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Summary
He was standing by the river when Madara arrived. Hashirama didn’t turn to look, but Madara knew he’d felt his presence. And yet, there was no acknowledgment—no word, no glance. That alone told him something was deeply wrong.
The silence broke with Hashirama’s voice. “You know,” he said, low, “I’ve never been a good brother.”
Madara didn’t answer, but something in his stance shifted.
“I don’t think I ever will be,” Hashirama continued. “I’m a clan leader. A Mokuton user. And now… Hokage. I can’t put my Otōto first. It’s always the greater good before him.”
His voice was rough. Resigned.
“I can’t change that.”