He had not tried consciously using Wood Release jutsu—he didn't know any to begin with—nor had he attempted to access his chakra, mostly due to a lingering caution regarding what happens when someone tries to access their chakra for the first time.
Though it was difficult to ignore the way nature itself seemed to respond to his presence; flowers would bloom with a vibrant, unnatural brilliance whenever he drew near, and ancient trees seemed to bow their heavy branches in his direction. Even the wild animals, usually skittish and prone to flight, showed no fear toward him, watching and approaching him out of their own will. Petting a deer was pretty cute.
Scrubbing his skin raw with the soap, Hidetada fell back into his thoughts. The steam from the bath rose in thick, white plumes, curling against the dark wooden beams of the ceiling.
He recalled learning the truth when he was around three years old, there had been a catastrophic accident involving his Mokuton at the moment of his birth. The news had leaked out through from one way or another, outside the borders of the village, and his parents had been assassinated while trying to protect him from the attackers. To be entirely honest, Hidetada did not really care about their deaths, at most, he was grateful towards them for giving him a chance to live. It was likely the reason Nawaki had never been born in this timeline.
Private tutors had been hired to fill his days, and he had soaked up everything they could teach with a ravenous hunger. Having lived in a mundane, uninteresting world before his death, he was more than happy to dedicate all of his hours in the study of something as magical as ninjutsu.
An entire scroll containing all the knowledge that Hashirama possessed and wrote down had been passed down to him, though precautions had been taken to make sure nothing went wrong when he practiced those Jutsus.
Considering the sheer scale of most of those, more and more people started to notice something was off, even as the village tried everything and anything to supress all knowledge of his existence ever since the assassination of his parents, they were unsuccessful.
Hidetada took a bucket full of hot water and dumped it over his head, the sudden heat snapping him back to the present as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair.
Soon after his discovery, the assassination attempts had started to pile up, and so did the bodies of enemies and allies alike. By this point, his existence was no longer a secret; every rival village was desperate to eliminate anyone bearing the Senju name. This had led to Konoha retaliating with, launching black-ops missions to kill any and all shinobi with any potential of the other Hidden Villages.
The simmering dissatisfaction over Konoha claiming the largest and most fertile share of the land, combined with these targeted assassinations, had caused war to erupt across the nations. Each village scrambled to seize resources from smaller more defenseless villages. Anger reached a boiling point, and soon the world was engulfed in a cycle of war.
Drying himself with a towel, Hidetada couldn't help but flex his muscles, catching his reflection in the steamed-up mirror. Even though he was only fifteen, his physique had become become rather defined after years of continuous hardwork.
Tracing the hard outline of his abdominal muscles, he dropped the towel and reached for the robes Mito had arranged neatly in a woven basket. He slipped into the high-quality fabric, the silk moving smoothly against his skin.
Now, the only members of the Senju clan remaining were himself, his grandmother, and his sister. The thought of Tsunade brought a pang of ache to his heart as he remembered their final encounter before she departed for the front lines.
Opening the door of the bathroom, Hidetada stepped out into the hallway and closed it softly behind him. His dry feet tapped rhythmically against the polished floorboards as he headed toward the dining room. Even without consciously sensing her chakra, he knew Mito would be waiting.
Within a few seconds, he reached the room and stepped inside, a small smile gracing his lips at the sight of Mito sitting patiently at the opposite end of the table. Hidetada folded his legs and sat down, looking appreciatively at the feast spread before him. As a shinobi of his caliber, he had to consume between five thousand and six thousand calories daily, packed with protein to fuel the immense physical demands of his training.
Glancing up at his grandmother, Hidetada greeted her with a smirk. "You can't complain about me stinking anymore, grandma. And I definitely wasn't stinking before, mind you, but I've scrubbed myself pink and raw until there isn't a single dead cell remaining on my skin."
Mito tried to contain her smile, shaking her head before sternly telling him to stop talking and start eating. Flashing a grin, he offered a quick word of thanks for the meal and dug in. The spread was a perfect balance of essential nutrients, fibers, proteins, and carbohydrates designed to sustain him for the entire day. Food prepared by his grandmother's hands was always perfect, no matter the ingredients.
Mastering chopsticks had been an agonizing process when he first started eating on his own in this world. Though forks and spoons existed, they were rarely used in traditional households. It was just another idiosyncrasy of this reality.
The technological timeline of this world made absolutely no sense to him. Modern plumbing, televisions, and radios were readily available, yet other aspects of society seemed to lag a hundred years behind. There were no mobile phones, no trains, and no long-distance telecommunications. Then again, Hidetada couldn't complain; those inconsistencies were part of the charm of this world. Even as he ate vigorously, his thoughts kept flashing back to the war.
Soon enough, both he and Mito had finished. He set aside his chopsticks and leaned back in his seat."You know, when I said you stank, I wasn't talking about the way you smelled."
Hidetada paused before flashing her an embarrassed grin, her negative emotions sensing technique was too much of a chest. Please nerf.
"The war has been stressing you out, has it not?" Mito leaned forward, resting her chin gently on her folded hands, looking at him. "You know you can ask me anything. I still play an important role in the inner workings of the village."
Exhaling slowly, he placed his hands on the edge of the table and met her gaze. "Where is Tsunade? Is she safe? That's all I want to know."
She paused for a second, her hands drifting down to lift a cup of tea. She took a slow sip, savoring the brew before answering. "She has been relocated to the Sand Village front lines. Her expertise was required to counter the specialized poisons of Sunagakure's Puppet Corps. And yes, she is fine, she is doing very well, if that puts your worries to rest."
Hidetada's muscles finally relaxed. The tight coil in his stomach subsided at the confirmation of her safety. "Yes, that does put my worries to rest."
With a calm nod, he stood up and thanked her for the meal once more. As he turned to leave, Mito's voice rang out behind him, reminding him not to be late for their evening lessons on sealing. With a final nod, he walked out into the morning air.
...
Sitting atop the Hokage Rock, Hidetada looked down at the vista of Konoha sprawling in all directions. The original houses and walls had been raised by Hashirama himself, though now, as more people flooded in for the security the village provided during wartime, new construction would be needed to expand the number of houses and apartments.
Even the lush greenery within the village walls was a product of Hashirama's design. Perhaps that was why Konoha produced so many prodigies compared to other nations; if the cells of his grandfather were as potent as legend suggested, then the very trees that leaked his residual chakra into the air would surely nourish those who grew up among them. In that sense, his own Mokuton wasn't much different. Which made the mystery of both his and his grandfather's existence even more interesting.
Flashing through a series of hand signs while carefully avoiding the gaze of the ANBU tailing him, he molded his chakra. A few dozen trees erupted from the rocky surface around him, their trunks and branches thick and robust.
These trees were vastly superior to normal timber, infused with a fire-resistance born from his intuitive inclusion of Water Style chakra. Glancing at the new growth at the forest's edge, he could immediately differentiate his creations from the native flora.
While Hidetada was glad at the fact that he had inherited the bloodline, it was still a little strange. No one else in the original series had been able to use Mokuton except for Hashirama. Even those implanted with his cells were not able to reach the heights that he did.
Standing up and dusting his clothes with a frown, Hidetada couldn't help but wonder internally, 'Am I the reincarnation of Asura?' It seemed unlikely, but if he was, why him? And who was the reincarnation of Indra in this era?
These were questions for which he had no answers. He didn't even know of any prominent Uchiha born in this specific period. He mused silently, 'Was Fugaku born at the same time as me? No, I think he was closer to Minato's age. Then again, I might be wrong.'
His knowledge of the original canon was beginning to fade, the memories becoming hazy as the years passed. Perhaps it was time to write it all down in English. Then again, he was starting to forget that language as well, having not spoken or written a word of it in nearly fifteen years.
The day was still young, and he had much to do.
Stepping to the very edge of the Hokage Rock, Hidetada looked down at the staggering drop to the village floor. 'Would I be able to survive this fall?' A smirk tugged at his lips at the thought of terrifying the ANBU hiding in the shadows. With the decision made, he stepped off the smooth edge, begining the free fall towards the ground.
The wind rushed past his face with a furious roar, whipping dust into his eyes and causing his long brown hair to swing erratically in the gale. A grin widened across his lips as the familiar, electric thrill of adrenaline flooded his system. As his descent picked up speed, he began to skid across the vertical surface of the stone face to bleed off some of his momentum.
Once the distance to the ground had shrunken to a mere few dozen feet, he pushed off the stone with a concentrated burst of chakra, plummeting toward the earth. Just before impact, he flipped through the air and landed in a perfect, heavy crouch.
"That was pretty fun," he whispered to himself, looking back up at the sheer height he had just jumped off of. Actually, It was probably not a very good idea to jump off something that high. But he was safe and sound was he not?
Running both hands through his hair to straighten the mess the wind had made, Hidetada set off toward his destination. His heart rate slowed back to a calm, steady throb as he walked. This was what life was truly about, giving into his intrusive thoughts and just living it freely. Soon enough, he felt the presence of the ANBU return. He didn't need the ability to sense negative emotions to know they were terrified. Though it was for a good reason, most experienced Ninjas would have survived that fall with major to minor injuries to the bones. He, however was not a normal Ninja, with the blood of both the Senju and Uzumaki Bloodlines flowing through him, it had bestowed upon him an unmatched constitution and unparalleled Chakra Levels.
As his granduncle would say, another reason why the Senjus were superior to the Uchihas.
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Word Count: 2060.