MINATO NAMIKAZE
The door closed behind Eishin Sasayki with a soft click that echoed louder than it should have in the suddenly silent room.
Minato remained still in his chair, his fingers steepled before him as he watched the space where the young jōnin had stood moments before. Around the wide table, the others seemed equally suspended in thought. Digesting, analyzing, and reconstructing everything they'd just heard. The questioning had been thorough. Perhaps too thorough, Minato thought, though he understood the necessity of it.
He'd allowed Shikaku and Inoichi to frame their questions the way they had. Leading and provocative. Designed to paint Eishin Sasayaki as reckless, young, and not quite, but close to being the instigator.
It had left an unpleasant taste in Minato's mouth, but what choice did he have? The village needed options, and options required contingencies and plausible narratives from every angle, even the unflattering ones.
Especially the unflattering ones.
The problem was simple, even if the solution wasn't. He couldn't have both. He couldn't stand by one of his most talented shinobi and prevent a war with Kirigakure. The scales refused to balance, no matter how he shifted the weights. Don't be hasty, he scolded himself. It has yet to come to that.
A low chuckle broke the silence.
Minato glanced to his right, where Lord Third sat with his pipe in hand, wisps of smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. The old man's eyes crinkled with what looked like genuine amusement, and there was a softness to his expression that Minato had seen before. Usually, when the Sandaime was thinking about the Academy students or his own grandchildren.
"Ah…. youth," Hiruzen mused, his voice warm, almost paternal. "So full of conviction, so certain of their own strength. Did you see how politely he held himself, even as Shikaku tried to needle him? That kind of restraint is rare. Well," he conceded with a soft, rasping chuckle, "That brief flare of chakra… mmh. It startled me more than I'd like to admit. It made these old bones remember what true potential feels like." Another smile, wistful this time. "A flirt he may be, but even flirtation has its gentlemen. The Will of Fire survives because each generation tends the flame in their own way."
Minato felt his eye twitch slightly. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose.
"Sensei," he said, keeping his tone respectful but firm, "with all due respect, the situation requires more gravity than that." He paused, searching for words that wouldn't sound too harsh. "Sasayaki-san killed a Kage. The Mizukage of Kirigakure. We're potentially on the brink of war, and I need clear heads to navigate this, not... nostalgia for youthful indiscretions."
Hiruzen's smile didn't fade. If anything, it deepened, and he took a long pull from his pipe before responding.
"Lighten up, Minato," the old Hokage said gently. The words held no sting, but they carried weight nonetheless. "You'll give yourself gray hair before you hit forty. Take a page from Shikaku's book. He hasn't lost his temper, and Eishin-kun had made a few quips at his expense, didn't he?"
Shikaku Nara, leaning casually against the wall, smirked. "I'm more worried about the boy's death wish than his disrespect. Yoshino would break him into pieces if he ever tried anything serious." He shrugged, his voice carrying its usual lazy drawl. "Not that I'd feel sorry for him."
A shudder ran through Minato before he could stop it.
He understood that sentiment perfectly. Yoshino-san was terrifying. He'd witnessed her wrath once when Shikaku had forgotten their anniversary, and the memory still made him wince. He'd offered Shikaku a sympathetic clap on the shoulder that day, a gesture that said more than words ever could. Home was supposed to be a sanctuary, but for men like them, often it feels like a second, more emotionally complex battlefield. Minato knew.
Kushina... Kushina was scary in her own way as well. Different, but arguably worse. If Eishin had made those kinds of jokes about her...
The image of Kushina breaking every bone in the young jounin's body flashed through Minato's mind, vivid and uncomfortably plausible. She would do it too, probably while smiling that particular smile she got when someone really pushed her buttons. Naruto would probably cheer her on, out of fear for the same fate if anything else.
Minato forcibly shoved the thought aside. This wasn't the time for such distractions.
"Shikaku," he said, turning his attention to his chief strategist and pushing his personal concerns back into their proper compartment. "What can you tell us?"
Shikaku didn't answer immediately. He reached up to scratch his jaw, his eyes distant in that way they got when he was turning over pieces of a puzzle in his mind.
"There's something that's been bugging me," he said finally, then paused. His gaze shifted to where Ibiki Morino stood, arms crossed, his scarred face as impassive as ever. "But before I get into that... Ibiki, what did you think? About Eishin's truthfulness, the mission report—how did it hold up to scrutiny?"
Ibiki was silent for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of professional assessment.
"The report is thorough," he said, each word measured. "Detailed, internally consistent, hard to find flaws or contradictions in…. in most part. Not surprising for a shinobi of his caliber and experience. Eishin Sasayki didn't become a jounin at his age by being sloppy."
"You believe he rehearsed it?" Inoichi Yamanaka asked, an edge to his voice that Minato had noticed growing sharper throughout the interrogation.
Ibiki's frown deepened slightly—though on his scarred face, that was nearly imperceptible. "Hard to say conclusively," he admitted. "There's nothing inherently wrong with rehearsing a report. Most shinobi do, especially for missions that ended in... complications."
"It is wrong if what they're rehearsing is a lie," Inoichi cut in, his tone sharp. "If they're polishing a false narrative until it shines."
"His official report corroborates his initial report—the one he gave when he first regained consciousness—almost perfectly," Ibiki continued, ignoring the interruption. Then he paused, and Minato caught the slight tightening around his eyes. "Except..."
"Except for his awareness of and activities during the time the two genin stumbled upon Momochi Zabuza's location," Shikaku finished smoothly, as if he'd been expecting this exact point.
Ibiki looked at Shikaku for a long moment, something passing between them. The recognition of two men who'd both caught the same inconsistency. Ibiki nodded. "His explanation for why he wasn't aware of the genin's encounter shifted between reports. A small detail, but present nonetheless."
Minato leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing. "You believe he lied about that specifically?" He heard himself add, almost reflexively, "Perhaps he simply didn't remember clearly the first time. He'd just woken up from serious injuries, after all. The hospital report indicated significant chakra exhaustion and physical trauma. Memory can be unreliable under those conditions."
Even as the words left his mouth, Minato felt a twinge of something uncomfortable in his chest. Was he making excuses? Probably. Did he owe Eishin at least that much benefit of the doubt?
...Yes. He did.
Nearly a week ago, Might Guy had reported an incident that still sat uneasily in Minato's mind. A confrontation between Eishin and Itachi Uchiha in the middle of the village. According to Guy's account, Itachi had been the instigator. It could have escalated into a full battle right there in Konoha's streets, a disaster on multiple levels.
But it hadn't.
And more importantly, Eishin hadn't filed a formal complaint. Hadn't raised the issue with any of the higher-ups. If he had, Minato would have been forced to take disciplinary action against an Anbu member—a member of the Uchiha clan, no less.
The Uchiha were already... difficult. Relations between the clan and the village leadership had been going downhill, and his policies hadn't improved matters. An incident like that, made official, would have been oil on the embers.
By keeping it private, Eishin had spared Minato a significant headache. That warranted some consideration now, didn't it?
Shikaku and Ibiki exchanged another look before Ibiki spoke again.
"In his initial report, Eishin stated he'd been conducting reconnaissance around Wave's port town while his clone surveilled the target's compound. Standard procedure for intelligence gathering." Ibiki's tone remained neutral, but there was a precision to his words that indicated importance. "In today's account, he removed that entirely. Instead, he claimed he'd been training alone at the shore during that period. Just... training. No reconnaissance, no intelligence work."
Silence descended over the room like a heavy blanket.
"I knew it," Inoichi said, and there was something almost triumphant in his voice that made Minato glance at him sharply. The head of the Yamanaka clan was leaning forward. "I've always known that boy is a liar. Shikaku's first question must have rattled him enough to threw him off balance. So when the follow-up questions came, he wasn't in the proper mental state to maintain his fabrication smoothly."
He looked at Shikaku with something like vindication. "That's why you focused your questioning around that timeframe, isn't it? You caught the discrepancy."
Shikaku took a drag from his cigarette and, "Not so fast, Inoichi," shook his head slowly.
"What do you mean, 'not so fast'?" Inoichi's frown deepened. "You saw how disrespectful he was. How impertinent. He had the audacity to flare his chakra like that in the presence of the Hokage. The boy has no sense of propriety, no—"
Despite the gravity of the situation, Minato found himself suppressing a smile.
Inoichi's hostility toward Eishin had been evident throughout the questioning, but understanding the root of it made the whole thing almost... amusing. He'd known of that, of course—impossible not to; he was the Hokage. Inoichi's daughter apparently had quite the infatuation with Eishin Sasayaki. For a father who doted on his daughter the way Inoichi did, watching her fall for someone with Eishin's rogue-like reputation must be agonizing.
Unlike with Shikaku, Minato didn't sympathize much with Inoichi here. He didn't have that particular problem with Naruto. His son presented different challenges entirely, loud, impulsive, attention-seeking in ways that sometimes made Minato wonder where he'd gone wrong in the few hours he actually spent at home these days.
Not that he had time to worry about that now.
"Calm down," Shikaku said, waving his cigarette vaguely in Inoichi's direction. "I know you're upset that your princess has terrible taste in men, but try to be objective here." The words were teasing, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness beneath them. "This isn't what you think it is. I may have been played this time."
Inoichi's expression shifted from annoyance to surprise, then to confusion. He looked from Shikaku to Ibiki, clearly trying to piece together what he was missing.
Ibiki supplied the answer. "Even if Eishin Sasayaki was rattled by Nara's provocative questioning, Eishin Sasayaki is an experienced, high-level jounin despite his age. His ability to lie under pressure, to maintain composure during interrogation, isn't easily dismantled. I've questioned hardened spies with less control than what we saw today."
"So you're saying he lied intentionally to be caught?" Inoichi asked, his tone skeptical. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would he—"
"Not intentionally to be caught," Shikaku corrected, and there was something almost admiring in his voice now. "More like... he judged himself incapable of lying flawlessly to us specifically. To this room, to these people. And he was right—his assessment of his own limitations was accurate. So instead of attempting a perfect deception and failing, he—"
A low chuckle interrupted him.
Hiruzen was smiling behind his pipe, genuine amusement dancing in his eyes. "He made you chase the feather, Shikaku."
"What do you mean by that, Lord Third?" Inoichi asked, still frowning.
Hiruzen settled back in his chair, the picture of a teacher about to impart a lesson. "There's an old parable—the fox and the farmer's henhouse. A fox steals a hen. When the farmer gives chase, the fox drops a feather from the stolen hen and leaves clear tracks leading in the opposite direction." He paused to take a drag from his pipe, letting the smoke curl upward. "The farmer follows the tracks, convinced he's pursuing the thief... and the fox escapes the other way with the real prize."
"It seems," The old Hokage's eyes crinkled with what looked like genuine delight. "Not only did young Eishin meet the legendary strategic patience of the Nara, but he beat you at misdirection as well. Impressive for one so young."
"He made me chase a feather indeed," Shikaku sighed, "Made me run in circles after a lie he wanted me to find." But despite the words, there was an unmistakable smile playing at the corner of his mouth. The expression of someone who appreciated being outmaneuvered, even if it complicated his job.
"But you caught his play soon enough," Minato said, leaning forward with interest. "You must have found what he was really hiding. What's beneath the feather?"
Shikaku lifted his hand to his mouth, then paused, glancing down to see that his cigarette had burned down to nothing. He pulled a fresh one from his pocket, lit it up, and took a long drag before answering.
"Another lie," he said simply.
The room waited.
"He was hiding a lie with a lie. Using deception as a distraction from deeper deception." Shikaku's smile widened slightly, and there was something almost excited in his expression—the look of someone who enjoyed a good puzzle, even when it frustrated him. "You've got to give it to the kid, he even flawlessly pulled it off, that's—"
He stopped abruptly, seeming to notice that everyone was staring at him with varying degrees of incredulity.
Shikaku coughed. "Right. Anyway." His tone became more professional, though traces of that excitement lingered. "It's difficult to say with certainty what the actual lie is. It's more of a feeling at this point, an instinct. But if I had to bet on something..." He paused, considering his words carefully. "I'd put my money on his explanation about the Rasengan."
Minato's eyebrows rose. "The Rasengan? Why would he lie about—"
"His explanation for why he suddenly could use it was logical," Shikaku continued, cutting him off gently. "Very logical. Perhaps too logical. The reasoning was sound and even gave detailed explanations on how he trained on it." He took another drag. "For anyone else, they would have dismissed that explanation, but for us… It made sense. Almost as if it were curated and molded just for our ears. It made my instincts prickle. Like a cover story that's been thought through too carefully."
He tapped ash from his cigarette. "And there's another thing. There's no record of him ever using the Rasengan before his fight with the Mizukage. Not in sparring reports, not in previous missions, nothing. For a technique that powerful, that distinctive, to suddenly appear in the most critical moment of his career?" Shikaku shook his head slowly. "That's suspicious."
Minato felt his frown deepen. The Rasengan was his technique—his creation, born from years of study and practice. He'd taught it to only one person — his sensei Jiraiya, who in turn taught it to his son Naruto. Well, he'd tried to teach Naruto, though his son was still struggling with the basics when Minato's duties had pulled him away from training.
When had he last actually trained with Naruto?
The thought tried to surface, but Minato pushed it down. Not now.
"I don't understand," he said, forcing his mind back to the present issue. "Why would Sasayaki-san lie about his ability to use the Rasengan? What would he gain from that?"
"Beats me." Shikaku shrugged, the gesture lazy, but his eyes sharp. "But that's what my gut is telling me. And in my experience, when something feels too convenient, too perfectly explained, there's usually something underneath it."
Hiruzen hummed thoughtfully, his pipe making soft gurgling sounds. "Perhaps that's our lead, then. Not whether he can use it, but how he learned it in the first place. Or rather..." His eyes sharpened slightly. "Who taught it to him?"
"I see," Minato said slowly, the pieces beginning to align in his mind.
Only three people knew the Rasengan. Minato himself, who had created it. Jiraiya, who Minato had taught. And Naruto, who was still learning. In terms of who could actually teach it effectively, that narrowed it down to two. Himself and his sensei.
He knew he hadn't taught Eishin. He would remember that. The technique was too personal, too much a part of his legacy. He wouldn't have shared it without—
Minato looked up at the ceiling, his voice rising slightly in volume.
"Perhaps sensei knows something about this?" he called out, not quite a question but not quite a statement either.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, with a crash of wood on wood, a figure dropped from the ceiling panels, landing in a crouch on the table with enviable balance despite the geta sandals on his feet.
— — — — — — — — — — —
A/N: I wanted to finish this report section with this chapter, but 3k seems not enough, hopefully next chapter will wrap this up (hopefully), and we finally get the bang-- I mean, have some well-warranted bedroom exercises.
Anyway, thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
You can read up to 8 chapters ahead at patreon.com/vizem