The sun was dipping below the tree line, painting the training ground in bruised purples and golds.
Minato stood perfectly still, his arms extended. In his left hand was a green apple ice pop. In his right hand was a red cherry ice pop.
He wasn't eating them. He was resonating them.
"Left hand, rotation," Jiraiya instructed, lounging on a tree root with a distinct lack of pedagogical posture. "Right hand, power. Don't let the streams cross until the shell is hard."
Minato closed his eyes. He visualized the dual currents. The green pop began to melt, the liquid swirling inside the plastic tube in a perfect clockwise vortex. The red pop mirrored it, swirling counter-clockwise.
The plastic didn't burst. It didn't even stretch. The contents just liquefied and spun, glowing faintly with channeled chakra.
"Good," Jiraiya grunted, taking a bite of his own popsicle (which he was actually eating). "You make it look annoying."
"Annoying?" Minato opened one eye, the swirling liquid slowing down.
"Easy," Jiraiya corrected. "You make it look easy. It's disgusting."
Minato smiled, letting the chakra dissipate. The ice pops returned to being just slushy snacks. He tossed the green one to Jiraiya, who caught it with lazy precision.
"It's all about the visualization," Minato said, unwrapping the cherry one. "Once you understand the geometry of the helix, the rotation feels natural."
Jiraiya groaned. He rubbed his temples.
"Geometry. Helixes. Ratios." The Toad Sage shook his head. "Minato, you're a genius. But you're a terrible teacher. If I tried to explain 'helical geometry' to a normal genin, they'd eat the scroll."
Jiraiya licked his popsicle, staring thoughtfully at the darkening sky.
"I need a method for the gut-instinct types," Jiraiya mused. "The ones who don't think. Water balloons. Rubber balls. Something tactile. Someday, I'll teach this to a real idiot. A knucklehead who needs to feel the pop before he understands the spin."
He chuckled, a gravelly sound. "You'll laugh when you meet him. He'll probably blow his own hand off."
Minato laughed, a bright, clear sound that rang out in the empty field. He imagined a student like that—someone loud, messy, and stubborn. Someone completely different from himself.
"I hope I do meet him," Minato said, taking a bite of the cherry ice. "He sounds fun."
The night air in the apartment didn't feel cold anymore. It felt scorched.
Kushina knelt on the floor of her living room, clutching her stomach. Her fingernails dug into her shirt, tearing the fabric. Sweat poured down her face, but it evaporated instantly, hissing against skin that was turning a feverish, angry red.
The seal was itching.
It wasn't a physical itch. It was a spiritual infestation. The Nine-Tails was awake, and it was bored.
"Let me out," the voice whispered, not in her ears, but in the marrow of her bones. "Just a finger. Just a claw. The barrier is weak. You are weak."
"Shut up," Kushina gasped.
She tried to clamp down. She tried to use the Uzumaki chains. But her focus was fraying. The spiral was flattening. She was going in circles—pain, suppression, pain, suppression.
A bubble of red chakra leaked from her navel. It was heavy, corrosive, smelling of sulfur and ancient blood. It dripped onto the tatami mat, burning a hole straight through the straw.
"No," she whimpered.
If she lost control here, inside the village...
The barrier sensors would trip. The ANBU would swarm. They would look at her with those cold, masked eyes. Monster. Vessel. Failure.
The red chakra bubbled up, coating her hand. It felt like dipping her fingers into molten lead. Her vision blurred, red vignetting the edges of the world.
Then—a hand touched her shoulder.
It didn't burn. It was cool. Solid.
"Kushina."
She looked up. Minato was there. He wasn't wearing his flak jacket; he was in a plain t-shirt, looking like he'd just run across the village in seconds. He didn't look scared of the red cloak bubbling on her skin. He looked focused.
"Minato, run," she choked out, her voice warping into a growl. "I can't... hold it..."
"Don't hold it," Minato said calmly. " anchor it."
He placed his hand over hers, right over the seal.
He didn't pull away from the burning chakra. He pushed in.
The world flipped.
Gravity dissolved into dampness.
Kushina opened her eyes. She was in the mindscape. The sewer. The water around her ankles was dark and murky, rippling with the tremors of the massive beast behind the bars.
"YOU."
The Nine-Tails loomed in the darkness, a mountain of orange fur and malice. Its single visible eye was the size of a house, slitted and glowing with hate. The massive tails thrashed against the water, creating waves that threatened to knock Kushina over.
The golden chains—the adamant chains of her bloodline—were stretched taut across the cage, vibrating, groaning under the strain.
"Get back!" Kushina screamed at the Fox, trying to pull the chains tighter. But her chakra was slipping. The spiral was unwinding.
Then, the water rippled beside her.
Minato stood there.
He looked small against the backdrop of the massive cage. A speck of yellow in a world of darkness.
"THE FOURTH HOKAGE CANDIDATE," the Fox sneered, its voice booming like thunder. "HAVE YOU COME TO BE EATEN?"
Minato ignored the beast. He looked at the lock on the gate—the paper seal that was peeling, the chains that were slack.
"The rotation is off," Minato murmured, as if diagnosing a broken toaster.
He stepped forward. He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't weave signs for a barrier.
He raised his right hand.
Whirrrrrrrr.
The Rasengan flared to life in the mindscape. Here, in the spiritual plane, it shone like a star, a brilliant, blinding blue sphere of perfect order.
Minato didn't throw it at the Fox.
He slammed the Rasengan into the center of the seal's anchor point on the floor.
"Uzumaki Style: Helix Torque!"
The Rasengan spun. It caught the loose, leaking red chakra that was pooling on the floor. It didn't destroy it; it grabbed it. The rotation of the sphere engaged with the rotation of the seal like a gear catching a cog.
CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.
The slack chains suddenly snapped tight.
The rotational energy of the Rasengan traveled up the gold metal, vibrating through the links. It forced the seal to spin—not in a flat, stagnant circle, but inward and upward, tightening the grip.
The Fox roared as the chains retracted, pulling him back into the darkness. The cage doors slammed shut with a boom that shook the water.
"WHAT?"
The Fox stopped thrashing. He lowered his massive head, bringing his eye close to the bars. He looked at the chains, humming with blue Rasengan energy. He looked at the blonde human who hadn't attacked, but had simply... repaired the plumbing.
Minato exhaled, the sphere dissipating. He offered a hand to Kushina, pulling her out of the water.
He looked up at the Fox. He didn't glare. He didn't show fear. He just looked... observant.
"THIS ONE..." the Fox rumbled, his voice dropping to a low, thoughtful growl.
The great eye narrowed. The malice dampened, replaced by something sharper.
"THIS ONE DOES NOT TRY TO BREAK THE LOCK," Kurama mused, watching Minato dust off his pants.
The Fox retreated into the shadows, lying down with a huff. He wasn't subdued by force. He was subdued by confusion. And, perhaps, a tiny flicker of interest.
The sewer faded.
Kushina gasped, waking up on her living room floor. The red chakra was gone. The burn was gone.
Minato was kneeling beside her, his hand still warm on her stomach.
"See?" he whispered, brushing her sweaty bangs off her forehead. "It's just geometry."
Kushina laughed, a breathless, sobbing sound. She grabbed him, pulling him into a hug that knocked them both over.
"Show-off," she murmured into his neck.
Minato smiled, holding her tight, unaware that deep in the darkness, a pair of red eyes remained open, watching the legacy he had just begun to build.