Tsunade's voice sounded slightly broken at the end.
But Tsunade did not cry.
Her eyes remained fixed straight ahead, even as the breeze made them moist.
The Anbu was silent.
For a long time.
Only their breaths could be heard.
Jiraiya and Orochimaru held their breath.
That moment felt long, very long.
Finally, the Anbu moved.
The man turned and stepped into the village.
The wooden door opened fully, revealing the stone path leading to the center of Uzushio Village.
A few minutes later, the man reappeared.
"This is only because the Uzumaki blood flows in you. Come in. The Clan Head is waiting."
Tsunade nodded slowly.
Where Tsunade did not smile, did not express gratitude.
Tsunade simply bowed respectfully, then walked inside.
Jiraiya and Orochimaru followed behind Tsunade.
As they passed through the gate, the atmosphere changed drastically.
The houses stood sturdy with low roofs and walls made of dark red stone.
The streets were clean, but empty.
There were no sounds of children playing, no merchants shouting, no footsteps except for their own.
Yet eyes—hidden eyes—watched.
From behind windows, from between curtains, from roof gaps—residents observed the three of them.
Gazes full of suspicion.
Gazes full of wounds.
Cold stares that cut deeper than knives.
Tsunade lowered her gaze for a moment.
Inside Tsunade's chest, guilt and anger mixed into one.
Tsunade wanted to defend herself.
Where Tsunade wanted to say that she disagreed with Konoha's decision.
But what was the point? The wounds had already been inflicted.
Where Tsunade could only step forward.
Step by step, toward the center of the village.
Toward the place where the Uzumaki Clan Head awaited.
...
...
...
The sky above Uzushio Village appeared pale silver, shrouded in thin clouds that hung like whispers of an unfinished past.
The sea breeze blew gently, carrying a salty aroma mixed with the scent of wet leaves and old wood.
The village streets lay silent, only the sound of footsteps could be heard.
Clattering slowly yet steadily among the buildings that exuded a sense of alienation and hurt.
No residents came out to greet.
No children playing, no aunts to say hello.
As if the entire village had decided to turn away from the arrival of the three legendary ninjas who were the pride of Konoha.
Tsunade walked at the front, her steps appearing very steady, but her mind was filled with pressure.
Tsunade's shoulders were straight, but her left hand was clenched tightly.
Tsunade's blonde hair, tied back, was slowly blown by the wind, but her face remained unyielding—cold, silent, and filled with tension that was hard to suppress.
Jiraiya followed behind Tsunade, his head slightly bowed.
Jiraiya's face, usually full of relaxed expression, was now stiff.
The look in Jiraiya's eyes swept over the village with a gloomy gaze, as if every stone they passed reminded him of the wounds they had never helped heal.
Jiraiya's hands were tucked into his pants pockets, but his index finger kept tapping against the fabric—restless, holding back the regret that festered in silence.
Orochimaru, on the other hand, walked almost silently.
No emotion reflected on Orochimaru's face.
Orochimaru's pale yellow eyes—like a snake's eyes lurking for prey in the grass—observed the surroundings with pure interest.
Where Orochimaru noted the sealing symbols carved into the walls of the houses.
Noticing the faint protective Chakra patterns visible beneath the village's surface, and Orochimaru recorded everything in his cold, precise memory.
For Orochimaru, the Uzumaki Clan was a legacy of pure power—not just old allies who had been betrayed.
There was strength within these village walls, a strength too precious to be forgotten.
"So quiet, huh..." Jiraiya finally whispered, trying to lighten the mood.
No one answered.
________________________
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