooler than anything I say now.
Where Konoha dances, fire burns.
Where fire burns, its shadow guards the village.
And from that shadow… new leaves will always sprout.
Honestly? Cheesy. Inspirational poster material.
But out here, soldiers fighting and dying for people they barely knew… yeah. It hit different.
Hashirama clenched his fists. Hard.
Even from a distance, he looked like someone who'd finally realized his dream of "peace" had a trail of corpses behind it.
A branch snapped. My reflexes kicked in before my brain did.
"Who's there?!"
My voice cracked more than I wanted. Great. Super heroic.
Hashirama dropped from the treetops in a red blur, landing in front of me like the forest itself had chosen him as a spokesperson. He looked exactly like the stories said he would: regal, deadly, annoyingly calm.
"Amamiya Shinsuke-kun. It's been a while."
Right. Smile at me like we're old friends. Totally normal when you can one-shot me with a sneeze.
I tightened my grip on my kunai. Every instinct screamed the same thing:
Run.
This was Senju Hashirama. The man who fought alongside Raizen.
The man who—if he wanted—could fold the forest over me like a cheap futon.
So yeah. I bolted.
"Am I really that frightening?" Hashirama muttered under his breath.
The vines that surged after me said yes.
"Wood Style: Binding Vines!"
A dozen wooden tendrils whipped across my escape route. I didn't think—I inhaled and spat fire.
"Fire Style! Great Flame Burst!"
The flames carved a burning path, reducing the vines to ash.
Hashirama's eyes gleamed with interest, which was absolutely the worst reaction he could've had.
"Oh? You've grown stronger."
His chakra surged, causing the air itself to thrum. "Let's see how far you've come."
Fantastic. I'd just become today's entertainment for a god-tier shinobi.
I kept retreating, letting instinct and pure survival drive me. If I could break line of sight and regroup with the main formation—
Hashirama blurred forward.
So much for that plan.
"Water Style! Water Dragon Bullet!"
Chakra roared inside me as I forced it into form. A massive water dragon erupted and lunged at him.
Hashirama didn't flinch.
He drew a single kunai, chakra humming through the blade, and split the dragon like he was cutting tofu.
You know that moment when reality taps you on the shoulder and whispers: Buddy, you messed up?
Yeah.
"This is pointless…"
My lungs burned. My arms trembled.
Nothing worked. Every jutsu—blocked. Every feint—read like an open book.
Still, I wasn't done yet.
I clasped my hands together. Chakra surged, unstable but furious.
A pale, flickering light formed between my palms.
Hashirama stopped, eyes widening.
"That hand sign… Raizen used it."
His voice lowered. "Dust Release?"
I pushed my chakra harder. The white sphere shook, threatening to shatter in my hands.
Come on. Come on. Just this once—
"Dust Release… Primary—!"
It fizzled.
Just vanished. Like a bad joke told by the universe.
I stood there with my hands out like an idiot.
Hashirama burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! I thought you were about to pull something terrifying!"
Great. Even the future God of Shinobi thought I was comedy hour.
His tone dropped.
"But since you tried… it's my turn."
"Wood Style — Piercing Thorns!"
Two massive spikes burst from his arms, tearing through the earth as they lunged for me. My heart stopped, then restarted double-time.
I backpedaled wildly. The thorns moved like living serpents, barbed and merciless.
This is Senju Hashirama…?
How did the patriarch defeat him?
The thought hit harder than any jutsu. Raizen—my past self—took this monster head-on and won?
The thorns whistled past my throat. I rolled, dirt filling my mouth, lungs burning.
Around us, the battlefield roared. Senju and Uchiha alike tore into Konoha forces. Blood, screams, steel—it all blurred together.
And still, Hashirama kept a casual, almost gentle expression.
Like he was watching waves.
Like he wasn't surrounded by carnage.
Like something inside him had already decided what he needed to do.
I didn't know what that decision was.
But I knew one thing:
The Will of Fire wasn't just poetry.
It was the stubborn refusal to break.
Even when facing a god.