The Return

Tsunade sat alone in the spacious lounge of the Senju compound located in the Land of Demons, her thoughts shifting between exasperation and uncertainty. Cushions lay scattered about, and a sliding door opened onto a small veranda overlooking cherry blossoms that shimmered beneath the midday sun. She absently traced the rim of a small sake cup, raising it to her lips from time to time. The estate's hushed corridors and meticulously kept gardens provided a deceptive sense of serenity—inside her mind, however, a relentless storm brewed. The looming issue of possibly returning to Konoha weighed on her consciousness with every passing moment, intensified by the village's dire need for a Hokage.

A subtle breeze carried the faint scent of the cherry blossoms, layering a fragile calm over a situation that was anything but placid. Her reverie was fractured by memory after memory—faces of those she lost, regrets that had long festered, and the uncertain fate of Konoha. She had left that village to escape heartbreak and tragedy; now an entire city without a leader seemingly called her name in its hour of need.

A soft creak from the hallway shattered the stillness, signaling an approach. Moments later, Jiraiya slipped into the lounge, his manner subdued. Although time had carved lines on his features, his eyes held an indefatigable gleam. As he entered, he noticed Tsunade's half-empty sake bottle on the low table near her. Her face was guarded, posture alert, shoulders squared as though anticipating news she would rather not hear.

He lowered himself onto a cushion a short distance away, maintaining a careful boundary. Tsunade sat with arms folded beneath her chest, adopting a quiet but unmistakable stance of defiance. Beyond the veranda's polished wooden surface, a scatter of pink petals drifted in the lazy wind, bright against the estate's refined architecture.

"It's been a while since we've gotten time together like this," Jiraiya remarked quietly, forgoing his usual mischievous banter.

Tsunade's gaze remained fixed on the horizon of cherry blossoms. "And I'm sure you had your reasons for taking so long to visit," she returned in a neutral tone.

He inclined his head. "I do," he said simply. "We need to talk about Konoha. The village is in desperate shape, Tsunade—no Hokage, no clear direction. It's a crisis."

A faint smirk tugged at her lips, though it failed to impart warmth. "A crisis indeed. And you think I'm your ready-made solution—some figurehead to salvage the place?"

Jiraiya gave a single nod. "Yes. There's no one else with a lineage as storied as yours, nor the respect you carry. Right now, the Leaf is reeling, vulnerable to infiltration, internal power grabs—especially from Danzo."

At that final name, her scowl deepened. "Don't utter that name here," Tsunade hissed, closing her hand around the sake cup. "It's not as though I left Konoha without cause. I've no appetite to jump into the swirl of politics and manipulative agendas."

He sighed. "That's exactly why I'm here—to stop that swirl from dragging the village to ruin. It's not just a question of pride or tradition. People remember the Senju name, the foundation your grandfather laid. They want that stability again."

Her jaw tightened as she lifted the cup to her lips, pausing. "And you came alone?" she asked, clearly shifting the subject.

Jiraiya's eyes momentarily flicked toward the corridor, as though expecting eavesdroppers. "Yes," he replied, voice heavy. "I can't trust just anyone for this discussion. And… I needed to speak with you personally."

There was more to his words than the matter of Hokage. Tsunade could sense it in his demeanor—some subdued guilt, or a burden. "Well," she said, "speak. Don't just skirt around it."

He scratched the back of his head with an uncharacteristic reticence. "It's about Nawaki," he began, and her brow furrowed. "And Mito, too—and Minato, once he recovers fully. It's about everything we swore we wouldn't drag them into."

Tsunade inhaled sharply. She had dreaded this conversation. "I recall the day Nawaki was born," she said, voice low. "You promised me, Jiraiya, that we'd keep him away from the village, away from the shinobi world's endless conflicts. You looked me straight in the eye and said, 'He'll never be a pawn or a casualty like so many others we've buried.' That was your vow."

Jiraiya's expression clouded with remorse. "I remember. I meant every word when I said it. But things have changed—too many forces at play to keep Nawaki in a perfect bubble. He's nearly grown now, Tsunade, and Mito's not far behind in age. They're both talented beyond measure, and the more we try to hide them from the world, the more that world might come crashing in once it discovers them. You saw what nearly happened with their last spar. They can't stay in the shadows forever."

She set the cup down and exhaled in agitation. "I know that. But I can't help recalling the promise you made. We wanted them spared from the machinations that destroyed our families. Doesn't that matter anymore?"

"Of course it matters," Jiraiya replied, earnest. "But the world isn't static. Threats are mounting—Akatsuki is on the rise, Danzo might seize power, and we have an entire village with no Hokage. If we do nothing, it's not just Konoha that will be affected; it's everywhere. And if Danzo or anyone else sets their sights on Nawaki and Mito, do you think they'll be any safer here?"

Her lips thinned, a silent admission that he had a point. "I won't risk them becoming pawns," she reiterated. "I won't see them suffer the same heartbreaks that tore us apart."

"We can guide them," he urged, voice gentling as he leaned closer. "You, me, even Minato once he's steady on his feet again. But for that, we need you in Konoha. If you take the Hokage's seat, you'll be in the strongest position to enforce your will, to safeguard them from Danzo's or anyone else's manipulations."

Tsunade shook her head, fighting a swirl of conflicting emotions. She remembered the day she left Konoha, pregnant with Nawaki, fleeing an endless cycle of war and death, Jiraiya at her side for the first time in a new role—no longer just a friend or a Sannin comrade, but the father of her child. Their vow had been to raise Nawaki in peace. But fate, it seemed, had other ideas.

"What about Minato?" she asked, changing tack. "He's awake, yes, but not fully recovered. And he was your student, Jiraiya—how soon can he even handle a conversation, let alone rejoin the fray?"

The mention of his former student made Jiraiya's face soften with something akin to relief. "I was going to ask you that. How soon can I talk to him directly? There are things only he'd understand—strategies, Akatsuki's threat, his perspective on leadership. And… perhaps I owe him an explanation for all that's happened while he was… gone. Truthfully, I'd prefer to have that conversation as soon as possible, if you think he's up for it."

Tsunade drummed her fingers against the table. "He's made tremendous strides, physically. Mentally, he's lucid, though there's some residual shock. Every day, he's more aware. Possibly in a week, or less, we can let him hold a lengthy talk, see how he reacts. I'm reluctant to push him too far."

Jiraiya nodded slowly. "I understand. Even so, it's crucial. He might have insights that sway everything. And if we can get his endorsement for you as Hokage, that could quell a lot of dissent in the village. Minato's name still carries weight, even after all these years of him being comatose."

She pursed her lips at that notion, imagining Minato's calm but firm voice, once the pride of Konoha, vouching for her. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she managed, trying to keep the bitterness in check. "First, I must decide if I can even accept that role. Second, Minato has to be strong enough to weigh in. Third, I have to discuss it with the kids. This is bigger than just me."

Jiraiya gave a slow incline of his head, acknowledging her caution. "You're right. But do consider it. If you do choose to return, I'll stand with you. And I suspect the children—once they realize the stakes—will too."

A tense silence lingered between them. She again traced the lip of her sake cup, debating whether to pour another. Her mind was stuck on the vow they had made so many years ago, the vow Jiraiya had just admitted he could no longer keep as it was. Back then, it had felt like the only way to protect their son from the horrors they had witnessed. Now, reality closed in around them, demanding a new approach.

She cut her eyes to him. "A lot of this rests on you, too. You're Nawaki's father. Once I say yes or no, you can't just wash your hands of it. If I do show up in Konoha, you'd better keep your distance from that foolish gossip you love to stir up. We can't let half the village find out that you ran off to the Land of Demons to raise a child with the woman who left them behind."

A ghost of a smile formed on Jiraiya's lips. "I'm not known for washing my hands of anything important, Tsunade. I'll handle it. Besides, that same promise from years ago that we'd keep Nawaki out of the village's conflicts—I only broke it because I realized time and destiny were forging a path we couldn't just block off. You might resent me, but I still want to keep him safe."

She sighed, shoulders sagging. "I know. And maybe that's what's so maddening about all this. You broke our vow, but I see why. Part of me knows we can't shelter him forever, nor Mito. They have their own destinies, just as we did. I wish it were simpler."

"Me too," he said, voice tinged with nostalgia. "The old man's gone. Orochimaru's infiltration, the Akatsuki stepping up their plans—none of this spells easy times. But with your leadership, we stand a chance of guiding Konoha out of the darkness."

She narrowed her eyes. "If I do it, I'll do it my way. Don't expect me to follow the conventional script. I've got no illusions about how brutal a job Hokage can be. I'll tear down half the infrastructure if it means securing a better future for the next generation."

He chuckled softly, a genuine warmth returning to his tone. "I wouldn't have it any other way. But, truly, I need to emphasize—some people might not appreciate your directness. Be prepared for pushback from the elders, from the old guard who clings to tradition."

Tsunade tossed her hair, a spark of rebellious confidence flickering. "They'll deal with it or they won't. My priority is ensuring we never repeat the tragedies that shaped our past. If that means defying old protocols, so be it."

For the first time that day, a hint of a genuine smile curved on her lips, though it vanished quickly. She poured another measure of sake, then hesitated, noticing Jiraiya's solemn gaze. Without a word, she poured a second cup and nudged it toward him. He accepted the silent gesture with a nod.

"To the next generation," she said, raising her cup. "And to everything we swore we'd protect."

He mimicked her posture, carefully tapping his cup against hers. "To Nawaki, Mito, and Minato," he agreed. "And to you, for having the strength to face what's ahead, whether you choose to do so from the Land of Demons or from the Hokage's seat."

A hush settled as they both drank, the sake's warmth spreading through them like a small reprieve from the burdens pressing in. They set their cups down nearly in unison, and Tsunade exhaled slowly.

"I want to see him soon," Jiraiya added unexpectedly, setting aside his cup. "Minato, that is. You said maybe in a week or so? I'll wait if I must, but if he's stable enough to hold a conversation, I'd like to look him in the eye and see what he remembers—and share what we know."

Tsunade nodded. "I'll let you know as soon as he's ready. He's better every day, reading small bits of old scrolls I left. He might welcome a familiar face—one that isn't bombarding him with medical instructions."

Jiraiya's lips turned up faintly. "I can do that. And maybe, once I talk to him, we'll get more clarity on how Konoha will respond if you do step forward. Minato's name might well smooth the path for you."

They fell silent again. The small lounge was illuminated by the midday sun leaning closer to afternoon's glow, brightening the blossoming trees outside. The drift of blossoms brushed faint shadows across the tatami floor.

"That's enough talk for one day," Tsunade declared, feeling her voice quiver with the weight of the conversation. "You've given me more than enough to think about."

He offered a quiet, acquiescent nod and rose from his cushion. "All right. I'll check in on Nawaki and Mito. I sense some strong chakra flares from earlier—did they get into another scuffle?"

Tsunade pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes, a typical show of youthful pride that nearly destroyed half the courtyard. I had to put a stop to it. They still haven't learned to rein it in. You might want to talk to them, see if you can impart some fatherly wisdom."

A fleeting mix of pride and worry crossed Jiraiya's face. "I will," he said, stepping back toward the corridor. "And after that, I'll contact you once more. We can set up that conversation with Minato when the time is right."

As he reached the doorway, he glanced back, letting his eyes linger on Tsunade. She stared at the sake bottle, a swirl of regrets and hopes in her expression. Their gazes met for a moment, exchanging unspoken understanding. Then, with a single nod, Jiraiya slipped away.

Tsunade remained there, motionless, mind oscillating between the vow they made so long ago for Nawaki's sake—keeping him far from Konoha's strife—and the harsh reality that threatened to tear that vow apart. The village they had both left behind was calling her name, and she could no longer shrug it off as someone else's burden. The faint fragrance of blossoms drifted inside, a gentle reminder of life's fleeting, cyclical nature.

She closed her eyes. If Jiraiya was right about the precarious state of the village, about Danzo's looming presence, then ignoring the summons might yield consequences far worse than stepping up. But the cost—her freedom, her memories, her heart—hung in the balance. How many times had she sworn never to return, never to become the next in a line of sacrifices known as Hokage? And yet, that line was wearing thin, the choices narrowing.

Reaching for the sake, she lifted the container to refill her cup, only to realize it was near empty. A brief, hollow laugh escaped her—she wasn't even sure she wanted more. Instead, she set it aside, letting her hand hover over it for a moment as though searching for direction. Eventually, her arm dropped to her side in resignation.

She rose slowly, crossing the tatami floor to the veranda. Stepping out, she leaned on the wooden railing. The compound's gardens stretched out, meticulously cultivated—lovely and contained. Mito and Nawaki had grown up amidst these blossoms, shielded from the tragedies that once consumed Konoha's children. But times were changing, and every layer of protection seemed to peel away, revealing the hidden truths beneath.

Beyond the wall lay the Land of Demons' rolling hills. A crisp breeze ruffled her blond hair, carrying scattered petals from the cherry trees. She stood there, allowing the air to brush her face, pondering which path to take. The vow with Jiraiya played over and over in her head—keeping Nawaki safe, far from the wars and heartbreak that destroyed her younger brother. Yet, in a twist of fate, they might need to face that same village again, not as runaway parents but as potential leaders.

Minutes passed, or perhaps longer. Eventually, footsteps behind her prompted Tsunade to glance over her shoulder. Shizune approached timidly, eyes flicking from the damaged courtyard to Tsunade's pensive stance.

"Lady Tsunade," Shizune said in a quiet voice, "I finished checking on Mito and Nawaki. Their injuries from the spar aren't too severe, just bruises. I told them to rest and avoid any more intense training tonight."

Tsunade breathed a sigh, half relief, half exasperation. "Thank you, Shizune. They need to learn to control themselves if they're going to handle bigger problems one day. I can't be bailing them out every time they get carried away."

Shizune hesitated, as though sensing Tsunade's uneasy mood. "Are you… all right, my lady? You look troubled."

A mirthless grin touched Tsunade's lips. "Troubled is an understatement, Shizune. Jiraiya was just here with more news from Konoha. The seat's vacant. They need a Hokage. They want me." She paused, scanning Shizune's face for a reaction. "It's nothing new, but every time it resurfaces, it feels heavier."

Shizune nodded sympathetically. "I see. Then… is returning to Konoha on the table, or do you still plan to remain here?"

Tsunade let her gaze wander across the horizon. "Both. Neither. I don't know. This estate has been our refuge for years—Nawaki's grown up here, Mito as well. But with everything that's happened, can we keep ignoring the bigger world's demands?"

Shizune came closer, speaking softly. "If you did accept, you'd be in the position to protect them from that bigger world, Lady Tsunade."

The Sannin gave her a thoughtful, sidelong look. "That's what Jiraiya said. But fulfilling that role might also place them in the spotlight more than ever."

A hush rose between them, broken only by the rustle of leaves. Tsunade traced a hand along the wooden railing. "I suppose I should check on the children soon. Ensure they're not planning another scuffle in the next hour."

Shizune offered a faint smile. "I think Nawaki might be talking to Lord Jiraiya already. Mito's in her quarters, nursing some wounded pride—though she's not too badly hurt physically."

Tsunade gave a short nod. "I'll talk to them. And tomorrow, I'll see Minato again. Step by step."

Shizune's expression brightened, a sense of relief creeping in. "One step at a time is enough."

As Shizune departed, Tsunade remained on the veranda, letting the wind flutter her bangs. She listened to the echoes of the household—soft footsteps, murmurs, the subdued hum of a place that had harbored them from a harsh outside world. For how much longer, she wondered, could they remain hidden?

She closed her eyes briefly, recalling Jiraiya's mention that a vow made fourteen years ago no longer held in the face of new realities. He was right: the world had changed, the stakes had risen, and the children they once swore to shield would soon make their own choices anyway. Perhaps stepping into Konoha's role was a betrayal of her old convictions, or perhaps it was the only way to preserve the essence of what they had built.

At length, she turned, sliding the door shut behind her as she stepped off the veranda and into the corridor. Passing decorated vases and old paintings of her clan's ancestors, Tsunade felt the weight of that illustrious heritage bear down on her. For years, she had shrugged it off in pursuit of anonymity, yet destiny persisted in guiding her back to the center of the Leaf Village's stage.

When she reached the end of the corridor, she paused at a simple wooden door. Beyond it lay Nawaki's room, faint voices leaking through. She could make out Jiraiya's deeper timbre, soothing but firm, and her son's younger voice, laced with leftover adrenaline. She'd give them space for now. Tomorrow, she would speak with Nawaki herself, test the waters of his ambition. Another door further along led to Mito's quarters—she'd check on the girl's injuries soon. But first, Tsunade needed a moment alone to finalize her swirling thoughts.

Walking further down, she stopped by a decorative alcove holding a single scroll pinned to the wall. It was a genealogical record of the Senju clan, with spiral motifs around the edges. Absently running a finger over the scrolled edge, she found herself trembling. The clan legacy—Hashirama, Mito Uzumaki, Tobirama, even the late Nawaki who died young, and so many others—stared back at her through the script as though demanding an answer.

She let her hand drop. "Enough," she murmured under her breath, turning away. This entire day of revelations, from Jiraiya's pleas to the unstoppable swirl of fate, left her exhausted. She made her way to her private room, where a single lamp burned low in the corner. Sliding the door shut, she considered her reflection in a small mirror on the dresser. The face that met her eyes was etched with faint lines from battles and heartaches, a blend of youthful vigor and solemn acceptance.

Dropping onto a cushion by a table, she buried her face in her hands. The vow with Jiraiya—keeping Nawaki out of the shinobi world—echoed in her ears. But inside her chest, a new vow took shape, perhaps one that overshadowed the old: If I must become Hokage to protect my children, my family, and the next generation of Leaf shinobi, I will do it. Or, at least, I will strongly consider it.

Sleep threatened to claim her as she contemplated these countless possibilities. She fought it off, removing her sandals and letting out a slow exhale. Reaching over, she extinguished the lamp, plunging the room into near darkness, save for a stray moonbeam that slipped through the shutters.

As the night wore on, Tsunade lay with eyes open, replaying each conversation: Jiraiya's revelations, her promise made years ago, her motherly fear for Nawaki and Mito, and the uncertain destiny of Minato. Eventually, fatigue overcame her. Her breathing steadied, though her sleep remained restless. Tomorrow, she told herself again. Tomorrow, she might have to stride a path that bridged the Land of Demons and the Hidden Leaf, deciding once and for all whether to reclaim the legacy she had abandoned.

Konoha

The day dawned over Konohagakure with an air of routine calm, though the two gate guards, Izumo and Kotetsu, were already bickering about rations and watch rotations as they prepared for another shift of scanning incoming travelers. The sturdy double gates, etched with the Leaf symbol, stood like sentinels to the hidden village, the massive wooden beams reflecting the warm glow of early sunlight. While foot traffic had lessened somewhat since the recent invasion attempt, the guards still performed thorough checks on every merchant caravan, farmer's cart, and stray shinobi who happened by. No one was above suspicion anymore—vigilance had become the norm. Izumo, sporting short, spiky hair and a perpetually earnest face, took his spot to the right, while Kotetsu, with the bandage across his nose and a more relaxed posture, manned the left. Together, they formed the first line of defense for a village now prone to the danger of infiltration. Their morning banter had slowed as each sipped from tin cups of tea to keep alert.

Suddenly, a light breeze kicked up dust near the threshold, swirling pebbles in a tight circle. Izumo blinked, nearly dropping his cup. The wind escalated, manifesting a faint bluish light that flickered between the gate's posts. Kotetsu jerked upright. At first, they believed a jutsu was being performed from outside, possibly a traveler using wind or space-time ninjutsu. But as the luminous swirl intensified into a tear in the air itself, both guards gawked. The swirling ellipse expanded swiftly to the height of a grown man, glowing with arcs of cerulean brilliance. In that ephemeral gateway, shapes began to form, contorting the air like a reflection in rippling water.

In an instant, the phenomenon reached a crescendo, and a figure stepped out into the open. The swirl collapsed behind him in a hushed flash, leaving only startled eyes and a swirl of dust in its wake. Naruto Uzumaki stood there, hand raised casually in greeting, as though emerging from a doorway rather than a reality-bending vortex. He wore his signature orange and black attire, though traces of wear and travel dust lined the sleeves. His blond hair appeared unruffled despite the cosmic entrance.

Izumo and Kotetsu stood stock-still, each forgetting to breathe for a second. The gate had seen odd arrivals before, but nothing that rivaled a personal space-time portal. Naruto, noticing their stunned faces, offered a broad grin. "Morning," he said, voice cutting through the hush, "though you two look like you've just laid eyes on a ghost."

Izumo exchanged a befuddled glance with Kotetsu, and then they both scrambled into official mode. Izumo, clearing his throat, stepped forward. "Naruto… Uzumaki?" he stammered, eyeing the residual sparks dissipating around the boy's ankles. "W-Where… how… did you just do that?"

Kotetsu, equally unsettled, added, "A-Are you using some forbidden jutsu? Is the village in danger?" He instinctively reached for the short blade at his waist, though he did not fully unsheathe it.

Naruto scratched the back of his neck, feigning nonchalance. "Relax, guys. Last I checked, I'm still on Konoha's side." His grin twitched into something more playful. "I was on a… well, let's call it a specialized mission with Ero-Sennin—er, Jiraiya. Learned a trick or two. Thought I'd skip the lines by making an entrance."

For a heartbeat, neither guard responded; they simply stared at Naruto, taking in the magnitude of what he suggested. Finally, Izumo let out a shaky breath. "You've certainly overshadowed our usual morning routine," he said, trying to regain a measure of calm. "Usually, we just check passes and log entries. This is the first time a Leaf shinobi teleported in like that."

Kotetsu nodded vigorously, turning from anxious to borderline exasperated. "No kidding. We're used to civilians complaining about import taxes, not freakin' dimensional rifts opening under our noses."

Naruto shrugged. "Saves me the trouble of a long walk. Also, I've got business in the village that couldn't wait." Then, noticing they were still ill-at-ease, he offered a conciliatory wave. "No, nobody's chasing me. I'm not bringing an army in behind me. It's just me returning, safe and sound, from my travels. Missions are missions, you know?"

Sighing, Izumo placed a hand over his face, half-laughing at the surreal nature of this. "You sure know how to give a couple of gate guards a heart attack, Naruto."

Kotetsu tried to muster some semblance of professionalism. "Anyway, ahem, welcome back. Pardon the confusion. We've had a lot of infiltration attempts. Next time, maybe give us a heads-up if you intend to… warp in from nowhere."

Naruto smirked. "Will do," he said, though they doubted the sincerity. He glanced at them both. "You guys have your tea? Usually, you're not quite this on-edge."

They both chortled awkwardly, adrenaline still coursing through their veins. "We had tea, but apparently not enough to handle dimension-hopping Leaf shinobi," Izumo answered.

"Glad to see you alive," Kotetsu interjected. "We heard a rumor you were traveling with Jiraiya, possibly in search of—" He halted, perhaps recalling protocol about disclosing intelligence.

Naruto raised a brow. "In search of the next Hokage, if I recall your job is to know these rumors. So yeah, something along those lines." He observed the gates, noticing the repairs from the damage inflicted during the recent invasion. "Things have been chaotic, right?"

Izumo and Kotetsu both nodded, expressions darkening. "Chaotic is an understatement," Izumo said. "We're just grateful for every day that passes without a crisis. But certain rumors and potential threats keep us all on high alert."

Before further pleasantries could be exchanged, a flicker of movement caught Naruto's eye. Four masked figures materialized on the near side of the gate, each wearing the dark attire of the Anbu. Their presence arrived in silence, as if they had stepped out of the shadows themselves. No doubt the unusual chakra signature from Naruto's arrival had triggered a swift response. The lead Anbu, distinguished by a hawk-like mask, took a step forward, voice calm yet commanding: "Naruto Uzumaki," he announced. "By order of the council, you are to report to the Hokage Tower immediately for debriefing."

Naruto turned, eyeing them with mild amusement. "So that's how it is, huh? Didn't even let me go to Ichiraku for a bowl of ramen first?" he teased.

Unmoved by the banter, the Anbu repeated, "Immediately."

Izumo and Kotetsu exchanged glances of sympathy. They recognized that Naruto's abrupt presence often stirred confusion among the higher-ups. And with the seat of Hokage vacant, the council presumably took a keener interest in any high-level movements.

Naruto shrugged, addressing the guards lightly, "Seems I have a date with the council. Good talking to you two. Don't let any more weird portals freak you out, okay?"

Izumo smirked, adopting a friendlier posture. "Go on, Naruto. We'll take you off the ledger for a standard entry."

Kotetsu gave a casual salute. "Stay out of trouble—though that might be difficult if you're heading to see the old geezers."

Naruto snickered, turning to follow the Anbu. The four operatives closed in around him, flanking him with professional efficiency as they escorted him away from the gate. The last swirl of dust settled behind them, leaving Izumo and Kotetsu to exchange exhalations of relief. "Did you see that jutsu?" whispered one. The other simply nodded, eyeing the spot where the portal had vanished moments prior.

The walk to the Hokage Tower was short, though the presence of four Anbu guards drew stares from villagers along the main thoroughfare. Shops, still bearing scars from the invasion, lined the street, but lively commerce had returned. Naruto spotted fruit vendors hawking produce, blacksmiths forging tools, and a few traveling merchants haggling with local shopkeepers. However, the crowd parted to let the Anbu detail pass. People recognized the meaning behind masked shinobi escorting someone: either a high-value guest or a potential threat. He could feel uncertain or curious glances, some people whispering rumors about the whiskered teen who had departed with Jiraiya weeks ago.

He tried to ignore it, eyes sweeping over structural repairs—freshly plastered walls, new timber frames on rooftops, and scaffolding around certain monuments. The village was resilient, but the strain of a vacant Hokage seat was evident. Guards were posted at regular intervals. The damage inflicted by the infiltration squads still lingered.

They reached the imposing architecture of the Hokage Tower, its spire overshadowing adjacent buildings. The main steps were flanked by two Chunin, who let the group inside without question. Naruto ascended two flights of stairs, the Anbu at his heels, until he arrived at a long hallway that branched in multiple directions. The faint smell of old parchment and disinfectant—common in administrative buildings—hung in the air.

"We'll be taking you to the council chambers," the hawk-masked Anbu stated. "They're waiting for your debrief."

Naruto gave a small nod, not bothering to speak. They guided him to a wide, ornate door bearing the symbol of Konoha. One operative slid it open, revealing a conference room with polished floors, a long wooden table, and high-backed chairs arranged around it. At the far end, three prominent figures stood waiting.

Two of them were Homura Mitokado and Koharu Utatane, the elder statespeople of Konoha. Each wore crisp robes, reminiscent of the old era, their hair turned silver with age. Between them stood Shikaku Nara, the newly appointed head jonin, known for his strategic brilliance and casual manner. He wore the typical jonin vest, arms folded. If he resented being summoned, he masked it well, but a subtle tension marked his posture.

Naruto halted near the table, the Anbu taking their positions at the door. Homura cleared his throat, nodding toward Naruto. "You are dismissed," he told the masked operatives. They bowed, disappearing with typical silent grace, leaving Naruto alone with the three.

"Uzumaki Naruto," Koharu began, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "We have been informed that you returned to the village quite… dramatically. We require a full account of your recent activities." She gestured to an empty seat.

Naruto feigned a moment of courtesy, taking the seat. "Of course," he said, letting no rancor seep in. "Where do I start?"

Homura traded a glance with Koharu. "Begin with your departure from Konoha under Jiraiya's supervision. We understand the mission was to find Lady Tsunade. Is that correct?"

Naruto gave a respectful nod. "Yes, that's correct. Jiraiya-sensei had reason to believe Tsunade might be the ideal candidate for the vacant Hokage position. We traveled through multiple towns, following leads on her possible location."

Shikaku exhaled quietly, stepping forward to stand beside the table. "And your progress? Did you locate Tsunade?"

Naruto's expression flickered momentarily. "Eventually, yes," he replied. "But not before we encountered… complications."

"Complications of what nature?" Koharu pressed, voice stern. "Be precise."

Naruto gave a half-shrug, weaving a partial truth. "We were followed, or maybe ambushed, by members of the Akatsuki. Specifically, we ran into Itachi Uchiha and Kisame Hoshigaki." He paused for dramatic effect, gauging the reaction. As expected, Homura and Koharu both stiffened at the mention of Itachi. Even Shikaku's brow furrowed. Naruto continued, "We engaged them in combat. Jiraiya-sensei and I teamed up. Kisame… let's just say he didn't make it out alive. Itachi escaped."

The tension in the room thickened. "You claim you and Jiraiya took out Kisame Hoshigaki?" Homura repeated, as though verifying.

Naruto nodded with forced nonchalance. "He was formidable, but combined with Jiraiya's skill, we overwhelmed him. He had that huge sword, Samehada, which siphons chakra, but we got around it. The fight was nasty."

Koharu's face pinched, as though restraining a flurry of questions. "What of Itachi? Did he reveal anything about his goals? Did he mention the village, or any internal matters?"

Naruto hid his inward amusement—why the intense curiosity about Itachi's words? "Itachi was quiet mostly. He tried a big genjutsu on me, but we fended him off before he could say too much. Something about wanting to test my growth, but we didn't chat extensively. Our focus was survival."

Shikaku cleared his throat, stepping closer. "That's all? No cryptic message for the Leaf? No ultimatum from him regarding the Nine-Tails?"

Naruto shook his head. "Nothing direct. We parted ways when Jiraiya forced him back. He retreated." Naruto left unspoken the reality that he had personally engaged them. He wasn't ready to reveal the full scope of his confrontation with Kisame, so he stuck to the half-lie that the combined efforts of both overcame the sharklike swordsman.

Homura stared at Naruto with knitted brows. "And how did your teacher handle the aftermath? Where is Jiraiya now?"

The question was expected. Naruto inhaled, reciting the plan. "We parted ways after we found Tsunade. She's… reluctant about returning. Jiraiya decided to stay behind, convinced he can talk her into accepting the Hokage position. Meanwhile, he instructed me to come back here and provide an update. So that's why I arrived first. He'll probably show up soon if all goes well."

Homura and Koharu exchanged tense looks. Shikaku tapped a finger against the table, glancing at the elders. "So Jiraiya is continuing negotiations with Tsunade?"

Naruto shrugged. "That's the gist. I guess it's up to her. She's not exactly easy to sway."

A hush descended. Koharu's gaze flicked to Homura, then back to Naruto. "This is… disconcerting. You mention encountering Itachi, yet you provide scant detail about his words or movements."

Naruto kept his face impassive. "There wasn't much chatter. The fight was pretty intense. We focused on not getting killed or captured."

Homura's tone grew sharper. "Uchiha Itachi is a traitor intimately familiar with the village's secrets. If he spoke or probed you in any way, we must know. Are you certain he said nothing about Konoha's internal politics or any reference to the elders?"

That question made Naruto's suspicion spike, though he hid it. "He mostly threatened to take me for the Nine-Tails' power. Then the battle escalated. I suppose that's it."

Shikaku's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he, too, sensed the elders' peculiar focus on Itachi's words. "Let's not ignore the bigger picture," Shikaku said, trying to smooth over the tension. "We have confirmation that Itachi and Kisame confronted you and Jiraiya. That matches the infiltration reports from the time they showed up here."

The mention made Koharu nod vigorously. "Yes, they infiltrated the village about a week prior, fought with Kakashi and several jonin, and put Kakashi in a coma. We suspect they gleaned something from that ordeal—something that might have led them to track you down."

Naruto's face remained blank, though inside he noted that timeline ironically matched with his own scuffle. He did not let it show. "I see," he said. "Kakashi-sensei is in a coma?"

Shikaku exhaled. "Yes. He was subjected to a powerful genjutsu, presumably Tsukuyomi from Itachi. We've tried standard treatments, but his mind remains locked. Our best hope was that Lady Tsunade would have returned by now. Her unparalleled medical skill might be enough to break the mental trauma."

Naruto repressed a snort, though a flicker of irony crossed his thoughts: If only they knew about Tsunade's prior lack of success in waking Minato from an even deeper coma. Still, he maintained outward composure. "That's unfortunate news. I hope you can manage until she shows up. Jiraiya's sure she'll come around eventually."

Homura and Koharu parted lips as if to continue their line of questioning, but Shikaku placed a discreet hand on the table. "I think that suffices for a basic debrief," the Nara clan head said. "Naruto, your explanation clarifies the mission status. We'll fill in the details to the rest of the council. If Jiraiya and Tsunade do return soon, that solves the Hokage crisis."

Koharu's tense shoulders relaxed somewhat. She gave a curt nod. "Indeed. We'll rely on you to keep us informed, Naruto, if you learn anything else."

Homura motioned toward the door. "Very well. You're dismissed for now. The official record will be documented. If we need more specifics, we'll summon you again."

Naruto rose, offering a polite nod, relieved to end this interrogation. On the surface, his account seemed accepted. The elders, however, continued wearing guarded expressions, especially regarding Itachi. He suspected that once he left, they would dissect every detail, searching for hidden clues. Still, he had no desire to remain in that stifling atmosphere.

He turned, pacing toward the door, footsteps echoing in the hush. Shikaku followed a step behind, the man's brow creased in subtle concern. Once they were out of earshot from the elders, Shikaku murmured, "They sure hammered you about Itachi's words, huh?"

Naruto cast him a sidelong glance. "They did. It was more than curiosity. Something about Itachi rattles them."

Shikaku's lips curled into a frown. "I suspect old secrets they don't want revealed. Just watch your back. The elders are antsy about any mention of that Uchiha."

Naruto merely nodded, continuing down the corridor. They parted ways at a junction—Shikaku presumably to finalize mission logs, Naruto with a new plan in mind: to check on Kakashi in the hospital.

Exiting the tower, Naruto paused in the courtyard, letting the autumn air brush his face. The entire conversation about Kakashi's coma rankled him. He was never close to his original team sensei, but hearing that Itachi's involvement put Kakashi in that condition stirred an odd mix of pity and irony. He stepped off swiftly, weaving through backstreets and busy lanes to reach Konoha Hospital.

Outside the hospital complex, ranks of flowerbeds displayed bright chrysanthemums, a gentle attempt at comforting visitors. The main double doors opened automatically, letting Naruto into the stark-white lobby. He nodded at the receptionist—a bored medic nin flipping through charts—and made his way to the second floor. The halls smelled of antiseptics and faint herbal medicines, a standard environment in any large medical facility.

He found Kakashi's room after scanning the posted diagrams. The door was ajar, revealing the quiet hush of a standard patient room. Entering, he saw Kakashi Hatake lying on a single bed, attached to an IV drip and a monitor measuring his vitals. The beeping was steady, albeit subdued, and the shinobi's face remained obscured by his trademark mask. If not for the slight tension in his features, Naruto might have mistaken him for sleeping peacefully.

He stepped closer, eyeing the older man's form. "Guess you got stuck in one of Sensei's illusions, huh?" he said softly, though no one was around to hear. "Not the best way to meet your old friend, is it?" Naruto felt an odd swirl of empathy, albeit faint. He and Kakashi had parted ways months earlier with minimal warmth. Now, seeing Kakashi so helpless in a hospital bed hammered home the cycle of unpredictability.

He reached a hand out, though not actually touching Kakashi. "You're always reading that silly book or ignoring your surroundings," he muttered, "but you never struck me as fragile. It's just… crazy."

Just then, the door slid open behind him. Might Guy, in his green jumpsuit and bowl-cut hair, stepped inside, carrying a small cloth bag. The two locked eyes. For a few moments, they said nothing. Guy's face showed tension—some swirl of animosity or recollection. Naruto mirrored the sentiment, remembering their previous friction.

Eventually, Naruto half-turned, returning his gaze to Kakashi. "You're here to check on him too?" he asked quietly.

Guy nodded stiffly, pressing his lips together. "Yes. He's my eternal rival, after all. I can't let him languish alone." For a fleeting instant, a softness entered Guy's eyes as he took in Kakashi's state. Then, his attention shifted back to Naruto.

The hush lingered, overshadowed by the faint beep of the heart monitor. Naruto considered leaving, but a swirl of unresolved tension held him in place. He cleared his throat. "So… how's he doing? The genjutsu residue, I mean."

Guy answered in clipped tones, "Stable physically, but mentally unresponsive. The medics have tried everything short of Lady Tsunade's specialized techniques. Kurenai and Asuma also visited. We keep rotating in to see if anything helps."

Naruto nodded once, letting the air settle. But the tension spiked when their conversation pivoted to another matter: that fateful confrontation with Hyuga Neji. The memory hovered like a specter.

Guy was the first to bring it up. "You know, you left quite an impression on the village when you mauled one of your peers after a match had already ended. Neji might have been brash in insulting you, but was that reason to scar him for life?"

Naruto bristled, recalling the heated exchange on that day. "He had it coming," he said tersely. "He wouldn't shut up about my background, about the fact I once shined shoes to get by. He pushed and pushed, spouting that destiny nonsense. I snapped, yes. But maybe if you taught him some manners, I wouldn't have."

Guy's expression hardened, fists clenching. "You struck Neji with a chakra chain after the proctor called the match. Even you must realize how grave that is. You took advantage of a moment when combat was supposed to be over."

Naruto shot back, "He stepped on me, on my pride, on my entire life story. That fight ended physically, but not verbally. He insulted everything I was. Did you expect me to let it pass?"

Their voices rose, the beep of the monitor overshadowed by the tension. Guy lowered his tone but spoke with an icy edge. "Neji's face is scarred, Naruto. That chain tore across his right cheek. A mere inch more, and you'd have blinded his right Byakugan. The Hyuga elders still talk about it. If that had happened, you'd be behind bars or exiled, no matter how strong you are."

Naruto's nostrils flared. "Then maybe you should have told your precious protégé not to belittle people's entire existence. If he can't handle the consequences of his mouth, that's not my problem."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Guy's gaze flicked to Kakashi's sleeping form, as though worried the commotion might disturb him. "You speak of consequences? You nearly started a clan feud. Only the fact that the Hyuga have bigger concerns kept them from pursuing your punishment. Don't act like you did nothing wrong. You displayed a dangerous lack of restraint."

Naruto scoffed. "What about Neji's restraint, calling me worthless for shining shoes, mocking my existence? You hypocrites always turn a blind eye until violence erupts."

The argument spiraled, each word sharper than the last. Neither realized how loud they had grown until a nurse charged in, admonishing them both. Her face was lined with professional annoyance. "Gentlemen, this is a hospital zone. You're causing a disturbance for the patients. Lower your voices or leave."

Both men paused, aware of the nurse's right to scold them. Naruto exhaled, stepping back from Kakashi's bedside. Guy let out a frustrated sigh. In that forced lull, the tension abated enough for them to realize how close they'd come to a more heated confrontation. The nurse, seeing them calm, gestured for them to exit.

They allowed themselves to be shooed out into the corridor, hearts still pounding from the verbal clash. Once outside, neither spoke for a good ten seconds. The hospital hallway was quiet, only the occasional medic-nin or patient passing by.

Eventually, Guy rubbed his forehead, voice gentler. "This… is pointless. We're on the same side, though we differ. Let's just… keep it civil."

Naruto released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Fine," he muttered.

A moment passed, then Guy reached into his pocket. "Actually, here," he said, fishing out a small container of pills. "It's medicine for Sayuri. I came to drop off something for Kakashi, but also for her. Since I found you here, might as well pass it on."

Naruto blinked, confusion melting his earlier anger. "Medicine for Sayuri? She's… not well?"

Guy's stance eased, seeing Naruto's immediate concern. "She was discharged from the hospital a week ago. The docs recommended continued medication, something for her chakra system and lingering effects from a curse mark flare-up. Kakashi was supposed to be delivering it. But with him in a coma, that responsibility fell to me. I've been doing it for days now, but I have other tasks, so if you can get it to her, that'd help."

Naruto accepted the container, eyes narrowing as worry overshadowed everything else. "Is she in bad shape? She's usually tough, but—"

Guy observed the anxious lines creasing Naruto's brow. He parted his lips, the tension from their earlier spat fading somewhat. "She's stable, as far as I know, but this medicine is crucial to keep the curse mark's aftereffects in check. She's… not free to move around as she pleases, though."

Naruto's confusion redoubled. "Why not? Did her place get wrecked during the invasion? Did she relocate?"

Guy hesitated, eyes flicking to the side. "It's complicated. She's… on house arrest at the Uchiha Compound."

A swirl of alarm and frustration coursed through Naruto. "House arrest? She never mentioned anything about that. Why would they—?"

Guy sighed, voice subdued. "She found out that Itachi was in the village. In her impulsive attempt to chase him, she nearly left the village unauthorized. The Anbu and I intercepted her. She was insistent, borderline unhinged with anger. The village leadership decided it was best to confine her to the Uchiha district under watch. They can't risk her creating another crisis or jeopardizing her life by hunting a traitor who outclasses her right now. So she's effectively stuck there. I've been bringing her that medicine regularly."

It was a lot to digest. Naruto stilled, letting it sink in: So, in a cruel twist, Itachi had indirectly forced another person he cared about into a corner. "Understood," he whispered after a beat. "Guess I'd better go see her. Thank you."

Guy gave a curt nod, relief flickering in his eyes. "Your concern is clear. She's probably frustrated and lonely, cooped up behind old clan gates. But do keep your temper in check, for both your sakes. The Hyuga fiasco was enough. Another outburst might land you in trouble."

Naruto, still holding the container, offered a subdued "Thanks," and turned away. The earlier hostility between them dissipated. Different as they were, they shared a mutual desire to keep their respective charges safe.

As Naruto departed the hospital, he felt an undercurrent of urgency. He needed to see Sayuri, confirm her well-being, deliver her medication, and learn how she was handling house arrest. The mention of Itachi's infiltration, her near meltdown, and the constraints placed upon her weighed on his mind. He adjusted his path, heading straight for the Uchiha Compound, where the silent architecture of that once-proud clan loomed, and where an entire new confrontation might await him.

Land of Demons

A gentle evening breeze drifted across the Senju Compound's central courtyard, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers mingled with the sweetness of fresh tea. In one of the estate's quieter wings, a soft light emanated from behind a sliding door leading to a modestly furnished room. Inside, Minato Namikaze—recently roused from a thirteen-year coma—rested upon a low bed, back propped by firm cushions. His breath caught slightly when he recognized a detail from the past: the comforting smell of steeped leaves in the air, reminiscent of something he once savored with his wife.

For a moment, he could almost see Kushina moving around the place as she had in bygone days. She'd often insisted on concocting her own blend, humming a quiet tune while carefully measuring the water temperature. Now, as Minato's eyes played tricks on him, he glimpsed a silhouette in the corner—vivid red hair, slender arms, the tilt of her chin as she stood near an elegant wooden table. The ghostly figure glided around, her voice an echo of a memory. He blinked, startled.

When his vision refocused, the sight was gone. Instead of Kushina's small frame, a taller form with shock-white hair stood there, arms outstretched, fussing with a kettle perched on a portable heater. The visitor wore a light red vest over lengthy green sleeves, an ensemble that looked both outlandish and somehow comforting. Minato let the door slide fully open, momentarily taken aback by the wave of nostalgia crashing through him.

"Sensei," he murmured at last, voice tight with emotion. Jiraiya, the Toad Sage, turned at the sound, eyebrows lifting in delight. "Welcome back, kid," Jiraiya declared with a broad grin. "You're awake at last!" His wart upon the side of his nose still protruded as prominently as before, framing a face that seemed to defy the passage of time. Although faint lines crinkled the skin around his eyes, everything else about him shouted vitality and mischief.

Minato remained near the threshold, one hand lightly gripping the door frame for balance. The blankets around his bed had shifted when he rose to investigate the aroma, but he was still regaining strength. Despite that, the overwhelming sense of familiarity tugged at his heart. Jiraiya pointed to the neat futon and pillows. "Sit back," he ordered with faux sternness. "Or do you plan on standing all night, gawking like a startled academy student?"

With a faint, sheepish smile, Minato sank onto the bed. The place was warm, lit by a single lantern overhead, its glow dancing over newly polished wood and a few personal belongings. The white-haired man resumed pouring tea, each motion precise. At one point, he flicked the kettle upward, letting the liquid arc into an empty cup. Gravity threatened to scatter droplets across the tatami mats, but none escaped Jiraiya's deft control. Every splash landed squarely in the vessel, an easy show of skill.

Minato exhaled, bridging the silence with a soft murmur, "This is all so… it feels like no time has passed, but I know it has." He scanned the room—new scrolls, different furnishings, yet the undercurrent of what used to be his life still lingered. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine Kushina bounding through, chiding Jiraiya for showing off while half threatening to sabotage his fancy pouring technique. A pang twisted inside his chest.

"Here," Jiraiya said, voice taking on a gentle timbre as he spun a ceramic cup across the short distance. Minato snatched it from midair with reflexes partially intact. Setting it against his lips, he tasted the brew. "Sweet," he whispered. "But somehow bitter, too." Jiraiya sank onto a cushion opposite him, giving a slight nod. "Precisely how you liked it once, if I recall. I wanted to replicate that memory for you."

A hush enveloped them for several heartbeats. Minato stared into his tea, gold-blue eyes reflecting a swirl of regret and gratitude. "Thank you," he said at last. "I was worried I'd awaken with no sense of home. But this room, these small touches… it's as if you've rebuilt a piece of my past." Jiraiya's broad shoulders rose in a nonchalant shrug. "It wasn't too bad. Needed to chase out some tenants who messed up your old kitchen area, but otherwise it's workable."

Minato sighed, placing the cup down gently. "All of this feels unreal," he admitted. "I was sealed off from the world for so long. My mind kept glimpses of Kushina. Even now, I sense her ghost lingering, humming in the corner, cooking just beyond my line of sight. I keep expecting her to walk in." His voice cracked slightly. "Jiraiya-sensei, how am I supposed to handle this emptiness? It's like no time passed for me, but the world's changed so drastically."

Reaching out, Jiraiya laid a hand on Minato's shoulder. "One breath at a time," he said gravely. "You must not let sorrow devour you. Tsunade tried that route, believe me. After losing Dan and her brother Nawaki, she spiraled into grief. For a long time, she drowned her pain in sake, in gambling, in wandering from place to place, unable to heal. That's no way to live." Minato's gaze lowered, remembering Tsunade's tragedy and the way she vanished from the village.

The older man cleared his throat, continuing with a quieter tone. "Eventually, she and I found a measure of comfort in each other. Neither of us intended it, but we were so broken that we gravitated together. Over time, we had a son—Nawaki, named in honor of her lost brother. And then, well… Mito came along soon after. She was just an infant left in our care, but we embraced her wholeheartedly. She was your daughter, Minato, from your union with Kushina. In that sense, Mito became a part of our family. By raising her, Tsunade began rediscovering hope."

Minato's hand trembled on the teacup. "Yes… Mito," he said, voice thick with emotion. "I recall only fragments of that night, the Nine-Tails… Kushina's final sacrifice. You two took Mito away to safety." Jiraiya nodded, expression pained. "I know it might be overwhelming to realize an entire childhood passed you by. But we did our best. We protected her, shielded her from scrutiny, and gave her a home. Tsunade, despite all her trauma, found a reason to keep fighting because of those children—Nawaki and Mito. They helped her move on from the darkest pits of mourning."

Silence floated between them, heavy as a thundercloud. Minato pressed the cup to his lips but didn't drink, his thoughts adrift in reflections of a life lost. "I'm grateful," he managed softly. "I can't possibly repay what you and Tsunade did for Mito. To think that my daughter grew up, had a mother figure… it's a relief and a heartbreak. I didn't want her to endure the same loneliness I faced in my youth." Jiraiya gave a small smile, placing his palm gently on Minato's forearm.

"She's strong, you know," Jiraiya remarked. "Quite the blend of your calm intelligence and Kushina's fiery heart. Tsunade taught her medical ninjutsu, and she also inherited a portion of her mother's unique gifts. You'd be proud if you saw how she stands tall on her own. She wants to prove her worth. Perhaps it's that Uzumaki grit. She's the reason Tsunade overcame her worst days." Minato's eyes stung at the mention of Mito's achievements. "Thank you… for everything you did."

"Think nothing of it," Jiraiya answered, though a glimmer of humility crossed his features. "She was family—Kushina's child, your child. Of course we'd guard her as our own. Then, time marched on. Now she's nearly a teenager, eager to spread her wings. We're all just trying to keep up." Minato set down his cup, nodding. "I still can't believe how many years slipped through my fingers. The world must look so different now."

Jiraiya studied him intently. "It does. And you'll need time to adjust. But I have no doubt you can. You're Minato, after all—the Fourth Hokage. The village might be battered, but you can find your place. There's also someone else waiting, you know." Minato exhaled slowly, as though steeling himself for a vital confession. "Naruto. My son." A pang of guilt flickered in his chest. "I parted from him that night too, trusting him to be safe. Now he's grown into a formidable shinobi, from what I've heard."

A subdued nod from Jiraiya confirmed it. "Yes, Naruto is quite a force to reckon with. He's faced unimaginable challenges, walked precarious paths… but he's still standing. Stubborn, determined, powerful. You'll want to see him soon." Minato swallowed, the sorrow in his eyes a testament to how he missed so much. "I plan to, once I have my bearings. Now that I'm awake, the first step is reconnecting with my family."

A hush settled, the only sound the faint trickle of tea swirling in Jiraiya's kettle as he refilled Minato's cup. Minato sipped again, letting the flavors wash over him. The tea was indeed sweet and bitter at once—a reflection of his present life. He remembered how he used to tease Kushina about needing sweeter flavors to counter her fiery cooking style, and that memory threatened to rip open the wounds of longing once more. But Jiraiya's presence was a buffer, a reminder that the living still needed him.

They sat for several minutes in companionable silence, each lost in recollections and unspoken regrets. Then Minato placed the cup aside, quietly mustering a smile. "You went through all this trouble to set up the room, to brew this tea, to greet me before I even found my feet… I can't thank you enough, Jiraiya-sensei." The older man cleared his throat, eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "We thought we'd never have such a moment again. Tsunade and I both are relieved you pulled through. It might have taken over a decade, but… welcome home."

Emotion thickened in Minato's throat. "Thank you," he repeated softly. "And thank you for looking after Mito in my absence. That must have been a huge responsibility—one that shouldn't have fallen on you." Jiraiya shook his head. "Family is family, Minato. We do what must be done." A wistful silence reigned. Then Minato inhaled, bracing himself. "Sensei, how… how is Naruto, truly? He was just a toddler when—"

Jiraiya let out a long breath. "He's… an enigma. He's harnessed tremendous power, even forging alliances that might surprise you. He left the village for a while, returning with abilities that defy normal teachings. He's faced S-rank criminals, made radical decisions, and is forging his own path. Sometimes, he's unyielding to a fault." Minato's lips twitched in a mixture of relief and paternal concern. "He's safe, though?"

"Safe is relative," Jiraiya replie quietly. "He's not just any shinobi. Circumstances shaped him in ways we never predicted. Danzo's influence, Root operations, the Akatsuki hunting him… But yes, physically he's alive, active, and confident. He's older than Mito by a year or so, but they haven't really grown together. Different paths, different guardians. You'll want to talk to him, when you're ready."

Minato closed his eyes, listening to the beating of his heart in his ears. The swirl of blame tried to surface—he'd entrusted Naruto's safety to the Third Hokage, never imagining the boy would endure so much. But the bitterness was tempered by a sense of gratitude that his adopted son survived. "Tomorrow," he repeated, though more decisively now. "If my legs are steady, I'll see if I can find him. I'll apologize for not being there, for letting the years slip."

Smiling, Jiraiya polished off his own tea with a flourish, reminiscent of old showmanship. "He might pretend he doesn't care, but trust me, beneath that tough exterior, he's got a lot of questions for you. Just brace yourself. He's not a docile child." Minato allowed a tiny grin to form. "Neither was I, if I recall." Their shared laughter echoed softly, easing the tension.

With the conversation winding down, Minato tried to stand, pushing aside the bedcovers. He rose unsteadily, Jiraiya stepping forward to assist, but Minato waved him off. "I should see if I can manage a short walk," he reasoned. Jiraiya nodded, backing away with a proud grin. "Don't overdo it. Tsunade threatened to slug me if I let you collapse."

They took a moment near the door, each reflecting on how surreal it was to be reunited after so long. Jiraiya placed a hand on the door frame, gaze drifting to the quiet corridor beyond. "You realize everything changes from here on. Tsunade might return to the Leaf, and you might come forward too, if that's what you choose. The village could use your presence. Or you might remain hidden until you're sure about your next steps."

Minato's expression sobered. "I need clarity first—Mito, Naruto, the shape of the world. Then… I'll see. But if the Leaf stands in crisis, and Tsunade's asked to be Hokage, I won't just vanish. We both have a lot at stake." Jiraiya nodded, satisfied. "That's fair."

At length, Minato let his gaze wander, recalling the echoes of Kushina's laughter. Yes, it hurt to accept she was gone, but he had to move forward. Looking at Jiraiya's open, encouraging face, he recognized that the man had suffered his own heartbreak, yet found new reasons to fight on. "Thank you, Jiraiya-sensei," Minato repeated quietly, voice laden with sincerity.

Jiraiya's grin returned. "Stop thanking me. Just get well, keep your chin up, and go see your children. You've still got to do your part as their father—blood or adopted. They need you in some shape or form. And maybe, just maybe, you can find a path that honors Kushina's memory without drowning in sorrow." Minato's heart clenched, but a hopeful spark flickered there. "I will. Tomorrow, I'll start."

With that, he stepped into the corridor, every footstep resonating in the silent estate. Jiraiya followed for a bit, ensuring he could walk steadily, then paused. "I'll let Tsunade know you're up and about. She's out dealing with Mito and Nawaki for a while, but she'll want to talk soon." Minato nodded, leaning lightly on the wall, determined to build up stamina. "Yes, I'd like that. There's so much to discuss… about everything."

Together, they strolled leisurely, overshadowed by the hush of night. Candlelit sconces illuminated the clan house's interior, revealing old portraits of Senju ancestors, plush mats, and carved wooden banisters. Although much had changed, pieces of the past lingered in subtle corners. Each new detail reminded Minato of how life had moved on without him. Yet he was here, no longer entombed in slumber, thanks to a miracle that still baffled the best medical minds.

Eventually, they parted ways near an atrium. Jiraiya needed to head outside for a late errand, while Minato continued along a short hallway. Standing at a window that looked out onto a moonlit courtyard, he wondered how Naruto fared, forging a destiny shaped by countless battles. And Mito—his daughter—was grown, a near-adult with hopes, burdens, and blossoming talents. He sighed, bracing himself for a reunion that teetered between joy and heartbreak.

Yet, for the first time since awakening, Minato felt a hint of optimism. The swirl of pain still haunted him, but Jiraiya's presence offered reassurance that he wouldn't face this uncertain future alone. Tsunade's presence in the compound, even if sometimes aloof, guaranteed that someone deeply invested in his well-being was close by. Nawaki and Mito were living proof that new life could arise from old sorrows. Perhaps, in time, he could find a path to reconnect with everyone and discover how best to serve.

At last, he released a slow breath and quietly stepped back into his quarters. The teapot on the low table still steamed faintly. He approached it, letting the warmth billow across his fingers. Lifting the kettle, he thought of Kushina's old teasing line whenever Jiraiya performed fancy tricks: Stop showing off and finish pouring, sensei. The memory tugged a bittersweet grin to his face.

Minato sank onto the bed again, sipping the dregs of the tea. Yes, it was sweet and bitter, like everything he faced now. But he would endure. Tomorrow beckoned, promising steps toward his son, an embrace for Mito, and the start of a new chapter for them all.

Naruto strode through Konoha's evening hush, hands shoved in his pockets, a small bottle of pills rattling quietly in one of them. Although he was used to odd jobs here and there, he hadn't expected to play courier tonight—and certainly not for anything involving the Uchiha compound. Yet here he was, trudging along a silent street bathed in moonlight, thoughts divided between curiosity, apprehension, and the persistent growl of his own stomach. The prospect of Guy treating him to a hot meal later had been just enough to convince him to shoulder this errand. He could still hear Guy's voice echoing in his head: *"She needs these pills, and she needs them *tonight*. Time is of the essence, Naruto!"* And so, despite the late hour, Naruto had grudgingly agreed.

He tightened his grip around the container. Guy had explained these were specialized chakra-regulating antibiotics, formulated to soothe the aftereffects of a curse mark flare-up—Sayuri Uchiha's curse mark, to be precise. While Naruto lacked any formal medical training, he understood enough to realize how severe and unpredictable those curse seals could be. Orochimaru might have been gone for now, sealed away after his botched invasion, but his influence apparently lingered through that accursed mark. The medication, therefore, was a critical lifeline for Sayuri's recovery.

Yet Naruto could not ignore the peculiar dread that simmered in his chest. The Uchiha compound was notorious for the tragedies it harbored, and the weight of history felt inescapable whenever one stepped onto those grounds. He recalled the night the entire clan had been destroyed in a single night, his own rash confrontation with his former mentor. Itachi had abandoned the village, had betrayed everyone, and had later shown up during the recent crisis. Worse, Kakashi-sensei now lay in a coma because of Itachi's illusions. Naruto swallowed, unsettled by the memory of the man who had once been touted as a Konoha prodigy, a man he'd looked upto & trusted, turning against his own family. It felt wrong to walk amidst such remnants of sorrow, especially under the moon's pale glow.

Still, an errand was an errand, and Naruto never liked to let people down—even if it was just delivering pills. He passed through an old archway, leaving the more bustling sections of the village behind. The streets here were quiet except for the occasional hum of insects. In the stillness, he couldn't help but notice the tingling press of memory: every time he had ventured out this late, some kind of trouble had eventually found him. Maybe it was his knack for attracting trouble, or maybe the village after dark just carried that aura of unpredictability. He inhaled and forced himself to press forward.

The Uchiha district soon rose into view: gates marked by the unmistakable clan fan symbol, rusted slightly from neglect. One side hung partially open, an unsettling invitation. He steeled himself. *"Don't be a scaredy-cat,"* he told himself, though the hair on the back of his neck prickled with unease. He remembered Guy's explanation that this once-thriving quarter had been left largely untouched after the massacre. No one had wanted to repurpose the land, nor did the village elders see any need to demolish it. Thus, it stood as a graveyard of sorts—a silent testament to a once-proud clan.

Stepping through the open gate, Naruto peered around. Rows of old, silent houses stretched along a worn cobblestone main street. Some windows were boarded up; others had shutters dangling precariously by a hinge. He noticed a few battered lanterns flickering weakly, offering only feeble light against the darkness. Occasionally, a breeze would stir, rustling the weeds that had grown tall near walls and corners. It was the kind of place that made one feel as though ghosts might peer from behind tattered curtains.

He reminded himself of the mission: *"Deliver the medicine. Make sure she takes it."* Guy's request had been unambiguous. Naruto suspected the older shinobi feared Sayuri might refuse treatment out of stubbornness. That wouldn't surprise him. She always radiated an aloof confidence—even in the Academy, she had been among the top students, overshadowing most of their classmates with her skill. Of course, Naruto had prided himself on his determination, but he had never been considered *talented* in that conventional sense. *"Yeah, well look at me now,"* he mused, exhaling a breath. *"I've come a long way since I was that loudmouthed kid failing my exams."*

He paused a moment, recalling how, in the past few months, his own abilities had skyrocketed. It felt almost surreal when he listed everything he had been through. First, there had been the Land of Waves mission, where he had fought Haku, the Ice Release user, on a perilous bridge. He could still remember the swirl of ice mirrors, the razor-sharp senbon, and his desperate struggle to protect his friends. Then, there was the Forest of Death. He had survived an encounter with Orochimaru himself. Sakura, tragically, had been killed during that ordeal, and Sayuri had been the one marked with Orochimaru's curse seal. It still pained Naruto to remember how Sakura's final moments had left them all in shock. They had lost a teammate, a friend, and even now, the memory stung like an old wound that refused to close.

After that, everything had come in rapid succession: the Chunin Exams, where he had gone up against Neji Hyuga, forging a surprising victory. Then his monumental clash with Gaara, culminating in summoning Gamabunta to protect the village. Orochimaru's eventual defeat—or at least the sealing that had cost the Third Hokage his life—had also become part of the swirl of events that propelled Naruto forward. More recently, there had been the abrupt confrontation with Itachi and Kisame, which had ended with Kisame's death at his hands. The boy still felt an odd mixture of pride and confusion whenever he recalled that moment. He had grown powerful, arguably so much faster than anyone could have predicted. Yet the chaos of it all weighed on him, a testament to how dangerous their world truly was.

Nevertheless, no matter his own progress, he could sense that life was far from simple. Kakashi's coma reminded him of that—and the shattered bond between Sayuri and her traitorous brother reminded him, too. Tonight's errand was more than just delivering medicine; it was stepping into a realm of secrets, regrets, and painful memories. He tried to brace himself, walking deeper into the district. Even the air smelled different here, tinged with dust and a faint hint of decay.

At last, after several minutes, Naruto glimpsed a pale light emanating from one of the far houses. Even from a distance, he could tell the building was in better repair than the others. Lantern light flickered behind rice-paper windows, signifying that someone was still awake. *"That has to be her place,"* he thought, adjusting his pace. He couldn't imagine anyone else willingly living out here. In truth, the idea of residing alone in a deserted compound was unsettling—but if any person was stubborn enough to do so, it would be Sayuri Uchiha.

Just as he approached the wooden steps, the interior light vanished. Naruto hesitated, glancing around for any sign of watchers. He wouldn't be surprised if the ANBU were lurking, keeping tabs on the last living Uchiha (who wasn't a traitor). With the wariness of someone who had experienced his share of ambushes, Naruto forced a breath through his nose and climbed the short stairway. He had half-raised his hand to knock when the door slid open with a faint rasp.

Sayuri stood there in the doorway, framed by the dim shadows of the house behind her. She wore a simple black T-shirt, the Uchiha fan emblem on the back, and a pair of dark shorts. Her hair—equally black—fell around her face, and Naruto couldn't help but notice the weariness in her eyes. She wasn't the only one exhausted; he could tell from how she leaned lightly against the frame that the curse mark's aftereffects might still be plaguing her. Even so, an unmistakable tension underlined her posture. She exuded the same guarded air that Naruto had come to associate with the Uchiha.

She gave him a cool once-over. "You again, Naruto," she said, her voice soft but edged with a faint rasp. "I don't remember leaving the gate open as an invitation."

Naruto raised his hands in mock surrender. "Then maybe you should lock it next time. I took it as a sign you were waiting for me." He shrugged, trying to sound casual, though the lingering hush in the district made him uneasy. "Anyway, Guy-sensei asked me to deliver these." He patted the pills in his pocket. "He said they're important for your curse mark's recovery."

Sayuri's eyes flickered, and for a moment, a flash of something unreadable crossed her face. "He's worried I'll ignore the prescription," she murmured. "Thinks I'm too stubborn." She folded her arms over her chest. "Is that the gist of it?"

Naruto nodded. "Pretty much. But hey, at least I get a free meal out of it if I do a good job." He offered a crooked grin. "You know me—I can't turn down ramen if someone else is paying."

She almost rolled her eyes. "Of course, you're motivated by food. But I suppose that's no different from back in our Academy days." Her gaze flicked over him. For an instant, she appeared to be analyzing him the way she might analyze an opponent. There was something else lurking in her expression, too—a hint of uncertainty. Naruto barely caught it before she concealed it behind a mask of impassivity.

It occurred to him that she might be reflecting on how he used to be a loud prankster who couldn't pass a written exam, but now he had faced monstrous foes, saved the village more than once, and even joined forces with a Sannin. The realization struck him that maybe she was comparing their progress. His mind flashed back to the Land of Waves, to Haku and that final, tense confrontation on the bridge. Hadn't that been the first time he truly understood what it meant to risk his life for someone else? After that mission, it seemed he never stopped growing in power, hurtling from one life-altering event to another.

Sayuri stepped outside, letting the night air sweep over them both. She closed the door partially behind her. "So, these pills," she said slowly, turning her attention to him once more. "Let me see them."

He fished the bottle out of his pocket and gave it a gentle shake. "They're chakra-regulating antibiotics. Supposed to keep Orochimaru's potential leftover influence from flaring up too badly. Now that he's sealed away, Guy-sensei says you should be able to recover without interference—assuming you actually take these meds."

She accepted the container and studied the label. The corners of her mouth tightened. "He's *sealed, not necessarily *gone*. But yeah, his presence should be minimal." Her tone sharpened a fraction. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm still under house arrest, especially after I tried to leave the village when I heard that Itachi was sneaking around. The ANBU haven't let me forget it."

Naruto rubbed the back of his neck, recalling how that incident had circulated through the rumor mill. She'd been so determined to confront her brother, especially after learning he might have targeted Kakashi. "You know," he said carefully, "that was reckless. He's… unbelievably strong. And you were in rough shape from your curse mark's flare-up. I get that you hate him, that you want your revenge or at least an explanation for what he did to your clan, but you could have gotten yourself killed. You saw how easily he incapacitated Kakashi-sensei."

Her lips thinned. She turned away from him momentarily, eyes shifting to the dark street behind them. "I'm aware he's not an opponent to take lightly," she said in a subdued tone. "But it's not just about wanting vengeance. It's about my entire clan, about my childhood, *my life* he destroyed." Her hands clenched around the pill bottle. "And if I'm supposed to be the avenger, how am I still stuck in this place, overshadowed by everything you've accomplished? You, of all people—"

She cut herself off, as if she had said too much. Naruto tilted his head, curiosity piqued. It sounded like she was grappling with frustration directed at him. Her jaw was set in a rigid line.

Quietly, he said, "I'm not here to rub anything in your face, if that's what you're worried about."

She faced him again, her features flickering between anger and something akin to shame. "Don't pretend you haven't noticed," she snapped. "You weren't even that remarkable in the Academy—blunt but true, Naruto. Yet in the past few months, you defeated the Ice ninja in the Land of Waves, somehow survived Orochimaru in the Forest of Death—while Sakura…" She paused, swallowing back emotion. "And I… I was the one who got marked, and I didn't even land a decisive blow on him. Then came the Chunin Exams, where you beat Neji, who was supposed to be the top rookie, and then you took down Gaara, too. On top of it all, you had a hand in sealing Orochimaru during the invasion and apparently assisted Jiraiya in a clash against Itachi and Kisame. You even helped kill Kisame, didn't you?" She exhaled. "I'm supposed to be the avenger, but I haven't even surpassed my *teammate*. It's humiliating."

Naruto was momentarily taken aback. He had never heard her acknowledge his growth so openly. Usually, she kept her assessments guarded, or she scoffed as if she didn't care. Now, though, the resentment in her tone was palpable—and, curiously, tinted with what sounded like self-doubt. She was the last loyal Uchiha, yet her power lagged behind. It must have felt like another betrayal of sorts.

He shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond. "Listen, I trained a lot," he said, voice quieter than usual. "I… I lost people, too. Sakura…" He trailed off at her name. The memory of their fallen teammate cut deeper than he liked to admit. "If it weren't for her sacrifice, who knows if I'd even still be here? I guess, in a weird way, each fight pushed me further, taught me more. I'm not proud of how we lost her, but I can't pretend it didn't push me to become stronger."

Sayuri's gaze dropped momentarily. "She wasn't even supposed to be on Orochimaru's radar," she murmured, frustration coloring her tone. "We were all thrown into the Forest of Death, told to survive, and then *that snake* showed up. Sakura tried to protect me—us—and ended up losing her life. And I gained this cursed seal." She tightened her grip on the pill container until her knuckles turned white. "I hated my own helplessness. I despised my reliance on others. I was an Uchiha, supposed to be elite. Yet I couldn't protect her or myself from Orochimaru's attack."

Naruto's chest tightened at the rawness in her words. He sensed that while her anger might be directed outward—toward Orochimaru and Itachi—a large part was also aimed inward, at her inability to avert tragedy. "I miss her too," he said quietly. "I know we were a ragtag team in some ways, but still… losing her felt like losing a part of us."

A flicker of grief passed over Sayuri's features before she masterfully concealed it again. "We lost that naive, pink-haired girl, and I lost yet another bond." She inhaled. "It seems every time I form one, it's snatched away. That's partly why I was so desperate to chase Itachi—he took everything. I won't let him roam free if I can help it."

Silence settled, thick with sorrow. In the distance, a faint breeze rustled a broken shutter. Naruto glanced at Sayuri's rigid profile. "Guy-sensei was also worried about you ignoring your own health," he said, trying to gently steer the conversation. "So he sent me here to make sure you keep up with the meds, especially after Orochimaru's sealing. We don't need any more curses flaring up. In theory, with Orochimaru gone, the mark shouldn't keep draining you, right?"

She nodded slowly. "That's what the medic-nin told me. Without his presence, the seal is more like a dormant parasite. Still, it can act up under stress, and if it's not treated properly, I might lose control of my chakra in the worst moments. I'd prefer not to experience that." She sighed, glancing down at the bottle. "So you really came all this way just to deliver them and watch me swallow a pill?"

"Guy-sensei insisted. He was worried you might, I don't know, throw it in a ditch or something." Naruto scuffed a sandal against the porch. "But while I'm here, I do want to ask how you're holding up, you know, after the invasion and all. Kakashi-sensei is still out of commission because of Itachi. Are you… are you doing okay? Even if you hate answering that question, I have to ask."

She studied him for a moment, her eyes betraying a momentary softness. "It feels redundant to say I'm not doing well, Naruto. I'm stuck in a place filled with reminders of my clan's demise. My sense of vengeance is only growing. And every time I hear how you've leapt forward in skill, it's like salt in the wound." She paused, then added quietly, "And yet I'm also… relieved. Relieved you're strong enough that maybe, if it comes down to it, you can help me face him. Don't twist that into me praising you too much, but… it's the truth."

He felt a flicker of warmth at her words, but also a pang of empathy. She was so wrapped up in her quest for retribution that even a small admission of admiration had to be carefully couched. "Well, for what it's worth, I've just returned from traveling with Jiraiya," he said, shifting the subject. "We're on a mission to find Lady Tsunade and bring her back to the village as the Fifth Hokage. The elders think she can heal Kakashi-sensei. If we succeed, she'll be able to bring him out of that coma."

Sayuri's eyes sharpened. "Tsunade of the Sannin," she repeated, her expression thoughtful. "The legendary medical ninja. I'd wondered if that was in the works. But you say *we*—did you already locate her?"

Naruto shrugged. "We have some leads, but it's not finalized. Jiraiya decided we needed to come back briefly, and that's when I ran into Itachi and Kisame. That whole fiasco ended with Kisame being… well, ended. After that, Jiraiya sent me back here to handle a few tasks while he continued gathering info on Tsunade's whereabouts. I'll probably head out again soon. But if we can bring her back, I'm sure she'll fix Kakashi-sensei right up."

For a moment, Sayuri's features softened as though the idea of Kakashi's recovery offered some genuine relief. Then her eyes flicked to the bottle of pills in her grasp. She extended one hand, popped the lid, and shook a tablet into her palm. "I guess I might as well take tonight's dose," she said. "Otherwise, you'll never leave, right?"

Naruto gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. "That's the plan," he said, making no move to hide that he was watching. She swallowed the pill with a small grimace, presumably because she had no water on hand. A faint hush settled between them as she recapped the container.

"All right, that's done," she muttered, returning the bottle to him. "You might as well hold onto it for now. We can keep walking. I'm not in the mood to stand in the doorway forever."

He pocketed the medication and followed her as she descended the short steps. The night air felt a touch colder than before, and the deserted streets around them were illuminated only by the moon and a few dilapidated lanterns. They strolled in silence for a minute, their footsteps echoing faintly on the worn cobblestones. Naruto couldn't help but scan the dark corners for any sign of lurking ANBU. He was sure they were around, but well-concealed.

Eventually, Sayuri spoke, her voice low. "I saw the look in your eyes. You sense something off with me. My frustration, maybe. It's obvious, isn't it?" She let out a breath that misted in the chill. "I can't hide it anymore. Knowing you've grown so much stronger—while I'm here, imprisoned by my own weaknesses—drives me insane."

Naruto wanted to reassure her, but he remembered how proud she was. Instead, he chose his words carefully. "It's not like it's been an easy road, you know. I've nearly died more times than I can count. And the cost of that power… losing Sakura, nearly losing Kakashi, seeing the village attacked… it wasn't some glorious progression. It was messy, and it still hurts."

She nodded, gaze lingering on a collapsed wooden walkway outside an abandoned training hall. "I suppose I know that," she allowed. "Still, it's hard not to feel… behind. I'm the heir to a broken clan with a broken legacy. Every day I spend here, alone in this compound, just reminds me how little time I have to exact my revenge."

They neared a row of boarded-up storefronts. Above them, a battered sign swung creakily in the wind. Sayuri paused, turning to Naruto. The faint light from a far lantern caught the glossy sheen of her hair, and for an instant, Naruto noticed a trace of vulnerability in her eyes. She seemed about to say something, then hesitated.

When she finally spoke, she changed the topic. "So, about your journey with Jiraiya: you said you ran into Itachi. Did he mention me at all? Did he speak about returning to the village or about… about the clan?"

Naruto recalled the warnings he'd received about feeding Sayuri's obsession. He had promised the council to keep certain details sparse, not wanting to spur her into another reckless dash after Itachi. "He was mostly silent," Naruto said, the half-truth rolling off his tongue a bit stiffly. "He was focused on capturing me—well, the Nine-Tails chakra inside me. I didn't hear him say anything about you. It ended in a fight, and Jiraiya forced him to retreat."

She narrowed her eyes, disappointment clear in the lines of her face. "So you and Jiraiya fought him, and he ran away? Just like that?"

"We had the element of surprise," Naruto fibbed gently. "And Kisame was taken down in the scuffle. They decided it wasn't worth the trouble to keep going. Trust me, if you'd gone after him alone…" He stopped, uncertain if finishing that sentence would comfort her or push her further into frustration.

She crossed her arms. "You think I'd have no chance."

He sighed, meeting her gaze. "Not alone, no. He's incredibly powerful. Kakashi found out the hard way. Even with all your skill, you'd be better off waiting until you have backup or more training."

Her expression tightened. "I hate that reality." Then, after a beat, her voice dropped to a more vulnerable pitch. "But I'm not foolish enough to believe I can fight him without a plan. My rush to leave was more impulse than strategy."

A brief silence followed as they walked further along the main street, passing a series of small homes that looked nearly identical. Many had partially caved-in roofs or shattered windows. It was a sad sight. Naruto found himself thinking about how different this place might have been when the Uchiha clan was alive and thriving. He pictured children running around, training in the courtyards, families sharing meals. All of it had been wiped out in one brutal night.

His mind drifted to their lost teammate. "You know," he murmured, "Sakura used to pester us with her chatter. That's the biggest thing I remember about her from the Academy—her voice. Now, I'd give anything to hear it again."

Sayuri's face was unreadable, but he could sense she was forcing herself to remain composed. "She was naive," she finally managed, "but she was also… kind. She tried to be there for everyone. Maybe that's why she ended up sacrificing herself. She never gave up on us, even if it meant risking her life. I wish… well, I wish a lot of things had gone differently in that forest."

Naruto swallowed, feeling the ache in his chest. "I'm sorry I didn't visit you in the hospital sooner," he said, recalling one of the reasons Guy had asked him to come here in person. "I was too caught up in my own training and missions, and… I guess I avoided confronting everything that happened. Sakura, the curse mark, Orochimaru… it was all too much."

She shook her head, turning slightly so he couldn't see her expression clearly. "Don't apologize," she said, her voice wavering almost imperceptibly. "We all grieve differently. I would've just pushed you away back then anyway."

He nodded, though guilt still tugged at him. They paused near what looked like a deserted shopfront. The battered sign above the door bore the faint outline of the Uchiha fan. The night air felt colder here, or perhaps the weight of their memories made the chill more pronounced.

At length, Sayuri turned back. "Let's go," she muttered, resuming her walk toward her residence. "You said you wanted to confirm I actually took the medicine, right? Well, you've confirmed it. Unless you're planning to hold my hand through every pill I swallow."

Naruto let out a short, light laugh that felt out of place against the dismal backdrop of the compound. "Guy-sensei would probably have me do it if he thought it necessary," he joked, trying to lift the mood. "But seriously, if you want me to bring more doses at some point, just say the word."

She huffed. "I can manage. The only reason I took that pill in front of you is so you'd stop hovering. But thanks, I guess, for not making this into a bigger ordeal than it had to be."

They approached her house once again. The faint moonlight reflected off the windows, exposing the minimal furnishings inside. Naruto thought about how lonely it must be, living in these silent rooms day in and day out, haunted by the memory of a murdered clan and overshadowed by the specter of Itachi. A pang of empathy coursed through him.

Sayuri stopped by the door, turning to regard him. "I'm sure you'll be off soon to meet back with Jiraiya and continue your mission to find Tsunade." Her tone implied she was stating a fact, not asking a question.

"Probably," he confirmed. "I want to see Kakashi-sensei awake as soon as possible. Once Lady Tsunade becomes Hokage, she'll be able to help him—and maybe, in turn, help strengthen the village."

Sayuri gave a small nod, her posture a touch more relaxed than it had been minutes earlier. She seemed, for once, receptive to the idea of letting him see her softer side. When she finally spoke, her voice held a subdued warmth. "I hope she can heal him quickly. Kakashi might've been too lackadaisical as a sensei sometimes, but he didn't deserve to be cast into a coma by my wretched brother."

Naruto sighed. "He's one of the few people who believed in me early on, even if he didn't always show it. I'll be glad to see him back on his feet. And I know you have your own reasons to want him awake—he might be able to train you further."

Her eyes flickered with that same swirl of emotion—resentment, longing, determination. "Yes," she said softly. "If I'm going to stand a chance against Itachi, I need every advantage I can get." Then, more hesitantly, she added, "You're… strong, Naruto. Stronger than I ever anticipated. I only realized how vast that gap had become after hearing about your fights, one after another. It's like you're sprinting ahead, barely looking back."

He rubbed at his neck, a bit self-conscious. "Well, you know… I just refuse to stay down. I guess that's always been my thing." He laughed awkwardly, recalling how many times he used to spout the line *"I never give up!"* The difference was that now he actually had the power to back it up.

She regarded him, and Naruto noticed a faint blush dusting her cheeks as the moonlight illuminated her face. Sayuri's eyes darted away, clearly trying to hide it. Naruto felt his own face heat in response, and he masked it by clearing his throat. *"What the heck is that about?"* he wondered, surprised that she might be momentarily flustered around him.

"Anyway," she said in a clipped tone, trying to regain her composure, "thank you for delivering the pills. I guess I owe you a debt of gratitude—even if it's a small one."

Naruto managed a wry grin. "Sure thing," he replied. "And if you're feeling cooped up, well, maybe we can meet up for training. *If* you want to. I know the ANBU have you on a short leash, but training inside the Uchiha compound might be allowed, right? At least until Kakashi-sensei wakes up and can supervise."

She tilted her head, considering it. "You're serious?"

He nodded, forcing a bit of casual confidence into his voice. "Look, you said it yourself—you want to get stronger. And I can't exactly say no if my teammate wants to spar. I know you're not one to ask politely, so let this be me offering. I can swing by, and we'll figure something out."

For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Then her features softened again, some invisible tension easing from her shoulders. "Fine," she said, not quite meeting his gaze. "We'll train together this week… or whenever we can. I'm not going anywhere else, am I?"

A small smile tugged at Naruto's lips. "Great. Let's do that, then. Might as well make use of the time. Just be ready—I don't plan on holding back." He didn't add that part of him wanted to see how far her Sharingan had developed, especially after all she'd been through. Another part knew that if she wanted to surpass him, she'd train with relentless intensity. Perhaps, in that challenge, they'd both grow stronger.

Sayuri let out a short, almost weary exhale, but her acceptance was clear. She slid the door open halfway, a sign that the conversation was nearing its end. "Thanks again for the pills," she said, her voice quieter than before. "And… I guess for everything else you said. About Sakura and all."

Naruto's expression grew sober. "Of course," he replied. "We'll never forget her, you know. She was our teammate—even if it was only for a short time."

Sayuri briefly closed her eyes, as though acknowledging the memory. Then she stepped back into the dimly lit interior. "You should go. It's late, and I'm sure the ANBU will be more comfortable if you're out of the compound."

Naruto's gaze lingered on her for a moment, remembering the faint blush he had seen on her cheeks earlier. He swallowed, uncertain how to parse it. Maybe it was just the result of frustration or embarrassment, or maybe it hinted at some hidden affection. Regardless, she clearly didn't want to dwell on it. *"Baby steps,"* he reminded himself. He gave a short nod. "Right. See you soon, then. Don't forget to keep taking the medication—Guy-sensei will kill me if I don't come back with a good report."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll manage," she retorted dryly, though the corner of her mouth twitched as if resisting a smirk. For just a second, her eyes met his, and Naruto thought he glimpsed a complicated tangle of emotions: anger, sadness, a flicker of respect, and something else that he couldn't name. Then she broke away, closing the door softly behind her.

Left alone, Naruto stepped off the wooden porch, hearing a faint creak beneath his sandals. The hush of the Uchiha compound closed around him, thick and heavy. He turned his head, scanning the silent row of houses one last time. So much emptiness, so many memories lost. Yet ironically, it was also where one last Uchiha remained, clinging to life and vengeance with all the stubbornness she could muster.

As he retraced his steps through the main street, the battered lanterns offered feeble illumination. He couldn't shake the nagging thought of how alone Sayuri must feel in that sprawling ghost town. Perhaps it was her choice—her form of penance or motivation to keep hate burning. But Naruto also suspected it took a toll on her spirit, fueling that sense of bitterness and inadequacy. *"In the end, though,"* he told himself, *"she's still my teammate. I won't let her fight this battle alone."*

Eventually, the gate loomed before him again, one side still ajar. He slipped through it without difficulty, pausing just outside to glance back. The swirling tragedies tied to the Uchiha name hovered in his thoughts. He pictured the sign of the Uchiha fan, which once represented a proud lineage. Now, it symbolized heartbreak and a lonely survivor's determination to challenge the brother who had betrayed them all.

Naruto exhaled, then turned away. The path back to the more populated parts of Konoha felt almost comforting. He passed under a streetlight, noticing the occasional glow of windows above. A few late-night shinobi wandered the roads, exchanging hushed greetings. Even a distant dog bark reminded him that life continued despite the tragedies they had all endured.

Sunlight spilled through the room as Tsunade yanked the curtains apart with a decisive motion. The effect was immediate. Minato groaned loudly, throwing a pillow over his face as the light hit his eyes like daggers. "Leave me alone," he muttered, voice muffled.

Tsunade wasn't in the mood for coddling. She snatched the pillow out of his grasp with practiced ease.

"Get up," she commanded sharply, standing over him with arms crossed.

Minato groaned again, his voice tinged with frustration. "Why are you doing this, Kushina?" he mumbled, blindly reaching for the pillow she now held just out of reach. "Kushinaaaaa…"

Tsunade's eyebrow twitched. "Kushina's not here, Minato," she said, her tone clipped.

Minato blinked blearily, his vision swimming as he slowly processed her words. When the blurry outline of blonde hair and red eyes resolved into something altogether different—a stern face framed by honey-colored locks—he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Tsunade?" he croaked, his hoarse voice betraying both his hangover and his confusion. Scrambling to sit up, he nearly toppled off the bed.

"What are you doing here?!" he exclaimed, his balance faltering as his feet hit the floor.

With the speed and grace that only years of experience could provide, Tsunade moved across the room, steadying him before he could faceplant. "What am I doing here?" she shot back, her tone filled with annoyance. "I'm making sure you don't waste the day wallowing in self-pity, that's what."

Minato frowned, rubbing his temple as his head throbbed. "I wasn't wallowing…" he muttered weakly.

"Oh, really?" Tsunade said, raising an eyebrow. "Because it looks like you spent the night drowning yourself in sake and self-loathing." She gave him a pointed once-over. "And judging by the smell, you're lucky Nawaki or Mito didn't come in here to check on you first."

The mention of Nawaki and Mito made Minato's expression tighten. "They're not supposed to know—"

"And they won't," Tsunade interrupted, cutting him off. "But only if you stop acting like a wreck and start pulling yourself together. Jiraiya's heading back to Konoha today, and you're supposed to go with him. Or did you forget?"

Minato stiffened, the haze of his hangover briefly giving way to a jolt of clarity. "That's today? He's leaving this morning?"

"Yes," Tsunade replied flatly. "And you're not ready. You've got a few hours before you need to meet him at the main gates, so I suggest you use them wisely. First, eat something. Second, do something about your breath. Third, take a cold shower. You look like a mess, and I'm not letting you walk out of here like this."

Minato groaned again, sinking back onto the edge of the bed. "Can't it wait? Just a little longer?"

Tsunade's patience, already stretched thin, snapped. "Get. Up. Now," she barked, yanking him to his feet with one hand. Her strength caught him off guard, and he stumbled forward, barely managing to stay upright.

"Okay, okay! I'm up!" he protested, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Good," she said, her tone brooking no argument. She turned toward the door, speaking over her shoulder. "There are some hard-boiled eggs on the table and tea on the stove. You'll find something for your hangover in the bathroom cabinet. Take a shower, get dressed, and make yourself presentable. You've got time, but not enough to waste."

Minato sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as she walked out. "What would I do without you, Tsunade?" he muttered under his breath.

"You'd probably still be in that coma," she called back without missing a beat, her voice carrying from the hallway.

Minato couldn't argue with that.

Grumbling to himself, Minato shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the cold water. He stared at the stream for a moment, letting the sound of rushing water drown out the noise in his head.

"Kushina would have been so disappointed in me," he murmured, stepping under the spray fully clothed. The icy water soaked through the hospital-issued clothes he hadn't bothered to change out of, clinging to his skin as the chill shocked his system awake.

He peeled the drenched fabric off, dropping it onto the tiles with a wet thud. Closing his eyes, he let the water cascade over him, washing away the remnants of the previous night's indulgence. For a brief moment, he could almost hear her voice—playful, teasing, full of warmth.

"Minatooo~ I'm coming in!"

The memory was so vivid it almost felt real. He could see her in his mind's eye, wrapped in a towel, her red hair damp from her own shower. The image stirred a mix of emotions—fondness, longing, and something deeper, sharper, that he couldn't quite name.

But the warmth of the memory was soon replaced by an ache that burned deep in his chest. She was gone. And no matter how many mornings he woke up hoping to see her face, no matter how many times he imagined her walking through the door, she wasn't coming back.

His fists clenched at his sides, water dripping from his hair as he bowed his head. "What a mess I've become," he muttered bitterly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the shower.

It was a sobering thought, one that left him standing there long after the water began to turn lukewarm. When he finally stepped out, he felt more awake, though the heaviness in his chest remained.

He dried off quickly and dressed in a simple outfit, his movements mechanical as he prepared for the day ahead. The thought of returning to Konoha filled him with a mix of anticipation and dread. There were so many unresolved questions, so many delicate truths waiting to unravel.

And then there was Mito. The girl who didn't yet know the truth. Who still believed her father was gone, even as he stood on the verge of reentering her life.

Minato sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "One step at a time," he told himself quietly. For now, his focus had to remain on the present. On getting back to Konoha. On figuring out what came next.

With that thought in mind, he left the bathroom, grabbed a quick breakfast from the kitchen table, and stepped outside into the bright morning light. Tsunade's voice echoed in his mind as he made his way toward the main gates.

"You've got time, but not enough to waste."

She was right, as usual. And though he wasn't sure he was ready, he knew there was no turning back now.

Kessetsugan Dimension

A vortex of sapphire light split the twilight sky above a forsaken terrain of wind-strewn gravel and craggy spires. The air rippled as though reality were a sheet of fabric being pulled apart, unveiling a swirling portal rimmed with electric-blue arcs. From that portal stepped Naruto Uzumaki, his sandal soles crunching on dust-caked stone. The sky was a deep violet-black, and beneath its vast dome stretched an expanse of barren land that seemed to extend infinitely, bereft of vegetation or life. Here was one of the secret dimensions his Kessetsugan opened—a training ground away from prying eyes and unpredictable interference.

Naruto paused upon arrival, letting the portal seal itself behind him in a soundless implosion of luminescence. The hush that followed was unsettling. This dimension was silent except for a high-altitude breeze that raked through jagged rock formations arranged like broken teeth across the plain. No birdsong, no rustle of vegetation—just the low, eerie whistle of wind scraping stone. He inhaled, tasting dryness on his tongue. The place's emptiness felt almost suffocating, yet it was precisely what he needed: absolute solitude for unrestrained training in modes of power few outside Danzo's Root ever realized he possessed.

He closed his eyes, shifting mental focus inward, feeling the presence of two distinct energies. The first was the familiar churn of the Nine-Tails, coiled deep within his chakra network, its fiery presence burning like a caged inferno. Then there was the other: an older, more alien resonance inherited from the Otsutsuki bloodline he had discovered only in the last two years. Adopted at infancy, he had grown under the village's suspicion and then under Root's harsh discipline. That life shaped him into what he was—someone who knew not to place blind faith in any comrade, even a father figure.

His next breath steadied, and he let the image of Minato surface. By all accounts, Minato Namikaze had awakened from his coma, defying every assumption that he would never rise again. The Fourth Hokage—the Yellow Flash—famed as the fastest shinobi in recorded history, was up and moving about. Naruto exhaled slowly. The father who once took him in as an infant might prove a threat if alliances shifted, especially if he decided that Naruto's loyalties to Danzo overshadowed the paternal bond. Root had taught Naruto to consider every possibility, so he would be ready.

Before he could delve further into uneasy memories, a murmur echoed in his mind. It was the voice of Ichiro, his biological Otsutsuki father's chakra imprint, urging calm. "Naruto, do you truly think Minato wishes you harm?" Ichiro's voice was measured, carrying the regal poise of an ancient lineage. "He sheltered you as best he could. The man you fear may not exist."

A second voice joined, softer yet equally resonant: Hikari, his Otsutsuki mother's imprint. "Minato is no puppet of Danzo. He awakened from near-death, likely eager to see you. Why distrust him so reflexively?"

Naruto gave a wry grin as he gazed across the desert-like expanse. "Because, Mother," he thought, addressing Hikari with that ironically tender label, "Root taught me that trust is a liability. People change, allegiances shift, and even old bonds can snap under pressure. Maybe this new, revived Minato sees me as Danzo's operative. He might oppose me if he senses a threat. I won't let sentiment blind me."

Ichiro's mental tone tightened. "You call him revived, yet forget he was the man who rescued you from uncertain fate. Could he not remain an ally?"

Naruto huffed. "Ally or threat—I'm preparing for both. If his so-called Hiraishin no Jutsu can outpace me, I'll be at his mercy. That's unacceptable. Speed neutralizes speed. I must surpass the Yellow Flash if we ever clash."

He shook off the mental debate. One step at a time, he reminded himself. Training was the reason for coming here. He inhaled, raising an arm. Golden chakra flared around him in a shimmering aura, tails of luminescent energy flickering at his back. Kyuubi Chakra Mode. The ground trembled faintly as the dense swirl of orange radiance expanded outward, each tail swaying behind him in ephemeral arcs. The Nine-Tails' power thrummed with wild ferocity, but Naruto reined it in, ensuring a measured release.

His body became outlined by living flame, and the dusty air crackled. Beneath his feet, pebbles skittered away under the pressure of his aura. He closed his fists, letting each tail undulate in perfect synergy. This was only the first portion of his training—the speed work. Shifting his stance, he exhaled. Then, in a flash, he rocketed forward, vanishing into an afterimage. The dusty terrain erupted in his wake, dust billowing in thick clouds. Reappearing fifty yards away, he spun midair, skidding across the ground before pivoting. The motion took half a second. If Minato specialized in instantaneous movement, Naruto would respond with extreme acceleration.

He repeated the sequence: dash, vanish, reappear, pivot, accelerate again. With each burst, the wind howled, and stony surfaces cracked. He practiced weaving unpredictable zigzags, stopping on a dime, pushing the aura's raw energy into reflex drills. An hour passed in a relentless pattern of sprint-stop-sprint. The wasteland soon bore a crisscross of shattered stone. Indeed, the dimension's emptiness served him well; no soul was present to be harmed by the shockwaves.

Then he sensed his heartbeat pounding faster than the swirl of chakra. "Too sloppy," he muttered, reviewing the last dash. He had left deeper footprints than intended. Against Minato's nearly instantaneous leaps, even the slightest delay could be fatal. He clenched his jaw, funneling more of the Nine-Tails' energy into his limbs. The aura brightened, each tail flickering like a living torch. He rocketed forward again—only to stumble as the abrupt power surge outpaced his coordination. A swirl of dust engulfed him when he tumbled across the gravel, wincing as sharp stones cut into his arms.

"Naruto," Hikari's voice whispered in concern. "Balance. You cannot force the Kyuubi's might to overshadow your own muscle memory."

He rose, dusting off his shredded sleeve. "Thanks for the tip, Mother. I'll keep that in mind." Gritting his teeth, he forced a grin. Nothing worthwhile came easy.

Still, he soldiered on, refining each dash until the synergy with the cloak stabilized. He reacquired that sense of fluid motion—like gliding on a gust—rather than merely catapulting forward. Another hour passed in near silence, interspersed with his gasps for breath. Step by step, he felt his reflexes sharpen, each shift in the cloak's energy letting him pivot seamlessly. He had to be better—Minato's famed technique might let him blink across distances, but if Naruto's raw speed was high enough, he could intercept. That was the plan anyway.

Eventually, sweat glistened on his brow, the cloak swirling around him in steady pulses. He paused, hands braced on his knees, breathing ragged. Kyuubi Chakra Mode training is draining, but it's still only half of tonight's program, he told himself. The second portion demanded a transformation that was closer to his true heritage: Otsutsuki form, overshadowing even the Nine-Tails' power in raw potential.

He let the chakra cloak dissipate, tails retracting into him with a brief flash. The scorching aura faded, leaving only normal physical exhaustion. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the genetic tapestry that Danzo's Root data had revealed: As an Otsutsuki, he possessed an inner wellspring far surpassing human limitations. His human façade—augmented by Kessetsugan illusions—was a shell to hide that alien truth. By returning to the dimension that only his Kessetsugan could open, he could safely shed that shell and train in his genuine form.

Slowly, he placed a hand on his chest. "Time to let go." He had practiced the shift only a few times. The first occasions had left him trembling with the power surge. Now, he gritted his teeth, focusing on that deeper, older chakra signature. The Otsutsuki imprint responded, swirling up from his core to rewrite the structure of his cells. His hair shimmered, turning a sky blue. His left eye morphing into the Byakugan while his right retaining the cerulean Kessetsugan. Snow white skin replacing his previous light tan complexion. An horned organic forehead protector forming around his forehead. He felt his height shift slightly, posture elongating, and an otherworldly aura enveloped him. In a few seconds, the transformation finalized, leaving behind a figure less reminiscent of a Leaf shinobi and more akin to the cosmic clan from which he hailed.

That aura overshadowed even the Nine-Tails' presence. If Kyuubi Chakra Mode felt like molten fire, the Otsutsuki form was akin to a star's core: silent, blinding in potential, dangerously gravitational. The air crackled with static. Even the battered stones underfoot seemed to groan, small rocks levitating from the raw intensity.

"Yes," came Ichiro's mental voice, resonating with pride. "This is your birthright, the shape unencumbered by illusions."

Naruto inhaled, each breath sending a ripple of power across his limbs. The heaviness from the previous training session melted away, replaced by a sense of boundless energy. "Feels intense, Father," he thought. "Like I'm brimming with new reflexes, more than I can fully track."

Hikari's soothing tone joined in. "Be mindful. Immense speed can devour your caution. You must harness it gently."

He nodded inwardly. If Kyuubi's speed was a raging gale, then Otsutsuki's speed was a cosmic warp. No matter how drained he had been a moment ago, now he felt no fatigue. He took a stance, testing the dimension's effect on his new form, then vanished in a blur that left the very air reeling. Whereas earlier dashes in Kyuubi mode had taken half a second, now it was negligible. The dust clouds barely had time to swirl before he reappeared miles away, standing on a jagged mesa with an echo of sonic disruption trailing behind.

He allowed a short laugh, exhilaration coursing through him. This was the power of an Otsutsuki. If he could refine it further, even Minato's famed Hiraishin might fail to keep pace. Yet the delight was accompanied by a cautionary pang. He'd never truly tested these extremes in real combat. Would raw speed be enough to confront the man known for killing entire armies in flickers?

Shrugging mental doubts aside, Naruto pressed onward, racing across the wasteland with unstoppable momentum. Each leap spanned enormous distances, each pivot so fast that the environment blurred in streaks of colorless motion. He discovered that controlling abrupt stops posed a challenge; the friction of halting nearly tore up the ground. Twice, he stumbled upon landing, carving fresh craters into the already desolate surface. Balance again, he reminded himself. Raw might needed technique to refine it.

After pushing those linear accelerations, he turned to the second focus of Otsutsuki training: Swift Release, a kekkei genkai rumored to be an advanced manipulation of space-time at a personal level. The historical record—what little Root had gleaned—suggested Swift Release let the user shift speed in ways surpassing typical shinobi reflexes, layering time illusions or micro teleports. If he perfected that, even Minato's formula-based teleportation might be negated.

Channeling the swirling Otsutsuki chakra into his network, Naruto formed a half-ram seal. His eyes glowed with faint luminescence as he directed that force to the concept of Swift Release. The dimension's stillness aided concentration. He felt the space around him distort subtly, as though the intangible threads of reality parted to expedite each motion. He tested it by throwing a kunai forward, then darting after it. In normal contexts, the kunai would surpass him, but here, with Swift Release, he caught and re-gripped the blade mid-flight, defying typical inertia. The motion felt paradoxically graceful.

He repeated variations: hurling multiple shuriken, weaving among them with ephemeral afterimages. Speed and reflex. If Kyuubi Chakra Mode was a fierce blaze, this was pure elegance—a step beyond typical laws. The more he integrated it, the less friction he experienced, as if the world slowed around him. Even the swirling dust seemed to freeze when he moved. Indeed, each minute of practice honed that sense, bridging the cosmic potency of Otsutsuki ancestry with an almost dance-like fluidity.

After an extended series of maneuvers, he paused atop a shattered rock spire, chest heaving. Focus, he told himself. No sloppy moves. He let the dimension's eerie quiet fill his ears, hearing only the faint drumming of his own heartbeat. The speed was intoxicating; at times, it threatened to erode caution. But that was the crux: harness immeasurable speed without losing the precision needed to fight the Yellow Flash.

His internal dialogue stirred again. Ichiro's proud tone rumbled, "You adapt swiftly, my son. This dimension trembles at your step."

Hikari, gentler, cautioned, "Do not forsake control. Speed alone can devolve into chaos if your mind lags behind."

Naruto shut his eyes in reflection. "Understood. I can't rely purely on adrenaline. I need that calm synchronization that father apparently perfected with Hiraishin."

He then pictured Minato: the slender form, the quiet confidence, the lethal swiftness that had once carved a legend. "If he sees me as a threat… or if Root's influence sparks conflict… I must be ready." A pang in his chest accompanied the realization. Part of him yearned for paternal acceptance, but caution trumped such sentiment. Root's indoctrination hammered home: trust no one completely.

Leaping down from the spire, he initiated another routine: combining Swift Release with advanced illusions from the Kessetsugan. He molded illusions to create phantom clones, each darting about in a swirl of ephemeral images. Then, harnessing Swift Release, he wove among them at breakneck pace, targeting illusions in a random sequence, trying to keep track of which were real. In a real fight, illusions plus speed gave him unpredictability. Perhaps even the Yellow Flash would be forced on the defensive.

Every few minutes, he broke to reevaluate foot placement, refine momentum control, or readjust breathing. The dimension's arid wind stung his eyes, but he pressed on. The repeated bursts of motion carved swirling patterns into the dust-laden ground. Some illusions dissolved prematurely, showing he still needed more mental stamina to maintain them while moving so fast.

He shifted strategies, conjuring illusions further away, then dashing in a fraction of a heartbeat to dispel them. The training hammered his reflexes with unyielding intensity. Once or twice, he misjudged distance or misapplied the Swift Release, resulting in collisions with pillars or abrupt stumbles. Each bruise reminded him that true mastery was not instant. He had to earn it through trial, pain, and repeated discipline.

At length, the environment bore unmistakable signs of the fierce session. Dozens of scorch marks from friction-laden footsteps dotted the plain. Jagged ridges had been smashed or split by abrupt impacts. Here and there, swirling dust clouds lingered from his repeated acceleration. The place felt defiled by speed. But Naruto pressed on, undeterred.

Eventually, fatigue crept in. Despite the Otsutsuki form's remarkable stamina, the mental toll was no small matter. He slowed, letting his illusions dissipate. The hush returned, broken only by his ragged breathing. He stood near a natural arch of stone, chest rising and falling in quick rhythm. "Enough…" he whispered, uncertain if he believed it. Yet an inner voice insisted that overextending might sabotage progress.

He glanced at his arm, noticing faint cracks of white glow where the transformation's runic lines pulsed. If he forced it further, he risked losing control. He decided to revert. Slowly, he reined in the Otsutsuki chakra, letting the ringed pattern fade from his eyes, letting hair darken back to a more typical blond, letting that otherworldly aura subside. After half a minute, he stood again in his usual human shape—though sweat-soaked and trembling. A wave of exhaustion assaulted him, heavier than any earlier stage. His muscles felt weighed down by lead. That was the recoil from toggling between forms.

Stumbling toward a partially intact rock shelf, he sank down, back leaning against the stone. The dimension's wind swirled, whispering through the cracks in the ground. He wiped sweat from his forehead, gazing at the starless sky overhead. Ichiro and Hikari stirred within, attempting to speak, but Naruto preempted them. "I know. I should pace myself. But time's short."

He flexed his fingers, recalling how the synergy between Swift Release and the Otsutsuki physiology granted him ephemeral near-teleportation. That would be his trump card if Minato proved hostile. He envisaged the possibility of father and son locked in a deadly exchange, flickers of light crossing the battlefield. "I don't want that," he admitted softly, voice echoing in the emptiness. "But Root taught me to prepare for every scenario. Sentiment kills."

Hikari's mental resonance felt tinged with sorrow. "You cling to Root's creed, but do not forget your heart. Minato rescued you—he was not your oppressor."

Naruto's lips twitched. "He's not Danzo, sure. But circumstances can shift alliances. I can't pretend love or paternal ties will always hold. If he sees me as a threat to the Leaf… we might clash. I'll be ready."

A hush followed in his mind. Perhaps they recognized that nothing would shake his guarded perspective. With that, Naruto let a quiver of emotion pass. He rose to his feet, ignoring the protest of aching limbs. The training might have ended for the night, but he refused to leave undone the final set of reflex drills in his normal body. Even if Otsutsuki form exceeded everything else, his day-to-day engagements often used lesser transformations. And if a confrontation erupted unexpectedly, he might not have time to shift.

He mustered a small surge of Kyuubi's energy—merging it with his base self, not the full cloak. That partial synergy gave him enough speed for some final sprints. He performed a few short bursts, weaving figure-eights around stony pillars, focusing on the interplay of advanced footwork. Though physically drained, he forced each motion with unwavering discipline, recalling Danzo's harsh demands for perfection. Sweat poured from his brow, soaking his shirt. The dimension, though unyielding, gave no quarter. Each collision with a rock left painful bruises or scraped skin.

Yet, in the swirl of effort, a sense of clarity materialized. He was forging himself into a weapon so swift that even the Yellow Flash might find it daunting. Even if that father figure turned adversary, Naruto would not cower. He tested each dash, each pivot, scanning hypothetical angles for a flung Hiraishin kunai. He pictured imaginary arcs where Minato might appear, and he practiced intercepting illusions or matching speed. The mental exercise was sobering. He recognized the difficulty of negating an instantaneous technique. But his resolve burned: he would find a way.

Minutes bled into an hour. By the end, he nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Satisfied, he cut off the partial Kyuubi flow, panting heavily. Each muscle screamed for rest. Sinking onto one knee, he allowed himself to remain still, letting the night wind wash over him. The battered wasteland was littered with fresh scars and footprints from his relentless training.

He stared at the place he had first arrived, the ephemeral memory of the swirling portal. Summoning the Kessetsugan's space-time manipulation drained him, so he could not linger indefinitely. The dimension provided unmatched seclusion, but he must eventually return to the real world. Sunrise was likely hours away in the main realm. He needed rest if he hoped to keep up the façade of normalcy. He inhaled, gathering the vestiges of his chakra, weaving the Kessetsugan's intricacies to open a path home.

Flickers of cerulean shimmer danced in the air as a new ellipse took form overhead, swirling with quiet energy. He trudged forward, limbs heavy, and ascended a short ledge to stand beneath the portal. Before stepping through, he cast one final glance across the deserted domain: chipped pillars, dust storms swirling in distant corners, faint echoes of the monstrous speed he had wielded. A fleeting sense of pride mingled with apprehension. "I'm ready enough," he told himself, though he also recognized he might never feel wholly prepared to face the unknown complexities of Minato's rebirth.

He exhaled, stepping into the swirling aperture. The dimension's barren horizon vanished behind him, replaced by the swirling kaleidoscope of space-time folds. A momentary rush of disorientation seized him as gravity warped. Then, with a gentle snap, the portal closed, leaving the wasteland silent once more. Dust settled onto cracked stones, footprints and scorch marks testament to an intense training session that ended in emptiness.

Naruto emerged into his own realm, stumbling onto a secluded forest clearing a short distance from Konoha's outskirts. The nightly hush greeted him again, though this hush was gentler—an owl hooted in the canopy, and the rustle of leaves reminded him he was back among living things. He forced himself upright, ignoring the throbbing in his calves and the dryness in his throat. He had no time to brood. By daylight, he might have to appear at the village gates or even face further questioning from the council.

He trudged through the undergrowth, mind drifting to the uncertain possibility that Minato might reach out to him soon. If that happened, he would meet him with cautious neutrality. No illusions of fatherly warmth. Root had taught him well: a shinobi's first loyalty was to his own survival and chosen convictions, not sentiment. So if the Yellow Flash wanted to talk, they would talk, but Naruto would keep a figurative Kunai at hand.

Yet, beneath that surface, a quieter voice—maybe Hikari's echo—hoped it would not come to violence. Hoped that father and son could find common ground. But that hope was ephemeral, overshadowed by the lessons Danzo had drilled into him. He would not discount the possibility, but he would not risk complacency. He paused, gazing up at the moonbeams slicing through the canopy. The idea of surpassing Minato's speed consumed him, fueling every bit of that punishing training. He would be unstoppable. That certainty, twisted as it might be, eased his disquiet.

At last, he reached a small path leading toward the main road. The hush of the forest reminded him he needed rest. Enough training for one night. He pivoted, heading in the direction of Konoha's darker peripheral streets, where he could slip back to his apartment unseen. In a day or two, once his body recovered, he would repeat the cycle in that barren dimension. Speed training never ended, especially when preparing for an opponent rumored to be unstoppable.

He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, recalling the swirl of Swift Release at full power, how the universe seemed to slow around him. He pictured applying that to a clash with Minato, each exchanging techniques in literal flashes. The outcome was uncertain, but Naruto refused to stand at a disadvantage. If the older man was a friend, no conflict would arise. If he was an enemy, Naruto would show him the fruit of Root's harsh discipline, combined with the unstoppable might of his true Otsutsuki lineage. The next sunrise would find him battered but resolute, ready for the next mission or confrontation.

Ichiro's paternal imprint hovered in his mind. "You do yourself disservice, clinging so fiercely to suspicion."

Naruto smiled bitterly, weaving among the low-hanging branches. "Better suspicion than naïveté," he retorted. "Besides, I only discovered my heritage because Danzo taught me how to dissect illusions. The entire village never told me about my Otsutsuki self. Why trust that sort of secrecy?"

Hikari tried once more: "Sometimes secrets are kept from love or to shield you from danger."

But Naruto simply let out a small, ironic laugh, imagining how minuscule the chance that such noble motives overshadowed typical shinobi manipulations. "Maybe. But if I believed that wholeheartedly, I'd be no better than those wide-eyed novices who wind up on Root's lists."

He emerged from the forest, forging onward toward the dimly lit outskirts. A stray dog barked in the distance, signifying the village's slow stir. Dawn might be near. He yawned, exhaustion weaving through him. Aching limbs demanded rest. He mumbled a vow to practice again soon, perfecting the synergy between Otsutsuki form and Swift Release, bridging all that with illusions and the Nine-Tails' cloak if necessary. Whatever Minato brought to the table, he would not be caught unprepared.

Back in his cramped apartment, he fumbled for the key, stepping inside with nary a sound. Collapsing onto the bed, he let his eyes drift shut. The swirl of training memories faded into blackness. Dreams, if they came, might be of cosmic leaps across a barren landscape or fleeting glimpses of fatherly smiles turned cold. But for now, sleep reigned, and he could put aside the burdens of future confrontation.

1 week later

Land of Demons-Senju Compound

Within the estate's walls, Tsunade, Shizune, Nawaki, and Mito had lingered, partly to keep an eye on the High Priestess's recovery and partly to help Nawaki & Mito grapple with the bombshell she & Shizune had dropped on them regarding moving to Konoha after living their entire lives in the Land of Demons & becoming the 5th Hokage.

"I am indebted to each one of you," High Priestess Miroku said one morning, her voice resonant despite her still-recovering health. Sha had fallen ill with a sickness a year prior & it was only thanks to Tsunade's medical expertise that she was here today. "Oni no Kuni owes you a debt beyond words."

Her daughter Shion, a bright-eyed girl, stood at her side and nodded vigorously. Near them, Haru and others from the retinue wore expressions of the same gratitude. Each of them had come to admire Tsunade's healing gifts, Shizune's medical diligence, Mito's steadfast presence, and Nawaki's resolve.

Tsunade inclined her head. "We appreciate the generosity. However, if we remain, it could bring the wrong kind of attention to your land."

Miroku sighed but mustered a faint smile. "Very well. But please understand that each of you is a hero to us. Oni no Kuni will not forget the service you have rendered us. I hope in the future, when things are calmer, we can properly honor all of you."

Shizune stood to bow gracefully. "That day would bring us joy. We're grateful for the hospitality you've shown us."

At her side, Mito with a calm composure—added, "Thank you. We'll cherish your kindness, especially the ways you helped Nawaki and me refine our skills. You've all been so patient."

Then there was Nawaki, who offered a small, self-conscious grin. "I'm not sure about the 'hero' part," he said quietly. "But if it means the High Priestess has healed, and Shion is safe, that's enough."

Stepping forward, Shion studied him with a rueful expression. "I… I'll miss you," she murmured, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Turning her face aside, she added, "You've been my only real friend here."

Nawaki snorted gently, trying to hide his own unsettled feelings. "Hey, what do you mean were? You're still my friend, Shion. That's not changing just because I have to leave."

From behind his back, he produced a small bonsai tree in a carefully wrapped pot—a Satsuki Azalea, carefully cultivated. "Here," he said, cheeks flushing. "Take this. Something to remember me by. It's special, even a bit rare. But it was worth the effort."

Shion's eyes widened in delight. "N-Nawaki… thank you!" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. She reached out, gently cradling the small potted plant in her hands. "It's beautiful."

To everyone's surprise—especially Nawaki—Shion leaned in and placed a soft kiss against his left cheek. The gesture made him redden instantly, his stoic facade crumbling. A ripple of laughter rolled through the adults present, particularly Miroku, who giggled in a way that belied her dignified status. Mito, observing her foster brother's shock, nearly burst out laughing.

Mito smirked at her sibling, leaning over to whisper, "Oooh, big brother, you've got yourself a girlfriend." Her tone was sweetly mocking, relishing the chance to tease him.

Nawaki nearly tripped over his feet in confusion. "Sh-She's not… that's not…" he stuttered. "I mean—Shion's a girl, sure, and a friend, sure, but that doesn't mean—hey, that's… that's not how it—ugh!"

Tsunade forced an outwardly polite smile while inside, she bristled. Already? He's not even fully grown, and these little hussies want to take advantage of my son… she ranted in her thoughts, though she kept her reaction in check. Meanwhile, Shizune's eyes danced with amusement.

"They do look adorable, don't they?" Shizune murmured to TonTon, who "oinked" in a manner resembling agreement.

Observing Nawaki turning scarlet as Shion moved away, Tsunade felt her blood pressure spike. "Great. Next thing you know, we'll have a parade of girls trying to snatch him away." But she breathed deeply and maintained composure, not wanting to tarnish the farewell. Inside, though, the motherly protectiveness churned.

It was time for them to depart. The High Priestess, her daughter, Haru, and others bowed in respect as Tsunade, Shizune, Mito, and Nawaki turned to leave. The group from Oni no Kuni promised them an open invitation to return whenever they wished.

"You must come back when the time is right," Miroku said. "Then I'll see to it that the entire land knows of your deeds."

Shizune bowed once more. "We appreciate that, Lady High Priestess, but let's keep it quiet until we're ready."

Nawaki lingered, exchanging an awkward wave with Shion, who stood hugging the potted bonsai. Her cheeks were still flushed pink, but she managed a small, grateful smile. He returned that smile, his own face still glowing red. In truth, he wasn't quite sure what to make of her gesture, but he suspected he'd be teased about it for days to come.

They set off down the path leading away from the estate, the flicker of estate lanterns gradually swallowed by distance. Once safely out of earshot, the travelers began to relax. That was when Mito pounced, her grin mischievous.

"Nawaki," she teased, "Shion kissed you. That means she's practically your girlfriend, right? Wait—maybe fiancé?"

Her brother's eyes bugged. "Stop spouting nonsense!" He crossed his arms, still flushed. "It's not like that! I just—uh, she was my friend, and a girl, yes, but—I don't want to hear about cooties or anything."

Shizune, walking alongside TonTon, giggled at his obvious fluster. "Oh dear, Mito, I think you're onto something. Did we all witness Nawaki's first smooch? I never thought we'd see the day so soon."

TonTon let out an enthusiastic oink, as though in agreement, snout lifted in comedic timing.

Nawaki sputtered in protest. "You're all ganging up on me. Well, forget it—I'm too young for all that. Shion's just… She's just—argh, it's not a big deal!"

"No, it's a huge deal," Mito teased, leaning closer to him. "We gotta let Dad—Jiraiya—know, huh? He'll be so proud his son's already got admirers. Or wait, maybe we should keep it from him so he doesn't go bragging about it in some pervy book."

Nawaki's groan intensified. "Stop it, Mito! You're worse than the old man sometimes."

Meanwhile, Tsunade, who had been silent, finally let slip a vexed huff. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she grumbled. "Don't encourage him, Mito. I can't stand the idea of a bunch of starry-eyed girls chasing after my sweet boy." Her thoughts practically screamed, He's too young! Let him remain innocent for a while longer!

Mito's grin widened, taking delight in both her brother's and Tsunade's reactions. "Ah, calm down, you two. It's just a friendly goodbye kiss. Next time we're here, we can set up the wedding, though, right?" She winked mischievously.

"Not in a million years!" Tsunade barked, giving Shizune a narrow look as if warning her not to push the joke too far.

Behind them, Shizune stifled a fit of laughter. The entire scenario proved far too entertaining for her to let go. She whispered conspiratorially to TonTon, "Seems Tsuande-sama's gone into mother-hen mode again."

TonTon oinked in merry agreement.

Nawaki, meanwhile, was on the verge of meltdown. "Stop with the wedding talk!" he yelled, though the red flush had only intensified on his cheeks. "I can't handle all of you at once."

Tsunade, sighing heavily, tried to steer the conversation away. "All right, that's enough. We have a journey to plan—heading back to Konoha after a decade here in the Land of Demons. Let's focus on more pressing matters, shall we?"

But Mito wasn't finished teasing. "You know, Nawa-nii, you've got to learn about these things eventually. We could give you the Talk—"

"Over my hungover body!" Tsunade snapped, pivoting with such force that her hair whipped around. "I'm not letting any talk of that kind near him, especially not from you or Jiraiya!" Under her breath, she added, "Next time a girl tries to corner him, she'll see just how strong a mother can be."

Mito found Tsunade's protectiveness both hilarious and a little adorable, but she opted not to push it further. She contented herself by shooting Nawaki an impish grin. He scowled, still off-kilter, but it was clear beneath that annoyance, he was grateful for the familial closeness—if only they'd stop embarrassing him at every turn.

They continued down the winding country road, the rising sun at their backs. High Priestess Miroku and her retinue had retreated indoors, presumably laughing about the farewell scene. No doubt Shion was somewhere in the estate, cradling her new bonsai tree and blushing at the memory of the boy whose cheek she'd kissed.

Meanwhile, Shizune couldn't resist an occasional quip, reminding Nawaki how "precious" the moment had been or dropping the word "girlfriend" just loudly enough for him to hear. And each time, Mito joined in, cackling at his mortified expression. Even TonTon let out playful snorts as if seconding their jokes.

Tsunade strode ahead of them, face set in determined lines. She was focusing on the path, on the return to Konoha, on the intricacies of their future plans. Yet her mind churned with a mother's protective worry. "Nawaki's only a teen… I'm not ready for all these suitors or crushes…" But she also realized that the day would come when she might have to accept that her child had grown up. If only she had more time to brace herself.

And so the party pushed on, leaving the Land of Demons behind. The tension of the past decade fell away step by step. Tsunade, Shizune, Nawaki, and Mito were heading home after so long—though none of them would forget the events that transpired here, nor the new bonds formed. The comedic banter about a stolen kiss and the teasing remarks about "cooties" added a sense of normalcy to a life often marred by tragedies and conspiracies.

Konoha

Minato took a steadying breath as he stood before the battered door of his old apartment, heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and nostalgia. Thirteen years had passed since he'd last seen this place, and in that time, he had been trapped in a coma—unaware of the changes that had swept through both the village and his family. Now, newly awakened, he felt an odd pull urging him back to this familiar space. Perhaps it was foolish to visit an abandoned, dust-laden apartment in the dead of night, but he couldn't ignore the need to see it with his own eyes. After all, this modest apartment had once been a refuge filled with warmth, laughter, and shared dreams.

He reached out and turned the doorknob, which creaked in protest before giving way. The door opened into darkness, stale air rushing past him as though exhaling years of stillness. Moonlight spilled in from the corridor behind him, casting long shadows across the floor. Minato stepped inside, his sandals brushing against grit on the wood. It felt foreign, yet profoundly familiar. Swallowing a sudden surge of emotion, he shut the door behind him, leaving himself immersed in the gloom of memory.

With a flick of his wrist, he coaxed forth a gentle glow of chakra in his palm—a makeshift lamp to guide him. Soft illumination danced across the bare walls, revealing evidence of time's neglect: peeling paint, cobwebs in corners, and scattered debris from old furniture. As he ventured deeper, he recalled that he and Kushina had picked this place for its open living area and cozy bedroom, never imagining it might become a ghostly testament to a life interrupted.

He paused in what had once been the small entryway, letting the memories flood back. He could almost see Kushina there, perched on a stool, tying up her hair and chattering happily about some new meal she wanted to try. It was in this very corner that they'd often kicked off their sandals side by side, murmuring contentedly about the day's events. A faint ache tugged at his chest. He reached out and lightly traced a shallow scratch on the wall, the remnant of a mishap from years ago. He remembered how Naruto, still just a toddler, had bumped into the wall while sprinting excitedly to greet Minato returning from a mission. That day, the boy had insisted on "fixing" it by coloring over the scratch with crayons, which only led to further chaos. In the end, Kushina had joined in, turning it into a playful mural. A smile formed on Minato's lips at the recollection. He could almost hear Naruto's mischievous giggle, Kushina's laughter, and the scolding they gave the boy for scribbling on walls.

He shook off the bittersweet sensation and ventured onward. The living room opened up before him, gray dust motes spinning lazily in his chakra's glow. Once, it had been vibrant with color, decorated by Kushina's crocheted blankets and Naruto's bright sketches pinned up on walls. Now, only faint outlines remained. Minato wandered to the side of the room near a window that overlooked Konoha's skyline. The glass was cloudy, obscuring the view, but he remembered how, in the afternoons, Kushina would cradle a baby Naruto here, humming lullabies while sunlight poured in. She used to watch Minato returning from the Hokage Tower with anxious excitement, always telling him how she'd been counting the minutes until he was home. He closed his eyes, picturing her leaning there, red hair catching the sunlight, baby in her arms. A wave of longing coursed through him, so powerful he nearly swayed.

He forced his feet to move, heading toward the small kitchen, which lay in partial shadow. The counters were coated in dust, cabinets hanging slightly askew from disuse. It seemed an entirely different place from the once-cozy hub of their home. A memory flashed: Kushina bustling about with her apron tied tight, stirring pots while Naruto scampered underfoot. Minato had often teased her about the wild experiments she liked to attempt: spicy ramen nights, miso-laden feasts, and attempts at sweets that ended up far too sweet. And yet, every time she finished cooking, Naruto would leap up and down squealing that she was the best cook ever with that wide grin of his. Minato had teased them both about it, a lump forming in his throat now as he recalled that childlike adoration.

He lingered by the stove, resting a hand on the cold metal. A swirl of grief hit him with the realization that Kushina had never gotten to see Naruto grow past childhood. He pictured her trembling with excitement the day she discovered she was pregnant with Mito. That day, she had cornered him right here in this kitchen, beaming so brightly that he'd nearly dropped the dish he was washing. "We're going to have another one!" she'd announced, throwing her arms around him. He'd spun her around in circles, both of them giddy with the thrill of expanding their family. And then… everything changed. He'd ended up in that coma, missing out on all the joys and trials that followed.

Pressing onward, Minato moved to the short hallway leading to the bedrooms. He found the master bedroom first, the door left ajar. Light from his chakra-lamp slid over a bed frame devoid of mattresses, the bare boards a stark reminder that the life once shared there was gone. Memories seized him: countless nights spent cradling a fussing baby Naruto while Kushina tried to sleep, the hush of the village after midnight as father and son rocked together, lulled by the quiet. He remembered the hush the morning he'd told Kushina about the infiltration of Iwa shinobi near the border, her face going pale, and how they'd parted with a tight embrace, uncertain if he'd return the same day. Now the bedroom stood as a hollow shell.

Finally, he ventured to the door at the end of the hallway—the nursery. The wood was slightly battered, possibly from playful toddler fists. Minato's heart thudded. This was where Naruto had slept, where they had planned to bring Mito once she was born. The handle felt oddly warm under his palm. He inhaled, mustering courage, and opened it.

The nursery was dim, its single window mostly covered by a tattered curtain. Yet even in the gloom, he could discern the shape of a crib in the corner, the wooden structure bigger than an infant's standard one—precisely because it had been meant to hold two babies in time. Dust coated it, but the sight of that crib made his chest tighten painfully. A rush of memory assailed him:

He saw himself carefully assembling the crib, guided by Kushina's enthusiastic instructions while baby Naruto gurgled from a blanket on the floor. Naruto kept trying to crawl over, placing drooly fingers on everything, and Minato would pretend to scold him while actually loving every second. Kushina had teased him that day, saying, "We'll need another one soon, you know," hinting at her suspicions that she might be pregnant again. Minato had paused, hammered in hand, heart skipping a beat at the thought of a second child. Then, the day she officially confirmed it, they'd decided to enlarge the crib in anticipation. He recalled the laughter, the hope, the sweet sense of completeness.

Standing before it now, Minato brushed a hand across the wood, stirring up a small cloud of dust. He closed his eyes, and in that hush, the illusions of memory grew so intense that they felt almost tangible. He imagined the warm lamplight of those nights, Naruto's infant coos echoing in the shadows. For an instant, he could see baby Naruto lying in the crib, flailing chubby arms and gazing at him with innocent wonder. Minato opened his eyes. But… there was no difference. Naruto was right there, an infant, blinking up at him with wide eyes as though only seconds old.

His breath caught. He blinked once more, expecting the vision to vanish. But it did not. Instead, the baby continued to stare, the expression surprisingly lucid for an infant. Confusion churned within him. Rationally, he knew Naruto was almost fifteen by now—Jiraiya had said so. So how could he be here, in this form, at the same age as when Minato had last known him? And yet, what he saw felt real, tangible. His heart raced, the emotional longing overshadowing any logical sense that this couldn't be happening. Hesitantly, he leaned over the crib, reaching out.

"Little one… Naruto?" he breathed, voice trembling. The baby let out a soft coo, lifting a tiny fist. Minato, near tears, scooped the child up gently, holding him to his chest. The baby's warmth, the faint weight in his arms—it defied reason, and yet Minato couldn't stop himself. Waves of love, guilt, and longing swamped him. Pressing the infant closer, he whispered, "My boy… I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you."

Then came a voice from the baby. "So this is what it feels like," it said, a calm, almost analytical tone. Minato stiffened, eyes darting to the baby's face in alarm. Babies didn't talk, especially not with measured adult articulation. The sight that met him was even more unsettling: Naruto, or whatever this was, wore a sly grin that no normal infant could manage.

"Dadda!" the baby exclaimed in a mock-lisp, batting eyelashes. Shock thundered through Minato's system, a jolt so strong that he almost dropped the child. Before he could voice his astonishment, the baby leaped from his arms, landing gracefully on the floor with a lithe skill no infant had. Minato staggered backward, mouth agape.

Slowly, the baby rose to stand upright, still wearing nothing but an infant's onesie, hair short and soft. Yet he carried himself with the poise of an adept shinobi. "So, you must be Minato Namikaze, my famous adopted father," the baby said, voice shifting from squeaky childlike to a teenage lilt.

Minato stared, limbs frozen. He recognized Naruto's voice, a deeper timbre that matched Jiraiya's descriptions of the adolescent boy. The incongruity—this baby with the voice of a teen—set his nerves on edge. Struggling to regain composure, Minato tried to speak, words tangling in his throat. At last, he found his voice. "Naruto! W-what… happened? Why are you… you look… like this?"

The infant parted his lips in a theatrical gasp. "What, is my appearance that offensive to you?" He posed with feigned hurt, setting a hand to his chest. "Father dear, how you wound me."

Minato shook his head frantically. "That's not it at all! I just… I wasn't expecting… no one told me you… you had some condition or… I'm so confused." He pressed a hand to his temple. "I—I guess maybe Jiraiya neglected to mention if you—"

"Oh, I see," the baby Naruto cut him off, tone turning artificially forlorn. "So you're going to reject me because I don't meet your expectations of a normal teenage son, is that it? After all these years, you see me in an undersized body, and that's too much for you?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant at all!" Minato rushed to say, heart pounding. "I never intended—Naruto, I'm not rejecting you. I just… no one told me you looked like—like an infant! This is a shock."

Naruto gave a mock sigh. "As I suspected. You want to toss me aside." He pivoted, turning a half-lidded stare at Minato. "Same old story. Everyone here has always found a reason to scorn me. They spat on me for containing the Kyuubi, forced me to flee the village into the Forest of Death at age six, and eventually accepted me back only to keep me on house arrest. Then, as soon as I tried to prove myself, I got suspended for going a bit overboard with that stuck-up Hyuga prodigy. Meanwhile, you were nowhere to be found." He paused for effect, watching Minato's expression contort in shock and sorrow. "I yearned so badly for a fierce mother's love and a father's stern guidance… something to protect me from all that."

Minato's eyes shimmered with tears, face etched with devastation. He had gleaned only pieces of Naruto's childhood from secondhand accounts, never hearing such harsh details. The knowledge weighed on him like an avalanche. He reached out, voice trembling, "Naruto, I—I didn't know. You have to understand, I was in a coma… If I'd known, if I'd been able—"

His words faltered under the infant's intense gaze. For a moment, Naruto's expression softened, but only fractionally. Inside, Naruto exulted at the swirling guilt and paternal protectiveness he was triggering in Minato. He harbored no deep grudge against Minato—he recognized that the older man had truly been incapacitated and powerless to intervene. Still, it never hurt to tilt the playing field in his favor by laying out these truths, ensuring Minato might be more sympathetic to him than to Jiraiya or the council. Ruminating inwardly, Naruto forced a sniff, milking the moment.

Minato, unknowing of any manipulation, gently knelt beside the infant, pulling him into a trembling embrace. "I'm so proud of you," he whispered earnestly, voice breaking. "Everything you've accomplished, everything you endured… you're a splendid shinobi, Naruto. I'm sorry I wasn't there. It must not mean much to hear my apology now, but I promise you… I'm not leaving again."

Naruto let out a faux sniff, leaning into Minato's arms momentarily, relishing the fatherly warmth. "It's okay," he said quietly. Then, pulling away, he spoke with forced cheer. "Anyway, it wasn't all bad. I found help along the way. Lord Danzo and Root took me in, gave me training, made me strong."

Those words jolted Minato like a lightning strike. His face paled, horror etched into his features. "Danzo?" he choked. "You… trained under Danzo? For how long?"

Naruto feigned confusion. "Oh, about five years now. Didn't Jiraiya or anyone else mention that to you?" He shrugged. "No? Strange. You'd think that might come up. I guess the Sannin were otherwise occupied."

Minato's breath hissed out. Memories of Danzo's shady maneuvers in the past, the unsanctioned Root program, the darkness swirling around that man's name. The idea of Naruto being molded by Danzo shook him to the core. "This… can't be," he murmured. "We never intended for Root to… you were supposed to be recognized as a hero, not—" He broke off, mind racing with anger and regret. "I… I have to speak to Jiraiya about this. So many lies by omission."

Naruto studied him, lips curling in satisfaction. "Anyway," he went on in a lighter tone, "I've made my peace with it. You're probably itching to scold me for consorting with a shady figure, but that's how I survived. And I doubt you can change the past, can you?"

Minato swallowed hard, tears nearly brimming once more. Guilt and paternal protectiveness warred in his eyes. "Son, I—I wish I'd been there to keep that from happening. To shield you from all that. Now that I'm awake, I swear I'll put things right."

Naruto let out a short laugh. "A bit late, don't you think? I'm almost fifteen, father dear. Check out the physique." He gestured down at his infant body ironically. "Okay, not this physique, obviously. But you get my point."

Minato's face fell again. "I… know I can't undo the time lost. But if you'll allow me, I want to be here for you from now on. I want to… fix whatever I can."

Naruto laughed again, the sound sharper this time. "That's sweet. Anyway, enough with the waterworks." Suddenly, the infant put both hands together, forging a series of hand seals. The childlike visage shimmered, dissolving into a swirl of chakra. When the haze cleared, Naruto stood in his near-fifteen-year-old form, clad in an updated shinobi attire, hair spiky and whisker marks faint on his cheeks. "I had to gauge how you'd react to extremes, old man. That infant form was just a ploy." He smirked, crossing his arms. "You should've seen your face."

Minato rose, heart pounding. Relief mixed with mild irritation. "That was… not funny, Naruto," he chided, though his tone carried more exasperation than anger.

Naruto gave a half-apologetic shrug. "It served its purpose. But in the spirit of honesty…" He trailed off, focusing chakra again. His body rippled, morphing further in a dazzling shimmer. The slender teenage shape gave way to a tall figure with pale skin and an otherworldly aura. His hair shifted to an almost sky-blue shade, and a faint Byakugan-like pattern glowed in one eye. "Recognize this?" he asked, his voice echoing with unusual resonance.

Minato gaped. This form—clearly Otsutsuki. He'd gleaned fragments of that truth from the Third's diaries and from hush-hush records. That Naruto might carry Otsutsuki lineage… "You… you know of your heritage?" he managed.

Naruto smirked. "Yep. And it looks like you did your homework, too, rummaging through old secrets. Well, I'm not a clueless child. I discovered my origins, plus the abilities that come with it. It's handy, if a bit complicated." He exhaled, shoulders rolling as if adjusting to the form. "Anyway, I've shown you enough for one day, father."

Minato took a step forward. "Naruto, wait. We need to talk. There's so much I need to ask you, about your mother, about—"

Naruto raised a hand. "You can grill me all you want eventually. Right now, I've got places to be, and you have, what, a load of reacquainting to do with the village? Plus, probably a chat with Jiraiya or Shikaku about how they withheld all this. So let's call it a night." He turned, heading for the nursery's window.

"Wait—" Minato lunged forward, alarm flaring. But Naruto parted the window shutters and, with an effortless motion, flew out into the open air. Minato dashed to the sill, adrenaline surging. He watched, stunned, as Naruto soared upward, silhouette etched against the moonlit sky. "He can fly?!" he burst out, voice thick with disbelief. The figure paused, glancing back once with a mocking wave, then vanished into the darkness. Minato was left trembling, mind spinning with new revelations.

With a shaky sigh, he retreated from the window, returning to the quiet gloom of the nursery. The crib stood there, a silent testament to the years that had slipped away. He pressed a hand to his chest, heart drumming. "Naruto," he whispered, voice echoing in the hush. Guilt gnawed at him, alongside shock and paternal longing. Despite everything, Naruto had become powerful—too powerful. And the boy's bitterness at the village, at the illusions of heroism, at a father who wasn't there, weighed heavily on Minato's conscience.

He realized, with dismay, that he needed answers. About Danzo's involvement, about how Jiraiya had failed to mention so many crucial details. And about the Otsutsuki blood that coursed in Naruto's veins. In that swirling confusion, one certainty crystallized: I need to speak to Sensei, asap. The old records might have told him fragments, but only living sources like Jiraiya could explain the rest. And he needed to figure out a plan, because Naruto was forging alliances of his own, maybe harboring grudges. If the boy truly was bound to Root, with Danzo pulling strings, the potential consequences for Konoha were immense.

Slumping onto the dusty floor, Minato let his gaze drift around the nursery one last time. He recalled nights spent reading to baby Naruto, a wide-eyed child who used to tug at Minato's hair with giggles. He recalled the day Kushina surprised him with the news of Mito, their unborn second child, and how they'd planned for Naruto to share a sibling. All that was shattered. The boy who was supposed to be an energetic brother was now an enigma, shaped by secrets and hardships. The crib, once a symbol of family unity, now stood as a relic of a future never realized.

In the silence, Minato closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. He could almost hear Kushina's gentle laughter, see her leaning over him, telling him that everything would be fine. The illusions of memory felt comforting, if fleeting. Eventually, he rose, clenching fists. He had no intention of giving up on Naruto. The swirl of heartbreak only steeled his resolve. He was the Fourth Hokage, and more importantly, a father determined to reclaim the bond that fate had stolen from them.

He walked back through the apartment, each footstep stirring dust and ghosts of memories. At the threshold, he paused, casting one last look at the emptiness behind him. In that moment, he silently vowed that he would not abandon his son again. No matter how twisted the circumstances, how complicated Naruto's loyalties, Minato would fight for him, guide him, and protect him—whatever it took.

Stepping into the corridor beyond, Minato closed the door with a soft thud, a final farewell to the past he'd left behind. But the future was wide open, fraught with questions. He needed to find Jiraiya soon, no matter the hour, no matter how exhausted he felt. The conversation that awaited him would be uncomfortable, possibly explosive. But it had to be done.

As he moved down the staircase, mind churning with each possibility, he couldn't help but replay Naruto's words in his head. I'm almost fifteen. The casual remark carried the weight of a decade and more. Thirteen years of absence was an eternity in a child's life, and in that time, Naruto had grown from a wide-eyed toddler into a cunning adolescent with Otsutsuki powers, illusions, flight, and a bond with Root. This is going to be a battle of wills, Minato thought, stepping out onto Konoha's quiet street.

Night blanketed the village, but he saw signs of the usual late patrols—glimpses of shinobi silhouettes scaling rooftops, the flicker of the occasional lamp. The world had changed. And while he used to be the revered Yellow Flash, he now felt unsteady, uncertain of how to navigate the new complexities. He clenched his jaw. I'll adapt. For Naruto's sake, I will. The day had revealed so many truths, some that pained him deeply, others that stirred fierce resolve. He inhaled the crisp air, letting it strengthen him.

Kessetsugan Dimension

The pocket dimension was eerily serene, a timeless space of swirling cerulean and silver hues that seemed to extend infinitely in every direction. Naruto stood at its center, surrounded by a field of soft, glowing mist. It was a place only he could access, a sanctuary within his own mind forged by the power of his Kessetsugan. Yet, tonight, it felt anything but comforting.

Two figures materialized before him, their forms luminous and ethereal. Ichiro and Hikari Otsutsuki, his biological parents, regarded him with a mixture of disappointment and concern. Ichiro, tall and commanding with sky-blue hair flowing down his back, crossed his arms, his Byakugan eyes narrowing slightly. Beside him, Hikari's graceful form radiated a softer, yet no less firm, energy. Her eyes, a blend of warmth and reprimand, focused intently on her son.

"Of all the ways you could have handled this," Ichiro began, his tone sharp yet controlled, "you chose that? Mockery and manipulation?"

Naruto in his Uzumaki guise once again sighed heavily, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. "Here we go," he muttered under his breath.

"You were cruel, Naruto," Hikari interjected, her voice gentler but no less resolute. "Your foster father has just returned to a world he barely recognizes. He's grappling with the weight of lost years, with discovering how much his son has changed. And you thought the best approach was to toy with his emotions?"

Naruto frowned, his cerulean eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of the dimension. "It wasn't cruel," he argued. "It was strategic."

"Strategic?" Ichiro's voice rose slightly, his disbelief palpable. "You reduced yourself to childish antics and emotional manipulation. That's not strategy, Naruto. That's petty and shortsighted."

Naruto crossed his arms, his posture defensive. "Minato's not just my foster father—he's a key figure in Konoha. If I don't handle this carefully, he could end up swayed by Jiraiya or the council to see me as some kind of threat. I had to make an impression."

Hikari stepped closer, her gaze softening but still piercing. "And you thought playing the wounded child was the way to do that? Tugging at his heartstrings with half-truths and exaggerated grievances?"

"They weren't exaggerated," Naruto shot back, his tone sharpening. "Everything I said was true. The villagers did hate me. They did spit on me. They did force me to fend for myself. Minato needs to understand that I didn't have some rosy childhood while he was in a coma."

"But at what cost?" Hikari pressed, her voice laced with disappointment. "You sowed distrust. You made him feel guilty for things beyond his control. Is that the relationship you want with him—built on guilt and manipulation?"

Naruto hesitated, his gaze flickering away. "I… I don't know," he admitted, his voice quieter. "But I do know that I can't afford to let my guard down. Not with him back. Not with Jiraiya in the picture."

Ichiro took a step forward, his Byakugan eyes blazing faintly. "Jiraiya may be flawed, but he's not your enemy, Naruto. And neither is Minato. They're your family, imperfect as they are."

Naruto's jaw tightened, a spark of defiance flashing in his eyes. "Jiraiya has his agenda," he said tersely. "And Minato… he's too naïve. He doesn't understand what I've been through, what the village is really like. If I don't steer the narrative now, they'll turn him against me."

Hikari sighed, a pained expression crossing her face. "Naruto, you don't have to manipulate him to earn his trust. He already loves you. Can't you see that?"

"Love's not enough," Naruto snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "I've seen what happens when people let their guard down because of 'love.' They get betrayed. They get hurt. I'm not taking that risk—not with everything I've built."

Ichiro studied his son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his tone quieter but no less firm. "You've become strong, Naruto. Stronger than I ever imagined. But strength without trust, without connection, is hollow. You're playing a dangerous game, isolating yourself like this."

"I'm not isolating myself," Naruto argued. "I'm being careful. There's a difference."

Hikari shook her head, her long blue hair shimmering like water in the dimension's light. "There's a fine line between caution and paranoia, Naruto. You're walking that line right now. And if you're not careful, you'll push away the very people who want to stand by your side."

Naruto clenched his fists, frustration and doubt warring within him. He wanted to argue, to defend his choices, but a small part of him—a part he didn't want to acknowledge—knew they were right. His parents' imprints weren't perfect replicas of who they had been, but their wisdom and insight were undeniable.

"I just…" He exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I can't afford to lose control of this situation. Not when I'm finally in a position to shape my own path."

"And no one is saying you shouldn't take control of your destiny," Ichiro said, his tone softening marginally. "But manipulation and deceit aren't the way to do it. Trust isn't a weakness, Naruto. It's a strength."

Hikari stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Minato isn't your enemy, my son. He's your father in every way that matters. Give him a chance to be that for you."

Naruto's gaze dropped, his expression conflicted. "I'll… think about it," he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

"Good," Hikari said, offering him a small, encouraging smile. "Because if you keep pushing people away, you'll find yourself standing alone when you need them most."

Ichiro nodded, his stern expression softening slightly. "You've come far, Naruto. Don't let fear of betrayal blind you to the connections that can make you even stronger."

Naruto didn't reply, his thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions. He hated how their words struck a chord within him, forcing him to confront doubts he'd tried to bury. Yet, deep down, he knew they had a point. Maybe he had handled things poorly with Minato. Maybe he could have approached the situation with more honesty, more trust. But the idea of letting his guard down still terrified him.

The glowing figures of his parents began to fade, their presence retreating as the dimension's light dimmed. Before they vanished entirely, Hikari's voice echoed softly in his mind: "You are loved, Naruto. Don't forget that."

As the dimension dissolved around him, Naruto opened his eyes, returning to the quiet solitude of his training ground. He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. His parents' words lingered, a persistent echo in the back of his mind.

"I'll think about it," he murmured again, this time with a little more conviction. But for now, he would continue treading carefully. He couldn't afford to let sentiment cloud his judgment—not yet. Not until he was sure of where Minato, Jiraiya, and everyone else truly stood.

Jiraiya sat alone in his modest apartment, the air thick with the scent of incense he used to ward off distractions whenever he needed to concentrate. A series of scrolls lay spread across the low table in front of him, each bearing notes from his spy network. By the faint lamplight, he squinted to decipher the coded messages, searching for any hint of Akatsuki's movements or whispers of Orochimaru's remnants. The past few weeks had been relentless—Minato's sudden return, Naruto's complicated role, and the swirling tensions within Konoha. There simply weren't enough hours in the day. Still, it was all part of being the "spymaster," a role he had embraced decades ago. He exhaled softly, pressing his thumb against a complicated cipher, hoping to tease out a clearer meaning. His mind drifted momentarily to everything that had happened since Minato had awakened from his long coma. Tsunade's probable return still loomed on the horizon, Naruto was forging alliances or feuds—Jiraiya couldn't be entirely sure which. Even as he tried to focus, his thoughts kept dancing away to more pressing concerns.

A sudden, assertive knock on the door startled him. Jiraiya lifted his gaze, feeling a jolt of apprehension. Few people ever visited him directly; fewer still would knock with such urgency. Rising to his feet, he crossed the small living space, stepping over half-folded maps and scattered intelligence notes. Opening the door, he froze momentarily upon seeing who was on the other side. Minato Namikaze—once the Fourth Hokage, once a comatose relic of a past era—stood there, his face etched with tension. The set of his jaw and the flicker of turmoil in his eyes told Jiraiya everything he needed to know.

"You met him," Jiraiya said, voice low, stepping aside to allow Minato entry. The younger man nodded curtly, not bothering to remove his sandals as he made his way past scattered books and scrolls. Jiraiya closed the door behind him, the faint squeak of hinges underscoring the sudden hush that fell between them.

Minato let out a slow breath, settling by the kitchen table that Jiraiya used as a makeshift desk. The overhead lamp, a single incandescent bulb, cast dramatic shadows across his face. "He's… not what I expected," Minato began, his voice trailing off, as though he wrestled with an avalanche of emotions. Jiraiya took a seat across from him, resting his elbows on the table, bracing himself for a difficult conversation.

They exchanged a glance—master and student, mentor and protégé, father figure and displaced Hokage. Jiraiya placed his hands palm-down against the wood. "I knew this day would come the moment you woke up," he admitted. "But I wasn't quite sure how it would happen. Naruto can be unpredictable."

Minato's expression tightened. "Yes. He is. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, given what I've learned." He inhaled, as though steeling himself to revisit a painful memory. "He's harboring a lot of anger, Jiraiya-sensei. He told me things that… that I can't easily forgive."

Jiraiya offered a small nod, though he said nothing immediately. Outside, a stray gust of wind rattled the window, heightening the sense of tension. Finally, Minato pressed on, his eyes dark with recollection. "The first real conversation I had with him—where he realized I was indeed his father—he said to me: 'Everyone hated me… like I was some criminal… but I kept smiling because I was afraid that if I stopped, I'd become the monster they all said I was.'" Minato's jaw clenched, and he paused, evidently fighting back a surge of emotion.

Jiraiya closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the day he had gotten a sense of Naruto's bitterness, the boy's masked grin, the forced bravado. He had hoped that time would heal those wounds. Now, it seemed that time had only sharpened them.

"And there's more," Minato continued, voice subdued. "'No matter how hard I tried, people kept telling me how worthless I was, how I should just die.'" His tone dropped further, barely above a whisper. "He said he wished so badly for someone to protect him… someone to love him, to stop everyone from treating him like he didn't deserve to live. He was crying when he told me that. Crying, because that was his entire reality while I… while I wasn't there."

Jiraiya exhaled, massaging the bridge of his nose. Guilt welled inside him, though he tried to keep it from showing. "He told you more than he told me," he said gently. "But I feared as much."

Minato's gaze flicked up, brimming with sadness and barely restrained fury. "Do you have any idea how it felt, hearing my son—the child I never got to raise—talk about the village scorn? To realize he grew up with such cruelty, such neglect, while Konoha carried on, blind or indifferent? I found myself questioning everything: the value of my sacrifice, whether Kushina should have died at all. Maybe I should've taken her for medical care instead of… running off in pursuit of the Nine-Tails. If there had been an alternative, perhaps she would still be alive, and Naruto wouldn't have suffered like this."

Those words hung in the air like a dagger. Jiraiya studied Minato's face, seeing the raw ache written there. It was a self-inflicted pain, fueled by regret and a sense of betrayal. The Toad Sage recognized the seeds of bitterness that had begun to sprout in Minato's heart.

Before Jiraiya could formulate a response, Minato's voice sharpened to an accusatory edge. "You knew Tsunade's general location, didn't you? If she was anywhere in the Fire Nation, I could've located her in minutes, if only to save Kushina. But you never told me. You let me handle the Nine-Tails alone, let me believe that was our only option. We lost her, Jiraiya-sensei… all for a village that neglected our son."

Jiraiya looked away, unable to meet Minato's eyes. His old student's grief and anger were palpable. "Minato," he began slowly, "the Kyuubi's rampage had to be stopped at any cost. We had no time for an alternative plan. Even if I had known Tsunade's precise location, traveling there might have been impossible with the Nine-Tails rampaging. Communication lines were down. The whole village was in chaos."

Minato's voice shook with frustration. "But if we had tried, maybe she could've saved Kushina. Maybe we could have done more."

Silence loomed between them, suffocating. Jiraiya realized that every explanation would ring hollow. The weight of the past could not be undone. Finally, Minato gave a short, bitter laugh. "Konoha doesn't deserve the peace it has," he said quietly, though his voice throbbed with danger. "They let my child suffer. They spat on him. And the rest of you—my mentor included—kept silent."

Jiraiya's eyes widened, alarmed. "Minato, you don't want to walk that path," he warned. "Violence or revenge against the village won't fix what happened. Anger doesn't dispel ignorance. If you lash out now, all you'll do is reinforce the fear and hatred that caused them to shun Naruto in the first place."

Minato clenched a fist. "You speak of fear and hatred as if they're intangible. They're not. They're the product of decisions. People told Naruto he should just die. People can choose differently."

"And how do you plan to force that choice?" Jiraiya asked, voice shaking with emotion. "By punishing them? By harming them? That leads nowhere except more bloodshed."

Minato's expression hardened into a grim mask. "I'm among the strongest shinobi alive. Who's going to stop me if I do decide to punish them?"

Jiraiya swallowed. "You know I'd try. And you'd never forgive yourself. Let me remind you: the only true solution is changing people's perceptions. Killing them fosters more hatred, more fear, more vengeance. You taught me that once, remember? The Will of Fire is about protecting everyone, despite their flaws."

Minato snorted, his resentment simmering. But he said nothing, merely glaring. Jiraiya pressed on. "Look, yes, the village's beliefs about Jinchuuriki are archaic. The Kyuubi's rampage made them worse. But that's not an excuse to abandon everything we stand for. If you want a better world, you must shape it, not destroy it."

For a tense moment, Minato seemed on the verge of lashing out. Instead, he let out a slow breath, stepping back from that precipice of anger. "He said you could've taken him in," Minato accused, voice unyielding. "That you, as his godfather, should've raised him. But you never did."

Jiraiya flinched at the mention of that old guilt. "You know my life. I'm always out in the field, gathering intelligence, maintaining spy networks. I also had to ensure Nawaki and Mito remained hidden. Tsunade had her own responsibilities, looking after you in your comatose state. She had to protect those two children as well. There wasn't enough room or time for Naruto. I… I made a judgment call."

Minato's lips curled with disgust. "A judgment call. So you left my boy in a place where everyone hated him, so you could keep the real Jinchuuriki out of sight?"

The Sannin forced himself to meet Minato's gaze. "Yes. That was the plan. We had to shield Mito from public scrutiny. We decided that Naruto—who wasn't truly a container for the Nine-Tails—would bear the brunt of suspicion. It was a vile compromise, but at the time, it seemed the lesser of two evils. We believed the Academy environment might help him find friends and acceptance. We were wrong about that."

Minato spat the words like venom. "So he grew strong because he had no choice but to survive alone. Good. Because otherwise, he'd have died. That's your logic?"

Jiraiya tried to steady his breathing, sorrow gnawing at him. "I'm not proud of it," he murmured. "If it helps, Sarutobi-sensei kept a watchful eye, ensuring Danzo didn't push Naruto too far. But yes, Danzo had influence over him. That's another burden Naruto bore."

Minato stared in horror. "You let Danzo mold my son into a Root agent?"

Glancing away in shame, Jiraiya answered, "It wasn't by design. We never intended for Naruto to become a puppet. But he's resourceful, cunning. Danzo recognized that and offered him a form of training. The Third tried to mitigate the worst of Danzo's tactics. But Naruto never told me everything. By the time I realized how deep he was in, it was too late."

Minato's face tensed, anger radiating from him. "You should have been there for him. One of you. Anyone. You can't say you had no time—someone as capable as you, or Tsunade, could have found a way."

A heavy sigh escaped Jiraiya. "We feared he'd grow resentful, overshadowed by the secrecy surrounding Nawaki and Mito, or forced into constant travel. In hindsight, maybe that would have been preferable to the cruelty he endured. But we believed it best that he live among children, normal villagers. That he'd build relationships."

Minato gave a cynical laugh. "Relationships, indeed. He built them with a man like Danzo. And now he distrusts all of you. Including me. He stands on the brink of forging alliances with questionable figures, and he's got legitimate reason to do so."

Jiraiya lowered his head, acknowledging the truth in Minato's words. "We cannot change the past. We can only atone. That's what I keep telling myself."

Minato lapsed into silence, drifting to the window. Through the transparent pane, the lights of Konoha twinkled, the village oblivious to the tension in Jiraiya's apartment. Naruto's words replayed in Minato's mind, fueling a smoldering bitterness. He remembered the boy's tears, the betrayal in his voice, that sense of hopeless longing. Was this the best the Leaf could do for the child of its Fourth Hokage?

At length, Minato spoke softly. "I want to talk to Kakashi once he's awake. He mentored Naruto for a while, right? Perhaps he'll shed more light on what happened while I was gone. Then I'll decide how I want to proceed. Whether Konoha deserves my loyalty."

Jiraiya bowed his head. "I understand. Talk to Kakashi. I only hope you realize that spiting the village solves nothing. Many innocents live here, people who had no say in how Naruto was treated. Hurt and fear beget more of the same."

Minato was quiet a moment. Then he turned from the window, studying the Sannin with a hooded gaze. "There's another matter. That crow you had me ignore. On the way to this conversation, it was tailing me. I marked it with a Hiraishin seal. When it dispelled, it ended up with a man who bears some resemblance to a certain Uchiha."

Jiraiya's composure slipped for an instant. "Itachi," he said at last, voice guarded. "He left the village. He's associated with Akatsuki. Naruto had a run-in with him, killed his partner Kisame. Itachi's still out there."

Minato paled. "Naruto faced an S-rank missing-nin alone?"

A mirthless shrug. "He's not a typical kid, Minato. He rarely follows orders or caution. He's become… formidable. He might even rival you, if he continues on this path."

Minato let out a slow breath. "So Itachi is definitely the one. Next time that crow is summoned, I'll teleport. Possibly confront him. I need answers."

Jiraiya eyed him carefully, measuring whether to reveal more about Itachi's secrets. But those secrets were not his to share. "If that's your choice," he said carefully, "just be cautious. There's more to that man than meets the eye."

Nodding, Minato turned away, heading for the door. "I don't intend to die again, if that's what you're worried about. But if something goes wrong, then you're going to see that my son receives the support he deserves, yes?"

Jiraiya's throat tightened. "Of course," he managed. "I promise you that."

Minato paused, his hand resting on the knob. He glanced back over his shoulder, his expression a tumult of resentment and sorrow. "I used to admire you, Jiraiya-sensei. I always thought you'd do right by my child if anything ever happened to me. Now, I'm not so sure." The words cut deeply, a testament to the fractures in their bond.

Jiraiya's voice stuck in his throat. "I… I did the best I could. But I know that might not mean much right now."

Without another word, Minato opened the door, stepping out into the corridor. The shadows swallowed him, and Jiraiya found himself alone once again. The Sage sat down heavily, the conversation playing over in his mind. Everything felt precarious. Minato's bitterness threatened to erode the principles he had once stood for, while Naruto's anger had only fanned those flames.

For a long moment, Jiraiya simply stared at the half-lit intelligence reports on his table. He could barely muster the will to read them now. The same question churned in his mind, haunting him: Could we have done better? Could we have saved Naruto from all this pain?

Silence pervaded the apartment, thick with remorse. Jiraiya raked a hand through his white hair, the lines on his face deepening with guilt and fatigue. Once, he had believed in grand ideals, in shaping a new era of peace. Yet all he saw were cracks in that ideal, fractures that threatened to topple everything. The idea that Minato might truly consider turning against the village—it chilled him. Jiraiya wasn't naive enough to think it impossible, especially if something pushed Minato further into despair.

Outside, the hush of the village nights gave way to distant chatter or the occasional footstep from a late-night shinobi passing by. Their shadows danced against the window, flickering then disappearing. Jiraiya exhaled, picking up a stray scroll and absentmindedly rolling it open, only to find his gaze unfocused. The conversation replayed: Minato's heartbreak, his fury, and the near mania in his eyes when he spoke of retribution. The Toad Sage had hoped that once Minato returned, the village would rejoice, and that father and son might find a sense of normalcy. How naive that notion felt now.

Rising unsteadily, Jiraiya made his way to a small shelf in the corner, rummaging for a bottle of sake. He found it, only half full, and poured some into a chipped cup. The liquid glistened under the lamp's glow. He downed it in a single gulp, grimacing at the bitter taste. Alcohol wasn't a solution, but it offered fleeting numbness. If only the real problems could be washed away so easily.

He slumped against the wall, staring at the door Minato had left through. That door was a metaphor, he realized—Minato's path diverging from what they had once shared. If the Fourth truly believed Konoha didn't deserve peace, what might he do next? Minato was a man who had designed an entire array of lethal jutsu, who once sealed the Nine-Tails itself. If he set his mind to punishing the village, or Danzo, or any other perceived culprit, who could stop him?

Jiraiya closed his eyes, recalling the boy who had looked up to him with unwavering respect, the bright child who had soared through the ranks to become Hokage. That child was now replaced by a man tormented by regrets and unleashed anger. Perhaps I failed them all, he thought. Failed Minato, failed Naruto, and maybe even failed the dream of a better Konoha.

Thirteen years prior, he had let Naruto slip through his fingers, burying himself in espionage missions. He had told himself that Naruto would be fine, that the boy's spunk would carry him through. But he had always known the truth: Naruto needed an actual parental figure, not an absent godfather returning with trinkets and half-baked lessons. The damage had already been done by the time Jiraiya tried to make amends.

And what of Danzo's involvement? That was a festering wound in itself. Jiraiya had never liked the man's methods, but he had never personally intervened strongly enough to change the boy's path. Perhaps the Third had reasons for letting certain alliances form. Perhaps they miscalculated how deeply Naruto would be influenced. So many maybes, so many regrets.

Eventually, Jiraiya pried himself off the wall, returning to the table. He absentmindedly tidied the scattered scrolls, though his mind wasn't on them. Instead, he planned his next steps: maybe approach Kakashi as soon as the man regained consciousness, glean more details about Naruto's transformations and alliances. Possibly reconvene with Shikaku or others on the council. Above all, he had to keep Minato from making a catastrophic choice. A father's heartbreak was not easily soothed, especially when that father was a legendary shinobi with the power to tear the village asunder if he desired.

Jiraiya hovered over the lamp, adjusting its wick. The flame flickered, casting shifting silhouettes on the walls. "We have to hold on," he murmured to himself, voice hollow. "We can't let everything collapse." Outside the window, a breeze lifted a few leaves, swirling them momentarily before letting them fall. The ephemeral swirl mirrored the fleeting calm that might soon be replaced by a storm.

He wondered, too, about Naruto's perspective in all this. The boy was cunning, possibly resentful, definitely independent. Could Minato ever truly mend that bond if it began so tangled? Another wave of guilt assaulted Jiraiya. He had seen glimpses of Naruto's bitterness but never realized how deeply it ran. Was he so focused on Mito and Nawaki that he turned a blind eye to the boy's plight? The partial truth felt heavier than any burden.

Time crept by, each second an unwelcome reminder that dawn would come, and with it new challenges. Eventually, Jiraiya heard faint footsteps in the hallway, and for a moment, he wondered if Minato had returned, that perhaps they might talk more calmly. But the footsteps passed, continuing away into the night.

Realizing there was no more to be done, the Toad Sage extinguished the lamp, plunging the apartment into darkness. He stood quietly in the gloom, the shape of his cluttered desk just visible. Tomorrow, he would resume business as usual—intelligence gathering, infiltration, all the tasks that overshadowed personal regrets. He would keep an eye on Minato, try to find an opening to reason with him again. But for now, there was only the hush of regret and the awareness that the dream they'd once cherished—a dream of a bright, peaceful future—was fragile, threatened by the mistakes they all had made.

In the end, Jiraiya trudged to his bedroom, the sake bottle still on the table, half-empty. Slipping under the covers, he let the weight of the conversation settle. He didn't expect restful sleep. Scenes of Minato's haunted face would chase him through whatever dreams emerged, reminding him that, while he might have once been a teacher, he had not lived up to that role in the ways that mattered most. If something irreversible happened, the fault would partly be his, and he knew it. He closed his eyes, hoping that, come morning, the invisible rift between father and son might not be as wide as it seemed tonight.

But no such reassurance came. Only darkness and the faint echoes of Minato's bitter accusations remained, pinned against the silent walls of his mind.