Those few words weren't loud, but they were clear—clear enough that the entire playground fell silent.
Everyone's gaze shifted over. The Jonin on the spectator stands put down the clipboards in their hands.
The instructors frowned, and the members of the Senju Clan widened their eyes.
Tsunade stopped in her tracks and turned her head.
"What did you say?"
Nobunaga stepped onto the arena stage.
The sunlight fell on his face, casting deep shadows in his eyes.
He stood where Tsunade had just been standing, looking at the young faces below the stage.
"I said, I don't agree," his voice was very calm.
"The will of fire? Protecting the Village?"
He looked at Tsunade. "You spoke very well. But have you ever considered what exactly Shodai-sama wanted to protect?"
Tsunade's eyes narrowed.
"What are you trying to say?"
Nobunaga didn't look at her. He looked toward the people below the stage.
"Hashirama-sama said he wanted children to not have to go to the battlefield. That sounds wonderful. But what about the children now?"
He pointed at the twelve and thirteen-year-old youths below the stage.
"Us. We are those children. We aren't standing here to listen to someone preach grand theories. We're standing here because if we don't go to the battlefield, we'll die."
It was very quiet below the stage.
"Hashirama-sama said he wanted to make war stop forever. That sounds wonderful."
"But what about now?"
"Kumogakure is attacking us, Iwagakure is attacking us, and the Hidden Mist is also attacking us."
"Our fathers are dead, our mothers are dead, our brothers are dead, and our sisters are dead."
"And then we came."
"We stand here, preparing to go and die."
Tsunade's expression changed.
"You saying these things—"
"I'm saying these things because I don't want to lie to people."
Nobunaga looked at her.
"Hashirama-sama was a hero."
"We remember everything he did."
"But the things he didn't finish won't be completed just by shouting a few slogans."
"To complete it, what's needed is much more than slogans."
He turned around and looked below the stage.
"The will of fire? I have my own will, too."
His voice lowered.
"I don't care about some will of fire."
"I only want—"
"Every child of Konoha to have food to eat from the moment they are born."
"Every mother in Konoha to not have to wait for her child to come home while crying at night."
"Every father in Konoha to not have to die on the battlefield, leaving behind orphans and widows."
He paused.
"What's important isn't guarding Konoha, but guarding everyone in Konoha."
"That is what Hashirama-sama truly wanted."
"Not slogans, but food."
"Not empty words, but living."
"Not being remembered after death, but being able to live well while alive."
A profound silence fell over the playground.
Then, someone spoke up.
"Well said."
Everyone turned their heads.
The speaker was a black-haired youth.
His skin was very pale, his eyes were slender, and his voice carried a feminine raspiness.
He stood at the edge of the crowd with his hands in his pockets, his face devoid of expression.
Orochimaru.
He glanced at Nobunaga, and the corner of his mouth twitched in something that might have been a smile, or might not.
"At least it's better than those empty words."
Tsunade's face flushed red.
"Orochimaru, you—"
"I think it's pretty good too," another voice came from the other side.
Long white hair, a red overcoat, and a carefree smile on his face.
Jiraiya.
He leaned against a tree trunk with his arms crossed, looking at Nobunaga.
"Though I don't quite understand what you're saying, it sounds more interesting than that old, clichéd stuff."
Tsunade's fists clenched.
"Jiraiya—"
"Interesting." A third voice.
This time the speaker stood by the edge of the spectator stands.
He carried a short sword on his back, and his silver-white hair shimmered in the sun. His eyes were heavy, as if he had seen too much.
Sakumo Hatake.
He didn't say much, only glanced at Nobunaga and then nodded.
The movement was very slight, but everyone saw it.
Tsunade's expression became even more unsightly.
Then another voice rang out.
"That was great!"
A youth wearing a green skin-tight suit jumped out from the crowd, with thick eyebrows, a bowl cut, and eyes that were frighteningly bright.
Might Duy.
Tsunade rolled her eyes, not bothering to acknowledge him.
But others were still speaking.
"An interesting viewpoint."
The speaker stood deep within the crowd, wearing a dark kimono with a short sword hanging from his waist.
His hair was long, his eyes were bright, and a faint smile played on his lips.
Shinku Yuhi.
He looked at Nobunaga, his eyes sparkling with light.
Tsunade bit her lip.
The Senju clansmen around her began to whisper; some frowned, some shook their heads, and some muttered "nonsense."
But no one stepped forward to refute him.
Because the words Nobunaga spoke were things they couldn't refute.
They had food to eat. They had clothes to wear. They had the reputation left by their grandfathers.
But what about those orphans without surnames?
What about those children whose parents died on the battlefield?
What about those who lived on the edges of the Village and couldn't even enter a clan compound?
What they needed weren't slogans. It was food. It was living.
Tsunade stood there, her face turning from red to white, then from white to red.
She looked at Nobunaga, then at those who stood on his side.
Orochimaru, Jiraiya, Sakumo Hatake, Might Duy, Shinku Yuhi.
And those who hadn't spoken but whose gazes had already changed.
Her fingers tightened.
"No matter how good it sounds, it's still empty talk," her voice squeezed through the gaps in her teeth. "If you've got the guts, let your strength do the talking."
Nobunaga looked at her.
"How should I talk?"
Tsunade stepped onto the arena stage and stood before him.
"Beat me. Then what you say is right. If you can't—"
She raised her chin.
"Then shut up."
The crowd below broke into an uproar.
Senju Tsunade. The granddaughter of the First Hokage.
The strongest existence among her peers. Taijutsu, Ninjutsu, Chakra control—she excelled in everything.
She had already learned several B-rank Ninjutsu last year, while most of her peers were still practicing the Three Basic Jutsu.
No one thought Nobunaga could win.
But Nobunaga looked at her.
He looked at this ten-year-old girl. He looked at the fire burning brightly in her eyes.
He looked at her biting her lip, clenching her fists, and standing before him. She didn't truly want to fight.
She was defending the things her grandfather had left behind. Those words, those beliefs, the things she had heard since childhood, believed since childhood, and planned to spend her life guarding.
She didn't know those things would shatter in the future. She only knew that someone was trying to tear them down now.
"Fine," Nobunaga said.
The people below the stage backed away, clearing an open space.
Tsunade took a starting stance.
Her posture was textbook—center of gravity lowered, hands raised, Chakra flowing through her body.
That was the Taijutsu passed down through generations of the Senju Clan, taught to her personally by Hashirama.
Nobunaga also took a starting stance. His posture was simple, just a standard blocking stance.
Tsunade charged.
Fast. Very fast. The wind from her punch whistled as it aimed straight for his face.
Nobunaga sidestepped to let it pass.
Tsunade's second punch had already arrived.
He raised his hand to block; fist met palm, producing a dull thud.
Tsunade's third punch, fourth punch, fifth punch. Each punch was faster and fiercer than the last. She was no ordinary little girl.
She was the granddaughter of Senju Hashirama. Her punches were heavier than those of most adults.
Nobunaga blocked them one by one.