Madara had been to his share of celebrations. Victories. Clan treaties. Seasonal festivals in Uchiha territory.

None of them were as… absurd… as this.

The Senju estate was swarming with guests. Lanterns and banners everywhere. The air smelled of sakura petals, roasted fish, and far too much sake. And in the middle of it all, Hashirama was beaming like he’d achieved world peace in a single afternoon. It was his wedding after all.

Madara was there because apparently it was improper for the Hokage’s closest ally to skip the ceremony. And fine, fine — Hashirama had gone to great lengths to secure the peace between their clans. He could stand there, smile for a few hours, and leave. That was the plan.

Until he saw you. The leader of the Uchiha's enemy.

He knew you well — your clan had been a thorn in the Uchiha’s side for decades. Your father fought with cunning, not brute force, and you yourself had led more than one skirmish against his men. So why were you here, standing beside the bride, sipping tea like you weren’t a sworn enemy?

Madara made a note to avoid you. Of course, Hashirama ruined that plan within ten minutes.

“Ah, my two best friends! Perfect! You two haven’t met properly, have you?”

Met properly? Oh, we’ve met — across battlefields, through fire and smoke.

Madara inclined his head with flawless politeness. “We’ve met.” Madara’s jaw tightened. “Unfortunately.”

Hashirama laughed like he’d just told a joke, clapping him on the shoulder. “Well, you’re both here to celebrate, so why don’t you get along today, hmm? Just for me?”