Tsunade produced a pair of dice cups from sowhere.
She squatted down on the ground and patted the spot beside her.
"Sit here."
She sounded like a toddler trying to imitate an adult, attempting to be fierce but coming off as purely adorable.
Kitahara Kaede didn't sit beside her. Instead, he crossed his legs and sat directly opposite her.
Tsunade's face soured. "I said, sit here!"
"I can see better from across from you."
Tsunade glared at him for two seconds.
Deciding that wasn't enough, she added another second.
Eventually, she likely decided that arguing with this stubborn brat was beneath her. She huffed and began explaining the rules.
"Each person shakes once, then guess high or low. If you guess right, you win; if you're wrong, you lose. The loser gives the winner one piece of candy."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of candies, pouring them in a pile between them.
They were colorful and glistened under the sunlight.
She counted them once.
Not feeling entirely confident, she counted them again.
Then, while Kitahara Kaede was looking down at the dice cups, she stealthily slid a few of the largest pieces toward her side.
Her technique was clumsy, but her mindset was that of a seasoned pro.
"These are the stakes," she said, looking up at him with total confidence. "Do you have any?"
Kitahara Kaede felt his pockets.
Empty.
"No."
Tsunade scanned him from head to toe.
Her gaze clearly scread two words: *poor brat.*
At least she didn't say it out loud.
After a mont of hesitation, she pinched five candies from her pile and pushed them toward him.
"I'm lending these to you. If you lose them all, you have to pay back."
"Fine."
"Double."
"...Fine."
Only then was Tsunade satisfied.
She grabbed the dice cup, cupped it in both hands, and shook it vigorously.
Closing her eyes, she muttered sothing under her breath—though what it was remained a mystery.
*Clap!* She slamd the cup face-down on the ground.
"High!"
She lifted the cup. Eleven.
Tsunade stifled a giggle, her eyes curving into crescents. She tilted her chin toward Kitahara Kaede.
"Your turn."
Kitahara Kaede gave the cup a casual shake and pressed it down.
Three.
Tsunade's hand moved with the speed of a seasoned thief, and one candy was instantly moved to her side.
The next two rounds went similarly.
The smile on Tsunade's lips grew wider as the pile of candy in front of Kitahara Kaede dwindled.
By the end of the third round, he had only two left.
Tsunade doubled over with laughter. "You're so stupid!"
She didn't leave him a shred of dignity.
Kitahara Kaede remained silent.
Right then, a system notification echoed in his mind.
[Side Quest: First eting]
[If you want to beco an unforgettable, idealized mory, you can't just fade into the background. Please take the initiative and give the future Fifth Hokage a little shock.]
[Rewards will be granted based on the performance rating.]
Kitahara Kaede glanced at the panel and closed it.
You don't beco soone's "white moonlight" by just letting them win.
By letting her win?
No, that was Hashirama's style.
Kitahara Kaede knew very well that what a person rembers most vividly in their life isn't the monts when everything went smoothly—it's the mont they were truly, seriously defeated for the first ti.
"Again."
Tsunade, who was currently stuffing a candy into her mouth, mumbled, "You're almost out."
"I'm playing seriously this ti."
She scoffed, a crumb of sugar still clinging to the corner of her mouth.
"You didn't say that befo—"
She didn't finish her sentence.
Kitahara Kaede picked up the dice cup, gave his wrist a slight flick, and pressed it down.
He lifted it.
Two sixes.
Tsunade stopped chewing.
"...Lucky."
Unconvinced, she shook the cup frantically and slamd it down. Seven.
Kitahara Kaede picked up the cup again.
Sa technique, sa angle.
Press, lift.
Two sixes.
The smile on Tsunade's face faded.
For the third round, she shook the cup with extraordinary effort, even chanting so sort of "spell" before slamming it down with a thud.
Eight.
That was a very high roll.
She turned to look across at him.
Kitahara Kaede flicked his wrist.
Two sixes.
Silence fell over the pavilion for a mont.
Tsunade stared at the two dice for three seconds without saying a word.
Then, she silently picked up the dice cup, covered the opening tightly, and shook it for a long ti with her eyes closed.
When she slamd it down, she used every ounce of her strength.
"HIGH!!"
She lifted the cup.
Five. Low.
She froze.
anwhile, Kitahara Kaede had already placed his cup.
He didn't even announce high or low; he simply lifted it.
Two sixes.
The space in front of Tsunade was completely empty.
Even the copper coins she had previously won from Hashirama had been gambled away.
On Kitahara Kaede's side, the candies had piled up into a small mountain.
She looked down at the empty ground in front of her.
Then she looked across at him, her lips twitching, but no sound ca out.
*Oops,* Kitahara Kaede thought. *I won too much.*
But Tsunade didn't cry.
He had expected her to wail.
A little princess raised with endless indulgence—crying when she lost was only natural.
But she didn't.
She bit her lip tight, her small fists clenched. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall.
That stubborn streak was identical to the Fifth Hokage in the original story—the woman who remained standing even after her body was pierced by Uchiha Madara's Susanoo.
Kitahara Kaede didn't press his advantage, nor did he show a smug expression.
He simply sat there quietly, waiting for her.
After a long while, Tsunade sniffled, her voice muffled.
"You cheated."
"I didn't."
"Liar!" She looked up at him, her eyes red. "It's impossible to get two sixes every single ti."
Kitahara Kaede looked at her.
"But I did get two sixes every single ti."
Tsunade was stunned.
The mountain of rebuttals she had prepared got stuck in her throat.
She had expected him to make excuses; she had expected him to laugh; she had expected all sorts of responses.
The one thing she hadn't expected was for him to simply admit it.
"...Then you definitely cheated!"
Kitahara Kaede didn't explain or argue.
He reached out and pushed the mountain of candy back in front of her.
Tsunade wiped her face hard with the back of her hand, staring at the pile of candy and then at him.
"...You don't want them?"
"I don't like sweets."
She blinked.
"Then why did you win against ?"
"You said you wanted to play."
Tsunade was speechless.
For a long ti, she couldn't find a single word to argue back.
It was true; she was the one who had dragged him into the ga.
She was the one who set the rules. She was the one who lent him the candy.
Her three-year-old brain whirled for a while, unable to find a way around the logic, so she simply gave up on reasoning and attacked the core issue.
"Then how could you get two sixes every ti?"
Kitahara Kaede didn't answer imdiately.
He picked up the dice cup and put a single die inside.
Then, he flipped it over.
Opening face-down.
The die didn't fall out.
Tsunade's eyes widened.
His four-year-old hand wasn't much larger than hers, but the die remained securely inside the inverted cup, motionless.
She instinctively reached out to touch it.
Kitahara Kaede gently blocked her.
He flipped the cup right-side up, set it down, and lifted it.
Six.
Tsunade stared at the die for several seconds without blinking.
Then, she snapped her head up.
She didn't ask "How did you do that?"
What she asked was—
"Does my grandpa... know how to do this too?"
The pavilion suddenly fell silent.
Kitahara Kaede looked into her eyes.
Three years old. She was only three.
But she already understood everything.
The gambling matches she had never lost.
The scores that were "just barely" higher than her grandfather's every ti.
The man who always looked distressed, throwing up his hands and saying, "I lost again."
She was asking, but in truth, she already had the answer.
She just hadn't dared to confirm it until now.
Kitahara Kaede simply gave a small nod.
Tsunade didn't say anything.
She lowered her head and looked at the pair of dice on the ground.
Then she turned and looked toward the main hall.
Silence reigned for a long ti.
A single tear splashed onto her knee.
Teach
Then a second drop fell, then a third, tracing paths down her cheeks—she didn't even seem to notice.
It wasn't a loud sob, nor was it a cry of frustration. It was the kind of tears that fall when a child suddenly understands sothing but doesn't yet know how to process it; the tears simply escape on their own.
After a mont, Tsunade wiped her face with a rough sweep of her hand.
She looked up at him. While moisture still clung to her eyelashes, the light had returned to her eyes.
"Teach ."
Kitahara Kaede glanced at her. "Teach you what?"
"That thing you did," she said, pointing to the dice cup. "The way you kept the dice from falling."
Kaede felt a small tug in his heart. He stood up, walked around to her side, and sat down beside her.
"Hold the cup first."
Tsunade reached out with both hands, cupping the dice cup in her palms. Her hands were too small; the cup wobbled in her grasp, looking as if it might slide away at any second.
She looked up at him. "And then?"
Kaede reached out and gently steadied her wrist.
"Don't rush."
"Take it slow."
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