The Weight of Survival

Tetsuma adjusted the collar of his fresh ANBU uniform, his muscles still sore from the relentless battles of the past two months. The scent of blood and sweat was finally gone, replaced by the sterile smell of the ANBU headquarters.

But no amount of washing could erase the ghosts of the fallen.

His footsteps echoed as he made his way through the dimly lit corridors, each step bringing him closer to the Hokage's Office.

When he arrived, the guards outside gave him a brief glance before stepping aside. He didn't need an escort—his reputation preceded him.

Inside, the Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama, stood behind his desk, poring over mission reports. His silver hair was slicked back, and his red eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence.

He barely looked up when Tetsuma entered. "You're late," Tobirama said coolly, his voice like steel.

Tetsuma bowed slightly, standing straight with the rigid discipline of an elite soldier. "I came directly after changing, Lord Second."

Tobirama gestured for him to proceed. "Report."

Tetsuma took a deep breath before launching into a detailed debriefing.

Two months in the Land of Rain. Tracking and eliminating rogue shinobi. Skirmishes with Kirigakure's elite hunter-nin.

The loss of his ANBU squad.

As he spoke, Tobirama's expression remained unreadable, but Tetsuma knew his sensei well enough to catch the smallest flickers of reaction—the slight narrowing of his eyes, the tightening of his jaw.

When Tetsuma finally finished, a heavy silence settled over the room.

Tobirama folded his hands together. "From an entire three-squad unit... only you remain?"

Tetsuma nodded. "Yes. I was the only survivor."

There was no self-pity in his voice. No boasting. Just cold, hard truth.

Tobirama exhaled through his nose. "Unacceptable losses." He picked up a report and flipped through it. "I've already received intel about your skirmish with Sunagakure's ANBU. Ebizo himself, no less."

Tetsuma's green eyes darkened. "He was a formidable opponent."

Tobirama finally set down the reports and locked eyes with Tetsuma. "Your mission was a success, but at a great cost." He studied Tetsuma for a moment before speaking again. "Rest for two days. Then report to me again. We have much to discuss."

Tetsuma hesitated for a split second before nodding. "Understood, Lord Second."

As he turned to leave, Tobirama spoke once more, his voice quieter but firm. "And Tetsuma… do not forget the weight of the lives lost under your command. Use it. Make sure their deaths were not in vain."

Tetsuma paused at the door, his grip tightening slightly. "I never forget, Sensei."

And with that, he stepped out of the office—back into the shadows where he belonged.

Tetsuma moved through the Senju compound, his steps slow and deliberate.

It was eerily quiet.

The once-lively streets, where children used to play and merchants shouted their prices, now felt hollow.

He glanced at the houses lining the paths—some had their doors shut tightly, windows dark and empty. Families who had sent their loved ones to war… and never saw them return.

He knew the feeling well.

He had left with three squads. Now, he was the only one who came back.

His green eyes flickered with emotion for a brief second before he pushed it down.

War had always been cruel.

As he walked, a few familiar faces emerged—Senju clansmen who had stayed behind. Some greeted him with quiet nods, others simply avoided his gaze, their eyes filled with unspoken grief.

A little girl, no older than six, stood at the entrance of one home, clutching a wooden kunai. Her brown eyes met his, wide and curious.

"Are you a hero, Tetsuma-sama?" she asked.

He stopped, staring at her. The innocent question felt heavier than any battlefield.

Before he could answer, an older woman—her mother, no doubt—rushed forward, pulling the girl back inside. "Forgive her, Tetsuma-sama," she said, bowing slightly before shutting the door.

Tetsuma exhaled softly.

A hero?

No.

He was a survivor.

And in war, that was the most unforgivable thing of all.

With that final thought, he turned toward his home—toward brief rest before the war called him back once more.