The year was 36 of the Warring Clans Era. Snow fell like ash across the forest, thin and sharp, melting on contact with blood-warmed steel. And beneath that steel, Tatsuro stood—alive, but surrounded.
The Senju to the west.The Uchiha to the east.And in the middle?
Izuna Uchiha, bleeding out under a broken elm.
It had started with a rumor: that Hashirama and Madara had agreed to meet on neutral ground. A parley, they said. A chance to finally discuss peace—or vengeance. That was always the line.
But someone—a third force—had twisted that peace into a trap.
Tatsuro had sensed the bait immediately.
He didn't know who was behind it yet. But he did know that neither Madara nor Hashirama had ordered the assassination attempt.
Which meant someone wanted war to continue. Someone powerful.
And now, Izuna was paying the price.
Tatsuro knelt beside the Uchiha prodigy. The boy—just 15—was shivering, his Sharingan flickering weakly. A kunai was embedded deep in his side, the kind designed to break on impact and shred organs from the inside.
"Don't move," Tatsuro said calmly. "You'll tear what's left of your liver."
Izuna hissed. "Why… why are you helping me? We're not allies."
"No," Tatsuro replied, eyes scanning the tree line. "But we're not enemies either."
Shouts echoed in the distance. Senju scouts. Uchiha trackers. No doubt each side thought the other had betrayed the pact.
They were minutes away from finding them.
"I don't understand…" Izuna coughed. "Why risk… dying for me?"
"Because I believe in something bigger than old blood feuds," Tatsuro said. "And because if you die, Madara's rage will drown this entire country."
Tatsuro pulled a scroll from his belt—an emergency summoning seal—and activated it.
A stone serpent erupted from the ground, massive and pale, carved from raw chakra. It opened its jaws wide.
"Get in," Tatsuro ordered.
Izuna stared. "Are you insane?"
"Probably," Tatsuro said. "But I'm also your best chance at living."
Back in the Tatsugan stronghold, Izuna lay unconscious in Kaede's infirmary. The woman worked quickly, hands bloody to the wrist. Her chakra needles danced over his wound, sealing arteries, stitching fibers.
She glanced at Tatsuro, who hadn't left the doorway. "You're going to start a war by saving him."
"I might end one, too," he replied.
"Hashirama will thank you. Madara might kill you."
"I'll take the risk."
Days later, Izuna awoke.
His first instinct was to kill everyone in the room. His second was to vomit blood.
Kaede shoved him back down. "Try that again, and I'll knock your spine into your lungs."
Tatsuro entered behind her.
"You're lucky she's in a good mood," he said.
Izuna blinked slowly. "…You saved me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Tatsuro crouched beside the bed. "Because I need you alive. And because Madara and Hashirama still have a chance to stop this endless bloodshed. But not if they lose their brothers."
Izuna stared at him. "You… think Madara can be reasoned with?"
"I think Madara listens to one person," Tatsuro said. "You."
Silence stretched long and cold.
Then, Izuna whispered: "Then I owe you a life-debt."
Tatsuro smiled faintly. "Then repay it by helping your brother see reason. Help him remember peace."
The Uchiha and Senju nearly tore each other apart before Hashirama intervened personally. The meeting at the Valley of Ash Trees was tense—swords drawn, jutsu charged, every heartbeat a potential massacre.
But then Tatsuro arrived.
And with him, Izuna.
Alive.
Unbroken.
The world stopped.
Hashirama wept.
Madara froze.
And in that fragile moment, when everyone waited for a spark to ignite another war…
Tatsuro spoke.
"You were both played," he said, voice calm but ringing. "Someone wants you to destroy each other. I saved Izuna. Not for your gratitude. But because our children deserve a world that isn't soaked in corpses."
Madara's Sharingan flared. "And you think words will stop blades?"
"No," Tatsuro replied. "But I think actions speak louder."
He stepped forward and tossed something at Madara's feet.
A mask.
Painted in root-sewn ink. The same mask worn by the assassin who attacked Izuna. Neither Uchiha nor Senju.
"A new enemy?" Hashirama asked.
"An old one," Tatsuro answered. "But that's a story for another time."
That night, around a fire, Hashirama and Madara sat with Tatsuro for the first time as equals.
Not enemies.
Not allies.
Just three men tired of war.
"We should build something," Hashirama said. "A village."
"We should burn everything down first," Madara countered.
Tatsuro chuckled. "Or we do both."
They stared at him.
"You build something… and I'll burn down whatever threatens it."
Madara smirked. Hashirama laughed.
And the first thread of peace was born.
Back in the valley, Kaede found Tatsuro alone again. He was staring at the stars.
"You know this won't last," she said.
"I know."
"They'll fight again."
"Probably."
"So why keep pushing?"
Tatsuro turned to her. "Because someone has to believe peace is worth bleeding for. Even if it fails."
She reached out, touching his hand. "You're too soft to be a warlord."
"And you're too gentle to be a killer."
She kissed him then—soft, slow, lingering like a sunrise on a battlefield.
And for one night…
There was no war.
Only love.