Tsunade produced a pair of dice cups from somewhere.
She squatted on the ground and patted the spot next to her.
“Sit here.”
A three-year-old mimicking an adult, acting tough yet looking adorable.
Kitahara Kaede didn’t sit there; he sat cross-legged opposite her.
Tsunade’s face fell: “I said sit here!”
“I can see more clearly from across.”
Tsunade glared at him for two seconds.
Not enough, she added another second.
Finally, perhaps thinking it beneath her to argue with this disobedient fellow, she huffed and began explaining the rules.
“We each shake once and guess big or small.
Guess right and you win; guess wrong and you lose.
The loser gives the winner a candy.”
She pulled a handful of candies from her pocket and scattered them in the middle with a clatter.
They were colorful and sparkled under the sunlight.
She counted them once.
Not feeling reassured, she counted them again.
Then, taking advantage of Kitahara Kaede’s lowered head as he looked at the dice cup, she quietly nudged a few of the largest ones to her side.
Her technique was very clumsy.
But her mindset was very seasoned.
“These are the stakes.” She looked up at him, sounding perfectly justified.
“Do you have any?”
Kitahara Kaede felt his pockets.
Empty.
“No.”
Tsunade scanned him from top to bottom.
Her gaze clearly wrote out two words—pauper.
But at least she didn’t say it out loud.
After hesitating for a moment, she pinched five candies from her pile and pushed them over.
“I’m lending them to you.
If you lose them all, you have to pay me back.”
“Fine.”
“Double.”
“…Fine.”
Tsunade was finally satisfied.
She grabbed the dice cup, cupped it with both hands, and shook it vigorously.
Her eyes were closed, and she was mumbling something under her breath.
Clack!
She slammed it upside down on the ground.
“Big!”
She lifted it—eleven points.
Tsunade chuckled behind her hand, her eyes curving into crescents, as she nodded her chin toward Kitahara Kaede.
“Your turn.”
Kitahara Kaede gave it a casual shake and slammed it down.
Three points.
Tsunade’s hand was as fast as a thief’s; a candy was already on her side.
The next two rounds were similar.
The curve of Tsunade’s lips grew wider, while the candies in front of Kitahara Kaede grew fewer.
By the end of the third round, he only had two left.
Tsunade laughed so hard she rocked back and forth: “You’re so stupid!”
She didn’t spare him any face.
Kitahara Kaede didn’t say a word.
Just then, a system notification sounded in his mind.
[Side Quest: First Meeting]
[How can you become a white moonlight without leaving a deep impression?
Host, please take the initiative and give the future Fifth Generation Hokage a little shock.]
[Rewards will be given based on performance rating.]
Kitahara Kaede glanced at it and closed the panel.
A white moonlight isn’t made by yielding.
By letting her win?
No, that’s what Hashirama does.
Kitahara Kaede knew very well—the moments a person remembers most in their life are never the smooth-sailing ones, but the moment they were truly beaten for the first time.
“Again.”
Tsunade was stuffing a candy into her mouth and said indistinctly, “You’re almost out.”
“I’m being serious this time.”
She scoffed, candy crumbs still stuck to the corner of her mouth.
“You weren’t being seri—”
She didn’t finish her sentence.
Kitahara Kaede picked up the dice cup, gave his wrist a gentle flick, and slammed it down.
He lifted it.
Two sixes.
Tsunade stopped chewing her candy.
“…Just luck.”
She shook the cup indignantly and slammed it down—seven points.
Kitahara Kaede picked up the dice cup again.
Same technique, same angle.
Slam, lift.
Two sixes.
The smile on Tsunade’s face faded.
For the third round, she shook it with extra effort, mumbling some incantation, then slammed it down and lifted it.
Eight points.
That was already quite high.
She turned to look at the other side.
Kitahara Kaede flicked his wrist.
Two sixes.
The pavilion fell silent for a moment.
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 time with her eyes closed.
She used all her strength when she slammed it down.
“Big!!”
She lifted it.
Five points, small.
She froze there.
Meanwhile, Kitahara Kaede had already slammed his down.
He didn’t even call it; he just lifted the cup.
Two sixes.
The space in front of Tsunade was empty.
Even the copper coins she had won from Hashirama earlier were gone.
On Kitahara Kaede’s side, the candies were piled into a small mountain.
She lowered her head, looking at the empty space in front of her.
Then she looked across at him; her lips moved a couple of times, but no sound came out.
Kitahara Kaede muttered to himself—oops, I won too much.
But Tsunade didn’t cry.
Kitahara Kaede had thought she would wail.
A little princess raised with pampering crying after losing was only natural.
But she didn’t.
She bit her lip hard, her small fists clenched, and although tears were welling in her eyes, she refused to let them fall.
This grit was exactly the same as the Fifth Generation Hokage in the original story, who stood tall even after her body was pierced by Uchiha Madara’s Susanoo.
Kitahara Kaede didn’t press his advantage, nor did he look triumphant.
He just sat there quietly, waiting for her.
After a good while.
Tsunade sniffled, her voice muffled.
“You cheated.”
“I didn’t.”
“Liar.” She looked up and glared at him, her eyes red.
“It’s impossible to get two sixes every time.”
Kitahara Kaede looked at her.
“It is two sixes every time.”
Tsunade was stunned.
The stomach full of rebuttals she had prepared got stuck in her throat.
She had thought he would make excuses, she had thought he would laugh, she had thought of all kinds of responses.
But she never expected—he would just admit it.
“…Then that is cheating!”
Kitahara Kaede didn’t explain, nor did he argue.
He reached out and pushed the mountain of candies back in front of her.
Tsunade wiped her face hard with the back of her hand, staring at the pile of candies, then at him.
“…You don’t want them?”
“I don’t like sweets.”
She was taken aback.
“Then why did you want to beat me?”
“You said you wanted to play.”
Tsunade was choked up.
For a long while, she couldn’t squeeze out a single word.
It was true, she was the one who dragged him into playing.
She was the one who set the rules.
She was also the one who lent him the candies.
Her three-year-old brain whirred for a long time but couldn’t wrap itself around this logic, so she simply gave up on being reasonable and focused on the core issue.
“Then how can you get two sixes every time?”
Kitahara Kaede didn’t answer immediately.
He picked up the dice cup and put one die inside.
Then he flipped it over.
Opening facing down.
The die didn’t fall out.
Tsunade’s eyes widened instantly.
A four-year-old’s hand wasn’t much bigger than hers, yet the die stayed securely inside the overturned cup, motionless.
She instinctively reached out to touch it.
Kitahara Kaede gently blocked her.
He flipped the dice cup right side up, set it down, and lifted it.
Six points facing up.
Tsunade stared at the die for several seconds without blinking.
Then she suddenly looked 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 went quiet.
Kitahara Kaede looked into her eyes.
Three years old, only three years old.
But she already understood everything.
Those gambling rounds she never lost.
Those points that were always “just” slightly higher than Grandpa’s.
That man who always looked troubled, spreading his hands and saying, “I lost again.”
She was asking, but in truth, she already had the answer.
She just didn’t dare to confirm it yet.
Kitahara Kaede simply gave a slight nod.
Tsunade didn’t say anything.
She lowered her head and looked at the pair of dice on the ground.
Then she turned her head and looked toward the main hall.
It was quiet for a long time.
A tear went splat onto her knee.
Then a second drop, a third, sliding down her cheeks; she didn’t even seem to notice.
It wasn’t a loud wail, nor was it a cry of grievance.
It was the tears of a child who had suddenly understood something and didn’t know how to process it yet, so they just came out on their own.
After a while, Tsunade wiped her face fiercely.
She looked up at him.
There was still a wet shimmer on her eyelashes, but her gaze had brightened again.
“Teach me.”
Kitahara Kaede glanced at her.
“Teach you what?”
“What you just did.” She pointed at the dice cup.
“The thing where the die doesn’t fall out.”
Kitahara Kaede felt a slight stir in his heart.
He stood up, moved to her side, and sat down.
“First, grip the cup.”
Tsunade reached out with both hands and cradled the dice cup in her palms.
Her hands were too small; the dice cup wobbled in her grip, looking like it might slip out at any moment.
She looked up at him.
“Then what?”
Kitahara Kaede reached out and gently steadied her wrist.
“Don’t rush.”
“Take it slow.”