Taji laughed as Tsunade tried—yet again—to land a solid hit on him. The young girl, barely five years old, pouted in frustration as her tiny fists swung wildly at the older boy, who effortlessly dodged each attempt with a playful grin.
"Come on, Taji! Stand still!" Tsunade whined, her golden eyes burning with determination. "I'm gonna be Hokage one day, so you better take me seriously!"
Taji chuckled, ruffling her hair before stepping back. "You're strong, Tsunade. But strength isn't just about hitting your target. It's about knowing when to strike and when to wait."
Mito Uzumaki watched them with a fond smile, sipping her tea. Across from her, Hashirama chuckled, though his laughter soon turned into a soft cough. He waved off Mito's worried glance before turning his attention back to their guest.
Renzō sat in perfect stillness, his golden eyes half-lidded as he observed the shop, the people, the village. He had spoken little since their arrival, his presence neither commanding nor diminishing the space around him. He simply was.
"You've been through many places," Hashirama finally said, his voice carrying both curiosity and quiet respect. "And yet, you remain untethered. I wonder, Renzō—what do you seek?"
Renzō took a moment before answering. "Nothing."
Mito's brows lifted slightly. "Nothing?"
The sage nodded. "To seek is to be bound. I have let go."
Hashirama leaned back, thoughtful. "Yet, you still move. A man who has truly let go has no need for the world."
Renzō turned his gaze toward him. "The wind does not seek, yet it moves."
Hashirama chuckled, shaking his head. "You speak in riddles."
Mito's gaze lingered on Renzō, her sharp Uzumaki instincts sensing something beyond mere words. "You've seen much of this world, haven't you?"
Renzō offered a small nod.
"How much?" she pressed. "How far back do your memories stretch?"
Taji, now sitting cross-legged beside Tsunade, perked up at the question. He, too, had wondered about this. His master never spoke of the past, only of the present, of what was.
Renzō looked down at the tea in his hands. The liquid stilled completely, mirroring his presence—unmoved by time, untouched by turmoil.
"Long before the Great Wars," he finally answered. "Before the world shaped itself into villages, into nations, into conflict."
A hush settled over the table.
Hashirama's expression grew somber. "Then you have seen what we fight to change. What we hope to build."
Renzō did not reply immediately. Instead, he observed the bustling village beyond the shop's open door. The laughter of children. The steady steps of shinobi. The warmth of a community that stood together.
"Change is neither good nor bad," he said at last. "It simply is."
Mito studied him. "And yet, you have taught the boy," she gestured toward Taji, "so you must believe in something."
For the first time, a small smile tugged at Renzō's lips. "I believe in the journey."
Hashirama exhaled, watching the sage with renewed interest. "Then perhaps, Renzō, your journey has led you here for a reason."
Renzō tilted his head slightly, considering the words but offering no agreement, no denial. The tea in his cup remained still.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the quiet understanding between them deepened. The First Hokage, the Uzumaki Matriarch, and the Wandering Sage—three individuals bound not by duty, but by the weight of time itself.