Chapter 14: The Peace-Lover Who Died Before Peace Arrived
The sealing jutsu flared into existence and vanished in the same breath. Uchiha Izuna felt control slam back into his body, a jarring sensation that immediately screamed wrongness. He whipped around.
He saw only one thing: Stelle, standing where he had been a moment ago, a sword piercing straight through her heart.
Izuna's body swayed, the world tilting on its axis. His mind went blank, utterly incapable of processing the scene. Everything had been fine. How had it come to this in the span of a single heartbeat?
Stelle's strength gave out. She had none left to even stand, and her body tipped backward in a dead fall.
Izuna caught her with hands that trembled so violently he could barely feel them. The impact sent them both to their knees, his own strength seeming to evaporate with hers. He didn't dare touch the wound, his vision already blurring with hot, panicked tears.
"How did this happen?" he cried out, his voice cracking. "Big Brother Hashirama! Brother!"
He was as helpless as a child, his mind capable of nothing more than calling for the aid of his elders.
In the next instant, two figures blurred past him. Senju Hashirama's hands were already glowing with the green light of the Mystical Palm Technique, pressing against the wound in a desperate attempt to stem the bleeding. Uchiha Madara, meanwhile, produced a high-level healing scroll, snapping it open to envelop Stelle in its potent, life-sustaining aura.
For a moment, the world fell utterly silent, the only sound the ragged, heavy breathing of the men kneeling around her.
Off to the side, Black Zetsu was completely frozen, its mind reeling. It had successfully possessed the Senju clansman and launched the attack. Its hand had just brushed against Uchiha Izuna's back. But before it could execute the final, fatal push, bizarre runes had erupted across Izuna's body, and its own puppet had been locked in place.
It remained in the exact posture of its attack, stiff as a board, its beady eyes wide with horror.
What was going on?
Its plan hadn't even been fully applied. The countermeasures it had prepared were still waiting in the wings. How had Uchiha Izuna suddenly been controlled by some unknown fūinjutsu, only to have her heart meet the tip of the sword instead?
This was precisely the outcome it had envisioned, but with the roles reversed. It had planned to manipulate the situation so that Senju Tobirama would be forced to kill Uchiha Izuna.
What had just happened?
It had no idea. Absolutely none!
It hadn't even done anything yet! Could it be that it had somehow, unknowingly, mastered the ability to control people with its thoughts alone?
Why did everything feel so strange, so prone to failure, ever since that damned Sōjin's subordinates appeared? This feeling—of being poised to stir up monumental chaos, only for the event to conclude before it even began, and with a result completely contrary to its goals—was driving Black Zetsu to the brink of madness.
Someone, please, tell it what on earth was going on!
Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama acted in concert. One slammed the possessed Senju clansman to the ground while the other bound him tight with a cage of writhing wood.
After neutralizing the threat, they rushed back to Stelle's side.
Under the combined power of the healing scroll and Hashirama's ninjutsu, Stelle finally regained a sliver of strength. She parted her lips, her voice a faint, struggling whisper.
"I'm... fine..."
A moment passed, and she seemed to realize how absurd the lie was. A weak, self-deprecating smile curled her lips.
"It seems... there is something wrong after all. I'm sorry... I won't be able to walk with everyone... in the days to come..." Her gaze drifted between them, filled with a deep sadness. "I'll leave the village... and the peace we dreamed of... to you all."
"No! You'll be fine!" Uchiha Izuna choked out, fumbling to lift her. "I'll take you home. We'll find more medical-nin. You said it yourself—there's strength in numbers! They can save you. Yes, that's it." He was rambling, his words a jumbled, desperate mess.
"Don't..." Stelle whispered, her breath hitching. "Let me... speak a bit more... or there won't be time."
With a great effort, she turned her head, her eyes searching for the figure standing just beyond the circle of her rescuers. Senju Tobirama.
He was weeping silently, not a single sound escaping his lips. His face, usually a mask of calm restraint, was utterly shattered. His right hand, the one that had held the sword, shook uncontrollably, the tremors running through his entire body.
"Tobirama..."
The faint call seemed to pierce through his shock. He wanted to step forward, but his feet felt rooted to the earth. He managed a single, stumbling step before freezing, not daring to get any closer, just standing there, lost.
"Don't... blame yourself..." she rasped, each word a monumental effort. "Someone... plotted against us... They wanted... you to kill... Izuna... to break... the alliance... Don't let... them succeed..."
Even as she lay dying, her thoughts were for them.
"...I... know..." Senju Tobirama's voice was a mangled thing, squeezed from a throat tight with grief.
"No matter what..." she continued, her eyes softening, "at least you are all... still alive and well... That's the most important thing..."
But what about her? They were alive, but she was dying. Just like every time before. She had worked so hard to save them, desperately, throwing herself into harm's way without a second thought. It never mattered if her body was covered in wounds or if her chakra was depleted to the point of collapse; she always valued their lives more than her own. They had all become so strong, so why was this still happening?
"Konoha... will surely be... beautiful..."
With that final, whispered sentence, her eyes fluttered closed.
The site for the village had been chosen. Everything was ready. If she had just held on a little longer, she would have seen the peaceful home they had all longed for. But she had closed her eyes forever—to save them, to preserve the alliance, to secure a peace she would never witness.
In that moment, Senju Tobirama felt his own heart stop beating. His legs gave out, and he collapsed weakly to the ground. He bowed his head, his expression hidden from view, but his shoulders—the shoulders of a man so composed he wouldn't flinch if the sky itself fell—shook with uncontrollable sobs.
"You're Tobirama, right? I'm here to challenge you!"
"Well, making someone cry is a bit strange, but lending a shoulder is also strange. Is it too late for me to lend mine now?"
"You just think too much, that's why you're always so serious. At least we're all still alive, and that's good enough."
"Tobirama, can't you be less calm? You're like a wooden man."
"Tobirama..."
He reached out, his trembling fingers closing around her hand as its warmth steadily faded. The silent grief finally broke, and he wept.
That day, when Senju Tobirama carried Stelle's body back to the clan compound, everyone who saw them thought their eyes were deceiving them.
Hadn't the clans allied? The Daimyō was still unaware, so staging a few fake matches to earn some funds wasn't shameful. But how could the clan's third-in-command go out for one such match and never come back?
Senju Butsuma, now fully retired, heard the news and had his attendant urgently push his wheelchair to the main hall. When he saw for himself that Stelle was truly gone, he, too, was stunned.
He watched his second son standing there, preternaturally calm and steady, his back as straight as a pine tree as he personally arranged every detail of the funeral preparations. But Butsuma could see the truth. It wasn't a lack of grief, but a suppression so extreme it was as if even breathing too loudly might disturb the woman lying in state.
Senju Butsuma let out a long, weary sigh. Just two days ago, Tobirama had come to him, finally admitting his feelings for her. Butsuma had still been considering how to properly arrange the betrothal gifts. In the span of a few days, she was gone.
The coffin was buried. A new tombstone was erected in the clan cemetery.
Watching the rain fall from a slate-grey sky, Senju Tobirama suddenly remembered the day he first met Stelle. It had also been a rainy day, at the funeral for Itama and so many other clansmen.
At the time, many people were crying, but he alone held back. He had been strong and stoic since childhood, always feeling that crying was an admission of defeat. No matter how deep his sorrow, he would never let it show.
It was then that he saw her.
She stood behind the crowd, quietly observing him. She probably thought he hadn't noticed, but a shinobi's senses had alerted him to her presence the moment the stranger appeared. She had seemed intensely curious about him, about why he wasn't crying. He even saw a flicker of what looked like heartache for him in her eyes, a notion he found absurd.
After the funeral, he met her again in the main residence.
She did something he couldn't comprehend for the longest time: she declared she wanted to make him cry, to help him vent his sadness. No one else in the world would think of "making someone cry" as a method of comfort.
He wanted to cry now. He wanted to break down completely.
But the person who had wanted to make him cry was now buried forever beneath the cold, damp earth.
That peace-loving woman had died just like that, right before peace finally arrived.
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