SON OF HASIRAMA-SENJU

Hey readers! I hope you're enjoying my fanfic so far! I've been adding more and more content, and I want to keep improving. For that, I need some motivation from you all! Even if you don't join my Patreon, there are still ways to support me.

At the very least, leave a comment and drop a Power Stone! I know my work isn't at the level where I'd receive thousands of Power Stones a day, but even a few go a long way in showing appreciation and keeping me motivated.

Now, about my Patreon page—I'm offering a free fanfic novel (a translation) there, which you can check out without any cost. You can join Patreon for free and explore it!

Patreon Tiers: Normal Human ($5) – Includes a shoutout and some extra perks. Most High – Includes a shoutout, personal Discord chat, exclusive illustrations, and more personal content.

Additionally, there are six more Patreon-exclusive fanfics available, plus extra chapters ahead of this fanfic!

So, if you're interested, feel free to check it out. Your support means everything to me!

Patreon:- patreon.com/The_GreatRed

100 powerstone =1 bonus chapter

.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hashirama was about to step in and help his son, but then he saw Arata's eyes. They looked just like his mother's—Mito Uzumaki, his wife. For the first time, Hashirama saw the fire in his son, just like Mito. He realized that Arata was a mix of both of them. He had his nature, his way of thinking, but he was also unpredictable. And now, with that fire in his eyes, Hashirama understood—his son

His son had His heart and dreams.

He had Mito's passion and fire.

And he had something neither of them had—unpredictability.

Arata was going to do something big.

The Senju and others kept talking.

"Unless you forgot, the Uchiha killed our people," one of them said.

"But what about us?" Arata replied. "We also killed countless Uchiha. Why did our clan members die? Their clan members also died. It was because of war."

He took out a scroll and handed it to his father. Hashirama took it, and Tobirama, looking confused, stepped closer. As Hashirama opened the scroll, his face changed—panic his face turned pale.  Tobirama read it too, and both brothers were shocked.

The scroll was written by their own father, who had long passed away. In it, he had ordered his dead brothers to poison the Uchiha clan's women. He had given a special medicine to the pregnant women of the Uchiha, leading to the deaths of ten unborn Uchiha children. It was a plan to stop the Uchiha from even existing.

Tobirama's view of the world shattered. Now they finally understood why the Uchiha had taken revenge. The elders read the scroll too, and they were just as shocked.

No one answered.

"Tell me. Can I clap with one hand?"

The elders murmured, "No…"

"That's right," Arata said. "You need two hands to clap. That's how war starts. Two sides. Two mistakes. One side attacks, the other responds, and the fight begins. Then war begins."

He looked at them with sharp eyes.

"Yes, the Uchiha killed children. But what you did was worse.

Some of the elders looked away, ashamed. 

You didn't kill them—you destroyed their chakra coils. And then, you sent them into their clan direction through forest, knowing they couldn't defend themselves. You knew they would die to the wild animals."

Arata took a deep breath.

"And now, you say you want to change? You call the Uchiha evil? Is it really their fault?"

He looked at them all—the elders, the clan members.

They were silent.

As everyone remained silent, Arata chuckled.

"You say the Uchiha are evil because of their eyes," he said, his voice carrying through the crowd. "But how do they unlock their power? By seeing someone they love die! That's how they awaken it, right?"

Some people, both young and old, nodded slowly. They had to admit—it was true. The Sharingan was a cursed power. For the Uchiha to grow stronger, they had to experience loss. The cycle repeated over and over.

Arata laughed again, but this time, it was cold.

"You know, I always thought you were all wise," he said. "You're sensory ninjas. You can feel emotions. You know when someone is sad, angry, or in pain. But tell me, did you ever stop to think about what this really means?"

His voice softened.

"You call them monsters for awakening their power through loss. But doesn't that just show how deeply they loved the people they lost? Doesn't that prove they cared? You can sense emotions, right? You can feel their grief, their sorrow. But you choose to ignore it. You call them heartless when, in reality, they might be the ones who feel the most."

No one spoke. The truth in his words was something they never wanted to face.

"As I said before, everything has a beginning," Arata continued. "They started a war, and we fought back. And every time we defeated them, what did we do? We fought again. Why? Because of pride? Because we wanted to take something from them? Tell me—what did we really gain?"

The air grew heavier. Everyone was calm now, listening closely.

"Let me ask you something," Arata said, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "Do you even remember why the Uchiha and Senju started fighting in the first place? Do you know the reason behind centuries of bloodshed?"

Silence.

"See?" Arata smirked. "It doesn't make sense, does it? You fight because the Uchiha killed your relatives. And they fight because we killed theirs. But does anyone here actually know the real reason why this war started?"

Realization struck them like a thunderbolt. The truth was so simple, yet they had never thought about it.

"We fight because our fathers fought the Uchiha," Arata said. "We fight because our grandfathers fought the Uchiha. We fight because our ancestors fought the Uchiha. But tell me—do we even know why?"

A heavy silence settled over the gathering.

"Do you want to continue this fight?" Arata asked, his voice quiet but firm. "Do you want to send your children to die on the battlefield without even knowing the reason? Without knowing why we are fighting in the first place?"

The words hit deep. Some of the elders lowered their heads. Even Tobirama, who always held strong opinions about the Uchiha, looked shaken.

Hashirama, however, remained calm. But inside, his heart was trembling.

'He understands…' Hashirama thought. 'He truly understands…'

For the first time, Hashirama felt hope.

Arata wasn't just his son.

He was his successor.

The one who would carry on his dream—the Will of Fire.

Even if Hashirama were to die one day, his son would not fall into darkness. His son would not be consumed by hatred.

Instead, he would bring change.

And maybe, just maybe… he would make that dream come true.