"Morita, want to grab a drink together?"
Senju Tobirama spoke calmly.
"How could I refuse an invitation from Department Head Tobirama himself?"
Morita smiled immediately, and Senju Hashirama cheerfully patted his shoulder.
In just a short time, he'd developed a favorable impression of this young man.
Uchiha Madara remained outwardly indifferent, saying nothing.
In recent years, Madara's relationship with the others had improved greatly—especially after Naruto promised him that as long as he accumulated enough contribution merits, he would help revive his younger brother, Uchiha Izuna.
Based on Madara's current merit count, it should be possible by next year.
After the first few revivals, Naruto stopped reviving people casually.
Only shinobi who made exceptional, irreplaceable contributions would qualify for a revival slot.
Madara technically could revive Izuna on his own, but the resulting body would be damaged and incomplete. Naruto's promise—reviving Izuna in perfect condition—was far more meaningful, and it made Madara genuinely hopeful for the future.
Today was one of Madara's rare days off, dragged out by Hashirama to walk around the city.
The Shinobi World had developed at breakneck speed in the last few years.
Aside from Tobirama—who oversaw much of that development—Hashirama barely understood modern technology. When he wasn't sneaking off to casinos or playing in arcades, he was either training or spending time with Madara.
Today, he had dragged Madara out specifically to "experience the vibrancy of the new world."
Hashirama truly loved this new era.
The group soon picked a spot and booked a private room.
The shop's owner greeted Morita enthusiastically but barely glanced at Hashirama, Madara, or Tobirama—assuming they were just Morita's ordinary friends.
Only shinobi of Kage-level and above would be able to sense the subtle pressure the three of them naturally emitted. To everyone else, they looked like three unremarkable men.
After they placed their order, Tobirama looked at Morita and asked:
"Morita, are you interested in working under me?"
Tobirama was genuinely impressed with the young man's personality and sharpness.
He valued intelligence—and Morita had both cleverness and character, a rare combination.
"Hahaha, thank you for the compliment, Department Head Tobirama. But I prefer my current job, and I doubt I'd be of any real use in your department. I'd just get in the way."
Morita spoke lightly, though he understood exactly what Tobirama meant—this was an attempt at recruitment and future cultivation.
But he was satisfied with the life he already had.
No desire for high-pressure advancement. No competition. No politics.
Just peace.
Tobirama observed him closely, confirming that Morita truly had no ambition for status or power. The realization made Tobirama feel an odd hint of longing.
He himself wanted to slow down someday… to rest… maybe even retire.
But the responsibility for the world's future weighed heavily on him.
The road ahead was long, and the burden was immense.
Researching new technologies was one of the few joys that kept him going.
And the looming Ōtsutsuki threat—known only to a handful of top personnel—made relaxation nearly impossible.
"Yes… that kind of life is indeed enviable."
Tobirama exhaled softly.
Without the coming crisis, he could hardly imagine such a peaceful world existing at all.
The Shinobi World now had high productivity; almost everyone was well-fed and pursuing better lives.
This was likely the kind of world he and his elder brother had dreamed of.
No wonder Hashirama had been so relaxed these past few years.
Aside from his playfulness, Hashirama spent all his remaining time training—more rigorously than anyone else.
Only Tobirama knew how desperately his brother wanted to personally protect this hard-won era.
"Hahaha, yes! This life is far better than what we used to have."
Morita, thinking Tobirama was just making conversation, responded enthusiastically.
"If I could choose, I'd want to become a Mech Pilot."
Just as he said that, the dishes arrived. Morita stood and helped arrange the plates. When he sat back down, Tobirama asked with genuine interest:
"Oh? You want to become a Mech Pilot?"
Hashirama paused mid-bite, widening his eyes.
Madara, who had been quietly lifting his chopsticks, also looked over.
Every man understood—giant mechs were humanity's universal dream.
No one disliked mechs.
In fact, the three founders had come out today specifically to visit the newest mech exhibition.
They planned to head there right after dinner.
Madara's fascination with mechs came largely from their resemblance to Susanoo. In truth, his Susanoo's combat power was already equal to—if not beyond—that of most mechs on the market. As his strength continued to grow, even the strongest models were no longer his match.
But none of that diminished his fondness for Susanoo.
If anything, it made him curious.
He wanted to know what it would feel like to pilot a mech while wielding Susanoo at the same time.
"Of course. These days, who doesn't love mechs? Power is important, sure—but looking cool is what really matters."
Morita laughed loudly.
Tobirama let out a small chuckle.
He knew full well that true strength was the foundation; aesthetics were an afterthought.
But he didn't correct him—this kind of enthusiasm was refreshing.
"It's just…" Morita sighed, "with my salary, buying a mech is impossible for now. My only path is to join the Imperial Mech Pilot Department. But honestly, even that would be a dream come true."
A longing expression surfaced on Morita's face.
With his current ability, he was already qualified to pilot a Super-Kage–class mech.
The reason mechs had become so popular was obvious: they allowed ordinary shinobi to unleash far greater power.
The alloy plating used in modern mechs surpassed traditional Chakra Metal by an entire era.
Even more astonishing: Ninjutsu could be activated from within the cockpit—and almost all of them were instant-cast.
After all, the hand seals of Ninjutsu were simply a way of shaping Chakra into specific circuits to induce the transformation needed for a technique.
Today, that entire process could be engraved directly into the mech's internal systems.
Much like the scientific ninja tools developed in the Boruto era—but far more advanced.
Those tools were the product of slow, natural progression.
Modern mech technology, however, had grown under decisive, centralized support from the Empire.
Naturally, high-end systems came with a price.
Super-Kage–tier mechs were heavily restricted. Only a small number of older-generation units were occasionally released for wealthy civilians to purchase.
The Empire needed sustainable funding for mech research and development, and these controlled sales were one of the most effective methods.
Civilian models and low-end units, however, were fully open to the public.
Low-end mechs could match Kage-level capability—but "Kage-level" no longer carried the weight it once did.
In the modern era, if a child failed to reach Genin in their first year, they were considered lacking in aptitude.
If they failed to reach Chūnin in two years, they were deemed underperformers.
If they couldn't reach Jōnin in four years, they were classified as incompetent.
The baseline for a true prodigy had become reaching Kage-level, and anything below that was jokingly referred to as still being in their "developmental stage."
Reaching Kage-level before the age of thirteen made one a genius; reaching it after fifteen made one merely talented.
By those standards, the original Konoha 12 were considered talented youths—with only Naruto, Sasuke, and Hyūga Neji qualifying as true geniuses.