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The old man exhaled sharply. His wrinkled frame seemed small in the wagon seat, yet Minato caught the flicker of weight in his eyes, old memories, regrets heavy as stone, tucked away behind years of laughter and smoke.
Minato turned to him, narrowing his gaze. He had seen eyes like that before. Veterans of the Shinobi Wars often carried them, eyes that pretended to be cheerful but bled when no one was watching. No Shinobi died without regrets. Even the most righteous had something left undone, someone left behind.
"Any idea why those guys were trying to off you?" Minato finally asked, breaking the silence as he cast a sidelong glance at the old man.
The elder rubbed his temples, then gave a tired, wheezing chuckle. "Sigh. They're just mad. I mine metals and precious materials from the Rukongai and forge weapons for the Shinigami. A man's gotta make a living somehow, eh?"
Minato exhaled slowly, golden hair rustling in the faint wind. He really didn't care what schemes the old man had wrapped himself in, it wasn't his place to judge. He only stepped in because Fuji had been generous, feeding him when he was half-starved and wandering.
"You're not gonna ask me why I do what I do? Or why I rob the poor to satisfy the rich?" The old man snickered at his own words, amused at the moral weight of his trade.
But Minato's reply made him blink.
"It's not my place to judge, old man. Besides…" Minato folded his arms, eyes softening. "You've got a family you're trying to find. You'll need all the resources you can get. You might've abandoned them in life, but you're not doing the same in death. That…I can respect."
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Besides, you helped me out. That's reason enough."
The elder froze for a breath, then burst into booming laughter.
"Hahahaha! What an upright young man you are…" He patted Minato's shoulder with a calloused hand, his laugh still echoing. "I like you. Say… it looks like you've got nowhere to go. And I could use someone with your expertise. How about you come with me? I'll pay you double what I give those idiots who couldn't even keep me safe."
He extended his hand. Minato hesitated, fingers hovering for a long second before he clasped it, shaking firmly.
---
Tjhe journey stretched on for three days. From the dust-bitten alleys of the 65th District of North Rukongai to the calmer 50th, the road wound through plains, thickets, and broken hamlets. The caravan was a haphazard line of wagons, their wheels creaking under the weight of ores and crates, guarded by men too careless for their pay.
Bandits came, as they always did. Idiots with rusted blades and hollow bravado. Minato dispatched them swiftly, too swiftly for them to even comprehend what struck them. A flash of blond hair, a shift in air, then silence. The old man wondered in amazement every time Minato stepped into action.
On the third evening, when the sky burned orange with sunset, Minato noticed the shift. The very air itself felt different as they neared the 50th District.
The dust-sour scent of the 65th gave way to something purer. The roads widened, packed smooth by frequent travel. Wooden houses rose into pagodas and long-roofed dojos, their beams polished and arranged with an artisan's care. Stone lanterns lined the streets, carved symbols glowing faintly.
It reminded Minato of Konoha.
By the time they arrived, dusk had fallen. The caravan rattled to a stop before a dojo with an ornate crest painted above its gate. The structure rose proudly, tiled roof gleaming under moonlight.
A moment later, children spilled out of the gate, their laughter filling the courtyard.
"Old man Fuji! Old man Fuji!" they cried in chorus, feet pattering across stone. They swarmed him, tugging at his robe, faces glowing with wide grins.
The blacksmith's eyes crinkled with warmth. He bent down, rubbing their heads one by one. "Hahaha! How are you brats? You've grown again! Grandpa brought you gifts!"
From his robe, he produced a neatly wrapped box and handed it to the eldest child, who quickly gathered the others and scampered inside, shouting excitedly.
Minato stood still, confusion growing in his chest. He hadn't expected this.
First, the assassins. Then Fuji's trade. And now… children? Souls were not supposed to age. Not supposed to bleed, not supposed to reproduce. Yet here they were, alive, laughing, vibrant.
"What in the world…" he muttered under his breath.
Fuji caught his expression and offered a tired smile. "Children, eh? Always full of questions and trouble."
Minato only shrugged.
The old man's tone shifted, softer. "So, I guess this is the end of the road for us, Minato."
"I'm not good with goodbyes, so let's just say I'll keep exploring until I find where I belong in this world." Minato smiled faintly, adjusting the brown-handled wakizashi strapped across his back.
"You know…" Fuji's gaze lingered on him. "Someone like you would make a damn fine Shinigami. I can tell. There's something in you, something special. Cut out for that kind of life."
Minato scoffed, leaning against the caravan. "I don't know. I don't think I wanna get myself involved in the whole Shinigami fiasco. At least… not yet. Maybe someday."
Fuji lit his pipe, smoke curling skyward. "That's too bad. But I get it. You're new here. You'll want to take time, get used to things. If you ever change your mind, I can pull strings. My son's enrolled at the Shino Academy. He could help."
Minato didn't answer right away. He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and tilted his head toward the distant night sky.
"Or…" Fuji smirked, puffing smoke. "You could just stay here, figure things out. We've got plenty of rooms. No pressure, of course..."
"That sounds nice."
The elder blinked. "You didn't even let me finish."
But Minato's smile was genuine. Fuji chuckled, shaking his head. "Heh. Alright then. I'll have a room prepared. For now, come on, help me unload these crates. I'm behind schedule."
---
Two Weeks Later
Life in the dojo was simple. Perhaps too simple.
The first two weeks blurred together in a haze of repetition. Minato spent mornings hauling ore and wood into Fuji's forge, afternoons hammering metal or stacking crates, and evenings training alone in the courtyard.
For the first time in years, peace surrounded him. No war councils. No Hokage's desk. No endless reports of blood and loss. Just the steady rhythm of work, smoke from Fuji's forge, and the quiet pulse of his own thoughts.
Yet boredom lurked.
When not working, Minato trained. Agility drills sharpened his reflexes. Meditation filled the long nights, his focus turned inward on the strange energy now coursing through him.
Chakra had always been life itself, flesh and thought, body and spirit. Controlling it was easy once one mastered self-control. But this new current was different. Denser. Wilder. Pure.
At first, he thought it was simply the opposite of chakra, death to chakra's life. But the more he meditated, the less that theory held.
No… this power wasn't death. It was everywhere. In the air. In food. In the walls of Fuji's home. In people, in varying tides and densities.
It reminded him of natural energy. Like Sage Chakra, but deeper, closer to the soul's marrow.
'If I can harness it,' Minato thought, seated cross-legged beneath the courtyard tree, 'I might be able to access Sage Mode again…'
The thought made him pause. He was brilliant, others had said so. But even brilliance had limits. "Sigh. I'm not that smart. Orochimaru would've figured this out in a week…"
Still, he had time. And if Fuji's stories of coordinated Hollow attacks and vanishing citizens were true, he'd need his strength back soon enough.
Another detail nagged at him.The wakizashi.
The blade he had taken from one of the assassins pulsed faintly whenever he meditated. As though it breathed in time with him, drinking faint strands of the energy within him.
He drew it again, letting moonlight reflect on its steel. Brown handle. Rectangular guard. Blade a little shorter than a katana, longer than a tanto. Ordinary to the untrained eye.
But Minato could feel it. A heartbeat. Alive.
Sentient, perhaps.
It unnerved him.
He slid the blade back into its sheath, sighing. "I'm probably overthinking this…"
His musings were interrupted by the patter of small feet.
"Minato-san!"
He opened his eyes. A little boy ran toward him, wide-eyed, smiling.
"Old man Fuji is calling for you. He's in the forge."
Minato chuckled, rubbing the boy's hair. "Genma, you've been running around too much. Don't hurt yourself."
The boy beamed and dashed off. Minato's smile lingered faintly. The name struck something in him, a memory of his most trusted comrade. The leader of the Hokage Guard, who had laid down his life for him more than once.
Perhaps that was why Minato liked the boy. Or perhaps it was simpler, he was just good company.
He stood, brushing dust from his cloak, and walked toward the forge where Fuji's hammer had already begun to sing against steel.
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A/N: Five chapters per week. Comment and Review.
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