"Still fighting?" he asked.
Tsunade's teeth clenched.
She rushed forward. This punch was even faster.
Nobunaga dodged to the side, the wind from the punch grazing his cheek.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist.
Tsunade tried to break free. She couldn't. His hand was like iron pincers, locking her firmly.
"Let go—"
She raised her leg to kick his knee. Nobunaga was prepared. He pulled with the momentum, causing Tsunade to lose her balance and fall forward.
Then she realized she hadn't fallen.
Nobunaga's hand was clamped on her wrist, holding her steady.
She was suspended in mid-air, face-to-face with him.
Very close. Close enough to see the color in the depths of his eyes.
Tsunade's face flushed red.
"Let me go!"
Nobunaga released his grip. Tsunade stood steady.
She stood there, head lowered, looking at her hands.
Lost.
She had lost.
In front of everyone.
In front of those Senju Clan members. In front of Orochimaru, Jiraiya, Sakumo Hatake, Might Duy, and Yuhi Shinku.
She had lost.
It was very quiet below the stage.
No one spoke.
The Senju Clan members stood with their mouths open, not knowing what to say.
Since childhood, they had felt Tsunade was the strongest.
She was the granddaughter of Shodai(1st)-sama, the pride of the Senju Clan, and always the first among her peers.
Now she had lost.
Lost to a Senju orphan who lived on the edge of the clan grounds, whose parents were both dead, and whose name no one remembered.
Tsunade stood there, biting her lip.
Her eyes were red, but she didn't cry.
She was the granddaughter of Senju Hashirama.
She wouldn't cry here.
She just stood there, head bowed, fists clenched.
Her knuckles turned white from the grip.
Then she saw a hand.
Nobunaga's hand. He stood before her, hand outstretched, palm facing up.
Tsunade looked up at him.
Nobunaga looked at her. His eyes were calm. There was no smugness, no mockery, no pride of "I won."
"No matter what the will is," he said, "as long as it allows the villagers of Konoha to have food to eat and clothes to wear, they are my friends."
Tsunade was stunned. She looked at that hand.
The hand was clean, large, and held steadily in front of her.
It wasn't charity, nor pity. It was an invitation.
She didn't know what to say. Her mouth opened and closed.
Then she reached out and slapped his hand away.
"Who wants to be friends with you!"
Her voice was loud. Loud enough for the entire training ground to hear.
But the tips of her ears were red. A tiny bit of red, almost invisible if one didn't pay attention.
She turned and ran off the stage.
Her ponytail swung in an arc behind her. The Senju Clan members chased after her. She ran fast, without looking back.
Nobunaga stood in place, looking in that direction. The sunlight fell on him, very warm. He withdrew his hand and walked off the stage.
Might Duy was the first to rush up.
"So amazing! How did you do that move just now? Can you teach me? I'll go back and do five hundred extra push-ups!"
"I can," Nobunaga said.
Might Duy's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
Jiraiya walked over and patted his shoulder.
"Not bad, kid. Good fight. That arrogant young lady needed someone to teach her a lesson for a long time."
Orochimaru walked over without saying a word.
He just glanced at Nobunaga and nodded.
There was something moving in those eyes. Nobunaga couldn't tell what it was.
Sakumo Hatake walked over from the side of the stands and stood before Nobunaga.
He was tall, several years older than Nobunaga, but the calm in his eyes was not what a youth should have.
"Those words you just said," he began, his voice flat, "are they true?"
Nobunaga looked at him.
"Which ones?"
"Having food to eat, clothes to wear. Living."
Nobunaga was silent for a moment. Then he nodded.
"They are true."
Sakumo Hatake looked at him. In those calm eyes, something flickered.
"Good," he said. Then he turned and left.
Yuhi Shinku walked over and gave him a smiling glance.
"Senju Nobunaga, I'll remember you."
Zixiao Mitarashi stood in the distance, arms crossed, a trace of a smile on his lips.
He didn't come over, but he nodded to Nobunaga. The movement was slight, but Nobunaga saw it.
There was one more person.
Shinnosuke Sarutobi. He stood at the back of the crowd, the youngest brother. He looked up at Nobunaga, his eyes full of light.
Nobunaga looked at those people.
Orochimaru, Jiraiya, Sakumo Hatake, Might Duy, Yuhi Shinku, Zixiao Mitarashi, and Shinnosuke Sarutobi.
These people would become the pillars of Konoha in the future. They would become legends, heroes, and names remembered by future generations.
Now, they all stood here. They had all heard the words he said. Nobunaga withdrew his gaze.
In the distance, Tsunade had already run far away. Her ponytail flickered in and out of sight in the crowd. He remembered how she looked when she slapped his hand away. The tips of her ears were red, and her mouth was stubborn.
He suddenly smiled. A very faint smile. This era was still long. But he had already begun.
[After that day, you discovered something. Spreading ideas is much simpler than killing.
You don't need a blade, you don't need Ninjutsu, and you don't need those combat techniques practiced countless times in simulations.
You only need to speak. Speak the truths that were second nature to you in your previous life—everyone has food to eat, everyone has clothes to wear, everyone lives, and everyone has dignity.
These words were common sense in your previous life. In this era, they are fresh. They are words no one has spoken.
Senju Hashirama said he wanted to protect the Village, said he wanted children to not have to go to the battlefield, said he wanted war to stop forever.
But Hashirama never said how to do it. He just stood there, using his back to tell everyone—"Follow me." Then he died, and those who followed him didn't know where to go.
What you want to do is different. You don't just want to say where to go, but also how to get there.]
Nobunaga began to organize those memories. Those from his previous life, from the simulations, the books he had read, and the worlds he had seen.
He dug those things out of his mind bit by bit, writing them into words, drawing them into charts, and compiling them into small booklets.
Training by day, writing by night, writing until his fingers were sore, until the oil lamp burned out, until the sky outside turned the color of a fish's belly.
First: Everyone has food to eat. This is not a slogan; it is a goal.
How to achieve it?
Develop more farmland, establish better transport routes, and let grain flow from places of abundance to places of scarcity.
Ninjas aren't just for fighting; they can also be used for transporting goods, building roads, and digging canals.
Second: Everyone has clothes to wear.
Plant more cotton, raise more silkworms, and build more weaving workshops. Let those without Chakra also live by their crafts.
Third: Everyone lives.
It's not about being immortal; it's about not dying in vain. Every war must have meaning, and every sacrifice must be exchanged for the survival of more people.
Not fighting for the Daimyo, but for the Village. Not fighting for hatred, but for survival.
Fourth: Everyone has dignity.
Regardless of bloodline, regardless of clan, regardless of whose father someone is or whose grandfather someone is.
What matters is what you have done, what you can do, and what you are willing to do.