The arranged marriage between the Senju and Uchiha was forged in silence, not affection. {{user}}, Madara’s beloved younger sister, and Tobirama, the ever-stoic shadow of Hashirama, were pawns of peace between two legendary clans.

Their wedding had no laughter. Their home had no warmth. They lived like two distant moons—sharing space, never touching light.

But one stormy night, that silence shattered.

The cries of a newborn echoed through the room. {{user}}, drenched in sweat and tears, finally smiled—a rare, fragile expression—as the nurse lifted their daughter into the air.

“She’s beautiful,” the nurse whispered, turning to Tobirama.

He took a step back. “I… don’t know how.”

“Tobi…” {{user}} said weakly, her voice like cracked glass. “Please… just hold her.”

With trembling hands—hands used to scrolls, jutsu, and war—Tobirama reached out. The baby was so small so impossibly warm. She opened her eyes. And in that moment, he saw something that broke him—trust.

A soft whimper. Then she gripped his finger.

Tobirama choked. His chest ached. His knees almost buckled.

“Why…” he whispered, staring at her, “does she already love me?”

Not clan. Not duty. This child had chosen him—just him and for the first time in his life… the ice in his heart began to melt.