Tobirama sat alone in his office, the candlelight flickering as the night deepened. The village outside was settling, its heartbeat slowing under the watchful gaze of the Hokage Monument. Yet his own mind remained restless, turning over the day's events, focusing on one figure in particular—Renzo.
The encounter had been brief, yet it had left a deep impression. Renzo had not displayed hostility, nor had he acted with arrogance. He had merely existed—like a force of nature, unmoved by Konoha's structures of power and authority. And that alone was enough to warrant concern.
Tobirama leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he considered his options. His instincts, honed through years of war and governance, told him that anything unknown was a potential threat. That was the foundation of his cautious nature—the reason he had built the ANBU, the reason he had structured the village's defenses so meticulously. And yet, for all his strategic foresight, Renzo was an anomaly.
There had been no malice in his actions, no hidden agenda that Tobirama could decipher. He had walked through Konoha as if merely observing, as if measuring something that only he could perceive. Tobirama had felt it in the way Renzo carried himself, in the way he met his gaze without defiance, without submission—only understanding.
The power Renzo wielded was undeniable. Tobirama had not needed a demonstration to know that he was a being beyond Kage-level, someone who had reached a plane of existence separate from mortal ambition. Power like that, unchecked, was dangerous. But more than power, what troubled Tobirama was Renzo's complete lack of desire. He had no political ambition, no attachment to wealth or status, no allegiance that could be leveraged.
People with great power could be reasoned with, influenced by their goals, by their attachments. But what did one do with a man who simply walked through the world, untouched by all of it?
Tobirama closed his eyes briefly. He had seen enough in his life to know that the greatest threats were not always the ones who attacked outright—they were the ones who stood apart, unknowable, beyond control.
Yet despite all this, he could not bring himself to label Renzo as an enemy.
Had he been younger, perhaps he would have sought a way to drive him out, to eliminate the uncertainty he posed. But now, as a person of Konoha, he understood that there were some forces in the world that could not be opposed directly. Not without disastrous consequences.
Renzo had not come to Konoha as an adversary. That much was clear. And if he was truly without ill intent, then to challenge him needlessly would be a grave mistake.
Tobirama exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.
No action would be taken against Renzo. He would be watched, of course—no one so powerful could move freely without scrutiny. But as long as he remained as he was, a wanderer with no destructive purpose, then Tobirama would let him be.
For now, Konoha would observe. And should the time ever come when Renzo's path shifted, Tobirama would be ready.
But until then, he would not provoke a storm that did not need to rage.