Chapter 15: The Hero's Return
A ninja's speed through the forest rivaled that of simple vehicles—and a shinobi of Senju Morin's caliber was faster still.
After parting ways with Uzumaki Chizawa, he quickly reached the outskirts of Konoha.
But Morin did not rush back into the village.
Instead, he stopped at a lake hidden within the nearby forest and began to carefully "prepare his appearance."
If he was going to return, then his return had to shake all of Konoha to its core.
First, Morin retrieved the dō-armor he had worn in battle and fastened it back onto his body.
This was his proof—evidence of a life-and-death struggle against a powerful enemy in order to reclaim the Hokage's body.
From the front alone, three enormous, savage claw marks were clearly visible, tearing from the midsection of the chest armor all the way across the right-side plates.
They were the scars left behind by Kinkaku in his half–tailed-beast state.
Next, Morin took out a vial of blood plasma from a sealing scroll and carefully poured it over himself—especially across the three claw marks, and down his entire back.
The dust and grime from days of relentless travel already clinging to his body were perfect as they were—no embellishment needed.
Finally, Morin removed Senju Tobirama's body from the sealing scroll and secured it tightly to his back with thick rope.
Only after completing all of this did he sit down silently for a time, allowing the bloodstains to partially dry.
Then he stood, walked to the lake's edge, and examined his reflection.
He studied himself carefully. After a moment's thought, he crouched down and splashed several drops of lake water into his eyes.
The sharp foreign sensation made him blink hard. After a brief wave of discomfort, his eyes quickly reddened—tears even slipping down along the bridge of his nose.
Only then did Morin nod in satisfaction.
He lifted the Banana Fan once more and strode toward the Hidden Leaf Village.
---
By the time he arrived, it was already afternoon.
Konoha resembled a wounded beast licking its injuries in the twilight—silent, heavy with grief.
After Sarutobi Hiruzen and the others had returned bearing devastating news, the guards stationed at the village gates treated anything approaching Konoha with unprecedented caution.
So when a staggering figure emerged from the distant forest, the two chūnin on duty instantly tensed, hands diving into their ninja pouches, fingers clenching kunai.
But in the next instant, shock replaced vigilance.
As though witnessing the impossible, their throats seemed seized shut. One sharp, trembling gasp escaped before they cried out in disbelief:
"That's… Jōnin Morin?! And—on his back—!"
"The Hokage!!!"
"It's Jōnin Morin! He brought the Hokage back!!!"
The cry echoed across the gates.
In that instant, the suffocating stillness shattered. The village surged to life as countless figures rushed toward Senju Morin.
Yet Morin walked slowly.
Each step appeared unbearably heavy.
He paid no mind to the chaos erupting around him—this was all exactly as he had planned.
He had calculated the timing with precision, choosing the moment when the sun dipped low, when villagers were most numerous, when the streets were thick with people.
He wanted as many eyes as possible to witness this scene.
On this stage, he was the sole actor.
Every detail was a carefully placed prop.
In his right hand, he gripped the red-and-white Banana Fan.
The grotesque shape and brilliant colors of the Six Paths relic immediately drew countless gazes—
—and with it, the first spark of a legend was born.
It was his trophy—
a symbol of overwhelming power, silently proclaiming just what kind of terrifying enemy he had defeated.
His left arm clamped tightly around an enormous sealing scroll. To the villagers and ninja who didn't know better, it likely appeared to contain something of tremendous importance.
Classified intelligence?
Other Six Paths relics?
Or perhaps the corpses of Cloud shinobi?
But Senju Morin knew the truth perfectly well.
After removing the Banana Fan and Senju Tobirama's body, the scroll was completely empty.
He carried it anyway—deliberately.
Because he was imitating the appearance of the First Hokage, Senju Hashirama.
Black hair.
Red armor.
A massive scroll always at his side.
The unmistakable identity of the Senju.
At a time when the war had yet to end and the Hokage had just fallen, this sight alone inspired a profound sense of reassurance—an instinctive familiarity rooted deep within memory.
Morin was certain that, in this very moment, countless people shared the same thought:
If only Lord Hashirama were still alive…
And that was exactly the outcome Morin desired.
As the crowd of villagers and shinobi drew ever closer, Morin straightened his back and thrust out his chest, deliberately displaying the enormous, charred-edged claw marks gouged across his armor.
No words were needed.
These wounds were the most direct, most overwhelming medals of honor imaginable.
Of course, the true centerpiece of this entire performance lay upon his back.
Because Tobirama's body had been carefully secured with rope, the Second Hokage's head now rested against Morin's shoulder—eyes closed, face utterly devoid of life, turned directly toward the oncoming crowd.
The pale complexion and disheveled white hair struck every witness like a hammer.
The cheers that had just begun instantly died away.
"That's the Second Hokage…!"
"Second—Second Hokage-sama… he's fallen?!"
"Look at those injuries—my god… what did he go through?!"
"Didn't Sarutobi-jōnin and the others already return? Why was it a Senju who brought the Hokage back?"
"Could it be… those rumors in the village…"
As hushed whispers spread, the news that Senju Morin had recovered the Hokage's body reached the true powerholders of Konoha.
They came swiftly.
At the forefront were Sarutobi Hiruzen and Shimura Danzō—the Hokage's disciples—followed by senior jōnin and core members of the major clans.
Uchiha.
Hyūga.
Senju.
Ino–Shika–Chō.
Figures who would normally gather only for a jōnin confidence vote now appeared together at the village gates, drawn by this singular moment.
The murmurs did not subside with their arrival.
If anything, the swelling crowd only made them louder.
Each whispered sentence pierced like a poisoned thorn into the ears of Sarutobi and the others.
The moment Hiruzen laid eyes on his teacher's body, his face drained of all color. He nearly staggered, genuine grief and crushing guilt flooding his eyes.
Danzō's single eye, too, flashed with sorrow—but it narrowed just as quickly.
Sharp and calculating, it swept over every detail of Senju Morin's appearance, then shifted to the endlessly whispering crowd.
His expression darkened, sinking into a stormy gloom that threatened to spill over.
Facing his teacher's corpse, Mitokado Homura and Utatane Koharu revealed unmistakable pain—but beneath their grief lurked faint traces of doubt and unease.
Among the five, only Akimichi Torifu stood utterly silent.
His naturally inexpressive, round face seemed almost frozen, weighed down by a suffocating sense of despair.