Between life and death lies a shadowed expanse. It is neither the Pure Land of the Underworld nor the living world of shinobi. It is an in-between place, a gulf where countless strange and wandering souls drift.
Some of these souls still cling to regrets from their lives, unable to let go. Others have yet to deliver final words to those they loved. For many reasons they remain here—unable to escape, unable to return—waiting for the moment of spiritual release that will finally send them to the Underworld. Like faint candle flames flickering in the dark, each soul lingers in its own corner, isolated and alone. They appear close to one another but are separated by an immeasurable distance, never realizing how many others share their fate.
High above this silent realm hovers a faintly luminous figure. Eyes closed, clothed in a white shinobi robe and carrying a monk's staff, nine pitch-black spheres drifting beneath him—this is the Sage of the Six Paths, or rather the remnant chakra of that legendary being. A deity from ancient times and heir to the Ōtsutsuki bloodline, he possessed godlike power. Even after his death, his chakra wandered the mortal world in this form, stubbornly protecting it.
Because of this lingering power, Shihara Emiya had always been cautious. If the Sage of the Six Paths ever manifested again, he could upset all of Shihara's plans. In the distant past Shihara had disguised himself as a wise and benevolent man, building a medical path far beyond the empty slogans of the shinobi clans. He used righteousness itself as a mask to mislead the Sage. Until the day he could truly rival the Sage of the Six Paths, he had never dared to contact him—and indeed had never even met him.
During his lifetime the Sage had longed to meet Shihara Emiya. But Shihara never appeared. Even when Gamamaru, the Sage's companion, offered to arrange it, Shihara refused, claiming he was still healing. Only after the Sage's death did Shihara take the risk of stealing his remains. That brief, grim act was the only "meeting" between them.
Shihara had moved decisively, destroying the Shinobi Clan for what he believed to be the world's sake, then repenting and reviving them in response to Ashura's words. Part of this was to deceive Black Zetsu—but even more, it was to deceive the Sage of the Six Paths himself. Eventually Shihara died, but the power of his chakra allowed his soul to move freely between the Pure Land and the liminal space between life and death. He often saw the Sage's drifting remnant chakra yet never dared to approach it for fear of being discovered. Instead he sometimes guided other lost souls to the Underworld. At such times he almost felt like a good person.
From antiquity to the present he could honestly claim he had never committed outright evil. Compared to the combined deeds of the Sage and his descendants, his own good works still fell short. When he killed, it was only to punish disorder. He never considered himself truly virtuous—just practical. In his eyes, those who committed great evil and came to him were simply dissatisfied with their lives and searching for a new one.
Even so, caution ruled him. After all, Shihara Emiya was a time traveler, a stranger in this world. Caution was survival. Now, millennia later, he wanted a final test: would the Sage of the Six Paths really care about a minor transgression committed by an ancient wanderer? Or had the Sage withdrawn completely, watching only for Kaguya Ōtsutsuki's resurrection?
His test subject was Hashirama Senju.
Hashirama's life was drawing to a close. If the Sage still took an interest in the living world, surely he would save the First Hokage. If not—if his focus had narrowed solely to Kaguya—then Hashirama would be allowed to die.
Yet when Shihara arrived at Hashirama's home, what he saw surprised him. The man did not look like someone at death's door. He was vibrant, energetic—and deeply engrossed in a dice game with a plump, white-skinned little girl.
A mat lay spread on the floor. Hashirama sat cross-legged, expression as serious as if he were facing Uchiha Madara. He clutched the dice cup in both hands.
"Tsunade," he said solemnly, "big or small?"
The girl sitting across from him bit her fingertip, frowning in concentration. Finally she pushed aside her lucky money. "Big!"
"Then I'll open it!" Hashirama flipped the cup with a flourish. Three dice clattered free, each showing a single dot.
"Three ones—small!" he announced, bursting into hearty laughter. "Hahaha… Tsunade, you lost again!"
"Grandpa's cheating!" she protested, cheeks puffed.
"Grandpa didn't cheat…" Hashirama spread his hands innocently and reached out to rub her forehead, chuckling. "Tsunade, once you sit at a gambling table you have to accept the outcome. We chose to gamble, and if we lose, we accept it."
"But I've never won once," she muttered, scowling. "I've been practicing so long. I even learned to listen to the dice, but I still lose."
"Maybe it's just luck…" Hashirama's eyes twinkled with satisfaction. He knew he hadn't cheated; his luck was simply extraordinary whenever he played against his granddaughter. And for a gambler, nothing is sweeter than facing an opponent cursed with terrible luck.
Still, he could see Tsunade's mood souring. With a grin he picked up a wad of notes from the mat and handed it to her. "Here, this is a loan. No interest. Now you've got some money—want to keep playing?"
"Yes!" Tsunade's face lit up as she began counting the bills.
Across the room, Senju Tobirama watched, his expression shifting between exasperation and resignation. As Hashirama's younger brother he hated to see such frivolity, but he also knew his brother's days were limited. If gambling with his granddaughter gave him joy, who was Tobirama to stop it?
Noticing them, Hashirama looked up. His eyes brightened at the sight of Shihara Emiya beside Tobirama.
"Emiya-sama! You're back." Over the past decade the two men had crossed paths often across the shinobi world and had become old friends. Hashirama waved him over eagerly. "Come, come—this is Tsuna, Tsunade, my granddaughter."
Lowering his voice, he added with a conspiratorial wink, "She has terrible luck. Bet against her and you're guaranteed to win!"
Then, louder, he invited, "Sir Emiya, care to try your luck? Winning feels wonderful…"
"Big brother…" Tobirama murmured, helpless. Just imagining a man like Emiya Shihara gambling was absurd. All the intelligence reports he had gathered painted the same picture: Emiya Shihara wandered the world searching for traces of the God Tree, healing the sick, and recording medical knowledge. Such a person would hardly cultivate a vice like gambling.
But Hashirama's enthusiasm was irrepressible.
Shihara Emiya looked at the mat, at the dice, at the expectant faces of grandfather and granddaughter. His test of the Sage of the Six Paths was already underway. Yet here, in this quiet domestic scene, he felt the faintest tug of amusement.
Would he play or not?
Would the Sage of the Six Paths intervene or remain silent?
In this world, between destiny and free will, between life and death—sometimes even a time-traveler had to roll the dice.
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