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The night was deep and silent. A full moon hung high above the treetops, its pale glow spilling across the back mountain of Konoha.
"Ugh…"
A soft groan broke the stillness. On the cold grass, a young boy stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of bright azure eyes — clear, spirited, and far too determined for someone so young.
Minato Namikaze blinked, dazed for a moment. "Did I… pass out again?"
His voice came out quiet, half to himself. He sat up, brushing the dirt from his training clothes, and let out a soft sigh. He was used to this. As a Genin-in-training with no clan or connections, he had to push himself harder than anyone else just to keep up.
While others rested, he trained.
While others relied on bloodline power, he relied only on his own hands.
That was the path he had chosen — the path toward his dream.
He clenched his fists lightly, feeling the faint pulse of chakra flowing through his body. Yet tonight… something was different.
"This feeling…" He frowned slightly. His limbs felt light — too light — as if his body no longer carried the weight of exhaustion.
Could this be the result of his training?
Minato tilted his head, uncertain. Today's practice had been the usual: chakra control drills, body reinforcement, and basic footwork. Nothing special. Yet his entire body thrummed with energy, his chakra smoother and denser than before.
"…Let's test it."
He exhaled, focusing his chakra down into his legs — a motion his body knew by heart.
Swish!
In an instant, his figure blurred. Golden hair flashed in the moonlight like a streak of light — and the world tilted sharply as he hurtled forward, faster and farther than ever before.
"Oh no!"
There was no time to adjust. His reflexes kicked in — arms crossed in front of his head — just as his small body slammed into a tree trunk.
Bang!
The tree shuddered from the impact. Leaves rained down as Minato tumbled backward, landing flat on the ground.
"Ow… that hurts…"
He winced, sitting up slowly. The sting in his arms told him he was lucky to have blocked in time. His wide eyes lifted toward the tree — its bark cracked slightly where he'd hit.
"What was that just now?" he murmured, stunned. "That chakra output… that speed…"
He pressed a hand to his chest, still feeling the lingering rhythm of his chakra. It wasn't normal — not for a boy his age, and certainly not for a student who had only just begun learning proper chakra control.
It felt stronger.
Older.
Almost as if his chakra had matured overnight.
"This isn't possible," he whispered, shaking his head. "My chakra… it's almost beyond Genin level."
At the Academy, they taught that chakra was born from the balance between physical and spiritual energy — refined over time through training and experience. Such rapid improvement simply didn't happen, unless one had a special constitution, like the Senju clan.
But he didn't.
He was ordinary.
Just Minato Namikaze — son of traveling merchants who'd been killed years ago by bandits.
That loss had forged his dream — to protect his village, to protect everyone so that no one else would have to suffer like he did.
He flexed his fingers, the faint tremble of pain grounding him again. The ache faded slowly, replaced by something fierce in his heart — a familiar flame that refused to go out.
He looked up at the moon, then at the path before him.
"One more time," he said softly.
Gathering his chakra again, he focused carefully this time — keeping his control steady. His figure flashed forward, but only for a few meters before stopping.
"Still not enough control…" Minato muttered, catching his breath. His expression was calm, thoughtful, not frustrated. He understood what it meant to fail — and he understood that failure was simply the road to strength.
He trained again. And again. Each movement grew sharper, more precise, though the chakra reserves within him dwindled quickly. Sweat dripped down his face, his small frame trembling slightly from exertion.
When his chakra was finally depleted, he exhaled deeply.
"That's enough for today."
The wind brushed through the grass as he turned toward the village lights below. Even exhausted, his pace was steady as he made his way home.
Minato's house wasn't large, but it was tidy — the remains of a once-busy merchant family. As he stepped inside, the quiet greeted him like an old friend. Still, the emptiness lingered.
He paused at the door, pressing his palms together and bowing his head.
"I'm home," he whispered.
After washing up, Minato climbed the stairs to his room. From his window, the Hokage Rock loomed across the night sky — three faces carved into stone, watching over Konoha with eternal calm.
His gaze softened, filled with quiet admiration.
Someday, he told himself, he would carve his own face there — not for glory, but to protect the home he loved.
"Hokage…" he murmured, his reflection in the glass catching the moonlight.
Outside, the night breeze carried the faint rustle of leaves — and though he didn't yet understand why, his heart beat faster, as if whispering that something inside him had already begun to change.
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