·Chapter 6: A MistakeYesterday 9:05 PM·For saleShare"Haa…"
Hashirama's breathing quickened.
In just one moment, he could end the life of the bandit standing right in front of him.
And yet, his hand—the one gripping the kunai—was trembling.
He still couldn't do it.
Even knowing this man might have killed before…
Even though Hashirama had never thought of himself as a champion of justice, or someone who had to "uphold righteousness"...
He knew one thing for certain:
This is a world of shinobi.
Just like Senju Butsuma had said—he needed to overcome the psychological barrier of killing, or he would be killed himself.
There was no choice.
This was something he had to do.
Even though his target was nothing more than a low-level bandit, someone who lived by the blade, Hashirama's hesitation had already given the man time to react.
Any further delay, and the man would definitely become alert.
Hashirama understood this perfectly.
> "...Sorry."
With a whispered apology in his heart, Hashirama's eyes sharpened.
His hand still trembled—but this time, he didn't stop.
He drove the kunai into the man's back.
---
The blade pierced.
Blood sprayed.
The hot, iron-scented liquid splattered across Hashirama's delicate young face, sending a jolt through his entire body.
> "AAAHHH!!"
The man screamed in agony.
The sudden cry instantly roused the others inside the cave.
Those closest to the entrance turned and saw the image burned into their minds:
A child, clad in battle armor, had just stabbed a fellow bandit in the back with a kunai.
--
> "Still inexperienced. He hesitated—missed the vital spot."
Outside the cave, the watching Senju elites observed calmly.
Each of them had experienced this same moment during their first kill.
Hashirama's strike had landed slightly off-target—he hadn't hit the heart directly.
That's why the man could still scream.
But something puzzled them.
By Hashirama's physical capability, he should've been able to correct his error immediately—a second strike to the throat would've silenced the scream.
So why hadn't he?
Most of the observing Senju chalked it up to a slow reaction due to inexperience.
But one man squinted at Hashirama's expression.
Though the boy clearly looked shaken, his panic didn't seem to stem from the bandit's cry or the fact that the others were now awake.
There was something else.
---
Due to Butsuma's earlier orders, none of the Senju intended to intervene immediately.
Back at the cave entrance, the wounded bandit—while not dead—was already incapacitated.
Hashirama stood frozen in place, his hand still trembling.
His face twisted, the innocence of his features warped by fear and guilt.
And inside the cave, the bandits had now fully reacted.
They grabbed their weapons, gathered together, and locked bloodthirsty eyes on the boy.
Hashirama raised his head slowly to meet those glares.
He couldn't hide the flicker of fear in his eyes.
After all, he had never killed before.
Compared to these men—who had taken lives without hesitation—he lacked presence, composure, and killing intent.
But none of the bandits underestimated him.
That armor, and the way he had already stabbed a fellow bandit, said everything they needed to know.
He was a shinobi.
And in this era—without the Five Great Nations, without shinobi villages—"ninja" was synonymous with death itself to criminals and civilians alike.
Even if he was just a child.
---
Hashirama knew he couldn't fake calm.
He wasn't mentally equipped to meet the gaze of a dozen murderous men like this.
Shhhk!
He suddenly yanked the kunai free from the wounded bandit's back.
The motion splattered more blood across his shoulder plates, but Hashirama ignored it.
He charged forward.
Thanks to the mountain terrain, only a small portion of the cave was lit by sunlight. The visibility inside was low.
That meant he could at least avoid looking directly into the eyes of the bandits.
But…
From the Senju's perspective outside, Hashirama had just done something incredibly foolish.
In terms of raw ability, Hashirama was far above these bandits, who didn't even know how to use chakra.
With his speed and agility, he could've picked them off one by one.
But instead—he had leapt directly into the middle of the group.
Which meant he was now surrounded.
Now, even if a ninja could typically survive such a scenario, Hashirama had never killed before.
Against ruthless opponents who wouldn't hesitate to strike, that hesitation could cost him dearly.
He had placed himself in the most dangerous situation possible.
Still, from the perspective of the Senju elites watching him, this wasn't entirely a mistake.
Yes, it was a rash move, born of inexperience.
But putting himself in such danger… might also be the very thing that forced him to adapt.
---
With all eyes on him, Hashirama leapt again—fast, sharp.
His kunai slashed toward a bandit's throat.
A thin line of blood arced into the air.
But—the man didn't die.
Hashirama's strike had landed just below the jawbone, missing the vital spot.
---
> "That doesn't make sense..."
One of the Senju elites frowned.
From everything they'd seen of Hashirama's training, he shouldn't have missed twice.
His technique wasn't sloppy.
The margin for error was small—but somehow, every time he went for a vital point… he missed.
And worse—this time, the partial injury had triggered the bandits' full bloodlust.
Every last one of them lunged toward him in a frenzy.
---
A chaotic blur of blades swung from all directions.
The edge of every weapon reflected cold silver light in Hashirama's dark eyes, his pupils shrinking in shock.
His body tensed. Panic surged through him.
But—he still had the reflexes.
CLANG!
He deflected several of the first incoming blades with his kunai, redirecting them into one another.
In the chaos, he managed to leap again.
This time, he struck toward another bandit—aiming directly for the temple.
But again…
He missed.
The kunai pierced the man's cheek, slid through his mouth, and lodged in flesh—but not deep enough to kill.
---
> "Another miss?"
Outside, the Senju elite were utterly baffled.
By all accounts, Hashirama's performance during training was exceptional for his age.
Yet here—every strike missed the kill zone by just a few centimeters.
Not by much. But just enough to fail.
---
Something was wrong.
Something deep.
And no one could figure out what it was.
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