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(POV – Mito Uzumaki)
Tap, tap, tap. Mito's fingers glided over the polished wooden table as she gazed out the window at the garden where her grandchildren used to play. A gentle breeze stirred the wind chimes hanging from the eaves—a sound that usually soothed her, but not today.
"Something must be done," she murmured to herself, adjusting the kanzashi in her traditional bun.
She was no ordinary woman. Mito Uzumaki, wife of the legendary Hashirama Senju, jinchūriki of the Kyūbi, and one of the greatest living masters of Fūinjutsu. Her mind was as sharp as the seals she drew with immaculate precision. And now, that mind was entirely focused on a problem growing under her own roof.
Tsunade and Nawaki.
The relationship between her grandchildren had long surpassed what could be considered normal between siblings. Sighing deeply, Mito rose and walked to the bookshelf filled with ancient scrolls. Her wrinkled fingers touched a particularly timeworn scroll.
"The future of the Senju clan cannot rest solely on Tsunade's shoulders. She's talented, but..." Mito shook her head, retrieving the scroll. "She's becoming obsessive."
Negotiations with the Uzumaki clan had been underway for years. Kushina, a promising young woman with fiery red hair, had been chosen not only as the next jinchūriki but also as Nawaki's future wife. A union that would strengthen both clans and ensure the continuity of the Senju lineage.
"Tsuna-One-sama, Tsuna-One-sama," Mito mimicked the way Nawaki addressed his sister, a shiver running down her spine. Those words from her grandson's mouth sounded... wrong. As if each syllable were a poorly made seal, destined to explode.
There was something in Nawaki's eyes, something that went beyond fraternal admiration. It was as if premature old age lurked behind those childish irises. Sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, the boy seemed to carry the weight of the world on his small shoulders.
"A genius?" Mito shook her head. Such thoughts were absurd, though not impossible in the shinobi world. "No... it's just the result of Tsunade's manipulation."
Crack. The sound of the garden door opening interrupted her thoughts. Quickly, Mito stored the scroll and composed her expression to receive whoever it was.
"Fūinjutsu is the most noble art of the Uzumaki," Mito said serenely as she prepared the materials in the study room. "The ability to seal and release is the perfect balance."
Tsunade and Nawaki sat before her, both holding brushes with blank scrolls in front of them. The afternoon light streamed through the windows, illuminating their focused faces.
"Begin by tracing the kanji for 'containment'," Mito instructed, demonstrating the movement with a steady hand. Her eyes, however, were fixed on each reaction of her grandchildren.
Nawaki immediately absorbed the instruction, his brush gliding over the paper with impressive precision for someone his age. Tsunade, on the other hand, hesitated. Her strokes were shaky, imprecise.
"No, no, Tsunade," Mito shook her head, maintaining a deliberately stern tone. "You must keep your hand steady. See how your brother does it."
Tsunade's eyes turned to Nawaki's scroll, where the kanji was nearly perfect. A glimmer of frustration crossed her gaze.
"Incredible, Nawaki!" Mito exclaimed, perhaps with too much enthusiasm. "You have the natural talent of the Uzumaki running through your veins, despite being a Senju."
The plan was simple: exploit sibling rivalry. Elevate Nawaki while diminishing Tsunade in the one area where she didn't surpass her brother. Over time, natural resentment would distance them, destroying any improper bond that might be forming.
"Try again, Tsunade. More firmness!" Mito insisted, ignoring the tremor beginning to form on her granddaughter's lower lip.
An hour passed. An hour of excessive praise for Nawaki and relentless criticism of Tsunade. The girl's scroll was stained not only with ink but also with tears she struggled to contain.
"Look at your brother's control," Mito continued, pointing to Nawaki's impeccable work. "So young and already demonstrates such mastery..."
That's when Mito noticed. Nawaki had stopped drawing. His brush was motionless over the scroll, while his eyes... those eyes... were fixed on her with a coldness that didn't belong to a child.
A shiver ran down Mito's spine. For a moment, she could almost feel Tobirama's presence in the room—the same calculating coldness, the same silent assessment.
"I won't make another scroll in front of One-sama," Nawaki declared, his childish voice carrying a disconcerting authority. "I'll wait for her. But not only that, I'll guide her to success."
Before Mito could intervene, Nawaki had stood up and sat beside Tsunade. With surprising patience and clarity, he began to explain every aspect of Fūinjutsu that Mito had deliberately omitted in her explanations to Tsunade.
"See, One-sama, the chakra flow must follow this pattern," he explained with the confidence of an experienced teacher. "The secret lies in the breathing as you trace..."
Mito was paralyzed. Her plan not only failed but turned against her spectacularly. The knowledge Nawaki demonstrated went far beyond what she had taught. It was as if he had studied with... Ashina? But that was impossible. The young Senju prodigy had barely started at the Academy.
The harsh reality struck Mito like a forbidden jutsu: she had underestimated her grandson. And worse, she had lost something precious in the process.
With a heavy heart, Mito quietly left the room. Her legs carried her to the garden, where the same wind chimes continued to play their indifferent melody. She wanted to cry, but decades as a jinchūriki had taught her to contain her emotions.
"I only wanted the best for you," she whispered to the wind. "For the clan. For the village."
From the hallway, she could hear Nawaki's voice:
"Sorry, sister. I should have protected you a long time ago. I'm a failure as a younger brother."
A silence followed, almost tangible in its intensity.
"Do you know what my dream is, One-sama?"
Mito approached the slightly open door, her heart pounding in her chest.
"To bring peace to the shinobi world."
The declaration, so simple and so complex, made her freeze. The words that followed were like sharp kunai piercing her chest:
"It's more than PROVEN. Our grandfather, Senju Hashirama, failed in his mission to bring peace to the shinobi world. In fact, all he did with the creation of the shinobi villages was to systematize the entire process of death."
Mito covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a sob. Every word Nawaki spoke was a blow against everything she and Hashirama had built and believed in.
"Just look at the first shinobi war. The number of deaths was so great that many villages had to send even children to war. Even Konoha isn't far from that."
Tears finally began to stream down Mito's wrinkled face. Not because of the criticisms of Hashirama—she herself had questioned some of his decisions over the years. But because of the clarity and depth with which that child analyzed the situation.
"Our grandfather had the right heart, placed in the virtue of peace, but he didn't know how to get there. That's why the Will of Fire was born."
Mito stepped away from the door, her legs trembling. She needed to speak with Tobirama immediately. There was something in Nawaki, something that went beyond normal understanding. Something that needed to be understood before...
"I never go back on my word, for that's my ninja way." Nawaki's voice echoed down the hallway, followed by the soft sound of scrolls being unrolled.
That phrase. Mito froze again. It was exactly how Hashirama used to speak in the early days of Konoha. A mantra he repeated to himself in the most challenging moments.
How could Nawaki know those exact words? Hashirama had died before Nawaki was even born.
With a heavy heart and a mind full of questions, Mito headed to her room. She needed to meditate, consult the Kyūbi's chakra if necessary. And then... then she needed a better plan.
Because one thing was clear: the future of the Senju clan, of Konoha, and perhaps of the shinobi world, depended on the path that child with ancient eyes chose to follow.
And she needed to ensure it was the right path.