"Orochimaru, don't you understand? It's for your own good that the teacher won't allow you to practice the Impure World Reincarnation! Why d
"Orochimaru, don't you understand? It's for your own good that the teacher won't allow you to practice the Impure World Reincarnation! Why don't you go back and discuss it with him first?"
"The most important thing right now is stopping Nawaki's reckless behavior!"
"Do you realize how much damage this will cause Konoha?"
Jiraiya's eyes widened as he caught sight of the scroll in Orochimaru's hands. His voice was urgent, almost frantic.
What worried him most wasn't the scroll—it was Orochimaru's reaction. His old teammate wasn't even trying to stop Senju Nawaki anymore. He was ignoring him, lost in the forbidden text, while Nawaki's madness unfolded unchecked.
The Senju boy in front of them was dangerous. If they didn't stop him now, Konoha would suffer consequences none of them could imagine.
But Orochimaru only flicked him a glance before turning back to the scroll. His golden eyes shone with obsession.
This idiot still doesn't see it, Orochimaru thought. Even if Jiraiya gathered every ally in the camp, they couldn't stop Nawaki now.
Not with Senju Dōma here. Not with the Senju clan already gathering.
Orochimaru was no fool. He had seen firsthand the Senju's power on the battlefields of the Rain Country. Their strength as a clan was overwhelming. To call it an army was wrong—it was more like a natural force.
And Konoha… had treated them as expendable cannon fodder.
Orochimaru's lips curled faintly. He remembered Nawaki from before—loud, hot-blooded, and utterly brainless. But what stood before them now was no fool. Nawaki had changed. He had become calculating, patient, and dangerous.
Whatever had reshaped him into this monster, Orochimaru didn't care. Let Hiruzen worry about that.
As for him—he had found something far more valuable. His path to immortality.
…
"Damn it…" Jiraiya muttered, looking desperately at the others. He turned to Hatake Sakumo, then to Tsunade.
But neither of them moved.
They only watched in silence.
Left alone, Jiraiya's jaw tightened. His gaze snapped back to Nawaki. If no one else would act, he would. If killing Nawaki was what it took to end this madness, then so be it.
He bit his thumb, readying a summoning.
Swish—swish—
Before he could complete the seals, vines burst from the earth, coiling around him. They bound him tight, gagging him, and drove four wooden stakes through his limbs.
Senju Dōma stepped forward, his expression twisted with disgust.
"So this… is Sarutobi Hiruzen's most loyal disciple?"
His voice was low, bitter.
"You dare raise a hand against Nawaki?"
In Dōma's eyes, Konoha had always belonged to the Senju. The forbidden techniques Jiraiya revered as Hiruzen's property were never Sarutobi's to begin with.
They were the inheritance of the Senju clan. Yet Tobirama's creations—whether the Impure World Reincarnation or the Myōjin Gate—had been seized, claimed, and treated as the Hokage's private treasure.
The resentment that had festered for years surged again in Dōma's chest.
It was true—Tobirama had created those jutsu. But the foundation of his knowledge, the roots of his craft, all came from the Senju clan's legacy. Even the great torii of the Myōjin Gate—wasn't it but a replica of the gates separating the Pure Land from the living world?
For Dōma, Tobirama bore more than half the blame for the suffering his clan had endured.
…
Meanwhile, Nawaki's eyes lingered on Orochimaru. The Sannin barely looked up from his scroll. He was too deep in the Impure World Reincarnation, consumed by forbidden knowledge.
Nawaki felt no hostility toward him. On the contrary—the aura of scientific curiosity radiating from Orochimaru made Nawaki instinctively favorable toward him. Handing over the scroll had been a calculated gesture of convenience, but also a signal.
A signal to Hiruzen.
The Third Hokage needed to know that what he guarded so jealously was not his to claim. The forbidden Jutsu had always been the Senju clan's inheritance.
Sarutobi Hiruzen was a thief—a shameful thief. One day, Nawaki would take back everything stolen from his bloodline.
Hatake Sakumo felt sweat drip down his temples. His sharp eyes scanned the gathering Senju shinobi around him, and his chest grew heavier with each second.
This… this was a revelation.
Nearly the entire Senju clan had appeared here. Only now did he grasp the scale of their hidden contribution. The war effort in the Rain Country had leaned on their shoulders. Without them, Konoha would have faltered.
And yet—none of them had been given positions of command. Not one of the division leaders on the Rain front had been Senju. They had all been Sarutobi Hiruzen's loyalists.
Nawaki's words earlier rang true. Konoha had been burning away the Senju clan's strength, grinding them down in war.
Sakumo's hands tightened. His own clan, the Hatake, had long been considered close to the Senju—half-kin, some said, descended from a split branch long ago. Could he, of all people, stand against Nawaki now?
No.
Without a word, he stepped quietly back, distancing himself.
Only Tsunade remained. She stood rigid, her body trembling as she watched her clan surround her.
But in their eyes, she no longer saw kinship.
She saw distance.
She saw suspicion.
She saw hostility.
Once, she had been the pride of the Senju. Under the Hokage's praise, she became the jewel of Konoha, its strongest medical-nin. But that glory now felt hollow.
Nawaki, her younger brother, had always seemed like the foil to her brilliance—loud, foolish, constantly needing protection. And yet…
At this moment, Tsunade saw the truth.
Her achievements had been built on the foundation of her clan, and the guidance of Hiruzen. But what had she given back to her people? She had stood beside the Hokage while he quietly strangled her brother's potential.
Now, all of it collapsed.
Every suppression, every denial—reduced to a farce.
Wood Release was the Senju's legend. The proof of their supremacy. The symbol of their legacy.
And it was alive again.
Tsunade's steps faltered. She staggered backward, her eyes lowering in shame. For the first time, she understood.
She could no longer oppose Nawaki.
…
Around them, the remaining Konoha leaders—except for the fallen Shinnosuke—stood in grim silence.
They had no strength left to stop Nawaki. No justification to oppose him.
Konoha's injustice had brought this upon itself.
Nawaki moved forward, his steps heavy but steady.
His gaze swept across the assembled Senju clan.
Most were older—forties, fifties. For a shinobi, that was already the twilight of life. They should not have been forced onto the battlefield. Yet here they stood, their bodies scarred, their clothes worn, bandages still stained with blood. Exhaustion was written across their faces.
But in their eyes…
In their eyes was light.
The faintest flicker of hope.
For so long they had borne their suffering in silence. Was it finally over?
Nawaki drew in a deep breath. He bowed low, pressing his forehead toward the ground.
"My clan… my kin of Senju. You have suffered."
When he straightened, his voice rang out like a bell, infused with chakra, carrying across the entire camp.
The Senju shinobi trembled. Their eyes reddened, tears welling as their long-buried resentment cracked open.
Dōma's entire frame shook as tears poured freely down his weathered cheeks. Relief, pride, vindication—at last, their clan had hope again.
Whispers rose.
More and more shinobi from other clans gathered, drawn by the commotion.
Murmurs spread among them.
Something was happening. Something dangerous.
Senju Nawaki no longer resembled the boy they had known—the boastful, cowardly fool. At this moment, the aura he exuded was entirely different. Charisma radiated from him like firelight, dazzling and impossible to ignore.
Those who remembered the injustices done to the Senju clan grew uneasy. Those who remembered the abnormal tension in the camp days prior felt their nerves tighten.
And as Nawaki's words echoed, the realization struck them all—
The Senju clan was rising.