Tobirama stood motionless at the edge of the training grounds, his sharp eyes tracking every move Itama made. From behind a veil of trees and shadow, the Hokage's younger brother had spent nearly an hour observing, silent as a ghost.
Itama's movements were crisp and economical. He drilled basic taijutsu combinations, interspersed with bursts of chakra control exercises. He moved alone, as he had every day since returning. No sparring partners. No witnesses. Just relentless repetition.
It wasn't the physical aspect that caught Tobirama's attention. It was the way Itama moved—deliberately restrained, careful. As if concealing something.
Tobirama turned from the tree line and disappeared into the forest, moving swiftly through undergrowth until he reached a tall oak. At its base, a Senju shinobi stepped from the shadows—a young reconnaissance operative with pale eyes and a slender build.
"Report," Tobirama ordered.
The scout gave a crisp nod. "As requested, we've tracked Itama's movements for seven days. He trains alone, returns to camp at designated times, completes his patrols. Nothing irregular… except…"
"Except?" Tobirama's voice was cold and sharp.
"Three nights ago," the scout replied, lowering his voice. "He left camp after curfew. No patrol assignment. He moved east into the woods, remained there for two hours, then returned. No contact with known allies."
"Chakra signatures?"
"Masked," the scout said. "Expert suppression. Almost completely undetectable."
Tobirama's lips thinned.
"You'll continue," he said after a pause. "Add two more to the rotation. No one approaches him directly. No confrontation. Not yet."
"Yes, Lord Tobirama."
The scout vanished with a flicker of movement.
Tobirama stood there a moment longer, his arms crossed behind his back. His thoughts were a current beneath calm waters.
Itama's return had not sat easily with him. Not since the moment he walked into camp, alive when he should have been bones in the dirt. Tobirama had wanted to celebrate like Hashirama, to welcome his brother with warmth and disbelief. But the years had taught him better. There were always cracks beneath miracles.
And now those cracks were widening.
He moved back through the camp with his usual purpose. None dared question his presence—Tobirama moved like a blade: swift, silent, and lethal. He passed shinobi preparing for a mission, others returning from one, and those sharpening kunai or eating in silence. All part of the wheel that kept Konoha turning.
But his mind was fixed on only one spoke.
Later that evening, he entered the war council chamber, where a scroll awaited him. A series of field reports had been compiled from the border skirmish with the Fuma clan. Tobirama sat in silence as he read.
Then he paused.
A notation near the end caught his eye.
Healer on field: Itama Senju. Applied high-level chakra suppression to ease enemy death throes. Refused interrogation. Acted independently.
Tobirama closed the scroll slowly.
He had heard of this. A whisper among the squads. That Itama had chosen mercy—or evasion—over intelligence gathering.
Hashirama had dismissed it.
Tobirama had not.
The next night, he assigned a sensor-nin to tail Itama personally. A woman named Suzume, known for her subtlety and high chakra sensitivity. She could hide her presence like mist in morning light.
She returned at dawn, pale and tense.
"He spoke to someone," she said.
Tobirama's head lifted slightly.
"Describe."
"He was in the woods, kneeling beside a tree. At first I thought he was meditating… but he was speaking. Quietly. I couldn't detect any other chakra signature nearby, but… he wasn't talking to himself. It sounded like a conversation."
Tobirama's voice darkened. "What did he say?"
Suzume hesitated. "Only fragments. He mentioned 'old truths'… and 'the burden of names.' Then he said something about needing time. That he wasn't ready to show them yet."
"Show them what?"
She shook her head. "I don't know."
Tobirama stood slowly. "Double the surveillance. I want seals laid around the camp perimeter. Nothing visible. He mustn't know we're watching."
"Sir… if he finds out—"
"Then we'll know what he's hiding."
For days, Tobirama rotated his most trusted ANBU through shifts. They mapped Itama's routes, recorded his training techniques, and even took fragments of cloth and soil from his gear to test for foreign substances or unfamiliar chakra residue. Nothing overt was discovered. No hidden meetings. No forbidden scrolls. No contact with Uchiha or rogue agents.
But Tobirama's instincts howled with warning.
Itama's chakra had changed. Not in size or type, but in tone. There was something muted within it, something veiled.
And it was not the chakra of the same boy who had once charged recklessly into battle with fire in his eyes.
Tobirama watched him one evening from the roof of a longhouse, perched like a silent sentinel. Below, Itama stood near the creek that ran beside camp, tossing small stones into the water.
He wasn't training.
He wasn't patrolling.
He was thinking.
Tobirama hated that most of all.
Because Itama had never been one to dwell in silence. And silence meant calculation.
Calculation meant secrets.
And secrets were the first roots of betrayal.
As the moon rose, Tobirama turned away and descended into shadow.
He would uncover the truth. Not for vengeance. Not even for suspicion.
But for the safety of the Senju name.
Even if it meant placing his own brother under the blade of judgment.