Hashirama led Gojo through the wilderness, explaining the world in broad strokes—the Senju and Uchiha clans, the never-ending war, and the dream of peace he wished to create.
"So, you guys just… fight all the time?" Gojo asked, tilting his head.
Hashirama sighed. "It's the way of our world. The strong survive, the weak perish."
Gojo frowned. He wasn't a fan of that logic. "Sounds exhausting."
Hashirama laughed. "It is."
As they traveled, Gojo learned more. Chakra, shinobi, the system of clans. He wasn't just in another place—he was in a different era, one where civilization barely held together.
Then they arrived at the Senju camp. The people watched Gojo with wary eyes. He didn't belong here, and they knew it.
Gojo ignored their stares. He wasn't interested in politics. He was interested in power.
And that was when Madara Uchiha arrived.